My Top 5 Non-Street-Food Eating Experiences in Taiwan

Hello world! So, it looks like something happened. Blog posts that were meant to publish in March never did, and in the ensuing cyclone-of-crazy that is late spring and summer, it never got fixed. So better late than never, here are the last parts of the Taiwan saga.


I’ve talked (in length) about the street food of Taiwan. But the truth is, street food is only half of Taiwan’s culinary picture, and some of the most memorable food-experiences we had there took place in restaurants…and warehouses. Here’s my top 5:

5. Running Sushi

Running Sushi Taiwan 1.jpg

Running sushi can be found all over the world, I know that. It was, however, a first for me – and I found it to be exhilarating. There were a several reasons for that. First, it was our first full day in Taiwan, and I was so excited by everything I saw that I was bouncing off the walls like a kid hyped on sugar. Second, it had to be some of the freshest sushi I had ever tasted. Third, every plate was so cheap – we ate gorgeous slices of salmon belly, mounds of fresh sea urchin, freshly barbequed eel, and more to our heart’s content. In the end, we barely spent $11 USD.

More than anything else however, I found the concept of running sushi to be fascinating. Not only is it a cost-efficient way for a restaurant to serve customers, but it also turns eating into a psychological game. If you pass up that plate coming down the line this time, will there be another? There is no guarantee that someone else won’t take the plate you want before it gets to you. What if you choose one thing, and then see something else you want more just two minutes after?

Running Sushi Taiwan.jpg

Most restaurants hand you a menu, effectively asking you to make a decision once, and then stick to your choice. Running sushi forces you into constant decision making, offering an endless variety of options that will “expire” (ie: run past you) if you don’t decide quickly. It’s intensely manipulative, and unlike any dining experience I’ve had before.

4. Beef Noodle Soup

Beef Noodle soup is so beloved; it is often called Taiwan’s national dish. Jacob did some research to see where we could find the best Beef Noodle soup, and came up with an informal restaurant called Yong-Kang Beef Noodle. We showed up to the restaurant one day for lunch and immediately knew we had made a good choice. The line for the restaurant snaked outside the door and past several other shop fronts. While we walked down to our place in line, taxi’s rolled up to the curb and dropped off passengers with suitcases…who then got in line behind us. Apparently Yong-Kang Beef Noodle was so good, it was worth making it your last or first stop in Taipei.

Yong Kang Beef Noodle Taipei 1

The restaurant was nothing fancy – fluorescent, cafeteria style, and crammed with people sitting at communal tables. Once inside, we placed our order at the window and found a spot at a table to wait. Behind us, a view into the kitchen showed a pot of soup broth big enough to drown in.

Yong Kang Beef Noodle 1
Yong Kang Beef Noodle 2

Our soup arrived within 5 minutes – large bowls of noodles and melt-in-your-mouth tender beef in a fatty, anise-spiced chili broth. The garnish of choice was a pot of pickled mustard greens sitting on the table – a dash of bitterness and vinegar to cut through the richness of the meat and broth. It took us barely 10 minutes to polish off our food. Once again our “Taiwan mantra” was affirmed: If people are waiting in line to eat it, it’s good.

3. Addiction Aquatic Development

Jacob and I live in a landlocked country. Though there are many, many things I love and appreciate about Austria, it’s landlocked status is not one of them. I could easily forego meat for a fish and shellfish only diet. The mere mention of fish, shrimp, scallops, clams, lobster, or – my favorite – CRAB, is enough to turn me into a real-life “heart-eyes-emoji”. So of course, the prospect of visiting an island where seafood is a staple of the cuisine is profoundly exciting for me. Especially when said islands have places like Addiction Aquatic Development.

Addiction Aquatic Development Taipei

Addiction Aquatic is part fish market and part grocery store, housing a variety of seafood based food stalls and restaurants. As soon as Addiction Aquatic popped up in our research, it went straight to the top of the list. It was a must-visit for seafood lovers like us.

