Les Champignons Farcis: Stuffed Mushrooms with a Balsamic Dressing

I just ate these last night and they were so delicious that I have to share them promptly.  We had a girls night with some friends, allowing two guys to tag along provided they neither judged the lack of meat on the menu nor the blatant girliness of the film we had chosen to watch. One of my friends organized the menu, and the central element were these delicious mushrooms stuffed with a goat cheese blend. They are served on a bed of mixed greens, and the sharp balsamic dressing compliments the creamy richness of the stuffing.

Les Champignons Farcis

6 large mushrooms (In the pictures we doubled everything to have more. Also, it bears noting that one of our party didn’t like mushrooms so we just shoved the filling in some halved and seeded red peppers and then prepared them the same way and they were delicious!)

4 oz cream cheese

4 oz goat cheese (the soft spreadable kind)

2 garlic cloves, crushed (plus one more crushed clove for the dressing)

diced chives (fresh or dried)

salt and pepper

4 Tbs balsamic vinegar

4Tbs olive oil

mixed greens

  1. Combine cheeses, crushed garlic, and salt and pepper (to taste).
  2. Using a spoon, remove centers of mushrooms so that they form a bowl.
  3. Place mushrooms  in a baking dish with bowl side up and fill with mounds of cheese mixture. Garnish with chives.
  4. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes, then raise oven to 400 and cook until the cheese starts to turn golden, about 5 minutes.
  5. Combine vinegar, oil, remaining crushed garlic clove and salt and pepper to make dressing.
  6. Place greens in a wide serving dish, arrange mushrooms on top, and drizzle in dressing.
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Paris is for Lovers, Mathematicians, and Misconceptions

I can’t decide what it is that makes the city romantic, or if it just seems more romantic than it is because social norms and anonymity encourage public displays of affection. Of course, there would be no shortage of legitimate qualities to make it legitimately romantic.  There are the musicians on every corner playing love ballads, the pestering rose sellers who render the need for foresight obsolete, the sweeping vistas that transform a simple walk into a perfect date, or the crowded restaurants meant for parties of two.  Because I am not with the one I love, I am tempted to be cynical about the suffocating sweetness of the atmosphere. But at heart, I can’t find any cynicism because I am a true romantic. I love love and it is everywhere. The other day I was walking back to a friend’s apartment and I saw this painted on a wall. It is math that I can understand.

I was also visited this week by my friends Philip and Erin, whose wedding I photographed almost a year ago. Erin is a math and French teacher in Arizona and I think they  value of this type of math, which far transcends academics.

I wrote last year of the Pont des Arts, where those in love leave a monument to their time spent in Paris. With hopes and dreams they fix their love to this bridge as an eternal testament to an undying sentiment. My brother and his girlfriend were visiting me from England this past weekend and they too stopped and left a lock.

But my own lock that I left a year ago is gone, which brings us to the misconceptions as to the true longevity of romantic symbols.  I watched the other day as a maintenance crew worked to return the bridge to its original state. In an effort to combat the inevitable, people have taken great pains to procure locks of mammoth proportions, unable to be removed through normal means.  What these hopefuls don’t realize is that they routinely remove entire sections of the bridge and replace them with fresh chain link panels – a clean slate for a new wave of starry-eyed romantics.  Otherwise the bridge would like this stretch behind Notre Dame that is in desperate need of a few people to abstain from the lock tradition and instead just take a picture to immortalize the moment. 

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Library of Impressions

My dad was flying back from Israel this past weekend and arranged to have a several day layover in Paris. This marked his first time in Paris, and I was determined for us to enjoy it as much as possible in two and a half days. Of course, in that short of a time, you can’t hope to absorb everything. My dad told me what he had just spent three weeks telling his students: when you are in a place for the first time, just focus on filing away the things around you in the library of impressions. Savor each moment so that it is catalogued in your mind and you can pull it back out to later to appreciate it afresh.

Other than a five hour visit to the Louvre to photograph ancient near east artifacts among other things, our time together was mostly defined by one word: leisure. We spent a good portion of his visit sitting in cafés, reading infront of monuments, relaxing beside fountains, and allowing ourselves to be entertained by street performers. These moments of repose were punctuated by long walks from one place to another, but on the whole his time here was relaxed and refreshing.

