Rustic Sandwich Rolls

Whenever we are about to have guests over for a meal, we go through a brainstorm process to decide what to make.  Even when we suggest something we both agree on, I wait for the ah-ha moment: the moment where I know that there could not possibly be a more perfect meal.  If it's summer the obvious choice is to grill something, and if it's winter we move toward soup or slow cooking.

After we got back from Paris we had a long list of people to see, and two of those people were Ariel's dads.  Ariel's dad, Jeff, is a chef.  Since the first day he and I met we have had long conversations about food and cooking.  I love cooking for Jeff because we have a similar style: rustic with delicious flavor pairings.  In fact, one of the last meals we ate before leaving for Euope was with Ariel's family, and Jeff made a shrimp and avocado salad that I daydreamed about the entire time we were away.

The meal we were going to make was for a 1pm Sunday lunch, a tricky time because it's past the time we wanted to serve eggs, but before the time we would cook Sunday dinner.  We continued to brainstorm, until I remembered these rolls...

I adapted them awhile back from one of my favorite bakers, Jim Lahey, who makes a long sandwich roll called a Stecca.  I loved the consistency of the dough: a wet glob with minimal structure, the perfect metaphor for baking in a tiny kitchen with an electric oven.

Our menu for the Sunday lunch would be grilled corn-on-the-cob, Ariel's potato salad, and beef burgers on the fresh rolls; topped with sweet pickle sauce, Romaine lettuce, and sliced Walla Walla onions.

Start these rolls the day before you want to serve them. The recipe will make six substantial rolls, or eight smaller. (We toasted our leftover rolls and filled them with a wonderful tuna salad.)



Combine in a large, stainless steel bowl:
1 1/2 cups or 350 grams cool water
1/4 tsp or 1 gram active dry yeast
3 cups or 400 grams bread flour
1/2 tsp or 3 grams sea salt

Stir, moving your hand clockwise (moving in one direction avoids breaking up the gluten) until all of the ingredients are combined. Add drops of water as needed if there are areas of the dough that do not appear wet, with dry patches of flour on them.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and let it sit at room temperature for 12-18 hours.

When you take the cover off of the dough, notice the great boozy smell: that's the fermentation process at work.

Flour the work surface and use a bowl scraper to bring the dough out of the bowl onto the floured area.



Like this...

Working your way around the periphery of the dough, fold the dough up onto itself.  Flip the dough seamside down, and then then dust the top with flour.  Cover the dough with a clean floursack towel or a piece of plastic wrap, and let it sit for 2 hours. 

After 1 1/2 hours preheat the oven to 500 degrees F and cover a 13-by-18-by-1-inch baking sheet with parchment; brush with oil.  

Using a bench scraper (pictured below) divide the dough into six or eight pieces.  Gently move each piece to the oiled pan; brush each roll with oil, and sprinkle with salt.

Try not to worry about how they look on the pan; each one will look unique, it's part of their charm.

Check the rolls at 15 minutes, and leave them in the oven for another minute or two, if needed.

Let the rolls cool on a rack, and image the possibilities.

A Few of My Favorite Things, Parisian

On our one-year wedding anniversary, Ariel and I decided to take a pilgrimage to Montmartre, where the Basilica of the Sacré Cœur (Sacred Heart) stands as the highest point in Paris. On our way to the top, we stumbled upon St. Pierre of Montmartre; a welcome solace from the crowds. Inside, the light in the chapel drew us in, and I felt peace in that moment as I absorbed the ancient architecture, originally built in the twelfth century.

On the train to Paris we watched the film Midnight in Paris.  Below is a photograph of Lapin Agile, a famous Montmartre cabaret; it reminded me of the film.  On that day in Montmartre, as I stood beneath the old, pink cabaret I understood the main character in the film.  I felt a nostaligic tug in my heart; a longing for another time, a time I had never experieced.  It felt comforting and sad like perusing through a photo album with my grandmother, reminiscing about times before I was born.