We saved Addiction Aquatic for our last day in Taiwan, making the trek to the massive fish warehouse with suitcases and backpacks in tow. It did not disappoint.

We spent a long time slowly perusing the fish market, staring wide-eyed at incredible varieties of shell fish and unimaginably large crabs. SO MUCH CRAB! Crab paradise. I was one happy Chelsea.

Addiction Aquatic Development Taipei 1
Addiction Aquatic Development Taipei 3

After checking out all of the food and restaurant options, we found ourselves returning over and to the grocery area, looking at glistening trays of brightly colored sashimi and boiled crab ready to be cracked into. We grabbed one of each, a beer, and a large stack of napkins and settled down with our luggage at a table outside. It was far from fancy, but high-quality enough to have been served in the world’s best restaurants.

Addiction Aquatic Development Taipei 4

2. Din Tai Fung

Din Tai Fung is a world famous Dim Sum restaurant originating from Taipei. The restaurant now has branches all over the world, some of which have been awarded Michelin stars for their food. This was one experience we knew we needed to fit into our itinerary. Our hosts, Dave and Wendy, joined us for our meal at Din Tai Fung, which was really good for two reasons. One, Dave and Wendy are wonderful people and we love their company; and two, Dim Sum is a world in itself that Jacob and I would have been totally lost in.

There are a couple locations for Din Tai Fung in Taipei, and we wound up at the branch at the base of Taipei 101, the tallest building in Taiwan. Even though the restaurant is massive, with space to accommodate thousands of diners, there was, of course, a wait to get in. We put our names on the list and grabbed a menu so we could strategize our meal.

Din Tai Fung Taipei 101

Dim Sum is traditionally considered a brunch meal, though places like Din Tai Fung have made it an all day affair. Food is served in smaller portions and meant to be shared family-style. Whereas many other cuisines (ie: Thai food) focuses on balancing all of the taste elements (salty, sweet, spicy, sour, bitter, etc.) in a single plate, Dim sum focuses on balancing the table. One dish may be spicy, another is sour, another is sweet, another is cold, etc. Together, you create a balanced palate – one reason why a proper Dim sum requires a lot of different dishes.  

We feasted. We had seaweed salad, marinated wood ear mushrooms, cold rice noodles with soy beans, spicy cucumbers and more – and that was just the salads. Our cups were filled with round after round of green tea while steamer baskets full of beautiful fresh steamed gyoza, shaomai, and bao began to arrive.

Din Tai Fung Taipei 101 1

Din Tai Fung is particularly famous for their Xiao Long Bao, or “soup dumplings”. These special little dumplings of joy are filled with meat and a richly flavored broth, and require a special process to eat them. First, you pick up the Bao and support its heavy soup-filled bottom with a spoon. Then you bite a little hole into the Bao and slurp out the broth. Once you have slurped the broth, you can pop the whole thing in your mouth (and close your eyes and melt inside because it tastes so good).

We had quite a few of Xiao Long Bao, but the one that Jacob still talks about was the truffle bao. Yep, you heard me right. Bits of truffle and minced pork in a buttery, truffley soup broth…only five came in the steamer basket, so one lucky person got to have two of them. I still remind Jacob of how gracious I am that I let him have it. ;)

1. Shrimp Fishing

Top on my list of Taiwanese food experiences is one that actually involved so little food, we went out to dinner afterwards.

Shrimp fishing is a popular pastime in Taiwan, though you would have to ask the young, hip Taiwanese crowd to find out if it is actually considered “cool”. Regardless of cool-factor, Jacob and I were very keen to give shrimp fishing a try. Thankfully Dave and Wendy had some friends who had shrimp-fished before, so we called them up and headed over to the local shrimp-fishing spot in the early evening.

Shrimp Fishing Taipei Taiwan

Shrimp fishing takes place in large warehouses filled with pools of varying types of shrimp, crawfish, and lobster. It’s not a fancy affair – it’s a fluorescent-lit, slightly smelly warehouse of fish. Patrons rent or bring their own special shrimp fishing poles and tackle, pull up a plastic chair to the pool of their choice, and settle down for some leisurely hours of fishing.

