Dining After Dark

In addition to boba, the famous milk tea drink served with famous tapioca pearls, Taiwan's gastronomic reputation rests heavily on the traditional open-air night markets. What is a night market, you may wonder. And the simplest answer that comes to mind is: complete, utter sensory overload.

Food stalls at Ningxia Night Market.

Metal carts outfitted with varying cooking tools (grills, steamers, deep fryers) line a narrow path where locals and visitors jostle past each other, pausing at eye-catching displays like whole squid (for the equivalent of $1 each), or tens of different types of meat and fish skewers, some recognizable and some not. The air is thick with steam, grease and the smell of hot street food waiting to be devoured. It's mostly delicious, except for near the stinky tofu vendors. And if you don't speak or read Mandarin, ordering is always an adventure.

Once you've made your pick(s); some dumplings here; a spring roll there; an assortment of grilled meat and fried chicken (bones-in, Chinese style); it's time to find somewhere to hunker down and reward your taste buds. Little metal stools and folding tables are nestled in and around some of the vendors specializing in for-here options (rice dishes, noodle soup or garlic shrimp), and if you're lucky you can score one. 

Food trucks at home attempt to recreate this atmosphere, but they are too sterile; lacking the vibrancy and grittiness of authentic street food while failing to deliver on good value for the money. For after being able to spend the equivalent of $1.50 for an entire meal in Taipei, how could you ever go back to tiny $10 lobster rolls?

Rungis: The Market That Never Sleeps

Last week we showed up to school at the ungodly hour of 6:15am for a field trip to Rungis Market, the world's largest wholesale food market that covers nearly 600 acres of land just outside Paris near Orly Airport. (Some other figures to give you the idea of the scale: the market's day-to-day activities include some 1300 companies that collectively employ over 12,000 people). Consisting of a vast industrial network of warehouses, Rungis couldn't be more different from the quaint neighborhood open-air markets that you see in French towns and cities.

The warehouses are organized by product type, kind of like a larger, gastronomic version of Ikea. Once we were all decked out in thin white coats and caps provided on the premises (sort of a cross between what you might wear in a laboratory and an operating room), our guides led us through the poultry, beef, fish, produce and flower halls, before concluding the tour at one of several on-site brasseries for brunch.

Despite the fact that we arrived out our first destination around 7am, early by normal people's standards, most of the day's trading had already been completed. The fish, seafood and poultry halls open as early as 2 or 3am, giving the impression that activity at Rungis never really ceases.

Undoubtedly the most memorable sight was the hall where red meat is kept, even for the cuisine students who by Superior level are pretty much desensitized to butchery. I've included a few pictures in the slideshow below (probably don't click through over your morning breakfast or whatever), but the best way I can describe it is how I would imagine a slaughterhouse would look; entire carcasses hang in neat rows by large hooks, the skin peeled off revealing the lifeless brute's powerful muscles, as men with clipboards and white lab coats covered in cow's blood scurry around taking notes. A vegetarian from my class had to leave just a few minutes after entering because it was too overwhelming. 

The rest of the tour was less interesting, either because the section had closed by the time we got there (fish and seafood) or else it consisted of looking at rows and rows of boxes (produce). What made me think, though, was reading the labels of the boxes; apples from Greece, green beans from Kenya, etc. Yes, it was cool and impressive to see such a vast array of food in one place, but at what cost?

When I thought about how much energy it took to get all the products to Rungis, and how much more it would require to transport them to their next destination, it made me feel worse than anything I saw in the meat halls.

Starting with something tame: an awkwardly positioned duck.

A nearby cuisine student told me these are rabbits. In class they have to "cut off their heads and take out their eyes."

Slaughterhouse 5.

When we passed through the fish hall they were in the middle of cleaning up. This is where they filet the products.

How do you like them apples?

Produce.

Flowers. I tried to get inspired for upcoming sugar lessons.

Some of the biggest cheeses I've seen.

Extreme Baking at the World Pastry Cup

On our second day at Sirha we entered the stadium of the Espace des Chefs to the sound of chainsaws carving massive blocks of ice into delicate sculptures. It was Sunday morning and the first group of teams - Denmark, Japan, USA, Italy, Colombia, Malaysia, Tunisia, Egypt, South Korea, Mexico and Argentina - were presenting their first dishes to the judges.

Over the course of the two-day competition each three-person team (with one alternate) was required to produce a chocolate dessert, fruit dessert, ice showpiece, chocolate showpiece, and plated dessert, all within the allotted ten hours. The international jury consisted of the president of each country's delegation as well as a couple members of the competition's governing body and a smaller press jury.

I knew from watching the Food Network and the documentary Kings of Pastry that, yeah, once you reach a certain level of culinary prowess it's about finding ways to validate and inflate your prestige - earning that next Michelin star, for instance, or perhaps an MOF title if you're French. To say it's competitive is an understatement; when a sugar sculpture goes crashing to the floor it's been known to cause grown men sob profusely. So perhaps it shouldn't seem so surreal, then, exactly how much watching a pastry competition resembles watching a sporting event.

