Well, we are a lot more tired than we realized, and slept right through the food market tour this morning. Andy said he woke up when our phone rang at 7:35. It was Emmanuel, and Andy told him we weren't feeling well and would catch up with the group at the cooking school after breakfast. He went back to sleep until about nine, and then woke me.
I think I'm just tired -- I've been seventeen days on the road now, after all. The extra sleep was good and I felt OK when I got up. Andy, however, felt lousy with a sinus headache, sore throat and the beginnings of a congested cough. I gave him some of my Alka Seltzer Plus Cold tablets, and by the time he'd showered and dressed, he was feeling better. We are bummed we missed the market tour, but we needed the rest.
Linda and Bill flew into Lyon from London last night, and we met them for breakfast at the hotel buffet. They loved Bath but Bill hated driving in England. They have rented another car, though, and are driving up to Autoire, a little village about four hours from here. Bill expects driving in France, on the right side of the road, to be a lot easier than driving on the wrong side of the road in England. They'll be back in Lyon on Wednesday and then we'll all head to Barcelona Thursday morning.
We had a nice catch-up with them over breakfast, and then caught a taxi to the L'atelier des Chefs to meet up with our group for our second cooking lesson.
It was a real lesson this time, and I was impressed with our teaching chef. He is in his 40s, about five nine with a close-cropped beard, bald head, and big limpid dark brown eyes. And a lot of patience and good humor with all of us crowding around.
First, we learned how to cut vegetables like a French chef. He showed us how he uses a peeler to shave off thin strips of carrot, and then cuts them into very thin matchstick pieces. He peeled a torpedo-shaped shallot down to the root end, which he left intact while slicing the shallot in half lengthwise, and cut it into very thin long slices. Finally he cut off the root and discarded it. Leaving the root intact holds the shallot together and makes it easier to slice, he said. He had us cut a green apple into very thin julienne slices. Then he showed us how he wanted us to peel large whole raw shrimp ("break the heads off first, then peel them from the bottom side up"), devein them and chop them into quarter-inch slices.
When we were done with all that, he gave us each a few squares of what felt like cellophane. It was cooking film. He had us put one cut-up shrimp on the bottom, cover the shrimp with some of the very thin slices of shallot, carrot and apple, top it all with about a half teaspoon of a salted curry seasoning, and drizzle two tablespoons of coconut milk over it. Then we gathered up the edges of the cooking film and tied a string around it, to make a little bag of the shrimp and veggies. He said the bags would go in the oven at about 325 degrees for about fifteen minutes.
He taught us how to make the perfect pastry cream, using the saucepan full of water and the flat-bottomed flared stainless steel bowl. He beat the whole eggs with the sugar in the stainless steel bowl, gradually added in the flour, and then the milk. We cooked it over boiling water, whisking constantly, until it began to thicken. Then he added some vanilla powder (not liquid extract, but powder) and mixed that in well, took the bowl off the heat and added at least a half cup of butter, pat by pat, letting the heat of the custard melt each pat and whisking it well in before adding the next.
After he transferred the pastry cream into a bowl and placed a sheet of plastic over it to keep it from forming a skin, we got to scrape the bowl clean. That cream was so good I would have snitched a big spoonful from the bowl he put in the frig if I could have gotten away with it.
He lightly toasted several sheets of phyllo dough in the oven, flattening the phyllo layers between two cookie sheets, to make them extra crisp. (That's when I figured out he was making Napoleons.)
And I got to make the caramel sauce for the Napoleons. A sauté pan with about a cup of white sugar slowly cooked over medium heat, until the sugar began to melt and bubble at the edges. When the edges are well melted and beginning to brown, it's time to lift up the pan and swirl the melted sugar around to mix it and get all the sugar to melt evenly. He wouldn't let me use a spoon, "because when you stir, it creates cold spots and the sugar clumps." So I swirled and swirled until the sugar was all melted and golden brown. Then we added about a quarter cup of butter, and swirled that well into the melted sugar. Finally we added about a cup of cream.
