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Laugh
What happens when you take
a husband and wife team, mix in some foodies with passports (the mostly
total stranger variety). add in a dash of culture shock, a pinch of
foreign language, and a few roundabouts, then shake well? It's a
recipe for a whole lot of fun (and some wild stories too).
Here we mixing up a
hilarious "It Really Did Happen" stew... Real time tales from the road
from our onsite voyeur turned blogger.
Unlike Las Vegas, what
happens at Vagabond Gourmet rarely stays there.
Holidays
 When not cooking in some far off place my favorite pastime is delighting my family with new creations. As the son of a chef, Max became a” foodie” at an early age. I remember him stealing curry from my plate before he could even walk. His palate is now legendary and has served him well particularly in college cooking for all his friends.
When
asked if he would like turducken for Thanksgiving last year I think
you may enjoy the reply. Holidays are never easy in my
house.
“Dear Mom,
Although turducken sounds good I’d rather have
Bustergophechideckneaealckidgeverwingailusharkolanine
-
Love, Max
Ps the recipe is below
Bustard stuffed with a turkey, a goose, a pheasant, a chicken, a duck,
a guinea fowl, a teal, a woodcock, a partridge, a plover, a lapwing, a quail,
a thrush, a lark, an ortolan and a passerine. Since passerine is a generic
term, it is not known exactly what kind of bird was used as the smallest
in the actual roast, although a pied flycatcher has been suggested. The recipe
notes that the final bird is small enough that it can be stuffed with a single
olive; it also suggests that, unlike modern multi-bird roasts, there was
no stuffing or other packing placed in between the birds.
Jammy Night
 “Care for a bit of breakfast whiskey with that scone?” the rosy cheeked gentleman asked the ladies on a blustery morning during the Glenfiddich Pipers Championship tour. “Breakfast whiskey” a new term for us certainly did not ring a bell in our American minds, but after all that’s part of the charm we remember from our trips. I can still taste the scones, so deceiving with their cold hardness until they were split and toasted in the oven with butter to bring out their inner beauty. Having a “wee bit” of the smokey whiskey suddenly made perfect sense.
One
has to love this beautiful country. Driving from our house to Pitlochry
about 8km away we are surrounded by nothing more than rolling hills and
small hand painted signs warning us to watch for lambs in the road. In
October the trees all dressed in their fall colors, a token of the winter
and snow to come. The Scotts are some of the warmest people we have ever
met - perhaps those folks in the Highlands know better how to start the day?
Edradour Distillery was delightful and we discovered two very unique
blends none of us had ever heard of including a whiskey aged in Bordeaux
casks giving it a slight rosy hue and wonderful flavor. The Edradour
cream is a must have especially drizzled over our toffee pudding.
Being
from Florida the chill in the October air meant we needed to bundle
up and this eventually leads to “Jammy Night”. Complete with bunny slippers
and thick plush robes we giggled like little kids while gathering
around the table for our Halloween dinner.
The chilly nights were warmed by
the burning fires and the autumn leaves crackled under our feet.
The ballads of Dougie McLean filled our massive dining room while and
the Mussels with Lager and Lobster Flamed with Drambuie were outstanding.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a better rack of lamb we had from the organic
farm down the road. Looking forward to Dalnagairn once again.
Touche Paulette!
My first job
in a restaurant was back in the mid seventies in a trendy Boston landmark.
I was the assistant to the salad girl. Other than the dish washer, that's
about as low as it gets. The salad girl was actually a petite French
woman named Paulette. How she landed in the United States I can't remember
but she longed for her Provence homeland and wasn't very impressed with
me or my suggestions.
Despite our constant bickering which got rather loud, she taught me a fabulous vinaigrette and how to make an omelet. Many years later on a cold January day I arrived in Paris for the first time. Suddenly, it all made sense and Paulette's comparison to the French and American way of food and culture brought me to my knees. Paulette would find it quite amusing I've developed such a love for France and I'm sure would be the first to say "I told you so!”.
Paulette and I soon came to blows and she walked out in a huff. The Harvest Restaurant ended up being a pressure cooker for young talent and as the newly appointed salad girl
I quickly realized if you waited long enough, someone would call I sick I would actually end of on the “line”.
Lydia Shire fresh from the Cordon Blue and Maison Robert brought her classic French training to us as the new Chef. As her Sous Chef, I learned the French techniques, but being somewhat of a maverick; I added my own spin to everything and earned my “hippie French” title.
Long before Sara Moulton was a celebrity chef and TV star, she had her externship from the Culinary Institute during a hot summer in the Harvest kitchen with Lydia and I. Looking back I doubt any of us really thought of where our careers were going. But the passion for cooking we shared during those wild days was breaking barriers for women in the kitchen.
We were the ‘girls of Boston’ and making quite a splash. Julia Child was a regular in The Harvest and loved us, giving us encouragement every step of the way. Little did we know we were creating history as part the New American cuisine movement and pioneers for all future female chefs.
