chez pim

Purple Peruvian Potato and a quick Frittata recipe

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Have you tried these beautiful Purple Peruvian potatoes? They really are strikingly purple both inside and out, and the color remains even after cooking. As the name implies, these potatoes were cultivated first in Peru, by the Inca who –apparently- considered them food for the gods.

I found Cynthia and Scott harvesting these weird looking potatoes up at the garden on Friday. From afar they looked, well, quite like, um, black turds. But a closer inspection revealed a beautiful opalescent shine on the dark skin. A spud in metalic purple skin, how cool is that?

A few people were up at the garden that morning, and as the sun shone brighter we were getting hungry. It fell to me to whip up something quick to feed us, so I decided to use these gorgeous potatoes to bulk up some eggs for a quick Frittata fit for a crowd.

The usual Frittata recipe calls for cooking the eggs first on the stovetop for 15-20 minutes on very low flame, then another 5-10 minutes pass under the broiler at the end. But, as I said, we were getting quite hungry. So I devised a shortcut to cook the Frittata quicker.

Perfect omelette recipe

Omelette aux fines herbes, avec un twist

An egg is quite possibly the world's most perfect food –ok that other David might argue it's chocolate, but his days are numbered. An omelette is quite possibly the world's most perfect way to cook eggs. Hardly anyone would argue with me on this one, yes?

Have you had the French classic, Omelette aux Fines Herbes? Basically it's just a simple omelette but with an addition of chopped fresh herbs –usually parsley, chive, tarragon, and chervil in about equal amount. I think that's quite possibly the world's most perfect seasonings for an omelette.

But even the quite-possibly-the-world's-most-perfect-anything can be improved upon. And one idea came to me when I was at the garden this morning. Strolling around chomping on bits of odd lettuce and leaves, as is my habit while in the garden, I came upon some chives on the herb patch. They are growing like weeds, and some have even gone to flowers. Have you seen chive flowers? They are bright, round, purple clusters comprised of cutesy little blossoms. I picked one up and took a bite -tasted just like chives, perhaps a tad more delicate.

So I decided to see if I could make an omelette with them. Cynthia, our lovely gardener, went to the chicken coop and brought me a few eggs, still warm from the perfectly fashionable hens we keep. I made a pretty omelette, with the fines herbes –sans chervil because I perfectly forgot- adding the chive flowers at the last minute because they're more delicate than the green part. We harvested a big basket of the sweetest green peas earlier, so I stole a few and added the tiny peas to my omelette at the last minute. The peas were like surprising bursts of Spring when bitten into.

Tastespotting, goes well with latte

This is my favorite thing to go with the morning bowl of latte these days. I go taste-spotting, following pretty pictures of food to all corners of the web.

You might have heard of TasteSpotting already as it's not exacly brand new. But -not unlike my lovely espresso maker Sylvia- I'm a bit slow on the uptake, and have just recently been hooked. And hooked I am now. You will be too if you like gastroporn as much as I do.

TasteSpotting relies on the collective good taste of the many foodies on the interweb to spot something tasteful and post them on the site. The photos are accompanied by a brief description and a link back to the original sites those photos came from. I've spent hours following the pretty pictures down many a rabbit hole. See you on the other side?

Last day to save our chocolate!

Ok, I know, in the grand scheme of things to save in this world -polar bears, hungry kids, the environment, etc, etc- chocolates probably rank pretty low on your priority. But there comes a time when we must defend our rights to be frivolous. And that time has come.

I don't know if you've heard, but big agri-business and chocolate companies like Hershey, Nestle, and ADM are lobbying the FDA to allow them to substitute nasty stuff like hydrogenated vegetable oil in place of cocoa butter in chocolate. Why are they doing this? Well, the $$$ of course. According to Bloomberg News, "Cocoa prices in New York have surged about 28 percent in the past six months on speculation that dry weather may impair cocoa production in the Ivory Coast and Ghana, the world's largest suppliers of beans to make chocolate." So now these companies want to substitute cheap vegetable oil and still call the crap they plan to produce chocolate! Mockolate is more like it.

There is something we all can do. The FDA has a website set up for the public to comment on pending issues. If you have a moment -and of course you do- please go to this website (set up by Guittard, a local chocolate maker here in San Francisco) and follow the instructions to submit your objection to the FDA. The public comment process is closing as of tomorrow April 25. Please do it now!

Would you like some pepper with that iPod?

When I was at the Fat Duck a couple of months ago for dinner, one of the dishes we were served on our Tasting Menu was not food at all. Rather, what came on a small square plate were two shiny new iPod shuffles. They were intended to accompany a dish that was perhaps even more bizarre than the gadgets themselves.