Shrimp Fishing Taipei Taiwan 1

We bought a two-hour pass, which basically meant we were entitled to eat as much as we could catch in that period of time. Armed with bamboo poles, nets, and slabs of raw liver for bait, we selected our pool and settled down. Shrimp fishing, as it turned out, takes some skill and technique. You wait patiently until your pole’s bob, floating on the top of the water, starts to be pulled down. Once it has been pulled far enough into the water, you flick your pole up, pray the shrimp is still hanging on, and bring the shrimp in to your net as quickly and smoothly as possible. This happened to me exactly once. I got so excited to have caught one that the line swung back over the pool and the shrimp dropped back off into the depths.

Shrimp Fishing Taipei Taiwan 2
Shrimp Fishing Taipei Taiwan 2

I have to say, as a group we weren’t the most successful shrimp fishers. Seasoned old men, who were so confident in their skills that they knew sitting at the more expensive pools was worthwhile, pulled in lobster after lobster with ease. There was a reason we had stuck with the run-of-the-mill shrimp pool. In the end, between the 6 of us, we had caught 9 shrimp.

Off to one side of the warehouse was the cooking area. With the help of our friend who knew what he was doing, we skewered our shrimp on metal kebabs, covered them in rock salt, and placed them in a large electric toaster oven until cooked. Plastic trays, napkins, and our prized shrimp in hand, we sat down at a plastic table and feasted on our 9 shrimp.

Shrimp Fishing Taipei Taiwan 3
Shrimp Fishing Taipei Taiwan 4

It was delicious – I had never known that shrimp could taste so sweet. Cooking them so simply only heightened the freshness of the meat. I could see myself taking to shrimp fishing in Taiwan, joining the old men on a regular basis to fish while reading a book or chatting with friends. Perhaps one day, I’d even graduate up to the lobster pool.

...Then we went out for Teppanyaki, because 9 shrimp isn't much to feed 6 people. 

Adventures in Taiwan: "Why Taiwan?"

For the past several months, every time Jacob and I told someone that we were going on vacation to Taiwan, the first question out of their mouths was, “why Taiwan?”.

It’s an unusual question, if you think about it. How often do you ask why someone is going on vacation to an exotic foreign country? It is the sort of question you typically ask only if you are not sure what the draw to that country is. Our friends and acquaintances were not alone in asking this. All of our research indicated that Taiwan is the undiscovered gem of Asia – a gorgeous, inexpensive, accessible, and friendly country, that, within Asia, is acknowledged as the food destination.  

Our immediate answer to the question was: “We have friends in Taipei. Also, the food.” And while this was 100% true (in fact, our times with our friends and making new friends proved to be the highlight of our stay), Taiwan has a lot to offer beyond that.

Here’s what you need to know about Taiwan. Taipei, the capital city of this small island nation, sits in the north of the island. The climate is tropical, so even in the middle of winter the weather remains pleasant (especially for the likes of Jacob and I, leaving the snow to arrive to 65 degrees Fahrenheit). Taiwan is the subject of a long history of dispute between the Chinese and the Japanese, while also absorbing strong cultural influences from the Dutch, the Spanish (as a result of maritime trading hubs throughout the island), and in more recent history, the United States. The result is a true “melting pot” of culture. The cuisine is one of the places where this “melting pot” is most visible, and a big reason why the food is so remarkable.

It also means that, for travelers like Jacob and I, who have very little experience in the Eastern Hemisphere, Taiwan provides less of a culture shock than other countries might. In fact, that was one of the first observations Jacob and I made when we landed in Taipei.

As tired as we were from 22+ hours of traveling, we knew exactly where we needed to go in the airport and what we needed to do. We bought a two-week SIM card with unlimited data for $15 USD before we even collected our baggage. Making the purchase at the kiosk was straightforward and uncomplicated. Purchasing our bus tickets to the city was equally simple, and the area to queue for the bus was well-marked. Before long, we had met with our friends and were taking the subway home, without once feeling like we had fallen out of our depth.

