Banh'd from the Marais

Madame's thimble sized sandwich shop at 7 rue Volta in the Haute Marais is as sparkling clean as a whistle and her banh mi ranks numero uno. Taking our orders she snaps on a pair of latex gloves and fires up the hot plate. Resting walnut sized gobs of marinated and grilled pork, beef, and chicken on fresh baked baguette, between long slices of cucumber that's been pickled by her own hand, Madame's affection for the typical Vietnamese sandwich is evident in every gesture. Condiments - cilantro, spicy sauce, chilis - are equally crispy and a delectable combination with the tender meat and molasses-colored sauce.

Madame is originally from China but has taken to the Vietnamese sandwich trade with passion and dedication that is unmatched in Paris. She is also a chatterbox. Not shy to share her pride in her product - and the proof is in the taste.

Take note wannabe banh mi proprietors. No pathetically shredded, dry pork or bald, wilted cilantro in sight. Madame blows the competition out of the water on quality and hygiene alone. Cleanliness? Yes. Hand sanitizer is available for the unwashed patrons right there on the counter. Add to that Madame's grinning, effervescent service and all hail the champion of banh mi in Paname. Fade out to "Eye of the Tiger".

Address:
Banh Mi
7 rue Volta
75003 Paris
Métro : Arts et Métiers
Map

Montant à payer: 5 euro

Twist on Super Simple Panna Cotta Recipe

Tuesday night. Invited to dinner at friend's house. Offered to bring dessert. Question: buy dessert for three people for less than five euros? Or do some pantry scrounging and make something?

Solution: panna cotta.

Not immediately the easiest thing to make in France, as it's tough to find heavy cream - the dessert's primary ingredient (id est "panna").

Quickly checked out the easiest panna cotta recipe ever online. I had some key ingredients, like water and vanilla beans. A dash around the corner to the supermarket yielded crème fraîche instead of heavy cream, a handful of yellow and purple plums, and the second key ingredient - gelatin. Yum.

The recipe was cut in half, the plums were cooked down, and the vanilla beans leveled into the melted cream with the appropriate degree of reverence.

My little panne cotte only took 2 hours to set well enough for metro transport.

Girlfriends duly impressed (maybe too impressed, considering) and bellies full, for only 4.35 euros. Pantry cooking rules.

Montant à payer:
4.35 euro

High brow. Low budget. Camdeborde.

Inelegant as they are, hangovers do happen. To my credit, these days it's more often Monsieur Lassaigne's fault than Señor Cuervo's.

In the absence of a greasy spoon remedy à la Denny's, the best cure I've found here in Paname is a crêpe. A crêpe complète to be precise. The recipe? At least two generous handfuls of emmenthal cheese, slap on some ham, hold together with a fried egg and stuff into a crispy-round-the-edges crêpe. The thing works wonders.

Now, there is a lot of hubbub over the criteria of what makes an excellent crêpe. Some people look for crêpes cooked evenly from the bullseye to the edges. Detail-oriented types will notice if the griddle is buttered or oiled (butter, of course, the preferred lubricant). Others will not go near halal, or porkless, crêpes.

I want my crêpe to look like a doily. I want it to be crispy around the edges and not drip out the end like an overstuffed burrito. I want fresh batter, ham that hasn't been sitting in Tupperware for a week, and freshly grated Swiss cheese if remotely possible.

The complète at L'Avant Comptoir is, to me, just short of an epiphany. The crêperie and wine-bar adjacent to the famous Le Comptoir restaurant in Saint Germain is a stroke of genius and act of compassion by Mr. Bistro - Yves Camdeborde. Genius for not compromising on quality ingredients or service at what appears to be an ordinary crêperie at first glance. Compassion for creating a Camdebordeian antechamber to Le Comptoir, where I hope to be reincarnated as a plate.

Back to the crêpe. No, the galette (crêpe = white flour, sweetened; galette = buckwheat flour, unsweetened).

Hallelujah. The batter is fresh. The ham? Count on Camdeborde ham to be a few steps above the rest. I can pretend that the emmenthal is freshly grated. The egg does not drip. Most importantly, the outer edges of the galette look like starched lace while the middle is just the right thickness to contain the whopper.

This thing is a meal. My pupils dilate as the crêpier hands it over and says, "you won't be needing dinner after this one".

Nope. Just a little pepper and an extra Tylenol.

Montant à payer
5 euro

L'Avant Comptoir
3, Carrefour de l'Odéon
75006
Métro: Odéon (4, 10)
Hours 7/7 12pm-11pm

Banh'd for life.

The St. Bernard wins this photo. Not the sandwich, sadly.

I'm embarrassed that it took me this long to lose it. I mean, my friends said it was so good. They couldn't understand why I hadn't tried it yet. Parents, prepare the earmuffs. Today I gave up my Vietnamese sandwich virginity.

