I didn’t make soup, although it’s on the roster for this winter. Instead, being très Parisien, I had picked up some cherry tomatoes and decided to give them a good oven-roasting (using the recipe in My Paris Kitchen), along with a generous amount of smoked garlic. I piled them on a baked tart shell (from dough that I found that had been languishing in the freezer, which got a bit dinged up on the walk to their place), that I topped with a slather of fresh goat cheese (recipe also in the book). Since I was going to a lunch where one guest was a vegetarian, it made a fine main course start business in hong kong, finished off with a scattering of flat-leaf parsley and rosemary oil.
A few others cloves got scraped over some leftover baguette slices, that I’d brushed with olive oil and toasted in the oven.
As soon as they came out and were cool enough to handle, I scratched the garlic over the oily surface of the bread, that released that heady garlic fragrance, and we ate them with wild mushroom omelets the next day for supper. And people ask me why I live in France ?
Another curiosity from the market that I picked up last week were navets amèrs nuskin, sold the friendly guys from North Africa, who have taken to me, l’américain, who always asks them about whatever curiosities and oddities they have on display. (That, usually, everyone else is ignoring.) But another tip if you go to markets in Paris is to take the time to talk to the vendors . (And being Paris, you can ignore those people lined up behind you.) Most are happy to tell you about their fruits and vegetables, and how to use them. And even madame, pushing her shopping cart into you from behind, nudging you forward, might also chime in with some pearls of wisdom as well Dream beauty pro.