Noël Navidad Natal Christmas クリスマス Hanukkah כאַנעקע Kwanzaa

I live in the most beautiful city in the world. There is no doubt about it. France may be a place full of bureaucratic nightmares, stiff and starchy people, and smelly metro systems, but they do one thing correctly. Christmas, or Noël. Every street is adorned with some form of Christmas ornamentation. Whether it be lights down the middle of the street, or a lit tree in a square, they do their best to make it look as nice as it feels. However, as I write this, something is missing. The lights, gifts, hot chocolate, even the snow, is all here. Trees, strange men in santa costumes, the obligatory car-driving-through-half-frozen-puddle-ruining-your-shoes kind of days, it happens here. But 5000 miles away is where Christmas really is. The 16 foot trees we could barely get in the truck, let alone the living room, the made up Scrabble words. The Disarono and anythings. For the first time in my life, I will not be there for that. It is a little bittersweet.
But, I know they will have a good time without me, and I will too. For I will be in Norway, the second prettiest place in the world, besides the view I have right now from my room.

Im not going to post all of my pictures, if you'd like to see them, just email me, post a comment or go to. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=506912298&aid=256396

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=506912298&aid=256156

More to come this weekend about my adventures. Happy Hanukkah!

Today, for one of the first times in 2 months, I wanted to cook. Its been a long semester, in and out of the classroom, and the tedious chopping, slicing, and "ecoumeing" has drained me. After the two most stressful weeks of my life, ending with the exam on Monday, all I wanted was a little sleep. But this morning, I craved the heat of the kitchen, and the camaraderie of our "Team." Monday after the exam, some of us went out to dinner at a 2 michelin star restaurant, L'atelier De Joel Robuchon. I will write a review later, no pictures. Graduation was yesterday. Long, boring and uneventful. Received my diploma, and proceeded home. Now it's time for everyone to go home for the holidays, and since I'm here until the 18th, I will spend my time in the city shopping, and walking around. Should be enjoyable. I'll start taking pictures of all the holiday decorations going on. It's quite a beautiful city.

Apartment and Last Week of Class

As a whole, the Basic group of students did very well on the written exams. It was very easy, and I do not know why i worried about it so much. But, that was the least important part of my week. I moved on Saturday, to a new apartment. Being it's in the Montparnasse district of Paris, this place has a little more going for it than the last place I was in. After crossing the entirety of a metro station, and up 14 floors, you reach me and Afonso's apartment. There's a verse in one of Lil' Waynes songs that says "So high up, I got birds in the condo" this isn't a condo, but there are birds, so I think I'm doing alright. To the north I see Notre Dame, Luxembourg, and The Louvre. To the west, The Eiffel Tower, and La Defense. Quite a view. This will be my home for the extent of my stay here. Which do to certain circumstances, has been extended, if the cooking gods allow, through the length of my stage. On to cooking. Tomorrow, is the second to last of our practical classes for this term. Fried Veal cutlets, Vienna style, with Fresh pasta, and Tomato Concassé, should be fun. Cooking exam is next week. A lot of speculation has been going on as to what the test will be, no one knows. We have been given 10 dishes to study, and of them, a class will get two. Half of that class will get one, the other will get the other. 2 and a half hours to complete the dish. Judgement, and then we ride off into the culinary sunset. For 2 months, until were back for 5 months straight, and then the rest of our lives. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Food.

Food is so much, to so many people. It is sustenance, feeding the masses. It is art, inspiring the world, and for others, its a coping mechanism. Something to help them through the tough times. It is a strange thing, food. It is inanimate, but comes from animate things. It has emotion, structure, a sense of being. For those of you that don't believe me, taste a fresh peach, and then a frozen one, you'll see what I mean. Food is very human. In all the good ways. You can mold it. Shaping it into something you're proud of, like a small child. It can surprise you. The sharpness of a cheese, the smell of a strawberry, the crisp skin on a pig. All these things are shocking the first time you try them. Food can comfort you, like an old friend. Not eating it, but the calmness of preparation. The quiet time it takes to create a dish. Then, finally, a taste of home, or a taste of a far off place. It can bring you where you've been, or as far away as you want to go. Food can not leave you, it can not break your heart. If it burns, you clean the pan out and start again. If it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you do it differently the next time. You can fall in love with a dish, and that dish can be the same for the rest of your life, it will not change. Humans should take some pointers from food.