I actually left my camera in the apartment for a good deal of his stay, but I did manage to grab a couple shots of the impressions we came upon, the images that are now filed away to contribute to the mosaic that is Paris.

First, a performer in front of Notre Dame who held the cathedral in a crystal globe. Next, a fire dancer in front of Notre Dame and a view of Île de la cité glowing by night.Finally, two of the many musicians who take advantage of the acoustics around the Louvre and fill Paris with their music, offering a perfect soundtrack to a beautiful city.

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Details and a Realistic Account

If you are tired of starry-eyed Paris posts, here is one to just refresh the fact that the French are a peculiar bunch. Just as it is the many details of this beautiful city that make me love it, it is the many quirky eccentricities of its inhabitants that makes them French. So for today I have some random (often irritating) encounters with those endearing French juxtaposed with pictures of the visual details that I love about Paris. Yes, the two really have nothing to do with each other, but I liked the pictures and they don’t have any other cool story or enthralling thought to go with them.-On the plane here I was seated beside a young French lady who had apparently just separated from the Chicago native love of her life. I add that detail to make very clear that her English was above adequate. We were in an exit row, so there was no room in front of us to stow our carry-on bags. I kept my purse by my feet, but she had a large purse and duffel sitting in front of her.  The stewardess came by and told us that as we were in the exit row, we would have to put all our bags in the overhead compartment. Knowing that space would soon fill up and being a competitive American, I quickly put my purse above me. French Lady kept on texting her American man. The stewardess came by again and this time told the lady quite firmly that she would have to put her bags up. French Lady texted for another 5 minutes before finally stepping into the aisle, and seeing that of course, all the bins were full. She muttered a few “C’est pas possible!”s under her breath before the stewardess took her duffel and put it somewhere else. Another 5 minutes of angry texting ensued before the stewardess returned to this time demand that she put her purse up too, as she couldn’t have either by her feet. Naturally, French Lady had already decided not to obey, and would therefore never budge. She proceeded to spend the rest of the trip with her purse wedged behind her back and covered with a blanket.

                                    

-Saturday night I went out with friends to have dessert at an upscale restaurant that I have always loved. 45 minutes to be seated. 1 hour to get our desserts, during which time I am twice told that they don’t have what I have ordered. Another hour to finally get and pay the bill, which of course includes charges that bear no semblance to what was on the menu, whereupon the server just explains that he adjusted our orders to match what he decided to bring. Welcome to France: wait in line and pay.

 -Paris summers mean many things that are wonderful. But they are also the reality of no air conditioning, sweaty people crammed in metros, and endless lines at everything remotely worthy of a photo. I need not detail the smell that one often wanders into, and the manner in which one becomes trapped in a sea of tourists led by leaders holding their umbrellas aloft.

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After the sun [finally] sets

A combination of jetlag and innate summer laziness means that I have been very slow to rise while being in Paris. This morning I had to wake up before 11, and I felt the great injustice of it. I actually like the morning, believe it or not, and I can be perky early if need be, but there is nothing as wonderful as sleeping away half of the day and feel that you somehow cheated adulthood out of something. Unfortunately, I also like having enough daylight hours to do things in, and thus sleeping-in inevitably creates a stressful moment later in the day.

Not so in Paris. True, it is mostly because I have virtually no agenda to accomplish, but it is also because I had forgotten how deliciously long the days are this far north, how the sun doesn’t fully set till almost 11, and how you are able to treasure ling hours of twilight where you feel free from the day’s stress and not yet burdened by the knowledge that you should be getting sleep.

When the sun finally does set, you get the joy of seeing Paris by night, with glowing alleys and streets lit by the lights of bustling restaurants. And it is worth finally relinquishing the daylight for this.

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Return to Paris

In the center of Paris, right in front of Notre Dame, there is a brass circle that marks the very middle of the city. This spot is usually obstructed by tourists, but it is said that pausing on this location ensures you return to Paris. I can’t speak for the infallible veracity of this claim, but I can say that three times I have come and stood on this spot before leaving this city, and every time I have returned.

