Snow can fool us into believe winter is here. When really it’s not.

And even after it came and went, the sharp winds still  gives us goosebumps no matter how many layers of mittens, hats and scarves we’re wearing.

I’ve found a relief in the shape of a hot bowl of soup.

Slightly spicy, full of flavour, and damn good.

So good in fact, that I’ve made it four times in just a short eight days. Just when the sun goes down, my flat starts to smell of ginger and lemongrass.

Evidently, it’s always too dark to take a picture. But, who needs it anyway. You have my promise.

Make this – or as a matter of fact, any of the listed things below (which I see as a winter edition of my culinary obsessions chronicle). And feel better. Warmer. And possibly, happier.

Oh and while I’m at it, I’m wondering what are the foods that help you make it through winter? Please tell me. We can never have enough comfort in our kitchens.

And for the record, I realise it’s technically still autumn, but my frozen cheeks tell me it feels like winter. Hope you stick with me on this one.

One. Thai chicken soup. Grab a couple of chicken thighs, with all the trimmings: bone, skin and organic. Pan fry the chicken, skin-side down until golden, flip around and deglaze with a litre of water and a mini-can of coconut cream.
Add two spoonful of sweet chilli sauce, a dash of toasted sesame oil, and soy sauce. Squeeze the juice from one lemon, and bring to the boil. In the meantime, roughly chop the soft end of a lemongrass stick and grate a fat piece of ginger. Add o the soup. Simmer for 20 minutes. Remove the chicken thighs; then using two forks, shred the meat from the bones and skin. Place back into the pan and add a handful of each: frozen peas, rocket, and rice noodles. Divide in between two bowls, and top with chopped red chilli peppers, two sliced spring onions and fresh coriander. Eat with a spoon when still piping hot. Preferably with good company and a movie.

Two. Eggnog lattes. Be lazy and go to the closest starbucks. Order a venti eggnog latte. And burn your tongue while drinking it. Or make it at home. Bring 250g of milk to the boil along with 2 cinnamon sticks, a couple of cardamom pods and a little grated nutmeg. Add a dash of vanilla extract, the one with the seeds. In a bowl, mix 2 eggs yolks with 50g of caster sugar. Strain the boiling milk onto the eggs, mixing as you do so. Then place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and cook, stiring all the time until the anglaise reaches 84°C. Add a double shot of espresso or a heaped teaspoon of your favourite instant coffee. Drink. From the comfort of your own home. And perhaps, with a dash or two of rhum.

Three. Roast garlic. Preheat the oven to 200°C. Line a baking tray with foil. Take four heads of garlic and chop their top off by a centimetre or two. Place on the prepared baking tray. Drizzle with oil and season with Maldon sea salt. Cover loosely with foil and bake for 40 minutes. Make sure you have some bread close by.

Four. Gü chocolate banoffee. Walk to your kitchen. Open the fridge and reach the black Gü chocolate banoffee package. Open with your hands. Grab a spoon, preferably small. Lift the foild cover away. Eat the chocolate layer first. Then sink your spoon into the goo. And wonder if they’re is anything sweeter – literally and figuratively – in this world. Don’t even think about having the second one.

Five. Molly’s waffles. Before you go to bed, visit Molly. Read her words. Fell in love and in hunger. Then make the recipe. The first one, Marion Cunningham’s raised waffles. Except, switch the dry yeast for 5g of fresh yeast. Because your heart tells you to. Sleep. Wake up half and hour before your alarm goes off. Cook the waffles. And eat plain, thinking about sending Molly a thank you note later.

Thank you Molly. x

From the day I ate riz-au-lait for the first time in years, to the moment I thought it could make a pretty good ice-cream.
From the point I actually boiled some viallone nano rice in full-fat milk with a plump bean of vanilla, to the time I realised it would probably end up in a disaster.

But to avoid unnecessary pain, let me just sum up the facts for you.

I knew I wanted to make riz-au-lait ice-cream.
I knew the rice grains would freeze to solid pieces.
I knew it would make the tasting sort of awkward.

I just didn’t expect it to taste so good.

So after sharing the tub with a friend (somewhat embarassed because what we were eating – using the biggest spoons we could find – felt like uncooked rice in the most delicious rice pudding flavoured ice-cream), I went the easy way and cooked more rice – still in full-fat milk.

This time, I strained it. And made a – smooth – ice-cream out of it. And served it with a terrine of baked apple, some crisp cinnamon crumble, and a touch of caramel foam.