Rungis, Je..The Me, Finals Week.

Wow, what a week! This post will be mostly pictures, because description will be hard. We've cooked some interesting things lately. Roast Duck, Shrimp, and a lot of Beef.. Throw some Pork and Veal in here, and we would have been cooking for kings. The smell of stress, fright, and mind rot is in the air due to finals coming up. Written exams have been taken by the Patisserie students, and a universal cry of help was heard from the Demo room on that day, doesn't look to good for us Cuisine students. 100 points of matching and true false, mixed with a fill in the blank recipe portion, should be exciting. In between all of the 50 grams of carrots, and 2 onions memorization's we have to do, some fun was thrown in. Thursday night, well actually, Friday morning at 2 am, I joined a classmate and his boss, on a trip to Rungis market. The largest food purveyor in the world, with buildings the size of full grocery stores, filled to the brim with whole sides and cuts of beef, pork, lamb and veal. A room for poultry, and fish, and vegetables. Fruits and dairy, and cheese all having their own home. We were only going to see the Fish and Triperie (meat house.) But it was quite a sight regardless.

Friday night, I joined my friends Miguel, Micheal, and Bill at a dinner at Je.. The Me. It was featured on Anthony Bourdain's 100th episode of No Reservations. A small, 19th century grocery store, turned restaurant, it was amazing the quality of food that was put out by this place. First courses were roasted wild button mushrooms, paté of foi gras, and fall vegetable risotto with shrimp. They were all good, and warming on the cold late fall night. Main courses were a wild chicken roasted with cabbage "En coccotte" or in a casserole. Scallops with couscous, and my dish, which was crispy veal liver and sauteed duck kidneys in a brown sauce over a rice cake. I had the cheese plate for dessert, and chocolate cake and ice cream was served with pistachio cream and thyme ice cream; baba rum, and rice pudding with beet ice cream were the other desserts. Two very good Bourgogne wines and some digestifs rounded out what was a fantastic meal in a fantastic restaurant. Also, I acquired a internship there for a week during my December break, so I'm very happy. I should get studying. Happy National Bologna Day America!!

Life changes, and the list of missing things.

A year ago, I was in college. Doing what most people my age do. Wake up, go to class, go to sports, go to eat, go to bed, go to class. So on, and so forth. Weekends consisted of waking up in hotel rooms, and chasing a far off dream, that alas, will never come to fruition. The work week consisted of going through the motions. Doing well, but not caring, going to school because I had to. Every single day the thought crossed my mind, "Why am I here?" I never knew the answer. I knew what I wanted, but I couldn't do it. Was it fear? Fear of failure, fear of disappointment? Was it the distance? The ocean is quite a formidable opponent when it comes to communication. Was it the money? No. Whatever it was, it prevented me from doing what I love. And then one day, in the chair I spent a lot of my teenage years in, it hit me. "What the hell am I doing?" It's all history from there. 8 months later, I'm sitting here typing this.

I knew it would be hard moving around the world, leaving everything and everyone. It's been incredibly more hard than I had imagined. This list is the majority of the things I long for on a weekly basis. As most of you know, food is high on my priorities, thus it has a large stake in this list.
Lakes, rivers, trees, dirt, grass, air not smelling of smoke. Birds. The Problem Solver Roll at Koyi Sushi in Minneapolis, Minnesota. My car, driving, country music. Fires at Joe's. Catching minnows, not catching fish. Swimming. Snowmobiling. Watching sports in the basement with my dad. The couch at my Brother's. Picking my sister up from Zorbas at 2 in the morning. ;) The yarn store, The Patty Melt at Northwind Grille in Brainerd, MN. Arbys. Highway 94. Just kidding:) ( I amassed a total of 14,000 miles on that road this summer, I hate it.) Copper, Jack, Melvin. My kitchen at home. 2 am taco bell runs. The entire 112 Eatery menu, Stars, clouds. Dino Bear. My Mom's grilled cheese, beef stroganoff, biscuits and gravy, and meatloaf. Anthony Bourdain, Iron Chef, Top Chef, Andrew Zimmern. NFL Football, college football. Cell Phones, and, yes, Cheeseburgers.