At this point I was allowed to stir, There was some clumping, but "just keep stirring, the clumps will work themselves out," and they did. I ended up with a lovely thick and smooth caramel sauce.
Then we made a risotto, using the same basic technique I learned from Biba Caggiano's cookbooks, only our teaching chef used olive oil and shallots instead of butter and onions. After the wine and broth had been cooked into the risotto, he had us add about a teaspoon of squid ink, which turned the risotto almost black and gave it a delicate shellfish flavor.
Then he turned to the cod filets. There was one for each class member, about the size of a pack of cigarettes, and one and a quarter inches thick. And very fresh. I could detect absolutely no "fishy" odor. He heated about two tablespoons of olive oil in a sauté pan until it was very hot, and dropped the filets into the hot oil. We let them cook for five minutes before turning them over to reveal nicely browned and flaking fish. He turned off the burner and took the fish off the stove, setting the pans aside.
He went back to the risotto, heated it up again, and swirled in about a quarter cup of butter, and then a half cup of grated parmigiana cheese.
By now the little shrimp bags have been cooking in the oven, are done and now sitting on the counter, steaming hot. We were all sent to our big long table with one of these bags on a small plate, and a glass of wine.
That thing was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The shrimp was sweet and succulent, and the onions, apples and carrots were tender and added just the right texture and sweet tangy flavor along with the coconut milk and salted curry seasoning. The sauce was so good we were mopping up every bit with good crusty bread. Andy and I could easily have eaten two or three of them.
But we had to go finish preparing our cod and risotto. Our chef had the cod back on the burner, and was melting small scoops of butter creamed with herbs and seaweed in with the cod. We basted the filets with the olive oil, herbed butter and fish juices for about three minutes, and then took the pans over to our dinner plates. A small mound of risotto had been dropped onto to each plate, and now we spooned the cod filets on top of the risotto, drizzled some of the cooking sauces over, and garnished it all with a sprig of parsley and a thin slice of lemon. The whitish cod and dark risotto made an especially attractive presentation with the garnish.
Then we got to eat it, with some more wine, of course. It was absolutely excellent. The cod was light and flaky and perfectly seasoned with the herbed butter, and the risotto was perfect.
While we were savoring our perfect cod and risotto, another cooking class had come in, and were making up our pastry cream, caramel sauce and toasted phyllo layers into Napoleons. I could have used more pastry cream and caramel sauce in mine, but it was delicious anyway, and now I know exactly how to make Napoleans.
Andy liked our shrimp appetizer so much he went into the cooking school store and bought a big roll of the cooking film. It's a great technique that will work well with scallops and just about any kind of fish, even chicken or other meats. I told Andy I am sure I can use parchment paper if we can't find the cooking film at home, but he was determined to have it and willing to pack it. (I can guess what he's going to want for dinner very soon after we get home.)
And again, through the entire lesson, Andy was my eyes and ears, leading me to wherever the action was, making sure I knew exactly what was going on and that I had everything I needed for whatever job I was assigned to.
Another walking tour was on the agenda for the afternoon, but Andy and I decided to pass and get some rest before dinner. We thought we were on our own for dinner tonight, but Emmanuel announced a last-minute change and said we were going to get an extra dinner on the tour, at Paul Bocuse's cooking school.
After our wonderful lunch, I wasn't sure I'd be up for dinner, but fortunately the French eat dinner late, and I had my appetite back by the time we were served dinner around 8:30. We started off with a purée of eggplant with a mix of seasonings I can't describe, topped with strips of seared ahi tuna and garnished with capers. It was so good I was hoping Andy wouldn't like his so I could eat his, too.
"The fish is raw," he told me when he was describing it to me.
"Andy, the term is 'rare,' not 'raw.'"
"Yeah well it's raw."
But he surprised me by eating all of his, raw fish and all.