The next day the cultural differences started to become more apparent (or perhaps we were simply more observant), but Taiwan always struck a delightful balance of being totally new and “other”; stretching us past our previous experiences without ever becoming too much to handle.

We stayed with our friends (Dave and Wendy Hudson, long-time family friends and all-around wonderful people) in their home in the district of Tamsui.

Tamsui sits along the north coast of Taiwan, and the mouth of a river that runs south through the city. While Tamsui is somewhat outside of the city center (“city center” is not really a fair description though – Taipei is a bit like New York city, split into districts that each have their own hubs of actions), it provided a vibrant and action-packed home-base for our stay.  

Our first morning we ventured out into our neighborhood just to begin absorbing the sights and sounds. The streets are relatively narrow, flanked by four or five-story apartment buildings, with store fronts lining the streets. Scooters zip by haphazardly, making crossing the street a chaotic dance that requires a lot of feigned confidence but somehow always worked out. The smell of food is everywhere, wafting out of restaurants (that make up just about every third storefront) and food stalls that pop up like mushrooms on most streets.   

Wendy guided us to the start of the covered wet market (selling produce, fish, and meat, etc.) and set us loose to roam. The sensory immersion was incredible. We pushed through narrow aisles, avoiding people on scooters, ducking around shoppers and displays of fresh vegetables, trays of fish, hanging meat, stacks of prepared food, and fielding the constant call and chatter of the vendors hawking their goods.

We turned round a corner from the market and found ourselves in an unexpected pocket of quiet. We had entered a temple courtyard sitting in deep shadow, and the noise level dropped from near-chaos to near-silence. The suddenness of the change was staggering. We took a moment to breath in the silence, smell the burning incense, and plunged back into the market.

At the end of the covered market we popped out into a busy shopping street and smelled something really good. The smell of freshly baked sweet bread floated our way, and we saw a line of 7-8 people queued in front of a stall that was just pulling a massive tray of super fluffy cake or bread out of the oven. Naturally, we were curious and got in line. As we debated what it was and whether we should be purchasing it, the young woman in front of us turned around and gave us a thumbs up, and said “very good”. We smiled and thanked her, and every-so-often she would turn around again and repeat, “very, very good”.

She was right. We purchased a slab for ourselves (they only sold it in one size: huge), and sat down on the steps of 7-Eleven (which are everywhere in Taipei) to eat it. It was something between a cake and an egg bread, ridiculously fluffy, lightly sweet, custardy, and layered with melted cheese for a slightly salty bite. We ate about 1/8th of it between us, thinking that our first food purchase was boding well for the rest of our time in Taiwan.

Later on, Wendy found an article on the cake we had purchased (called Original Cake), which had apparently originated in the Tamsui district and had become a sensation. The article talks about how the company had just opened a new store in Malaysia, where people were queuing for hours at a time just to get a piece.

In the afternoon Jacob and I walked along the bustling waterfront with Bubble Tea in hand (Taiwan is the birth place of Bubble Tea! Did you know?), and met a very smiley old man walking a dog that had been styled to look like a goat. Because…why not?

And there my friends, I will pause this story with a “To be continued”. But please don’t worry - there is a lot more to come: more photos, more stories, and definitely more food.

Finding the Heart of France

After years of visiting my family home in Southern France, this has become my favorite sight:

A closed gate. This gate means the afternoon is winding down and you are home to stay. This gate means that the day's excursions are done - everyone has returned to the nest and nothing else is needed. 

This is my second favorite sight: 

From the edge of the terrace you can look over the pool, the mountains as they change color in the setting sun, and the barbecue - usually tended by a small group of people, all with their glasses of wine. 

This is what you see when you turn around: 

People bustling in and out of the kitchen, listening to music, setting the table, and putting the final touches on dinner.

Food has always been my way of connecting with France. This may not come as a surprise to you - I mean, it is me after all. You already know that I really love food. And then, of course it is France, the land of baguettes, cheese (more than 365 different types!), and wine.