Barcelona
From the Vagabond Sleuth
Dear Vagabond Diary...
 I am hard at work here in Barcelona, the capital of Catalonia, tasting this
Catalan corner of the world for a future Vagabond Gourmet tour.
This is a city like nowhere I have ever been. I was at home in the buzz of
Barcelona, but it is certainly easy to find quiet escapes, even amongst the
chaos of horns and tourist busses. I tucked into the narrow serpentine
streets of the Barri Gotic and meandered along the tree-lined and ritzy
Passeig de Gracia when I needed a reprieve, the Park
Guell was also
peaceful and removed, but my best escape was a climb to the amazing
Cosmo Caixa, Barcelona’s new science museum perched above the city.
Since we often search for destinations that are family friendly, I was on
alert for activities that would keep kids from shrieking with boredom after
a day. Cities are always tough for families to swallow as a vacation
destination, but, though it is cliché to say, Barcelona may change a few
minds. There really is something for everyone, even kids. My daughter,
8, loved the buildings of Antoni Gaudi, the Catalan architect who belonged
to the Modernismo (art nouveau) movement and was famous for his unique
style and highly individualistic designs that now have become the face of
Barcelona. I read that kids love Gaudi because his buildings look exactly
how a child would draw them.
I like this analogy. When she first spotted the Casa Batlló, my daughter
said it looked like Dr. Seuss built it. The odd La Sagrada Familia is
one of Gaudi's most famous works in Barcelona. This giant
temple has been under construction since 1882 and is not expected to be
finished for between 30 to 80 years. That’s quiet a range. After learning
that, I vowed neverto complain about slow service in Europe again. I also
made a mental note NOT to use these guys for my house remodel, then I
asked my daughter if she thought this building also looked like Dr.
Seuss.
Trying to make conversation, you know? She looked at me with her
“you just don’t get it do you old woman” eyes and said, “No, mom. This
looks like it was made with melted candle wax.” Eerie. She was right. I
think Gaudi had a special connection with kids.
For food lovers, and lovers of life, Barcelona and Catalan cuisine is
the perfect addition to our Vagabond
Gourmet tours, and the Spanish will
welcome you with open arms. (just see the photo for proof).
I was welcomed by an old friend of mine who has lived in Spain with his
wife Susana for 10 years, 3 of them in Barcelona. Susana was born in
Malaga, down the coast from Barcelona, and learned to cook at her
mother's apron strings. To this day, I still don't think I have tasted
better, or have eaten more, croquetas than I have at her house. I and
my stomach can attest to eating hundreds around Spain. She tried to
teach me (as if) many times. Perhaps she can teach chef Laura instead.
I was anxious to try some Catalan specialties so my friend took me to his
favorite tapas bar, Cervesaria Catalana.
It was packed. Normally heaps
of food left out in the open would scare me, however in this case it was
appealing. Plus, the food didn’t last long. One need only point
and be served instantly. No menus. No "do you want fries with that". Just
point and eat. Fast food the way it should be--simple and good. But
there was nothing simple about the taste.
We ordered it up!
Calamares a la romana, battered calamari deep fried in olive oil, one
of
Spain’s most traditional tapas; Albergínies Farcides, eggplant stuffed with
vegetables and meat; Montaditos, the Spanish take on crostini with Ibérico
ham; Espárragos a la Plancha, grilled asparagus; Setas
a la Plancha, grilled
mushrooms with garlic, Tortilla de Patata, potato
omelette, another
Spanish classic; Croquetas de Jamón, croquettes with ham (nope, not as
good as Susana's but still searching), and the ubiquitous pan
amb
tomàquet, crunchy bread with fresh squeezed tomato, garlic and olive oil
drizzled on top. Olé!! Even after all that, we were still hungry. We were
addicted to the flavors. I always feel guilty ordering more; like there is a
neon sign over my head that reads, “From America, land of the obese and
gluttonous, and I want seconds”.
To add insult to injury, the waiter tilted his head, raised an
eyebrow and bugged his eyes out at my request for another round of pan
amb tomàquet. Just doing my part, man, just doing my part.
During my visit to Barcelona, it happened to be fat Tuesday and, as
expected, Ash Wednesday. In need of caffeine one morning, I stepped
into a patisseria called Mauri and was in awe of the beautiful little treats
encased in the glass like jewels at Cartier. A large sign said Buñuelos (in
Spanish Bunyols). When I asked in my best Spanish (aka--English) what
they were, the apron clad lady behind the counter told me they are only
made during the 40 days of lent.
They are similar to donut holes, but laced in Anis. Buñuelos sounds
so much nicer than donut hole, doesn’t it? We also tried the Ensaimadas,
delicious Mallorcan breakfast rolls made from yeast dough that is rolled
into spiral circles.
A lady at the next table heard me speaking English and told me I had
come to the best place in Barcelona for the Buñuelos and that I had
to get some chocolata for a drink. Lilana was her name. It turns out she
was born and raised in Barcelona (now living in Luxembourg) and
returns every year during this period to see family and for this traditional
treat. She said she would not go anywhere else in Barcelona but Mauri for the Buñuelos. I felt quite like I had won the pastry lottery.