The Coupe du Monde, as the event is called, had a similar energy and atmosphere to a collegiate gymnastics competition (I would compare it to basketball or something more mainstream but really the pace is more akin to the former). There were also commentators (not very insightful; just like in sports), hilariously dramatic music when teams were introduced, and cheering sections (and extremely vocal ones at that; well at least for Japan, Singapore, Taiwan, France and the UK).

But, unlike in athletics, watching the process was more satisfying than the results. I'm skeptical of institutions that claim to judge art (but I have to admit I love the Oscars because I find Hollywood politics fascinating), which is why we ended up leaving before the jury announced the final results. And in the end I got out of watching the competition exactly what I was hoping for: inspiration.

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I left my zoom lens at home, like a dunce, so here are some "screen caps" of pieces I really liked from the competition.

Team France putting the finishing touches on their sugar and chocolate showpieces. They ended up taking first.

Team UK's plated dessert.

Forgot which team produced this plated dessert, but I loved the concept of the mirror image.

Belgium's gorgeous chocolate dessert. 

Italy's whimsical circus-themed fruit dessert.

Denmark's (?) fruit dessert, inspired by Davy Jones' Locker.

South Korea's chocolate dessert. The fiery bit is painted onto the glaze.

Que Sirha, Sirha

Every two years thousands of restaurant and hospitality professionals from all over the world descend upon Lyon for five crazy days of networking and, for some elite chefs, to compete for their countries in a series of high-profile contests that range from the conventional (the Bocuse d'Or for cuisine and the Coupe du Monde for pastry) to the obscure (cheesemaking, latte art, catering - no really how do you make a contest out of that?). It's a food-lover's paradise that usually comes with a high price for admission, but because LCB had chefs participating in the competitions we, as students, got free passes.

Exhibitors ran the gamut from kitchen and table wares to chic chef uniforms, not to mention the vast array of food and beverages. My boss was even there to debut the newest iteration of the food truck, which will soon hit the streets of Paris.

The best part? Free samples of...everything. Imagine Costco but on an haute cuisine level, where instead of sautéing frozen sausages the chefs prepare elegant mini-plates of pan-fried duck with creamy spiced potatoes, or turn an entire cured ham hock into delicate slices of charcuterie right before your hungry eyes.

On our first day at Sirha, Steph and I entered Hall 1 of the behemoth Eurexpo complex with empty stomachs, and by the time we wound our way through Halls 4 and 5 several hours later were about ready to curl up and take a nap. 

What did we eat? Um, what didn't we. I seem to recall nabbing a bunch of regional specialties like cheeses and meats, and then later ice creams, gelatos, chocolates, and bread. Lots of bread. One generous stall sent us away with an entire loaf of chocolate brioche! 

After nibbling so much one gets thirsty, but fortunately there were plenty of wine and champagne tastings to be found. At one point I even managed to score a free cocktail although I later realized, when the bartender turned a couple of non-corporate bystanders away as I stood there sipping my drink, that these were intended for clients. Oops. #sorrynotsorry

I can't say I learned anything particularly concrete, possibly because we only stayed at demos long enough to get samples, but I got a lot of ideas from the plated desserts and sugar work we saw. Hopefully some of them will transfer into my own creations as I get back into school mode this week.

I Don't Know How to Cook

Nope, not an attempt at modesty; it's just the honest to God truth.

If I made a chart of my current diet, the predominant food groups would include fresh fruit (no preparation involved!), omelettes (the only thing I feel competent making apart from boiling water for pasta), and burgers (one of the perks of my part-time job).

The idea of cooking scares me, because the very reason I love pastry so much is for its precision. I get that a lot of chefs - amateur, professional, and everything in between - are the opposite. Cuisine gives you the chance to improvise, freestyle, be spontaneous. I, on the other hand, like order and following procedures. Of course, having said that, it's kind of a miracle that I ever hated chemistry lab so much...

I may be training to be a chef now - but only in desserts. A handful of students at my school do both cuisine and pastry, but for the rest of us it often feels like they might as well exist as two separate industries. I sometimes wish I had gone for the Grand Diplôme; that is until I heard about one of the more traumatizing lessons from a cuisine student: deboning a rabbit. (Don't worry, it comes with the skin already off, but they had to decapitate it which I guess freaked some people out). So I think I'll stick to making tarts, cakes and sugar sculptures.

This weekend I'm headed to Lyon for Sirha, the world's premiere event for food and hospitality. One of my chefs at school is competing for the French team in the bi-annual world pastry cup, but there is also a parallel competition, the Bocuse d'Or, for cuisine. (If you're really interested and/or bored this weekend I can provide links for live streaming).

Who knows? Maybe I'll learn something from watching the masters.