It goes deeper than that however. Everywhere you look, you can see people folding the rituals of food, food making, and eating into their lives. 

You can see it in how an elderly neighbor and long-time family friend stops by to present us with a bottle of his homemade Cartagen, a sweet regional liquor made from freshly pressed grapes.

Or how his wife still keeps my Grandmother's old books on identifying mushrooms, and knows all the right places to forage.

You can see it in the bee keeper, a friend from church, who takes his bee hives "up to pasture" to the aromatic hilltops of the Ardeche so his bees produce a richer honey.

Or how the little old man at the weekly market in Uzes sets up a small card table displaying two plastic boxes filled with goat cheese. He only has two kinds: Less dry and more dry, and it is the most complex and flavorful goat cheese you could ever hope to try. 

One of our favorite days came as a tip from my cousin - a talented wine maker with a thriving business. He told us of a wine festival taking place in nearby Anduze, a picturesque town situated along a river on the edge of the mountains. The festival would feature over 25 local, independent wine-makers - my cousin being one of them. 

The next day Jacob and I drove over to Anduze, and walked into the festival. The park was pleasantly busy - not crowded, but bustling with people tasting wine, having picnics, children riding mini horses, and buskers playing old-fashioned French vaudeville music. 

We paid the 4 Euro entry fee that granted us a wine glass and booklet for taking notes, and the tasting began. The vintners were set up in a semi-circle, each with 2-3 wines on display. All you had to do was approach a winemaker, let them know which wine you would like to try (we chose to stick with the reds - there were a lot of wines to try and we weren't planning on getting wasted), make small talk and take notes as desired, then thank them and move on. If you decided to purchase a bottle that would be handled at another tent separate from the tasting area. 

As someone who loves samples, but always feels guilty taking one without buying anything...I'm not alone in this, am I? Anyways, having an entire wine festival dedicated to pressure-free sampling made me giddy with joy (the wine helped too). Why don't more festivals do it this way? You could have easily spent the entire day there, drinking over 60 wines, for a grand total of 4 Euros - and you get to keep the glass.

In all these things I saw a common thread: a love for a life that finds pleasure in community, beauty in the simple things, and refuses to be hurried or pressured along. You could see it in the fact that the festival's entry fee was €4, as opposed to $50.00 as it could have easily been elsewhere. I realized it with a jolt when trying to run errands and finding all of the department stores closed for lunch between noon and 2 pm.  

It is difficult, as a visitor, to enter into the same slow stream that characterizes the south of France. It takes time for your heart to start beating slower, for your mind to stop racing, to let yourself relax into the beauty of simply being

So Jacob and I (and the rest of my family as well - we were in good company), hit the brakes and forced ourselves to wind down the fastest way we knew how: through cooking.

This year in France was a special one. It had been 12 years since this much of my family had been together in France at once. It was also the first time that we all really cooked together. My brother taught me recipes he created for the restaurant he is opening in Sydney. I taught him how to make green beans taste better than he thought possible. We brainstormed dishes to challenge each other and show off our skills, then had 6 sets of willing hands ready to act as sous-chefs.  

Over a week and a half we made lemon-stuffed trout, lavender-smoked artichokes, fried chicken and collard-style green beans, flank steak with chimichurri sauce, ricotta and olive stuffed peppers, American-style ribs and truffle macaroni and cheese, and much more. Not every experiment was a blazing success, but everything tasted amazing.

This is the beating heart of what I love about France. "My France" is slow mornings, lazy hot days, afternoon naps, and long, long evenings spent around the dinner table. My France is food shopping, wine tasting, bursts of activity before dinner, and star-gazing late into the night. 

I have always found the romance of France to be an elusive one to capture. In some places, you can find a city's pulse by simply strolling its streets and feeling its vibrancy. But walking France's markets and cobblestoned villages only left me skimming the surface of what I've always known to be a deeper pool. Finding that connection this year (in food, what else?) filled me with enough ideas and thoughts to fill a book - and so, I am starting to write one. It may take years to finish, but it will be full of stories of the people, the food, and the stories that cut straight to the heart of southern France.