Our main course was breast of duck, served with greens, a few small potatoes, and a whole pear that had been peeled, cored, and poached in spiced red wine. It was our first real taste of duck, and we loved it. The duck was tender, juicy and full of robust flavor. The poached pear was the perfect accompaniment with the tangy spicy red wine sauce. I detected coriander, cardamom, cumin, allspice and cinnamon. It was an inspired combination, and we both ate every bite.
After I cleaned my plate I was ready to die a happy death with the rest of my wine and then maybe a decaf cappuccino, when we were served the dessert. That dessert was like getting to heaven without having to die first.
It was a profiterole (cream puff), that had been dusted with specks of hazelnut brittle, and filled with a rich and silky caramel pastry cream. (I think it was simply a good pastry cream with caramel sauce incorporated into it.) More hazelnut brittle had been sprinkled into the cream, and the whole thing was served with a small scoop of vanilla gelato on the side.
I do think that dessert is my all-time best I've ever tasted, and I'm sure I can recreate it at home. I already know how to make ice cream, cream puffs and pastry cream, and after today's cooking lesson I can make a mean caramel sauce too. And the nut brittle part should be a piece of cake.
It was late when we got back to the hotel, almost eleven. Our day doesn't start tomorrow until 10:30, so we'll sleep in a bit. Tomorrow is a field day, a trip to Oing (pronounced "wen" -- the G is silent), a tiny little village about an hour from here, and then a castle and winery.
Short shots:
Butter:
Yep, the French use a lot of butter. However, I have yet to encounter any shortening, margarine or other hydrogenated oil. The cooking school kitchen pantry contains no corn oil, no Karo or Mrs. Butterworth's syrups, no Cool Whip, no CheezWhiz, no Hamburger Helper, no cake mixes, no marshmallow cream, no Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, no Entenmann's awful slimy icing-covered pastries, no Rainbo or Wonder Bread or any other Kleenex bread, absolutely nothing of any of that ilk.
I have seen no soda pop served with any meals here.
And so far the only fat people I've seen here are us Americans.
I think the French are on to something.
Wine:
And yep, they drink a lot of wine. But I notice the wine here is not as strongly alcoholic as California wines. The wines I've had here are lighter and really do go very well with food.
I think I'm just tired -- I've been seventeen days on the road now, after all. The extra sleep was good and I felt OK when I got up. Andy, however, felt lousy with a sinus headache, sore throat and the beginnings of a congested cough. I gave him some of my Alka Seltzer Plus Cold tablets, and by the time he'd showered and dressed, he was feeling better. We are bummed we missed the market tour, but we needed the rest.
Linda and Bill flew into Lyon from London last night, and we met them for breakfast at the hotel buffet. They loved Bath but Bill hated driving in England. They have rented another car, though, and are driving up to Autoire, a little village about four hours from here. Bill expects driving in France, on the right side of the road, to be a lot easier than driving on the wrong side of the road in England. They'll be back in Lyon on Wednesday and then we'll all head to Barcelona Thursday morning.
We had a nice catch-up with them over breakfast, and then caught a taxi to the L'atelier des Chefs to meet up with our group for our second cooking lesson.
It was a real lesson this time, and I was impressed with our teaching chef. He is in his 40s, about five nine with a close-cropped beard, bald head, and big limpid dark brown eyes. And a lot of patience and good humor with all of us crowding around.
First, we learned how to cut vegetables like a French chef. He showed us how he uses a peeler to shave off thin strips of carrot, and then cuts them into very thin matchstick pieces. He peeled a torpedo-shaped shallot down to the root end, which he left intact while slicing the shallot in half lengthwise, and cut it into very thin long slices. Finally he cut off the root and discarded it. Leaving the root intact holds the shallot together and makes it easier to slice, he said. He had us cut a green apple into very thin julienne slices. Then he showed us how he wanted us to peel large whole raw shrimp ("break the heads off first, then peel them from the bottom side up"), devein them and chop them into quarter-inch slices.