Before we left for Montmartre we emailed our friends Mark and Tyler to ask them where we should eat.  They sent us to a wonderful spot called Le Consulat, which sits at the top of hill, greeting tourists as they arrive to the neighborhood.  I was glad I had waited to try French Onion soup in Paris; Le Consulat's version was wonderful and surprisingly light, since the broth was made with chicken stock and white wine.  It was delicious and perfect.

A couple days later we finally braved the crowds and made it to the Louvre.  This was my favorite sculpture, L'Amore et Psyche, by Antonio Canova, 1797.  The shot was taken from behind; it was the angle in which I discovered the sculpture, and as it turned out, it was the angle I liked best.  I felt there was something innocent about the way the woman draped her arm around her lover, or as I discovered, her love.
 

On our way home from the Louvre, we decided to ride the ferris wheel; the views turned out to to be some of the best views of the trip.  We saw Paris from every angle, and it was wonderful sharing it with Ariel.  I particularily enjoyed this image...it is a ride I will never be able to experience because of motion sickness...I guess it is going along with the nostalgia theme.

I love watching ducks, always.

We loved our Paris apartment.  It was light and cozy with lots of windows, and it stayed cool night and day.

One day we wanted to try a Bahn Mi for lunch.  I did a quick internet search, and we were fortunate there was a much-loved spot, simply called Bahn Mi within a few blocks of our apartment.  We both had the BBQ pork sandwich: stuffed-full with pickled carrots, cucumbers, and fresh cilantro.

One of the last places on our list was Luxembourg Garden, and I told Ariel it was one of my favorite parks of the entire trip.  There were expansive green lawns, people playing a popular European game called Petanque, an apiary, a playground, huge fountains, sculptures, and chairs dispersed througout the park for relaxing, picnicking, and visiting with friends.  It was a gorgeous wonderland.

It is a bittersweetness that we fly back to Seattle tomorrow.  It's been a long, unforgettable journey that has touched me in ways I would not have been able to predict when we embarked two months ago. 

I have become a better person, and a better partner; for these two things I am grateful.  

I plan to keep up with Tasting the Culture back in the States.  I hope you'll continue to join me on this wonderful exploration of community and food.  

Meeting Paris

For our first day in Paris, we decided to walk a loop through our neighborbood, Marais in the 3rd arrondissement, and loop back around via the Seine river. The Marais neighborhood had been described as the Greenwich Village of Paris, and that being a place we've loved to visit, it seemed fitting we would choose a similar stomping ground here.

Hungry for our first Parisian crepe, we decided to get lunch in a spot we heard about in the Jewish Quarter.  La Droguerie greets pedestrians with it's bright blue storefront at the mouth of a miniature strip named Rue des Rosiers.  In addition to the creperie, we visited a tea shop where we sampled a wonderful iced tea blend.  There were also some clothing boutiques, a patisserie/boulangerie, and a handful of falafel joints, all which looked like great options for a return trip.

Our crepes were excellent.  Especially considering the shop owner prepared them in a matter of minutes as we watched from the street, and they only cost 5,50 each.  Although the sweet crepes looked good too, it was our first meal of the day and we share a preference for savory breakfasts; we want to go back and try a Nutella crepe for 3,00.
 

Walking through Marais, we stumbled upon Place des Vosges, a green square with four fountains, and a relaxing place to rest and observe the city.  It was a nice place for people watching.  A couple of teenagers even jumped into one of the fountains.  Paris has many squares like this one for some respite from the city.

As we continued our walk through Marais, we came to the Bastille: a towering monument which represents the tide turning event of the French Revolution, and France's enduring struggle to establish and maintain democracy.  At the top of the monument stood winged Mercury carrying a torch representing freedom.  Like many of the historical places we have visited on our travels, I was reminded what freedom means in my heart, and I left feeling humbled and grateful for those who have come before us, and fought for human rights.  

After the Bastille, we headed toward the path along the Seine river, and were mesmerized when we stumbled upon a wash of cool mist!  It was wonderful, and lovely to experience something so refreshing, created to help people cool off and tolerate hot summer days (see Ariel below).
Another bonus: it was free!  Another example of Parisian humanism.