Hemingway spoke of Paris as the “moveable feast” and I can attest that the most delightful thing about this city is that it never changes or comes to an end. When I would come back to Kentucky during college, I was always disgruntled by the new buildings, wider roads, and demolished farms that distorted the face of the town I remembered. With Paris this is not a problem. The city literally can’t grow much, so despite a few unnoticeable store facades changing, it remains frozen in dreamlike perfection. (Side note: The family for whom I nannied had changed the door code, so I was unable to enter the building and had to slip in behind someone leaving to visit, but I count this change as negligible in light of decades of sameness on a larger scale.)

After being greeted at the airport by my dear friend Ana-Joel, who is hosting me my first week or so, I set out to wander the city that I love. I happily spent the day allowing myself to get lost in the endless streets and re-find places that I loved. I visited bridges that I miss standing on, benches where I miss watching the world pass by. And of course, tasted pastries that I missed eating. It felt like no time had passed since I last wandered these streets a year ago. Today I picked up shopping right where I had left off at last year’s “soldes” and ate lunch at Mouffetart where the Quiche Lady recognized me. I was able to spend the day with friends whom I love and whom I have missed and finish out the afternoon playing in the park with the girls I nannied. Returning to Paris reminds me why it is impossible to stop loving Paris.

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Packing

Every inch of my space in every domain is a disaster. I am packing, endlessly packing, and the stacks and piles have 5 categories:

  1. Going to Paris.
  2. Not going to Paris but still going to DC and necessary in KY for the three weeks in between getting back from Paris and moving to DC.
  3. Not going to Paris or DC and therefore to be assimilated into my parent’s home.
  4. Going to DC and not necessary for summer or Paris and thus must be washed and moved from my apartment to the basement at my parents’ to await the Big Move.
  5. Give away. Why do I have a tea set with rooster on it? Where did I get this shirt? And why have I kept that weird skirt when I haven’t had anything to wear with it since I lost that shirt somewhere in the dorm my freshmen year of college?

The result of this is utter chaos. My car has made many trips and looks like a high school boy uses it, my room looks like a second hand clothes sorting room, and my basement is filling with boxes. Sometimes I waste time on pinterest and I see idealistic jcrew-esque catalog spreads where you pack for a summer trip like this, with a unifying color scheme and carefully selected pieces to maximize your outfit options while minimizing what you actually need to bring:

No one packs like this. At least, I hope not. Instead, we normal humans just throw giant piles of all the things we like most and then we end up with a suitcase full of unwearable items and awkward ensembles.  This is why my backup plan is to go to Paris and hit the sales. Out of necessity, of course. But just in case, I do have 7 pairs of shoes packed.

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One week from today . . .

. . . I will be getting on a plane to go back to the place that I love so much: This means my blog will be decidedly more dramatic for the next month or so before returning to recount the adventures of moving to DC, studying for grad school, and baking things occasionally.

 

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Midsummer Update

Ok, so maybe I am not as industrious during the summer as I had hoped. I have about a week and a half before I leave for Paris, and I have yet to do many of the things that I had wanted to do. This isn’t to say that summer has been a waste – far from it. It is merely to admit that the routine-less laidback atmosphere of the past month has not fostered a desire to do anything other than what pleases my fancy in the moment. This means that I have watched lots of America’s Next Top Model and way too many shows about competitive cupcake making. America is the only nation where the two fastest growing types of TV shows are ones about inspirational weight-loss and cut-throat culinary demonstrations.

I recently found this to do list on someone’s blog (because the ineternet lets us creepily know what is happening in the lives of overly domestic housewives all across the world) and I feel that it perfectly captures what I really want to spend my summer doing.  When was the last time I made playdough? Or waffles, or a mural?