Since most of our Vagabond Gourmet tours center around the kitchen and
cooking, I decided to head to the most famous food market in Barcelona,
La Boqueria, set smack dab in the middle of the touristy section of town,
just off La Rambla. Dating back to the 1830s, this covered market
sells a cornucopia of local and exotic meats, fish, fruit, and vegetables, among
other things. I liked the vendors themselves, but they weren’t for sale.
Their singing and yelling, grabbing, and pushing of trays in my face was
like a dance. I even saw a few still wearing carnival masks from the
week before. The party never ended I guess. This scene is a must for
any visitor and puts the technicolor in Barcelona’s already vivid scene. It
was much like falling into Alice's rabbit hole with rows and rows of
oversized colorful fruit, super-sized fish, heaping mounds of candy,
spices, and even rabbit. Sorry Alice. Of course there was plenty of Iberico Ham, a Spanish specialty. I literally tasted my way up and down
all eight rows then sat down at one of the many tapas bars set up inside
the market. (Susana claims these are the best in Barcelona). I opted
ordered a Spanish beer (hard work eating half the market after all).
Cruzcampo, Damm, Mahou and San
Miguel were my choices. It is truly
the most amazing market I have ever seen.
On my last day in Barcelona, my friends took me outside the city to a
beach restaurant called Tropical that was a favorite of theirs. It was
empty. “Surprising for a beautiful Saturday”, I said. Not according to my
friends who informed me the Spanish really don't go to the beach unless
it's hot or summertime. It was neither, so, we basically had the place to
ourselves. The windows were open and warm Mediterranean breezes
whet our appetites. The specialty of the house was the fideúa, paella
made with pasta similar to vermicelli (in lieu of the Spanish rice) along
with calamari and other fish tossed in, and eaten with aioli. To wash it all
down, we had the other house specialty "Cava Sangria"-- Cava being the
Spanish champagne.
The rest of the day was a tasty, blurry haze, and one of the best
memories of my trip to Catalonia. I think Vagabond Gourmet guests will
be very pleased.
Until next time, Salut!
The Vagabond Gourmet Travel Sleuth
Lunch With Kate at Le Bistro Paradou
 Kate’s cheery British accent veils her wicked sense of humor, never more diabolical than on the drive to Le Bistro Paradou. Getting reservations for 16 on a beautiful June afternoon is no easy feat and Kate was quite insistent she knew the way from Oppede. Little did I know Kate had ideas of her own.
Kate is our GPS or satellite navigation device. She was lovingly provided my husband for the 6 weeks journey I would be gone. Three of which included culinary tours in Italy and France we provided together but another three weeks I would be on my own after husband Steve would return to the US.
The week before our guests arrived in Oppede, Steve, Kate and I mapped out the itineraries. The drive from St Remy to Maussane was pretty straightforward so the day Kate and I were to head out alone I was confident we’d arrive at Le Paradou with amply time for our reservation.
The drama begins. Living in Florida means flat roads and like most women my age I have nearly always driven an automatic transmission. The wagon we rented for the duration of the trip was a five speed standard and the mini driving lesson in Cavallion a few days earlier didn’t go very well. I assumed I’d be better driving alone, nice and slow, stalling and grinding the gears without anyone else in the car. The rest of the gang headed out earlier to buy fish and chocolate in St Remy before we’d meet at the bistro for lunch.
My guess is Kate’s a bit of a tart. She had gotten far too chummy with my husband and decided I would be no match for her clever wit. The signs for Les Baux began to appear and I was finally relaxed getting more comfortable with the shifting. The road looked familiar enough but seemed narrower than I remembered. Kate said follow her.
I didn’t recall the road twisting and the rocky ledges and it definitely felt like we were climbing but Kate insisted she knew the way. Suddenly the road became very narrow with sharp switchbacks and now steep inclines with dramatic drop-offs, sans guard rails of course. There was no turning back for fear if I stopped I could never keep from rolling off the cliff.
Lunch at Le Bistro Paradou seemed a million miles away. There I was perched high on a look-out facing the village of Les Baux on the other mountain. Laughing, talking to myself, and realizing the humor of the situation, I told Kate it was time for her to take a little nap. Knowing enough to simply follow the road signs, I somehow managed to get back to the main road.
In spite of Kate’s little joke we pulled into Le Bistro Paradou’s parking lot early and to the smoky scent of roasting eggplant and garlicky lamb. The warm hospitality of the owner who’s accustomed to hungry hordes of Americans, kept our pitchers filled with wine and only smiled while we gobbled the bread before the first course. The food is simple yet perfect with intense clear flavors from well selected ingredients. I am only too happy to oblige and finish the morsels of apple tart, chocolate pave and the apricot sorbet being passed around the table. Tonight we make bouillabaisse in our beautiful Oppede kitchen and Kate is not allowed to play games on the way back.
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