Hi friends,

I told you I’d have two posts this month! I wanted to get this out before spring was officially over. Does two days before the summer solstice count? Anyway…

Do you have a favorite allium? For me, it’s a tie between green garlic and chive blossoms, which are some of the happiest signs of spring—green garlic comes early in the season, signalling that strawberries aren’t too far out; chive blossoms are the prettiest alliums I know, and their purple-pink hue kind of kicks off the parade of vibrantly-colored spring and summer produce.

I haven’t found much green garlic at the markets, but I’ve been happening upon the most generous bunches of chive blossoms of my life. I currently have a surplus, and for the foreseeable future, these are my only allium. I’m putting them wherever I can. On eggs, and pasta, and rice with peas! Savory toasts, beans, and every kind of green! I feel a little like Sam I Am right now, but I’m about as enthusiastic as he was about green eggs and ham. If you ever find yourself with a glut of chive blossoms, I have some suggestions for you.

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Things to Do with Chive Blossoms

Sprinkle them like fairy dust over every kind of salad!

This was the first thing I made with my current bunch. I’ve put them on every salad since (note: good olive oil and Maldon go on all my salads):

• Very cold cucumbers with lime juice and chive blossoms. Sometimes herbs, sometimes nigella seeds. Always a few healthy cracks of black pepper.

• Beets over herby yogurt (heavy on fresh dill), topped with pistachios or walnuts, lime zest, a squeeze of lime juice, and chive blossoms.

• Little gems, any herb, a simple dressing with lemon or lime or vinegar, seeds (pumpkin, hemp, sunflower—one or a mix, as you prefer), and chive blossoms.

• Chickpeas, tuna, arugula, little tomatoes (datterini are the best, but good cherry or grape tomatoes are good too), herbs (or not!), and chive blossoms.

• Chopped romaine, a creamy dressing (herby fromage blanc, green goddess), cucumbers, and chive blossoms. Seeds are optional, but the crunch is nice. Nigella is also nice here.

• Chicken salad with tarragon and chive blossoms (put that on the chopped romaine with creamy dressing!).

Or eggs!

• Soft, custardy scrambled eggs with chive blossoms.

• Omelettes with herbs and chive blossoms.

• Oeufs Mayo, topped with herbs, chive blossoms, and flaky salt.

• Any kind of vegetable frittata topped with aioli (optional) and chive blossoms.

Or onto toasts!

• Very good butter, thinly sliced radishes, chive blossoms, flaky salt.

• Sardines, a squeeze of lemon, a dollop of aioli (optional), and chive blossoms.

• Smoked salmon, dill, lots of lemon, and chive blossoms.

• Mozzarella or burrata, with basil leaves and basil flowers (I kind of exclusively buy bunches that are flowering because the pretty little buds make me happy), a little bit of lemon zest, flaky salt, and chive blossoms.

• Tomatoes (I’m counting down to the heirlooms), olive oil, flaky salt, basil flowers, and dried chive blossoms.

Or pasta, rice, or beans!

• Pasta with peas, asparagus, and chive blossoms.

• Pasta with fresh cherry tomato sauce, basil, and chive blossoms.

• Rice with peas, tarragon or chervil, a little bit of lemon zest, and chive blossoms.

• White beans, arugula, and seared trout with dill, lime (zest and juice), and chive blossoms.

And while I’ve been trying my best, and this might sound like a lot of uses, I couldn’t use them up before they started to dry out. Luckily, they’re still wonderful (and their color gets a little more beautiful!) when completely dry.

What can you do with dried chive blossoms?

Infuse vinegar, make pickles.

I threw a ton of dried chive blossoms in a jar with apple cider vinegar from Normandy and a splash of this Spanish red wine vinegar—I don’t know if you can get it in the States, but if you come to Paris, I’ll tell you where to go for it because it’s worth taking home—to make a lovely (it’s magenta!) infused vinegar and pickled chive blossoms. The blossoms give their color to the vinegar, but the pale little bulbs are happy bursts of flavor wherever you put them (I really like them with chickpeas and tuna).

Dress oysters.

I haven’t tried this because I only like to dress my oysters with a tiny drop of citrus (lime, preferably), but I have to say, if you like mignonette, you should really give chive blossom vinegar a try. It’s beautiful, more nuanced, and there’s no need to finely dice a shallot (and there’s no distraction from the oyster’s texture)!