The plate ended up empty. Mostly because of this face. Rather evidently, I also took some pictures of the moment just before he grabbed his spoon. So I might write up about this sometime soon; when summer will be over.

An endless beach, with crab hunting and kisses in the wind. An unplanned slumber party, with a bed sheet fort and a torch. A note found rolled under my bed, with ink smears. A sneak at my feet, with a flying kite. A sip of the most perfect bloody mary, with horseradish.

And today, as I paused during service to explore the surroundings, I wished I could have stopped the time and photographed every move of the kitchen.

Instead, I quickly shot the delicious Scottish lobster thermidor and went back to my dessert-plating action.

I can eat the same thing everyday: breakfast, lunch and dinner; and still feel happy about what I eat. Obviously, those things will change every now and then.

This habit must come from my dad who has been known to have paella for lunch for a month before enrolling in a mussel and chips extravaganza for another thirty days.

At the moment, I’m in love with the five listed below. Now I’m curious, what are your current five favourites to eat?

One. Guacamole. Slice a ripe avocado, place it in a bowl. Squeeze out the juice from one lemon. Mix in some finely sliced red chili pepper, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and rings of spring onions. Sprinkle with a little maldon sea salt. Top with fresh coriander leaves, slighlty torn.

Two. Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice-cream. Bike to the closest convenience store. Bike home. Grab a tablespoon. Open the tub.

Three. Salt and pepper prawns. Mix rice flour with a good dose of maldon sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Roll a handfull of prawns (with their shells on) into the flour. Heat a pan of oil. Deep-fry until golden brown. Top with sliced spring onion. Eat with your fingers.

Four. Banana pancakes. Combine 150g flour, a little sugar, one teaspoon of baking powder, half a teaspoon of baking soda. Mix in 250g milk (full fat, or I might as well go back to bed) and one egg. Fold in two ripe bananas, slightly mashed. Cook on a well buttered pan, flip over until lovely. Have with a drizzle of dark maple syrup.

Five. Find a watermelon, preferably ice-cold. Make sure not to drop it on the floor. Using a serated knife, slice a big fat wedge. Allow the juices to splash on your face.

Run to the downstairs kitchen. Tell Elliot – the pastry commis – to put a prune tart into the oven. Grab a large rectangle plate. Pipe a thin line of wine reduction. Drain a prune marinated in spiced wine. Place it on the plate. Take the roasted nibbed almonds box. Sprinkle a couple of them onto the plate for the Armagnac ice cream to sit on them later. Wait for the prune tart to be fully baked.

And observe the guys around. One is plating some salmon. Another is deep frying. Another is making soup. Another is cleaning the edges of a shiny white plate. The chef is checking the plates before they are sent.

Service please!

Elliot brings the soufflé tart. It looks like a golden cloud. I sprinkle one of its halves with icing sugar, then carefully place it on the far-left of the prepared plated. A quenelle of Armagnac ice cream, and a loud:

Service please! Table ten.

At the Capital Hotel, the downstairs kitchen could be described in a few words: hot, skilled and vibrant.
Plates are coming from the different sections on a matter of seconds. Waiters keep popping to call for starters, mains and desserts.

But as much as I love the excitement and rush, I must admit, I have a crush for those three-nights-a-week that I spent in the upstairs kitchen.

Up there, things are different. Quiet and slow.

Even when there is a party to be sent, we always do it in a restricted team. Three chefs, and one pastry chef.
All of a sudden, the usually-still room turns into a miniature version of the downstairs kitchen. We clear the central work plan, arrange plates, get that burner working, close the doors for maximum heat so the plates won’t go cold.

Then I hear a: desserts in ten minutes!

I have all the components for the prune tart ready. Red wine reduction, marinated prunes, isomalt sugar, Armagnac ice-cream.

The tarts themselves are in the oven. It’s time for some plating action. I un-clingfilm the pile of plates that have been prepared for me and start drawing lines of reduction across all of them.

You know the rest already…

PS. The pictures were taken with my film Pentax ME Super, which seems to be my camera of choice for the restaurant.

Believe it or not, but I’ve made pâte à choux twice in the past couple of days; and nope, no flat little choux buns were involved. This might not sound special; but trust me – if you’re unaware of my choux-bun-helplessness – it is.

Choux pastry is something I love to make. I mean don’t you dream about not feeling your own arm anymore, because you’ve just beaten three whole eggs into a thickish dough, which tends to split as you do so? Come on! Admit it, you love it too.
Well, I do. But choux buns. Oh no; these definitely don’t love me back. They probably even hate me; and that’s a massive understatement.