Food Wars: USA vs France

"French women don’t get fat. It’s a phrase forever immortalized thanks to Mireille Guiliano’s popular 2004 'non-diet' book, but as a stereotype I have to admit it’s surprisingly accurate. This is not to say that all Parisians look like size zero fashion models, but rather that in the months since moving here, the only severely overweight people I’ve seen are all tourists. Given that the reputation of the national cuisine is built upon buttery pastries and creamy sauces, the idea of perpetually svelte citizens presents a curious dichotomy. But a closer look at French culture reveals a combination of principles and common sense that optimize both physical health and overall well-being, critical elements that the diet-related disease-ridden and fat-shaming society of America could learn from."

- via Highbrow Magazine

After my editor over at Highbrow Magazine caught wind of the fact that I'm an American in Paris, she asked me to compose an article comparing the two cultures when it comes to food. Now, I previously wrote a semi-serious post about what I miss about America, but food culture is not one of them. What do I mean by this? There are many foods readily available at home that I would kill for right about now (see: peanut butter, bubble tea, yogurt-covered pretzels, extra sharp cheddar cheese, the list goes on), but it's the rituals, stereotypes and double standards surrounding the practice of eating that I can't stand.

Simply put, eating is not viewed as a pleasurable activity by American society. This has a lot to do with the media, I suspect, but there is also the fact that as individuals we tend to place arbitrary restrictions on the foods we eat in oft-misguided attempts to be "healthy." (See: girls who don't eat "carbs").

As a girl I've always found it unfair that, in general, guys can eat as much as they want and no one will comment on or judge them for it. Second and third helpings are totally acceptable for them. Whereas if I, God forbid, finish off a bag of chips, an onlooker would probably say something to the effect of, "Damn, you really went to town on those." (That actually happened once. It wasn't chips but it still bothers me because the obvious implicit meaning was "OMG why are you eating so much, stop it"). 

In that memorable instance it was a guy who said that to me, but girls are equally hard on themselves for what they perceive to be bad tendencies. The conflation of weight and diet is really key here and, yes, the two are related but not as directly as most would like to believe. (Never underestimate the power of genetics, people). I grew up being very sensitive to these issues, having spent almost half my life as a competitive gymnast and then a few odd years as a college cheerleader, and I'm sorry to say that I wasted a good portion of that time being preoccupied with them. But no more.

In the words of Emma Stone, "Life's too short. So eat the damn red velvet cupcake."

Or, in my case, I guess it would be pain chocolat.

Muzeum Gastronomie: A Surprising Foodie Find in Prague

The morning of my last day in Prague I was sitting in a café perusing Trip Advisor over breakfast trying to figure out what I wanted to do before I left, when amidst the historical monuments and typical tourist traps something caught my eye: the Gastronomy Museum. Never mind the overwhelmingly positive reviews or the institution's ambiguous name (which, as it suggests, is not just about Czech food); my inner chef made the decision to go right then and there. And it's a good thing that I went with my gut feeling, because it turned out to be one of my favorite experiences on the trip.

Opened just four months ago by Ladislav Provaan, a former architect who worked extensively with American hotel chains designing kitchens, and his wife Nina, whose parents were hardcore foodies and cookbook authors, the museum attempts to expose the evolution of cuisine and man's relationship with food starting from pre-history. This is, of course, no small feat and for now the fledgling exhibits are modest - but as visitor traffic increases I'm sure it will expand.

Thanks to my anthropology background I was already familiar with the early stuff - harnessing the power of fire, domesticating animals, first use of tools for foraging and agriculture, etc.

The rest of the main floor is dedicated to the gradual development of modern cooking, including early recipes and antique appliances, with additional exhibits on liquor distillation and brewing beer.

Upstairs features biographies of famous chefs and my favorite part, the futuristic kitchen. Ladislav told me the space is currently used by aspiring chefs who can record themselves doing demos and send the videos out to prospective employers, but in the future they would like to offer cooking classes to the public. 

​Couldn't find any pastry accoutrements so I'm attempting to look domestic. PC - L. Provaan

The kitchen features:

• A smart oven for cooking meats that sets itself based on the type and quantity entered
• A convection oven that has a steam function (good for items containing yeast so they can rise in a controlled environment)
• A metal-safe microwave
• A smart dishwasher that self-selects the cycle based on how dirty the dishes are
• A faucet with built-in LED light that changes color based on the temperature of the water
• A refrigerator with three distinct (and adjustable) climate zones
• Overhead lighting that turns on/off by tapping the side of the island counter (for when your hands are dirty)

Needless to say...I want one just like it.

After showing me around the kitchen, Ladislav offered another visitor and me a sampling of Czech beer. I hesitated at first because it was approximately 11:30am but, hey, I never say no to free drinks! (Which sometimes gets me into trouble, but that's another story).

The sheer scope of the Gastronomy Museum is a hugely ambitious undertaking, but the Provaan's obvious passion for food and cooking have already carried them a long way. 

And, as Ladislav proudly told me at one point, there really isn't another museum out there like it. So if you're ever in Prague make sure you stop by!

More info at the official website.