recipe: kettle eggs

When I lived in Paris, the first meal that I ordered in a restaurant was oeufs à la coque. The description of ingredients sounded like an omelet, but that it was not. Instead, I received a salad and two piping hot, seemingly uncooked eggs. Uncooked to the point that I wasn't even sure they were edible. But, out of embarrassment, I ate every last bite. (The added irony? The French word for omelet is omelette. Whoops.)

I never quite got used to eating runny egg whites, but later in my time abroad discovered oeufs mollet—essentially a creamier version of American soft-boiled eggs. The whites are cooked, but still moist, and the yoke is just touched by heat, so that you still have to crack it open to release the golden liquid I like to think of as "egg butter."

Of course, I experimented with all different ways to achieve the same effect at home, and found that the best results came from water that was heated to a piping hot boil, then removed from the heat. Out of laziness or sheer genius, I decided my electric kettle (a staple in French kitchens) was the perfect place to achieve this effect, as it did an even better job than a stove-top pot of retaining heat after having stopped boiling.

Hence, my invention of "kettle eggs." To this day, it's still my favorite breakfast.

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Kettle Eggs

Ingredients

• two eggs
• toasted bread
• water (enough to fill a large kettle 3/4 of the way)

Instructions

1. Fill a large electric or stove top kettle 3/4 of the way.
2. Bring to a full, piping-hot boil.
3. Turn off the heat.
4. Gently place two eggs into the kettle and close the top.
5. Time six minutes, swiftly remove eggs and promptly rinse with cold water until cool enough to handle.
6. Crack eggs open (carefully) and scoop the insides out onto the toasted bread of your choice.
7. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.

catch of the day: my life in sourdough

In the world of "food television", there's not much I like to watch. I'm easily bored by cooking shows, get aggravated by nearly all reality television (thought I did have my Top Chef moment), and am wholly persuaded by Michael Pollan's observation  that more time spent watching food TV inversely correlates with more time in the kitchen (not to mention general culinary proficiency).

But I am an avid fan of culinary cinema, works that seek to tell a story beyond who can quickly bang out canapés for 500 guests and actually delve into the story behind the food—see Hiro Dreams of Sushi, Toast, or Kings of Pastry. That said, I don't often have the time to watch a two hour film, and wish there were more short-form cinematic food programs. 

Enter My Life In Sourdough , a just-launched cooking show by filmmaker Marie Constantinesco, a French transplant and baking aficionado living in Brooklyn. Admittedly, if there was an equation for things that are likely to please me, Food + French + NYC would be a pretty good bet. But there's an elegance and quirky honesty to Marie's work that speaks to both an intelligent, subtle French sense of humor (that I very much appreciate) and the wondrous absurdity of being young today in Brooklyn.

I had the pleasure to meet with Marie and speak about the series, her own experience with cooking and the differences between home-cooking culture in New York and France:

What inspired the series, and how did it come to be?

My Life In Sourdough was inspired by my love for food and film. I wanted to do a new kind of cooking show involving a narrative and decided to tell the story of a girl looking for food and for love in NY. Food was going to be the link between the characters. The series was developed as an independent study at NYU (I'm a thesis student in the Graduate Film Program) and we started shooting the series with a really small budget and a tiny crew of very talented fellow filmmakers.

Is this your first foray into the food world?

Prior to the series, I had already been playing with food themes in previous short films (Too much strawberry jam, which involved an intense making out/bread kneading session) and I have been shooting food and blogging about food for a while—but food was never really the sole focus. So yes, the series is my first real food world adventure.

Any particular funny/interesting stories about the production of the series?

There are a few! From shooting at 6 am in Choice Green  in torrential rain (It was literally raining in the store and, if you look close enough, you can actually see the rain in the scene with the made-from-scratch  guy!), to feeding the crew prop food to save money (we used the pasta we made in the scene for lunch!).

For episode 4, we also needed one shot in the waiting room of an ER. I scouted a grungy hospital, but there was a lot of security and I thought we would never get away with shooting there without permission. On the day of, we went in with a tiny camera. We sat down quietly, I hid the microphone in my handbag and we stole the shot in less than 10 minutes. The security guards couldn't care less.  

What’s already in store for the future of the show/where would you like to see it go?

I’m planning on shooting another season in the fall in NY – it’s my favorite season on this side of the Atlantic and I can’t wait to shoot in corn fields and apple orchards. A season in Paris is also on my mind. Eventually I would love to develop the series in a longer format. I’m currently looking for producers and investors.

Are there any food films/series that you particularly like and respect?