Heston Blumenthal, the chef, said he wanted to experiment with using sound to enhance a dining experience. Hence the iPod, playing the soothing sound of the sea breeze and waves gently caressing the seashore. The dish itself was dubbed Sound of the Sea, with different components on the plate representing something from the seaside. No Seagulls' poo or oil spill residue though, instead we had sand made of tapioca infused with miso, with medallions of Monkfish liver (Ankimo) in a seawater foam. There were also some bits of Abalone, clams, and Samphire, which, appropriately enough, is sometimes called Sea Asparagus.

Strawberries in hibiscus and vanilla syrup

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Here is a veritable three-star dish you can do at home.

We had a small dinner party a few nights ago to celebrate our return from Europe. One of the friends who came was Joe, aka the hunky Joe of Dirty Girl farm. He brought a few pints of gorgeous strawberries which he picked for us just an hour or two earlier. The bright red berries were a new hybrid called Albion. They were unbelievably fragrant and flavorful, and -in a momentary lapse of judgement- I decided to share them with everyone for dessert.

The berries would have been great on their own, but I wanted to do something fun with them anyway. I first thought of whipping up a quick batch of cream –that would be crème chantilly for us snobs. I might even flavor it with the wonderful vanilla beans from the Reunion Islands that Malik gave me a few months ago.

Then I recalled a lovely strawberry dessert that Alain Passard serves at his restaurant l'Arpège in Paris. With his usual brilliance and delicacy, he baths the flavorful strawberries in a nage of hibiscus and vanilla flavored syrup –which at once enhances the true flavor of the strawberry while adding to it a whole new dimension. It's so simple, yet so extraordinary.

The recipe was printed in Alain's only cookbook, the illustrated children's cookbook he collaborated with Antoon Krings, Les Recettes des Drôles de Petites Bêtes -which, by the way, is so cutesy-cute it is indispensable for your French speaking children, be they real or imaginary.

Found beauty

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Sometimes an inspiration can be found by the side of the road. I found these pretty flowers growing wild in our front yard. I grabbed a few Weck jars left-over from last summer's tomato confits, put a couple of flowers in each one and fill them with water. They became a simple and colorful flower arrangement for my dinner table.

What inspiration do you find from your yard?

Artichoke, by any other name

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Thorny artichokes, l'artichauts épineux, épines, carciofi, these artichokes go by quite a few names around the Mediterranean. I was duly impressed the first time I saw them at the big market in San Remo a couple years ago. I'd never seen artichokes with such intimidating thorns before. They are vindictive little buggers too –and this I speak from first hand experience trimming them. I still go ouch every time I pick one up. You know, a little pre-emptive cry for the inevitable future.

According to many chefs and serious foodies I know –and the French Wikipedia even agrees- these thorny artichokes are perhaps the tastiest of all the artichoke varieties. Hence the thorns as a defensive measure, perhaps? In France they are found around Nice and the surrounding areas, whereas in Italy they appear to be everywhere –though the size (hence frightfulness) of the thorns varies some. Beside the deadly thorns, these artichokes are also marked by the gorgeous violet/lavender streaks and the shape that is more elongate and conical than the usual round Globe artichokes common in the US.

I'm not going to give you a primer on trimming an artichoke. Frankly I avoid that kitchen chore whenever I can. But my friend Sam at Becks and Posh did a lovely illustrated post on this very topic a while ago so go and check her out.

How do you cook these artichokes (or any artichoke) you wonder? When we were on our cooking vacation –is there a different kind?- in Mougins a while back, our friend Mikael did his take on the classic Provençale dish of Mediterraean Seabass and Artichokes for us. I've worked out a recipe here for you to try.

Seabass and poached artichokes in mandarin-olive oil emulsion
For 4

Socca à Nice: how to eat and run on the Côte d'Azur

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Have you tried Socca? If you've been to the South of France, especially in Nice, you must have at least seen it. Socca is ubiquitous 'street' food in those parts. Made primarily with chickpea flour and olive oil –ingredients plentiful around the Mediterranean- Socca is a quick, cheap, and delightful snack common not only on the French part of the coast but all the way into Liguria in Italy, where it goes by the name Farinata.

Finding a good Socca in Nice is a matter of 'when' rather than 'where' –that is to say there is not a huge variance in quality between all the Socca places in town. It's just a couple ingredients for goodness sake. The key is to get it as it comes right out of the oven. If you happen upon a Socca joint that's just pulled one of those giant round pan out of their brick oven, be sure to get a portion and enjoy. That place, ladies and gentleman, is quite possibly the best Socca joint in town at that very moment.

The 'correct' Socca –as this is France there is a 'correct' way and 'incorrect' way to do everything- is not wafer thin or crispy like chips. It should be more like a thin pancake that is crisp at the edges, with burnt blisters in places.

I found a recipe that makes Socca that most closely resemble the ones I've had in Nice. And just like Proust's Madeleine, a bite of this Socca transports me right back to the crowded streets of Old Nice. Ok, I was just there not too many days ago, so it's not like the transport had far to go, but quand même!

a pig, as seen in Vieux Nice