When we were done with all that, he gave us each a few squares of what felt like cellophane. It was cooking film. He had us put one cut-up shrimp on the bottom, cover the shrimp with some of the very thin slices of shallot, carrot and apple, top it all with about a half teaspoon of a salted curry seasoning, and drizzle two tablespoons of coconut milk over it. Then we gathered up the edges of the cooking film and tied a string around it, to make a little bag of the shrimp and veggies. He said the bags would go in the oven at about 325 degrees for about fifteen minutes.
He taught us how to make the perfect pastry cream, using the saucepan full of water and the flat-bottomed flared stainless steel bowl. He beat the whole eggs with the sugar in the stainless steel bowl, gradually added in the flour, and then the milk. We cooked it over boiling water, whisking constantly, until it began to thicken. Then he added some vanilla powder (not liquid extract, but powder) and mixed that in well, took the bowl off the heat and added at least a half cup of butter, pat by pat, letting the heat of the custard melt each pat and whisking it well in before adding the next.
After he transferred the pastry cream into a bowl and placed a sheet of plastic over it to keep it from forming a skin, we got to scrape the bowl clean. That cream was so good I would have snitched a big spoonful from the bowl he put in the frig if I could have gotten away with it.
He lightly toasted several sheets of phyllo dough in the oven, flattening the phyllo layers between two cookie sheets, to make them extra crisp. (That's when I figured out he was making Napoleons.)
And I got to make the caramel sauce for the Napoleons. A sauté pan with about a cup of white sugar slowly cooked over medium heat, until the sugar began to melt and bubble at the edges. When the edges are well melted and beginning to brown, it's time to lift up the pan and swirl the melted sugar around to mix it and get all the sugar to melt evenly. He wouldn't let me use a spoon, "because when you stir, it creates cold spots and the sugar clumps." So I swirled and swirled until the sugar was all melted and golden brown. Then we added about a quarter cup of butter, and swirled that well into the melted sugar. Finally we added about a cup of cream.
At this point I was allowed to stir, There was some clumping, but "just keep stirring, the clumps will work themselves out," and they did. I ended up with a lovely thick and smooth caramel sauce.
Then we made a risotto, using the same basic technique I learned from Biba Caggiano's cookbooks, only our teaching chef used olive oil and shallots instead of butter and onions. After the wine and broth had been cooked into the risotto, he had us add about a teaspoon of squid ink, which turned the risotto almost black and gave it a delicate shellfish flavor.
Then he turned to the cod filets. There was one for each class member, about the size of a pack of cigarettes, and one and a quarter inches thick. And very fresh. I could detect absolutely no "fishy" odor. He heated about two tablespoons of olive oil in a sauté pan until it was very hot, and dropped the filets into the hot oil. We let them cook for five minutes before turning them over to reveal nicely browned and flaking fish. He turned off the burner and took the fish off the stove, setting the pans aside.
He went back to the risotto, heated it up again, and swirled in about a quarter cup of butter, and then a half cup of grated parmigiana cheese.
By now the little shrimp bags have been cooking in the oven, are done and now sitting on the counter, steaming hot. We were all sent to our big long table with one of these bags on a small plate, and a glass of wine.
That thing was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The shrimp was sweet and succulent, and the onions, apples and carrots were tender and added just the right texture and sweet tangy flavor along with the coconut milk and salted curry seasoning. The sauce was so good we were mopping up every bit with good crusty bread. Andy and I could easily have eaten two or three of them.
But we had to go finish preparing our cod and risotto. Our chef had the cod back on the burner, and was melting small scoops of butter creamed with herbs and seaweed in with the cod. We basted the filets with the olive oil, herbed butter and fish juices for about three minutes, and then took the pans over to our dinner plates. A small mound of risotto had been dropped onto to each plate, and now we spooned the cod filets on top of the risotto, drizzled some of the cooking sauces over, and garnished it all with a sprig of parsley and a thin slice of lemon. The whitish cod and dark risotto made an especially attractive presentation with the garnish.