I love In the Mood for Love, which is not a food film per se, but I particularly like the slow motion scenes where Maggie Cheung goes down the stairs to buy her daily dose of noodles. The sensual atmosphere that comes with slow motion was an inspiration for the food videos of My Life in Sourdough, shot by Chananun Chotrungroj who brought her great sense of framing and aesthetics to the series.I also really like Rachel Khoo’s BBC series, and while not a film, Clotilde Dusoulier’s series on French food idioms is quite fascinating!

When and how did you start baking?

I started baking and cooking fairly young, watching my parents cook. My Romanian grandmother was also a serious baker, and I would make hundreds of biscuits with her every Christmas. My first cookbook was called La cuisine sans maman (“Cooking without mum”), but my first cooking endeavors quickly became family gatherings over mini-disasters. I once attempted to make some powered sugar and mint syrup candy balls that would refuse to come into shape. My mum invited along the postman to help out, and the green liquid paste magically turned into candy—but they tasted horrible. 

The kitchen has always been a place of exploration for me. It’s the place where I go when I’m down, and I’ll make a rhubarb jam to cheer me up. The place I like to invite friends—to cook with me or eat the new cheesecake I’ve just made. It’s also the place where I can close the door, turn on the radio, and create something. I also love how you know very quickly when it’s working or when it’s a fail, and sometimes I wish making films would resemble that process.

How would you compare home cooking culture in France vs. New York?

Typically in NY people have less time—they drink or eat their breakfast on the street, and tend to eat out or do take out for dinner. The tradition of home-cooked meals is not as rooted as in France, but it's changing, as there is a growing movement towards home-cooking in NY, and farmer's markets are becoming more and more popular.In France, where a croissant used to be the only thing that was acceptably eaten on-the-go, people now tend to devote less time to eating lunch. For instance, the two hour lunch break has often been reduced to one hour, hence more and more sandwiches eaten on the street. However, it seems that the tradition of family dinners remains somewhat unshaken, even though the communal table is often facing a television.

Eventually, the main difference is that in France, people are so obsessed by food that they can't stop talking about it. Even in a "non-foodie" family, it's not rare for a dinner conversation to focus exclusively around food. Reminiscing over extraordinary food experiences makes the best dinner conversation!

eater's digest: buvette

There are some restaurants that fit like a glove. Barely through the door, even without seeing the menu, you sense familiarity. It's not quite déjà vu, because you've rarely seen this before - your kind of restaurant, manifested in the flesh.

Now that doesn't mean this is the best restaurant you've ever eaten in. Of course, it has to be great. But a restaurant that feels like you imagined it yourself is not a constant succession of "wow!" moments. Like Alice in Wonderland, you've tried the bottles that made you bigger and smaller. That was good fun, but this is the bottle that will turn you back to "just right".

Getting to the point, this restaurant - for me, in New York - is Buvette. The first time I went there, I had only a glass of wine and two small plates, but that was enough. From then on, I called it "my favorite restaurant in New York". Sure, I cock my head to think after saying it, knowing I've had more earth-shaking meals elsewhere, but that's not the point.

The point is the charm, the desire to return, again and again. The waiters and bar staff that range from pleasantly gruff to more than accommodating, all dressed in dapper ties and half-aprons. The random assortment of ceiling mirrors that reflect the hustle and bustle of the small space. The conscious and obvious eaves-dropping of the conversations around you. The bathroom whose haphazard "je ne sais quoi" qualities make you wish you had brought your camera.

But for all my affection, it was just this month that I ate a full, proper meal at Buvette. I brought along one of my favorite eaters - a friend whose wealth of cultural experiences has not dampened her enthusiasm for simpler pleasures (case in point: her favorite food is macaroni and cheese). I introduced her to brandade de morue, a long-time provencale favorite of mine. Buvette's was an appropriate balance of creamy and light, briny and balanced. We followed with more seafood, an octopus salad with celery that stunned with its simplicity. If there was a dish of food to eat every day it might be this. Tender, crunchy, refreshing, textural.

As for sides, I insisted on poireaux. To get properly cooked leeks is always a pleasure, and these were cooked in the traditional French vinaigrette style, tender (but not mushy) with an ample dose of whole grain moutarde. As for the cauliflower gratin (chosen by Ms. Mac n' Cheese), it was a reminder of this overlooked vegetable's myriad magical qualities. I'll take mashed, steamed, pureed or roasted cauliflower over the omnipresent potato any day.

And then, the pièce de résistance. I had heard rumors about this chocolate mousse - that it was whipped by hand in copper bowls to achieve a most wonderful texture. However, I could never have imagined what I was about to experience. Luxurious, dense, creamy, resistant and yet yielding - I'm not sure you can even legitimately call it mousse. It's too intense to eat alone, even with its dollop of exquisite whipped cream. The essence of dessert, hailing from a time before we decided to emulate the hyper-sweet, high fructose corn syrup universe in which we currently live. In short - and in summary - it's not to be missed.