But while you wait, I will give you some recipes. Stay tuned. :) 

 

 

Sardinia and Dreams of Food

My earliest food memories are not of eating but of cooking. My mother made nearly everything she cooked from scratch, spoiling us kids with French delicacies while we complained about having to eat mushroom and red wine infused Boeuf Bourguignon “again”. She also had to deal (quite frequently) with my brothers and I staring into a half empty fridge, whining “there is nothing to eat!”. “Yes there is,” she would always reply, “you just have to make it”.

So I did – and haven’t stopped.

Sitting on the breathtaking beaches of Sardinia kick-started some deep personal reflection. I find that whenever I am on holiday, with time to slow down, breathe, and dream about the future, I end up wandering back over to the same subject: food and cooking.

I realized how much my mother’s approach to cooking shaped my own perspective on food (thank you, Mom!). She taught me how to cook by instinct, to know by taste which layers of flavor are missing and which ingredients a finished dish contains. She coached me, through years of cooking failures and successes, to understand what techniques produce what results. She taught me the value that comes from cooking your own food: how it gives you freedom, control, and teaches you balance.

While in Sardinia, Jacob and I had two exceptional meals, both of which left a lasting impression for something other than the food.

The first was on a day-long boat trip we took to visit some of the coves that were only accessible via boat. We chose to book with a company that used smaller boats and limited their passengers to around 30. The trip offered lunch and aperitifs along with several stops at gorgeous pristine white coves with crystalline water. In the morning the atmosphere on the boat was slightly strained. All of the guests were jockeying for a prime spot to enjoy the trip, perhaps secretly wishing (as I was), that they could have had the boat to themselves.

People relaxed slowly as the morning wore on, but at lunch there was a transformation. Guests were seated at bench tables that accommodated six. A crisp white wine stood waiting on each table alongside a basket of bread. Stilted introductions were made, and the same old small talk questions as always were exchanged: “where do you come from? How do you like Sardinia?”. The first course was served: a typical Sardinian dish made with small Fregola pasta, a thin wine and tomato based sauce, and lots of seafood. Amidst the mounds of Fregola were crab legs, langoustine in their shell, calamari, and mussels. Things started to get messy, cracking into crab legs and peeling shrimp. Wine was poured. The dish had the ephemeral sweet taste of the sea. People began to relax, and talk. Real questions, and real answers. The room became louder with chatter and laughter.

The second course was served: whole shrimp, head still attached, sautéed in butter, herbs, and a local liquor, served in a large dish to share. More wine was poured. By this time the whole table was laughing, slurping at shrimp shells and accepting heaping second helpings. Our table re-filled our dish three times. I had never tasted such sweet shrimp.

Next came dessert – lemon sorbet served with coffee and tea. Finally, the captain came around with two bottles of ice cold liquor in hand, both homemade. One was a Sardinian style grappa that burned as it went down, the other, a thick and sweet liquor made of the myrtle berries that grow thick on the island.

By the time lunch was over everyone on the boat was friends, smiling benevolently at each other and sharing their previously coveted space. It struck me how effectively food can bring people together. It can break down walls, and build trust. A shared meal is a powerful thing.


Our second exceptional meal in Sardinia was at an unusual seafood restaurant tucked down at the end of a dirt road. Seafood in Sardinia is not especially cheap, but Jacob and I knew we wanted to have one glorious meal where we indulged in all the fresh seafood we could not find in Vienna. My research turned up a restaurant that was reviewed as having exceptionally fresh seafood for the price. We made our reservations and gave ourselves extra time to drive out to the coast and find the restaurant. Our directions took us through the industrial port, down a quiet dirt road along the water that ended in a fishing co-op. We parked and looked around, but there was no sign of the restaurant. The fishing co-op was surrounded by water on both sides – the sea to one side and a bay on the other. Walking over to a bridge, we saw a flaking and sun-faded wooden sign for the restaurant. It pointed across the bridge, and down a further dirt road. Crossing the bridge, we stopped to look at ropes full of cultivating mussels, and large tanks whose water roiled the movement of fish. This was clearly where our dinner would come from.