Anything, really.

Dried blossoms can go everywhere the fresh ones can, but I’m also cooking with them. Who needs garlic or onions when all you have to do is pluck a handful of these?

Other Highlights

Before the official start of summer, I just want to note some of the other things (not-food related) I enjoyed this spring.

The major highlights came from three of my favorite ladies:

• Deborah Levy’s latest book

• The Lee Miller exhibition at le Musée d’Art Moderne de Paris

• Getting reacquainted with Edith Wharton. Research for a work project got me into a rabbit hole, and I have to say, I love it here. I started with The House of Mirth, and up next: The Custom of the Country, and A Motor-Flight Through France

What were your highlights? I hope you had a happy spring and your summer’s looking bright.

xo

k

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I think you’re going to get two posts from me this month. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about chive blossoms (that one’s in the works), but I had to send a quick one because my big market guide for Culinary Backstreets just came out and I’m excited to share it.

This assignment got me out into the world and feeling more normal than ever. Getting back into market life, and getting to write about it? I’m floating.

This one took a lot of time and effort. Narrowing it down to one market per arrondissement was tough—there were 36 on my first “whittled down” list of markets to feature. Then there was all the visiting and shooting with Arthur (that part’s always fun, but I need a lot of rest afterwards).

Even though it’s ultra-whittled down, this is a solid lineup and I’m proud of it. If you or anyone you know is coming to Paris and market shopping is a thing you like to do, I hope this list is helpful. And if you’re ever looking for recommendations beyond this list, let me know. I’ve got plenty!

Here’s my full Paris Market Guide. And I know we only have a few days left before it’s officially summer, but my Spring Produce Guide (also for Culinary Backstreets) is still pretty relevant.

I hope you’re enjoying the last days of spring, and I hope you like chive blossoms because those are coming your way soon!

xo

k

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Happy Strawberry Season! This is always the most uplifting time of year for me. In New York, I counted down to and celebrated the first day of strawberries at the greenmarket like it was a holiday and continued celebrating by eating a pint a day all season long, but Strawberry Season in France (May to September) is a whole new level of bliss.

Before I lived here, I made several trips to Paris just to eat strawberries. When I was sad and going through my divorce, Paris and all the French strawberries recharged my morale; for a few birthdays (one before the divorce, just as things were falling apart, and one when I was approaching the end of the very long process/nightmare), Paris and all the French strawberries helped me celebrate and feel lucky to be alive. I referred to these soul-revival trips as going to Strawberry Paradise (I even wrote a story about going to Strawberry Paradise for Saveur way back when).

What makes France a Strawberry Paradise? All the exquisite varieties. Distinct, fragrant, and full of flavor, there’s nuance and depth, candy-like sweetness and punchy brightness, and delightful variations in texture.

Did you know that the first garden strawberry was cultivated in Brittany in the 18th century?

I didn’t until recently. Now I’m getting into strawberry history rabbit holes. I’m sure I’ll be sharing more on the subject in the future.

Being in the birthplace of strawberries probably gives them an advantage, but French producers and breeders have a magic touch. Some of the most famous varieties, the ones most people outside of France will have heard of, are the Gariguette and Mara des Bois. Both are gorgeous, and one day we’ll talk about those, but I want you to know about my two current favorites, both of which are pretty young cultivars. I’m still getting to know them more in depth (and I doubt anyone else is as excited as I am to learn about plant breeding history), so this is just a brief introduction. If you’re at a market in France during Strawberry Season and you see the following names, do not hesitate!

Dream: The name really says it all. The Dream strawberry is, in fact, my dream strawberry. The dark red flesh is firm. They don’t drip with juice, but they are juicy and succulent. And their fragrance is heady, like red fruit-flavored candy. They might taste subtle upon first bite, but give it a second and it’ll hit you: sweet sweetness, with a touch of acidity that feels electric, like a light’s been turned on, allowing you to notice the complexity, vibrance, and depth. There are floral notes and hints of “I understand where artificial strawberry flavor comes from.” It’s such a well-rounded taste experience.