We all know how the story ends. On a random day, I decide to overcome this feeling, persuading myself that choux buns do actually love me. After all, there just made of flour, milk, water, salt, butter and – breathe – eggs.
So, yes, I make pâte à choux. It looks sleek and pretty, and has the most wonderful smell. I gently pipe it onto a lovely baking sheet. And bake. And cry.

During my whole life, I might have gotten choux buns right once or not twice. Not a single time more. So well, after giving up for a year, I made it again. Thanks to the NY Times magazine – yeah, finally a two-way relationship!

When I spotted the recipe for herbed fritters, my heart felt quite excited. How could fromage blanc and chives folded into pâte à choux then fried could taste bad? And, perhaps more importantly, how could I possibly failed that?
Frying. This is like totally different from baking. Three different letters, and a couple of litres of oil later, I found myself dropping little balls of the most beautiful dough ever into some bubbling greasiness. It felt good. Quite dangerous –yes – but I’m wild and fearless, so that doesn’t count.

Anyway, since I got such terrific results, I decided to love the NY Times even more. And even got the idea to make one recipe from it every week. Oh, I know, those don’t looks as yummy as the frosted cake and luscious tart I got you used to; but well, they pretty much have the same calorie content!

Choux croustimoelleux au fromage blanc et à la ciboulette
Adapted from the NY Times.

This is quite straightforward a recipe. If you know how to make pâte à choux, then you’re done. And it happens to actually be true as well if you don’t know a thing about choux.

You first make the pâte à choux. Heat the milk, water and butter together, then throw in the flour and salt in one go. Now using a wooden spoon, mix the dough like mad until it forms a ball. Finally mix in the eggs, one at a time. Here I have a couple of things to add: 1) you needn’t a stand mixer, keep using your wooden spoon. And 2) you might not need the entire third egg, so what I advise you to do is to crack it into a small bowl, mix it with a fork until smooth and slowly pour half ot it onto the dough. If it feels right, add more. If not, throw the remaining egg mixture away.

Once the dough is made, it should be used immediately, so I can only recommend heating the oil before you even start making the dough.
Making the fritters is just a matter of folding: some fromage blanc – which you can substitute with ricotta, a handful of chopped chives, and freshly ground pepper.

Then comes the frying. Be careful. I decided to pipe the dough into the hot*hot oil. Basically, I filled my piping bags with the dough, squeezed it over the oil and cut it – using my tiny pair of scissors – to form little balls.
Oh and yes, while I’m at it. I don’t own a thermometer that goes high enough in temperature, so I just rely to the dip-it test; i.e. spoon a little of the dough and se it it pops up and float. If it does, the oil is hot enough; falling that just wait for an extra couple of minutes before trying again.

Before I start I should warn you. When I’m sick, I love to complain. And well, as my body temperature has now reached 39.7°C, I guess I wouldn’t be wrong if I said I am indeed ill. For the third time in less than a month.
I’m really starting to wonder where the heck my lucky-start has gone.
Note: you, yes you know who you are, who have stolen *my* star. Please bring it back. Right now.

Does anyone care about the fact that I’m so sick I can’t move from my bed (only slightly exaggerating here)? Hmmm not really. I know you want sophisticated desserts. And eye-catching entremets. And sweet tarts. And fluffy cakes. And trust me, I want them too. But right now only soups and savoury comfort food seem to be right. Foodbeam might turn into soupbeam. How yummy is that?

Today, while the pain killers were slowly making their job – giving me a couple of hours of relied, I made what appeared to be the best for me. Something with honey. To soothe my sore throat, you know. Something with rosemary. Known, along with thyme, as being a natural anti-bacterial agent. Something with cheese. Just because I love cheese.
It was good. And I’m sure that if I could smell, I would have referred to it as great. I might have to taste it again later during the week, when I’ll finally be better (although, I’m so pessimist right now that I feel like it’s never going to end – never).

By chance, the cake – or loaf cake, in correct English – was a doodle to make. The egg whites are whipped. The egg yolks, honey, butter, rosemary and flour are mixed. The egg whites are folded in. The cheese is eaten and what remains is incorporated into the batter. The loaf is baked and left to cool. The loaf is good.

Cake au miel, romarin et gorgonzola
Adapted from Elle à table.