We walked down the empty dirt road for about ten minutes before we came to a small building on the edge of the bay, isolated and surrounded by pines. The restaurant did not open until 7:30, so we waited as other guests arrived on foot for their reservations. We were seated and brought a pitcher of house wine.  No menus were provided – we had simply told them how many courses we wanted when making the reservation. Now, they would bring us what they had prepared for the evening.

First came a cold salad of perfectly tender squid, octopus, cuttlefish and potatoes. The salad was dressed in only the barest of lemon and olive oil, letting the delicate flavor of the seafood shine through.

Our second course was a massive bowl of fresh mussels steamed in white wine and butter. The sauce was light and pleasantly briny, once again allowing the sweet mussels to be the star of the dish.

Our third course was another seafood Fregola, like the one eaten on the boat, studded with large pieces of lobster, crab, squid, and clams.

Next a plate arrived with two full grilled sea bream, adorned only with a slice of lemon. As I informed Jacob with every course, I had never had such fresh or perfectly cooked fish. It was a revelation of how incredible a white fish could be.

Finally, the meal ended with hefty slices of sweet watermelon, as Jacob and I discussed how glad we were that we had only taken the smallest of the two fixed price menus - €25 each for 5 courses and a bottle of wine.

Being so close to the source of our food that evening reminded me of how my own fascinations were reflected in the cooking choices I made when I was young. As a child I would go through phases of food obsession. I had a deviled egg phase: For several weeks, I made deviled eggs whenever I had the chance. I also had a garlic bread stage. That ended the day my mother leaned over to me in church, sniffed once, and stated “you smell like garlic”. Another phase revolved around melted cheddar cheese – particularly how the oil would separate out and fry the remaining curd, leaving a lacy and crisp cheese cracker behind.

4 years ago, Jacob and I spent a month in Sweden and found ourselves immersed in a world that I have since come to deeply appreciate. At the time it was a shock. We were newly married, fresh off the plane from San Diego, embarking on a disorienting 6-month trip around Europe. That trip was life changing in many ways (it brought us to Vienna!), but that month in Sweden continues to impact me. Our host family folded us into their slow, peaceful pace of life, teaching us how to bake bread, harvest vegetables, and forage for edible herbs, berries, and mushrooms from the forest. We only scratched the surface of all there was to learn. I will never forget the day I first found summer chanterelle mushrooms on my own, and came home with pockets full of golden treasure.

Since then, my fascination with the fundamental crafts of cooking has grown exponentially. I want to learn everything. I want to understand where my food comes from. I want to spend a year on a vineyard tending vines and making wine. I want to learn how to butcher meat and clean a fish. I want to make sourdough bread with my own yeast starter, and learn to forage and identify edible plants by their leaves and smell. These fascinations are, in my mind, a grown up, rounded-out expression of the same interest that drove my “deviled egg phase”, and I am sure, will continue to shape the future I dream of.  

A Week in Southern France

In early June Jacob and I took our first vacation in years. You may not have seen us for a while, so here is a picture of us: 

I have been putting off writing this blog post because, to be quite honest, perfect and amazing trips don't make for good stories. So if you are reading this post, it is likely because you know us, you a dreaming of the south of France, you are supremely bored, or a combination of the three. 

We were headed to the south of France to meet my parents and spend a week unwinding in the countryside. As most of you already know, my mother is French, and we still have a good deal of family in the area of Languedoc-Roussillion. My mother inherited the house that my grandfather built, a home which has been the setting of my childhood summers for the majority of my life. Jacob and I spent a month at that house three years ago during our six-month adventure around Europe, and frankly, it was a difficult time. 

As excited as I was to show Jacob the places of my childhood, we realized upon arriving that it simply wasn't the same without family. The house was too large for the two of us. We felt aimless and isolated. We were excited to leave the house behind. 