What a day. Rue Mouffetard, 100 Profiterols, and Le Chateaubriand. This is why I came to France. Around 10:30 I met Miguel and Michael at Rue Monge for a day at the market. Rue Mouffetard is one of the oldest streets in Paris, having been around since Roman times. Passing next to a real Roman Gladiator ring was quite an experience, the seats and cages still in place. Reaching Rue Mouffetard, One notices a narrowing of the streets, sort of a changing of time to older days. Markets, restaurants and shops covered the sides of the street, which is cut off to traffic because of it's every day market. 

Rue Mouffetard

A large hare at a boucherie

Roti, the most beautiful thing on the planet

A selection of Fowl

As you can see, a guy like me could live on this road for years, and never be bored, but alas, 2 hours was long enough, and we walked to a sort of China town, and to a Chinese Grocery where I purchased Cuttlefish flavored snacks, (delicious) and admired all the things unavailable in the U.S, such as durian, and tiny skipping shrimp. Then it was off to dinner at Le Chateaubriand, highly touted in the food world as one of the top 15 restaurants. Needless to say we were very excited, but nervous, because we had to wait in line for the second seating. When you walk in, you would never expect it to be such a mecca for high end cuisine. A crowd of onlookers waits while seats fill, waiting for their turn. Americans, French, Germans, and Italians filled the bar area, waiting for their chance. At the bar, our group (Afonso, Miguel, Michael and I) had a glass of red wine while we waited for our Golden Ticket so to speak. we were seated in the back near the kitchen. Let's just get this out of the way, this is not a typical restaurant. It is not dry, starchy or pretentious like most restaurants of this stature, and it is very cheap. Music blaring, chefs screaming, waiters drinking, all added to the experience. Much different then most places in France. When we were seated, a tray of gruyere profiterols were placed in front of us, they were very good, but nothing exceptional.  

Then a tiny shot glass with a piece of a shrimp floating inside, strange presentation, but it was the epitome of a ceviche, fresh, salty acidic and sweet everything that's wanted in a opening dish. 

Next was a tiny piece of lamb with fig, grapes, tomato concasse, and coriander seeds. Delicious, but with a few too many coriander seeds

Then fresh, barely cooked tiny shrimp, served Au Naturale on a plate. Popping the whole thing in my mouth,  it was as fresh as seafood gets. 

A broth made from duck, with mint, chestnuts, and mushrooms. This confused me, it was just broth.. 

Then the appetizer came. A potato puree, with squid slices placed oh-so-softly inside, with the taste of cumin coming from somewhere. Pickled shallots, and potato chips, with a round of Kalamata olive puree on the side. The potatoes were so light, the squid barely touched, raw as could be, and the pickled shallots cutting the richness perfectly, I may steal this dish.

Fish course was a lightly cooked cod, those pickled shallots again, a pili pili (Fancy name for mayonnaise) and some "Green Shit" as my mother would say. Unrecognizable foliage if you will. Keeping with the norm, the fish was barely cooked, only the skin ever so slightly crisped.

The meat course was full of imagination, but tasted of a Sunday dinner your mother would make. Braised beef cheeks, with carrots and turnips, a spicy broth with radishes and salted fish, and a curry foam. A great fall dish. My mother doesn't like curry, so I have no chance of ever receiving this dish.

Then dessert. Normally, I would just get the cheese and be done with it, but the dessert here, was crazy. Walking in we saw a table eating it. Fruit with a nuclear read powder covering it, and a simple ice cream dish, that turned out to be not so simple. So, I went against my morals, and got the dessert.

Raspberries, strawberry meringue kisses, strawberry cake, and purple basil. Fairly simple. But it was dusted with this powder made from Raspberries, which I will tell you, is a very strenuous process. It was so bright, and so light, I barely noticed I had eaten anything. Beautiful early fall dessert.

Second dessert was more simple, served in a plain bowl. Ice cream, white stuff, crumble. But when eaten, it was very complex. Corn ice cream, barely sweetened, buttermilk, and a cornbread crumble of sorts. I would have expected it before the fruit dessert because it was so savory, but it was a beautiful end to a beautiful dinner regardless.

 Le Chateaubriand is very different from any other restaurant I have been to, but the food is some of the best I have eaten.

Next week is busy, with class, class dinner, and my birthday. Should be fun.

So You Want To Go To LCB?

One month down already. It's gone by so fast, and I'm 1/3rd of the way done with this semester. I haven't written about what I do on day-to-day bases yet. So, here it goes.