Here I was reminded of my favorite Parisian-at-heart: Mark Leuning.  This next shot was taken for you-

We didn't go in the Norte-Dame yesterday, but we did rest in the courtyard after the somber experience of visiting the Deportaion Memorial, an underground monument built for the people taken from their homes during World War II, most of whom did not return.  Being in Italy and France we have seen so many reminders of that terrible time in our world's history, and I know it will never cease to affect me so deeply.

As we sat in the courtyard of the Nortre-Dame a dance troup began dancing in a style that seemed to integrate both modern and ancient styles of dance.  It was a beautiful surprise, and an unexpected entertainment for us as we rested our weary feet.

Love in Lyon

We rolled in on a high speed train from Marsailles and walked across town under the bluest skies, and the weight of our packs.  We decided Lyon felt much more French than the Riviera, where the menus and the way of life still felt like Italy.  As we walked through town, I noticed the Presse signs, which instantly served as a memento from home.  One of my favorite restaurants in Seattle is Cafe Presse, and as I discovered in Lyon they borrowed the signage from the French newsstands for their restaurant.  As Ariel pointed out, Cafe Presse has an assortment of magazines, which they source from Small Changes, the wholesale magazine distribution company his mother started in 1977; It seems they were able to expand on the French idea of Presse as something even more inviting than words in print.  

Lyon is a pretty city with old buildings, glorious fountains, and lots of wide open spaces to roam, a quality that can be rare for a larger city.  (In 2012 Lyon had a population of 720,890).  

There are intriguing pieces of art placed throughout the city, like this flower-petal-tree:  

Also there is a giant park in the Northeast corner of the city called Tête d'Or.  We walked through this giant gate and suddenly there were so many wonderful activites!  We did a paddleboat cruise around the lake with our American coffees au lait.  We saw ducks, geese and turtles playing and doing somersaults in the water; It almost seemed as though they were working for tips the way they worked the crowd.  They were adorable.  

After the paddleboats we walked through the park on a meandering trail, took a mini trainride with a sweet French conductor who ran the family business with his wife.  She sold tickets and ice cream, and we watched her play with their English bulldog: a cute, tired guy who drank water from an Evian bottle. 

Finally, we took a stroll through the free (yes, free!) zoo.  

I wish I could say our meal at the Bouchon that night was our favorite, but it wasn't.  It was heavy and fatty and we realized that as much as we love French cooking techniques, and the passion the French consistently put into their food, the traditional French dishes are not our favorite.  The highlight of the Bouchon meal was Ariel's dish: a quenelle in lobster sauce.  I had never had a quenelle before, and it was definitely something to write home about.  

Another thing to write home about was our meal at Les Petits Siamois.  After reading wonderful reviews, we walked over to the restaurant on our first night in Lyon.  We were turned away because they had had a very busy night and they ran out of food.  We agreed: we're going back, and we did, the very next night.  

Above you see our first course: a delicious chicken filling combined peanuts, ginger, coconut and fresh cilantro, which we wrapped into bundles with bright, Thai leaves.  

As we savored our meal the owner/waiter spent time with us at our table as he made his rounds back and fourth from the patio to the kitchen; he was such a lovely man that we felt fortunate to be on his flight path.  He shared our enthusiasm for the food, and had a wonderful time exchanging stories about food, and the places we've called home.  He told us how each day, the food was prepped fresh for that evening, and he spoke about the care he put into the ingredients for each dish.  

Today we did a rigorous hike up to a neighborhood in the north where we heard Lyon hosts a weekly farmer's market.  As we browsed the produce and meats I began feeling very inspired to cook in Paris where we will have a kitchen in our one-bedroom apartment.  

On our way down the hill we were ready for lunch, when suddenly I took in a delicious waft of something fantastique.  We turned the corner and I read the sign: YAAFA "you are a falafel addict."  

We knew exactly where we were having lunch, and YAAFA did not disappoint. The falafel balls were perfectly crisp, and well seasoned.  The whole way through we raved about the food, and even hours later we were still complimeting it...a sign of a good lunch.  Ariel said, "If we let our noses decide our restaurants every time, we'll never go wrong."  I think he's onto something.