I wasn't sure what to expect. Sure I'd thought about the combination of crusty bread filled with fresh herbs, savory pork who-knows-what, slathered in sauce. But the sandwich was intimidating. Even the word banh mi sounded so unfamiliar and potentially uncomfortable.

My selection process was rigorous (only fitting for an important event in a girl's life).

In Paris, most Vietnamese dining establishments are found in inner sanctum of the 13th arrondissement. Too far for a lazy Saturday. I'm a picky lass but I have geographical limits.

Clotilde's blog suggested a little place by Belleville that was applauded by the blogosphere. Hiking up rue Faubourg du Temple was an adventure in itself, complete with festive pink projectile vomit across the street.

Appetite bolstered, I found Saigon Sandwich just off the main drag. Taking the shabby storefront as an indication of authenticity, I left with a banh mi aux boulettes de porc swinging happily in a plastic bag.

I quivered with anticipation, a lion in my stomach and just a twinge of nerves as I unsheathed the banh mi from its paper wrapper. I had been advised to let the sandwich marinate a few minutes to let the juices permeate the bread.

Let's just say, two minutes later I was not a satisfied consumer. Crusty baguette. Check. Fresh grassy cilantro. Check. Minced pork parts swimming in sauce...Blank. The sandwich left me on the edge of fulfillment yet wanting more.

I thought to myself, "Self, this calls for a banh mi dating game." Yes! I will sample and reward the banh mi who..um..completes me.

As for Saigon Sandwich, I'll chalk it up to the changement de propriétaire notice on the front door. If I were ravenous near Belleville, I'd try another version at Saigon. Especially for 3 euros.

There must be a special Vietnamese sandwich for everyone in this city. But like Diana Ross said, you can't hurry love.

Montant à payer
3 euro

Saigon Sandwich
8, rue de la Présentation
75011
Métro: Belleville (2)
Mon-Sat 10am-6pm; Sun 10am-2pm

Crème filled

It started with the best of intentions.

Beating back a negative 4 degree Annus Novus with a couple friends and a little traditional French compoting. Compoting? Crème de marrons to be sure.

Peak marrons season is fading, but those dang chestnuts are still everywhere you look.

Sri Lankan purveyors fan the scent of roasting marrons into the caverns and crevices of the metro, penetrating even the most cynical Parisian with memories of childhood or what could-have-been.

My San Francisco blogger friend posted her grandmother's recipe for crème de marrons. I tried to resist but I had to beat the marrons at their own game. You think you can make me wont and reminisce of things that never happened? I'll show you, you chestnutty fiends!

Recipe for, well, good times with chestnuts includes: one Barbra, one Sharon, one Lassaigne, one reasonable slice of duck mousse from Madame, and one kilo of marrons from the market.

Get ready to feel the pain. Fingers and fingernails wrest stubborn husks and inner husks from the buttery châtaignes (NB: although the pain might have been dulled somewhat by the Lassaigne, a sub-fingernail splinter can smart for days).


Pop into large pot with a vanilla bean and bay leaf, cook until tender, then puree in food mill or processor if smooth texture is desired.


The result is a gooey, earthy, delectable compote to spread on anything from ice cream to toast. Consider the inherent vanilla, butter, and subtle bread flavors of the marron and prescribe as necessary.

With my kitchen now in ruins, I'm using crème de marrons to flavor my coffee.

Montant à payer:
6 euro / kilo marrons
2 euro / vanilla bean
.02 euro / bay leaf from La Bovida

Udon know?

Udon, and similarly, ramen, usually remind me of dried packets of nothing-natural mixed with suspicious (but delicious) bricks of dried noodles. They were a dollar a package and the highlight of the afterschool period (that or Cheez Its). I admit. I ate them raw sometimes.

This was my definition of udon until... ahem.. recently. Udon may be described as the stepchild to soba's firstborn status.




However today, on the heels of a gnarly cold, the bowl of warm salty broth, perfectly firm noodles, and ridiculously healthy seaweed was my one true love. I suppressed the childlike urge to draw on the steamed window. Smiled at the perfectly ascending paper napkins on the counter. Slurped up the spicy broth like the Japanese dudes next to me. Vowed that next time my technique would be at least as graceful as that of my dining partner, and that the next time would be soon.

Montant à payer:
Udon bowls: 8 euro - 15 euro. From the looks of things the tempura is also a crowd pleaser.

If Udon't know, now you know:
Kunitoraya
Tel. : 01 47 03 33 65
39 rue Sainte-Anne 75001 Paris
Métro : Pyramides ou Opéra

So, it turns out I'm broke.

When your friends offer to underwrite the post-accounting-class champagne, it might be a sign. A sign of being broke, and hungry. In Paris.

Easily fixable? Let's see.