Generally, I start the day at either 8:30, or 12:30, so I set my alarm for an hour and a half before class each day. This is how the rest of my day goes.

Loud Eminem song in the background, but I’ve already been awake for 12 minutes, because I remembered mid dream (generally about soccer) that I have class today. Lay in bed through the song, and halfway through the next. Get up. Shower. Pack my bag. Chef pants? Check. Jacket? Check. Neck Handkerchief thing? Unfortunately, check... Towel, clean? Sure. Spoon, Fork, Pen, Name Tag? Quadruple Check. Change for the Delicious peach tea at school, or when I'm feeling really daring, Orangina? 1 Euro, Check. Every thing is there, good. Bag packed, I wander dreary eyed to the kitchen. Where a cereal bowl full of coffee awaits me, sometimes hot, usually cold from the day before when I woke up at 2. I drink it, say Bonjourneé to whoever is present, and depart. 21 blocks lie between my school and me. I usually complete the journey in 12-15 minutes, depending on traffic, and what the meat looks like at the butcher shop. I arrive at school, "Bonjour" the receptionist(s). (Although I'm not quite sure what they do, but they're listed ahead of the chefs on the school directory, strange). Walk to the locker room. Michael Pappas, a friend of mine here, gets a good morning, how are ya doing, and I enter the locker room. Imagine a dorm room. Add 60 3-foot tall lockers, stacked on top of each other, and 20 grown men at one time, and you've arrived at the LCB locker rooms. It is a lot like twister, arriving to your locker, jostling, reaching, ducking, and a few elbows thrown in. Clothes off, School clothes on. Alas, it is only a Demo, no knives, hat, or handkerchief needed, but a notebook is. 3 hours of lecture on the proper cooking technique of a potato later, it is finished. If you're lucky, the day is through until tomorrow. But if you're not, Practical awaits in less then 14 minutes. I run back to my locker, grab my knives, towel, apron, hat, handkerchief and my notes, a Tupperware, and a scale, and wait to go to class. While outside, I check my pocket for the euro, no dice. The tea is looking quite delicious today. I turn to a classmate, "watch my stuff?" and sprint back in to the entangled mass that is the locker room. I find the change, walk out, buy my tea, and drink it in a matter of two gulps; it was one of those demos..

Dressed and ready, I enter the kitchen. Each of us our own 4 top, and oven, and granite counter. Racks, and fridges are sometimes shared, so you better get your stuff out quickly.

Chef enters. Mind you this is a completely different chef then demo, with a completely different style. He could be more relaxed, not making you chop the onion so fine, or, he could be a stickler for tradition, watching your every move. Needless to say, I prefer the former. "Allez, Allez" screams the chef, "Lets go." And were off, breaking down chickens, vegetables, fish, veal, you name it. 2 and a half hours we have. The first 40 minutes are the slowest, a lot of peeling, slicing, dicing, and starting of sauces, jus, and other sorts of delicious moisturizers. An hour in, sweat is starting, I can't find my paring knife, where is it. Oh, it’s inside the chickens butt, wonderful. "Mr. Brian, you make mistake." "Que Chef?" Then a smattering of French erupts out of him, something along the lines of too much water in my sauce pan for my carrots, or it could be about the French Revolution, I thought I heard émeute de pain in there somewhere, But, I think not. Chef pours my water out, and adds literally half a stick of butter.. Gaping at him, Chef says "C'est Bon" its good, and moves down the line to chastise Mitsuko's use of her chef’s knife to peel a carrot. 2 hours down, time to finish, add my cream, butter, and salt to everything, taste, and plate. While chef is eating other people's food, "You make clean" as one chef put it. I scrub, wipe dry, and scrub again with vinegar, every surface you used. When I finish, I help clean the people around me clean, or eat, or wrap my food up for the dishwasher, because I cannot eat an entire chicken by myself, again. General comments from chef. "Plus sel, Réduisez plus, C'est bon, Pourquoi vous n'avez pas utilisé de chinois?" Clean my serving plate, and I leave. I undress; pack my bags, and head home, awaiting me is another day. Sleep, and wake up because Even Fiffles told me I couldn't play today because I had to cook a duck.

Days Off: My time spent away from the kitchen..