Then we got to eat it, with some more wine, of course. It was absolutely excellent. The cod was light and flaky and perfectly seasoned with the herbed butter, and the risotto was perfect.
While we were savoring our perfect cod and risotto, another cooking class had come in, and were making up our pastry cream, caramel sauce and toasted phyllo layers into Napoleons. I could have used more pastry cream and caramel sauce in mine, but it was delicious anyway, and now I know exactly how to make Napoleans.
Andy liked our shrimp appetizer so much he went into the cooking school store and bought a big roll of the cooking film. It's a great technique that will work well with scallops and just about any kind of fish, even chicken or other meats. I told Andy I am sure I can use parchment paper if we can't find the cooking film at home, but he was determined to have it and willing to pack it. (I can guess what he's going to want for dinner very soon after we get home.)
And again, through the entire lesson, Andy was my eyes and ears, leading me to wherever the action was, making sure I knew exactly what was going on and that I had everything I needed for whatever job I was assigned to.
Another walking tour was on the agenda for the afternoon, but Andy and I decided to pass and get some rest before dinner. We thought we were on our own for dinner tonight, but Emmanuel announced a last-minute change and said we were going to get an extra dinner on the tour, at Paul Bocuse's cooking school.
After our wonderful lunch, I wasn't sure I'd be up for dinner, but fortunately the French eat dinner late, and I had my appetite back by the time we were served dinner around 8:30. We started off with a purée of eggplant with a mix of seasonings I can't describe, topped with strips of seared ahi tuna and garnished with capers. It was so good I was hoping Andy wouldn't like his so I could eat his, too.
"The fish is raw," he told me when he was describing it to me.
"Andy, the term is 'rare,' not 'raw.'"
"Yeah well it's raw."
But he surprised me by eating all of his, raw fish and all.
Our main course was breast of duck, served with greens, a few small potatoes, and a whole pear that had been peeled, cored, and poached in spiced red wine. It was our first real taste of duck, and we loved it. The duck was tender, juicy and full of robust flavor. The poached pear was the perfect accompaniment with the tangy spicy red wine sauce. I detected coriander, cardamom, cumin, allspice and cinnamon. It was an inspired combination, and we both ate every bite.
After I cleaned my plate I was ready to die a happy death with the rest of my wine and then maybe a decaf cappuccino, when we were served the dessert. That dessert was like getting to heaven without having to die first.
It was a profiterole (cream puff), that had been dusted with specks of hazelnut brittle, and filled with a rich and silky caramel pastry cream. (I think it was simply a good pastry cream with caramel sauce incorporated into it.) More hazelnut brittle had been sprinkled into the cream, and the whole thing was served with a small scoop of vanilla gelato on the side.
I do think that dessert is my all-time best I've ever tasted, and I'm sure I can recreate it at home. I already know how to make ice cream, cream puffs and pastry cream, and after today's cooking lesson I can make a mean caramel sauce too. And the nut brittle part should be a piece of cake.
It was late when we got back to the hotel, almost eleven. Our day doesn't start tomorrow until 10:30, so we'll sleep in a bit. Tomorrow is a field day, a trip to Oing (pronounced "wen" -- the G is silent), a tiny little village about an hour from here, and then a castle and winery.
Short shots:
Butter:
Yep, the French use a lot of butter. However, I have yet to encounter any shortening, margarine or other hydrogenated oil. The cooking school kitchen pantry contains no corn oil, no Karo or Mrs. Butterworth's syrups, no Cool Whip, no CheezWhiz, no Hamburger Helper, no cake mixes, no marshmallow cream, no Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup, no Entenmann's awful slimy icing-covered pastries, no Rainbo or Wonder Bread or any other Kleenex bread, absolutely nothing of any of that ilk.
I have seen no soda pop served with any meals here.
And so far the only fat people I've seen here are us Americans.
I think the French are on to something.
Wine:
And yep, they drink a lot of wine. But I notice the wine here is not as strongly alcoholic as California wines. The wines I've had here are lighter and really do go very well with food.
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