This time however, would be different. We would be joining my parents there, and Jacob was looking forward to experiencing the house and that area of France through my parent's eyes. It was a chance for France to redeem itself to Jacob. A chance for him to get a taste of the France that I know and love. 

It was also a change to unplug and take a real vacation - a very different experience than taking a whirlwind trip to Barcelona or other exotic destinations. I have found as I travel that there is a very distinctive separation between "travel" and "vacation". A vacation presupposes relaxation. Walking so far that your toes bleed is not relaxation. That's travel. 

Anyways, we landed in Nice, France after a short, uneventful flight from Vienna. Not having seen a sea or ocean in nearly a year, this sight was especially welcome: 

My parents picked us up in Nice and we went for a drive along the coast, stopping at a small cove to have a picnic and go for a swim in the gloriously warm water. I could have simply floated in that water all day. 

We arrived back to the house in the evening in time to catch the evening light setting over the mountains. With dinner I was reminded of something which, for me, set the tone of the entire week: I love French food. 

Ok, now before you go "well duh, you and the rest of the world", let me frame that statement for you a bit further. Yes, French cooking is delicious - but that isn't what I love so much. What makes French food truly magnificent is the ingredients. The cheese, the bread, the salami, the tomatoes, the peaches, the cuts of meat in the butcher shop, and even the tins of prepared foods like cassoulet and duck confit. For me, a quintessential French lunch is a hodgepodge of little bites - black olive tapenade, pate, salami, tomato salad, cheese, bread, and whatever else we choose to dig from the refrigerator. The thing that makes it so good is not our cooking method (as there is none), it is the remarkable quality of each item itself. 

The next day we went to one of the large grocery stores nearby and I felt like one of the gluttonous kids in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. I wanted to try everything. And there was so much available. Fresh oysters and fish, veal, rabbit, ten different kinds of tomatoes, fava beans, endive, etc. In the freezer section I was coming across seafood I had only ever heard of before (like razor clams), along with the ubiquitous French frog-legs and escargots, stuffed in their shells with the garlic parsley butter and ready to be thrown in the oven. (We may or may not have purchased a 48-pack of escargot for a shockingly inexpensive 7 Euros and spent the whole week eating them). 

Well before you get bored of my talking about food, I will get to the point. Being surrounded by such remarkable ingredients is inspiring - especially to someone who is marginally (hah) food obsessed as I am. I immediately asked my mother if I could take over planning dinners for the week. She agreed, bless her. She knows how to make me happy. 

Before I wax poetic over the food I made, here are some more pictures of things we did in France: 

Visited ridiculously picturesque little towns in the countryside:

Met my Uncle Olivier in the tiny village of Roquefort (where the Roquefort blue cheese comes from) for a picnic and tour of the cheese making caves. 

Went to the farmers market and purchased more beautiful food, including French salami (called Saucisson, though as a child I ate so much of it my family took to calling it "Chelseasson").

Visited the gorgeous area of Grizac, tucked high away in the mountains. Though it was my first time there (that I could remember), the area holds a special place in my family's heart: it is where my mother grew up attending summer camps, the place where she went to pray (at the cross, pictured below) and ask God if she should marry my dad, and the place where my eldest brother proposed to his wife, Tiffany. 

Smoked fresh oysters on the grill:

And finally, came back with a suitcase worth of goodies - wine, salami, cheese, homemade jams, and a treasure trove of items we had squirreled away in the house 3 years before when we traveled Europe:

And now, as promised, the food we made. The food that made me realize (again) that if I could spend my entire day around food, I would be one very happy Chelsea. Endless amounts of Escargots (but of course!), Mussels in a roquefort white wine sauce with French fries, grilled rabbit and root vegetables, Shellfish linguine, Smoked oysters on the half-shell, and my favorite of all: homemade lasagna stuffed with duck confit. I have discovered the joys of making lasagna and I am a changed woman. 

Now we are back in Vienna, enjoying the heat after a long winter and indecisive spring. Though it feels a bit truncated I am going to wrap this post up here simply for the sake of getting it out. It has been too long since the last post, I will try and make the next one more timely!