Most days, I wake up, go to class for 3 to 6 hours and then I am done. For the first few weeks, I came home, got some food,  and slept, because i was not used to the time yet, but starting last week, I began to walk. Walking the markets, to the city center or anywhere else i could find. It's a beautiful city, and it helps to shed the few kg's I've gained since I've been here. Brainerd, Minnesota isn't quite the cultural capital of the world, so this is quite new to me. On one block alone i see Gyro Stands (My favorite), Crepe Stands (My new favorite), Vietnamese, Japonese, Korean, Thai (All members of my favorite continent of food stuffs), and the always present bakeries, butchers, candy and random food. Then there are the key makers, the shoe fixers, the stores that sell EVERYTHING, literally. I saw a vacuum next to socks, next to apples, that were stacked above laundry detergent.. Then there are the stores that sell keys and shoes, and fix EVERYTHING... Today I start something I've wanted to do since I decided to go to Le Cordon Bleu. Every off day, I will walk the entirety of a major Rue (road/street) in Paris. Today, I chose Rue Vaugirard (Vo-Jeyhad). This one is easy since i live on it, it measures almost the complete length of The 15th Arrondissement, (The section of Paris in which I live, map to follow) and stretches all the way to the National Senate, and Luxembourg Gardens. Mostly residential, with thousands of restaurants, it can be quite monotonous, with cafe upon cafe, brasserie (bar) upon brasserie, but it is very interesting. At about the 3 mile mark, you arrive in the Latin Quarter, in the 5th Arrondisement. Just after taking a left at the end of Vagirard, on Boulevard Raspail, another one of Paris' famous streets. A right on Boulevard St. Germain, you arrive in the heart of the Latin Quarter, a very different type of Paris, full of students, musicians and ex-pats. It was home to some of Paris' most famous universities, that have since moved to better, more spacious areas. I think I shall go back here tomorrow, after a little more research. Thanks for reading. Bonne Journée! (Have a good day)

When life smacks you in the face, cook your ass off.

There's a saying that i've seen a lot lately, in different usages, and phrases. It is "When one thing is seeming to go perfect, all other things go awry" or something like it. I don't usually buy into sayings like this, until now. But, this blog is not just about me, it is about my adventures in this crazy place, so I will leave the above sentences for another time. The week started on Monday with a poached chicken recipe. Poached in chicken stock, and finished with a rissotto like rice preparation, and sauce supreme, basically cream and chicken stock. Very boring, and very easy. Needless to say, it went well, although my rice was under seasoned. Then, midweek, we began learning about doughs, pasta, flatbread and the like, and were asked to make a pissaladiere, or onion tart.. (Pizza without sauce or cheese) Again, very easy, but I was proud of my dough when the chef poked it and said "Very nice Mr. Brian, I am impressed" A pita like dough, topped with melted onions, tomatoes, capers, olives and anchovies, its a very mediterranean take on the Pizza, and it turned out well. After moving my things, whispering criticism in my ear, and moving me about the kitchen, the chef approached me after class and said "Some chef's from america are shit, and some are great, and you, you'll be one of those, with a kick in the ass" with a wink, he left, and I knew I was where I belonged. Tomorrow, quiche, and puff pastry.. I thought there was a reason I didn't take pastry courses.. Oh well..

Week 1: Sights, Soups, and Not Enough Salt

With week one under my belt, and my laundry and knife set under my arm, I walk the 1 km back to my apartment. Passing boulangers, barbers, and the ever present row of taxis, I think, "what have I gotten myself into?" This is as far from Brainerd, MN, as my local cantina, and their very famous "Flautas" ;) are from a Pueblo street market. The sites, sounds, and smells surrounding me are nothing like the cool breeze, fresh air, and arbor like settings I grew up in, and became accustomed to. When I left, my town had 5,555 people. the 15th arrondissement has over 1 million. So its safe to say I'm out of my element on this brief walk home every day. But then morning comes the next day, and something changes, I'm in my Chef's whites, learning about fumet's, and écumer, and other sexy french words. I am at home. The heat of the kitchen, the Michelin starred teachers, the funny hats, all things that make me happy. The food is basic, but we must start somewhere. A simple vegetable soup, with not enough salt, Lemon Sole with Sauce Bercy, and not enough salt, nonetheless, I am happy in the kitchen. Sure the scenery is great, I take any right turn coming home from school, and I see the Eiffel Tower in all of its glory. I have made friends from each continent, which is also great, but I'm here for one thing. Tomorrow we Pocher, so tonight, I must sleep.