This loaf is moist and flavourful. Egg whites, baking powder and baking soda are used as leaveners. But its fluffiness mostly comes from the egg whites, so you should take care to whip them until they for firm peaks.
The recipe calls for gorgonzola, but I decided to use gorgonzola-mascarpone cheese since that’s what I had in my fridge. But to be honest, I do think it added pleasing creaminess without cutting too much on the flavour.
The honey isn’t too noticeable. Just enough to bring a great contrast with the saltiness of the cheese.
As you can see from the picture, my loaf quickly became dark on top. SO do not hesitate to cover it with foil after 30 minutes.

Trust in me, just in me
Shut your eyes and trust in me
You can sleep safe and sound
Knowing I am around

Slip into silent slumber
Sail on a silver mist
Slowly and surely your senses
Will cease to resist

Trust in me, just in me
Shut your eyes and trust in me

No guys, I’m totally not trying to eat you. Human flesh just isn’t my thing. Please do not worry.
I need you to trust me though. You must fully trust me. The braised artichokes above might not look good, but believe me I could kill for them. Ok, now you can be scared.

I have to admit that those pictures – the one you see on this post – definitely aren’t my best. But I couldn’t not talk about these to-die-for treats (note: way too many death references here; but I’m fine people). I just couldn’t.

I mean, look at that lemony gooeyness. Now, we’re talking. Soft and fragrant artichokes, very slowly cooked until confits. Again, this is an easy one. Just throw some garlic and halved artichokes in olive oil, cover with boiling water and simmer. Drain. Generously drizzle with lemon juice and olive oil. Voilà.
The recipe which got me inspired is much more complicated; but having had a busy day, I took the effortless way. Rose Carrarini first cooks some carrots, onions and celery; then adds the artichokes and garlic. I told you: infinitely more complicated.

Hopefully, you’ve now trust in me and the next thing you’ll do after reading this will be to:
1. pick some artichokes from your garden (alternatively buy some)
2. peel them
3. halve them
4. cook them
5. eat them
By the way, I am absolutely not manipulating you.

Artichauts confits au citron et à l’ail
Adapted from Rose Carrarini’s Rose Bakery.

These braised artichokes have the perfect texture and flavour. You’ll never see me spend seven euros on preserved coeurs d’artichauts. Never ever.
Here I used some small provençal artichokes, called les violets de Provence [literally, purples from Provence] thanks to their lovely colour.

I like to throw dinner parties from time to time and while some manage to produce the most delicate food to feed their hungry friends, I find it somewhat difficult to create a six-course meal effortlessly.
Definitely not the domestic goddess you’d expect to find in me, aren’t I’m right?

Sure, I love to plan elaborate menus, but then, days pass by and I suddenly freak out when finding out that yes, today is the eight of July and that yes it’s the day friends are supposed to be coming over – at least that’s what the embossed invitation cards said.
I can remember birthdays of folks I was in maternelle with, but I can’t remember that I invited friends for dinner. There seems to be a problem somewhere.

Over the years, this flaw of mine has made risotto my NBF (new best friend).
When it comes to dinner parties, risottos have many many many advantages; so many in fact, that it would be useless to list them. But, well, I made clear that I am useless –too – in some ways, so here I go.
First, it can feed a whole lot of starving and on-the-way-to-get-slightly-too-drunk friends for very little effort. Wait, it might sound like I don’t want to put endeavour in the food I cook for the people I cherish the most; I might not be a perfect hostess but I do have my qualities and good food is part of them. This brings us to the second – and very important – advantage of risottos, which is the fact that they’re downright delicious. Well, that’s unless your friends don’t like rice, but then they wouldn’t be your friends, right? I have friends who don’t like coconut or prawns, I even have a friend who hates both, but as long as she likes rice, I’m fine with it. I’m not *that* picky!
The third thing I love about risotto is how versatile it is. Feel bouncy, go for a citrus risotto; more in a cosy mood, a comforting mushroom risotto will do just fine.

So, this might explain why I’ve developed a strong and reliable risotto recipe I could play around. I thought I had the recipe, you know, the one I was going to keep secret for years and then nicely pass down to my great-grand-children. I was proved wrong.
As I was reading Leith’s vegetarian bible and sticking small pieces of paper in between every other page to bookmark recipes I should try (can you believe I retained more than 200 recipes, but that’s another story), I stumble upon a recipe that immediately appealed to me.
Asparagus, pea and lemon risotto.
I first thought I would twist my base recipe to get the same result. This was before I actually started reading the ingredients list. That recipe called for mascarpone cheese – what a brilliant idea. At that exact moment, I got besotted. I had to try it.