But in regards for my own list of goals, I have burned lightly, slept in frequently, spent and many hours laughing with family. The farmer’s market ambitions have come in conflict with the sleeping in, so that hasn’t already happened, but I have started a painting and made it out to ride a couple times.  I finally have an apartment in DC where the crime rating for the neighborhood is only slightly alarming, and I am reveling in the time for enjoyable summer reading. My bedside table currently looks like this:

I used to be devoted to reading one book at the time, but in the past two years I have taken the schizophrenic approach where I wander from essays on the role of art (On Moral Fiction), to poetry (4 Quartets), to classic books that I should have read but put off till now (To Kill a Mockingbird), to crazy memoirs on raising children the Chinese way (Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom). Even though I have finished most of the books on here, I have a hard time moving them from the bedside table to the bookshelf. I just get attached and that final cross-room move signifies that a good book is truly over.

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Amish Squash Grilled Pizza (Variation from Smitten Kitchen)

Growing up I didn’t realize how eccentric and fun my great uncle Lyman was because we only saw him every other year for reunions. But in the past 5 years he has decided to retire around the corner from my grandparents and now I get to revel in all the joys and hilarities of the family patriarchs united again. Uncle Lyman is known for showing up for dinner with his own unique contributions, usually in the form of obscenely large watermelons, insane quantities of summer squash or melons, or large cuts of meat. Uncle Lyman loves fresh summer produce, and he loves to buy it from the local farmers. I don’t mean trendy farmer’s market style like me, I mean actually going to their farms (or the tiny Wilmore farmer’s market which is pretty much the same thing) and coming out with a bushel of beans.

His favorite place to buy is what I like to call “Amish Land,” a cluster of Amish farms in past Preachersville Kentucky, aka, far after falling of the face of civilization. He and my grandmother trek out into the Kentucky hills and return with gorgeous produce. On Monday, my friend Rachel and I braved the trip with them. After flying around turns and winding our way through miles of green hills and picturesque farm houses, we finally pulled up at an Amish farm where Uncle Lyman comfortable ambled into their garage to await the children that would eventually notice us and come out to sell. Though it was early in the season, we left with our arms brimming with fresh honey (comb included!), early zucchini and squash, and few greenhouse tomatoes. Oh, and Amish baked goods that did not last much past the car as well as a suspiciously cheesy block of Amish butter.

Because I impulsively bought 6 squash (for 2$ — I know, wonderful), I decided I needed to make something with them promptly.  That night Rachel and I completed our perfect summer day with a grilled pizza. If you have never made grilled pizza, I advise you to do so NOW. I have been converted to feel that pizza should always be grilled.  We made a variation on this Smitten Kitchen recipe, and I give it to you, but with the grilling directions.

Grilled Lemony Squash Goat Cheese Pizza

1 batch pizza dough (any particular favorite works)

4 oz goat cheese

1 lemon

fresh basil, diced ( I just went and pulled a hand full of fresh leaves)

1 squash, sliced very thin

1 zucchini, sliced very thin

salt and pepper

olive oil

Parchment paper

cornmeal

  1. Prepare dough according to box directions (like me) or according to whatever recipe you have.
  2. Spread a piece of parchment paper with cornmeal and roll out the dough onto the paper.
  3. Place pizza stone on grill and heat to 500+. You don’t want to do this until you are close to being ready to put the pizza out there or you will have the stone too hot, which will burn the bottom of the pizza and not cook the top. Conversely, having it not hot enough will leave you with soggy pizza. If done right however, you have delicious pizza quickly with no prebaking.
  4. Mix goat cheese, dashes of salt and pepper, and the juice of half of the lemon together. Spread on pizza dough.
  5. Sprinkle cheese with basil and then arrange veggie slices in concentric overlapping circles. You will probably have a couple slices left over, but I believe in putting as many veggies on there as you want. Smitten Kitchen recommended only half each of squash and zucchini, but that is not enough for me to justify eating bread covered in cheese and call it dinner.  Also, I needed to use up my Amish produce.
  6. Squeeze the other half of lemon over veggies, drizzle with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
  7. Use a plate or cookie sheet to help transfer the parchment paper and pizza to the pizza stone.
  8. Close grill and cook for 5-10 minutes or until the edges of crust are golden and paper is beginning to singe at edges. 
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