New Amsterdam Farmer's Market

Feeling in need of a little evasion last weekend I set off to discover the New Amsterdam Farmer's Market, which sets up next to the South Street Seaport every Sunday. Just the thought of going to the market awoke all kinds of fond memories, and in the subway ride over my mind was flooded with the smell of roasting chickens, the sight of vibrant, red, sun-ripened tomatoes, the echoes of merchants inviting passers-by to taste their peaches and melons.

Here's the thing. I was getting French markets and American markets entirely confused. In France markets are just another way to do your groceries, though one with far more sensory appeal and human contact than visiting the grocery store down your street. You go to buy your loose carrots, potatoes and mushrooms, which you then bring home to transform. After visiting many farmer's markets in several states, I get the impression that ours display a pronounced consumerist angle. Out of all the stalls only about a quarter were devoted to produce, the rest were finished products that people could buy and use as they came: sandwiches, lobster rolls, tacos, jarred pickles, individual yogurt containers. Maybe this has something to do with the New York lifestyle, whereby people are less inclined to cook anyway and would rather pick up something convenient to eat. But as much as I felt rejuvenated leaving that farmer's market, happy to have seen visitors gawk at fresh bread and heard farmers speak passionately about their homemade jams, I left the market with bags empty of any fresh fruits and vegetables. That will be for my next visit to a French market. In the meantime, I know where I can get a fresh, delicious sandwich to take on a picnic under the Manhattan Bridge.

Bouley's Bread

The Infamous Bread! Courtesy of David Bouley's Website

I couldn't have been sitting on Bouley's plush banquettes for more than three minutes before noticing their bread cart. I had already admired the vaulted ceiling, spied on what our neighbors were enjoying, and taken notes on the waitstaff's impeccable service. And that's when the glorious bread cart, patiently awaiting its next assignment in a corner of the room, caught my eye. I gasped and brought it also to my dad's attention, and immediately we both felt intense anticipation for the cheese course. Luckily, we only had to wait a few courses before the cart payed us a visit. I gawked at the hefty loaves, specked with nuts and dried fruit and spices. I gave in to a slice of olive, fig, and French sourdough. To my surprise - but serious pleasure - I found the bread to be soft, moist and pillowy. My grandmother might have said it was undercooked, but I found it perfect. Perfect with my asparagus soup, perfect with the gorgonzola piccante, and perfect on its own.

After such fond bread memories, I was curious to read about Eric Ripert's Breadbasket Philosophy on the Food & Wine website. Turns out he also thinks that having a selection of breads to choose from to complement your different courses is an integral aspect to any dining experience. And, which I find particularly interesting, Ripert declares that the varied breadbasket is a phenomenon that flourished in America thanks to their innovative and non-conformist mentality freed from the bounds of tradition.

"In France they have had great bread for a long time, but the French are very simple in their demands. They have a good baguette or a good country bread. But here, I think people didn’t have a tradition of a good baguette on their table, therefore they were more curious and more like, “Why not? Let’s do it! Let’s be more creative with it.”"

I'll be telling you more about my lunch at Bouley in a later post! Let's just say my mouth still waters at the thought of one amuse bouche where cheese-laced mashed potatoes and black truffles topped a thin, salty crisp...

Oh Hey!

I've been totally off the grid recently. I've been booking moving trucks, packing suitcases, scrubbing walls, harassing gas/electricity/cable providers, and wandering around Ikea. I moved to Brooklyn, and just signed my first lease!

Though I can't wait to show you the deliciousness that will come from living here, both in my kitchen and my neighborhood, it's going to take a little while until I get settled. So in the meantime I'll share a few snaps of all the bar hopping my dad and I have been doing. Because I've had more time to drink than to post to my blog. My bad.

Crab and Artichoke Dip and House Chili at Clyde's in Washington DC.

Deviled Eggs, Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Sangria at Barraca.

Bombay Sapphire Martinis and Naked Cowboy Oysters at P.J. Clarke's.