Asparagus, pea and lemon risotto
Adapted from Leith’s vegetarian bible (p. 364).

This risotto is one of my latest food discoveries and definitely a keeper. I’m now close to becoming a mascarpone-cheese-in-risottos addict.
More seriously, this dish is everything you want a risotto to be. It’s full of flavours, it’s creamy, it’s a undemanding. In one word, perfect.

I know, that September isn’t exactly the season for asparagus but I had lovely frozen ones, which were hand-picked last May, sitting in my freezer.
I love how the citrusy note, brought by both lemon juice and zest, complements the slight sweetness of asparagus and peas.
I’m not going to talk about what a wonderful addition the mascarpone is, as it could get on the very-long side; but well, if you have to remember obly one thing from this, make it the mascarpone.

La coupe glacée: pétale de rose et lychee with gaspacho de framboises.

I could share with you my foolproof recipe for a perfect tarte au citron meringuée [lemon meringue tart], my new exciting idea, the lovely places I discovered during my one-week road trip around les Alpilles, the best risotto ever to be made or even my method for flawless pâte sucrée. Yep, I could, but instead I’m spending my mornings at Pierre Hermé’s pastry shop – making pâtes, viennoiseries, sablés and brioches -, and my afternoon wandering around Paris.

Yesterday, I had lunch at Le café La Jatte – a lovely place located on the Jatte Island in Neuilly.
The food was simple yet elegant, with clean and fresh flavours: just the way I love it on a daily basis.

I started with a tartare de saumon d’Ecosse. The salmon was deliciously accompanied with a tangy fennel salad – a perfect match.

The chèvre frais moulé à la cuillère with concombre émincé and pamplemousse à la menthe fraîche was a hit too – ideal for a hot summer day.

Then I had wonderful lasagnes vegetariennes; these vegetarian lasagne had a great smoky flavour (brought by roasting the vegetables, I guess) that balanced the creaminess of the ricotta cheese.
My fellow lunch-er picked the daurade royale grillée, beurre citron-poivre,
pommes de terre roseval, which although scary-looking (am I the only one to find whole fish on the creepy-side?) was utterly delicious.

As a I-want-to-be-a-pastry-chef person, I had to have dessert – to taste, you know.
I chose a very aromatic pêche rôtie served with glace à la vanille Bourbon and amandes caramélisées. The peach, which is roasted, has a delightfully soft and sweet flesh.

The coupe glacée * : pétale de rose et lychee with gaspacho de framboises was fresh and as you can guess, inspired by Pierre Hermé’s signature entremet: Ispahan.
* I just love the old-fashioned connotation of the words! (I know, I know, useless note, but I had to say it).

As you may imagine, the lunch was seamless. But the day was about to become even better. As I was riding my bike home, I made a détour and stopped by Galignani – a great English bookshop where I bought the Rose bakery cookbook and Skye Gyngell’s book (blame Keiko and all her wonderful articles about the Pertersham Nurseries for that one).
As I was craving to read them, I crossed the Seine to visit le Café de Flore – a favourite for citron pressé, café glace and Mariages Frères teas.
There I had my regular citron pressé, which is basically freshly squeezed lemon juice served with a grande carafe d’eau and some sugar – sooo refreshing.

Now, if everyday resembles that one, how am I going to share with you my foolproof recipe for a perfect tarte au citron meringue [lemon meringue tart], my new exciting idea, the lovely places I discovered during my one-week road trip around les Alpilles, the best risotto ever to be made or even my method for flawless pâte sucrée?
Moreover, I still have an awfully insane number of things to do in Paris. Here is the liste officielle (the real one if much too long for me to tell you; I’m way too ashamed of it):
- buy weird Asian ingredients at chez Tang Frères
- have tea or lunch or brunch at Rose bakery
- buy the most wonderful organic vegetables at marché Raspail
- eat more prawn and chicken Chinese wontons from la Grande Epicerie (and while I’m at it, buy Jean-Yves Bordier’s butter)
- have some falafel at l’As du Falafel
- try Berthillon ice-creams
- go and see Rachel at La Cocotte
- visit La librairie gourmande
- try anything from Sadaharu Aoki
- buy Pierre Hermé’s croissants, croissants aux amandes, brioches… for the upcoming write-up about the two weeks I spent au tour (the post where doughs are made)
And many many many more… Any ideas?