Ciflorette: I’ll admit that I felt very confused the first time I encountered the Ciflorette (at the Grenelle market in the 15th). The color of these small, Gariguette-shaped berries is more orange than Strawberry Red, and my eyes immediately registered them as unripe, but they were too delicious-smelling for that to possibly be true. The vendor let me taste one, and I immediately bought three barquettes. These are super sweet and tangy all at once, very much like a Jolly Rancher, but a million times more pleasurable and engage more of the senses. The intense aroma makes me feel tipsy, the flesh is soft (but not too soft) and juicy, and the bright flavors are rounded out by a subtle creaminess.

The pleasure these varieties provide! I cannot recommend them enough.

Pro tip: All local market strawberries, French or otherwise, are best eaten immediately. Unless you’re planning to turn them into jam or syrup or cook them down in some other way, don’t try to hang onto them. As I said before, do not hesitate!

If you don’t make it to France this Strawberry Season, I’m wishing you all the best local berries you can get your hands on, wherever you are.

xo

k

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My first produce guide for Culinary Backstreets is up, and I have to say that I felt like I was fully back as I was working on it. Thanks to my latest assignments for them, I’ve been to several markets in Paris (there are 20 in my upcoming roundup) and I’m starting to make friends with some vendors (the oyster guy I met last fall when I wrote about Marché Popincourt was at Marché Bastille last weekend and he remembered me!), and I’ve been basking in all the joy that market life brings. Goodness, I’ve missed that full-body optimism and overwhelming sense of wonder. It’s felt like an injection of new life.

Anyway, the story is here if you’re interested:

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Another injection of new life came from my friend Holly, who very generously gave my substack and my website a makeover. I’m obsessed with the logo she made for In Season, along with these other illustrations of some of my favorite things:

So if you or anyone you know need a designer for anything, you can find her here.

April was a big month. With all the market time and friends visiting, I had so many happy distractions and reasons to feel hopeful. Here are a few of the highlights:

I also got to stroll through a market with some friends and their 2-year-old daughter. I introduced her to my favorite French strawberry, the variety is called “Dream.” She helped me pick produce (she chose every tomato) and make lunch:

We shelled peas together, plucked chive blossoms, she taste-tested almost everything, and she helped season a salad. It was the most fun I’ve had in the kitchen in ages. Talk about feeling alive.

Also, strawberries! More on those next time, but they’re all over the markets here. Is it strawberry season where you are?

And what were your April highlights?

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xo

k

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This market only takes place on Sunday mornings, and as you might have gathered from the name, everything is organic.

I think it’s my favorite because it’s a good size (it feels substantial and has everything you could need, but it isn’t overwhelming), it’s a pretty setting (with particularly lovely displays!), and the quality of everything is very high. Plus the organic factor. It’s impossible not to be charmed by this one, especially on a sunny spring morning.

Arthur took all the real photos for the story with a real camera, but there were a few highlights—the way the sun shone on specific things, so I’m talking literal highlights—that compelled me to pull out my phone (another part of me that’s coming back to life!). Want to see? Stroll with me.

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We have a few more markets to shoot (but this weekend I’m stuck lying down), and I’m also working on a produce guide (!!). I’m excited to share everything when it’s published.

In the meantime, I’m wishing you all the sunshine on spring produce. And I would love to hear about your market highlights, wherever you are!

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xo

k

A few more things:

• If you’re visiting and want to add Marché bio Raspail to your list of things to do, all the practical info is here.

• You can find my guide to Marché Popincourt for Culinary Backstreets here.

• More on St. Jacques here.

• More on being a kale-lover in France and my favorite kale salad here.

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How’s March been for you? I hope you’ve been able to stay sane, grounded, and hopeful. I was out of commission for a lot of this month, but my energy picked up recently and I’ve found some happiness worth sharing.

Okay, onto the pleasure of spring carrots.

Cooking.

Last week, I picked up a bunch of carrots that were juicy and sweet in the way that only early spring carrots can be (what a joy!). Do you know what I mean? They taste young, with no hints of bitterness that can show up in later-season carrots (fun fact for produce nerds: the compounds responsible for that bitterness are terpenes, the same compounds responsible for the distinct scent of cannabis).

I also happened upon a lovely Lebanese specialty shop, where I smelled a sample of za’atar that woke up a part of my brain. Like magic!

Friends, I’m excited to report that I’ve been cooking. (It’s very minor cooking, but still!)

The whiff of za’atar immediately made we want to cook my carrots. I wanted the extra-sweetness of roasted carrots with cool yogurt and za’atar everywhere. The urge was so strong that I went directly home and got to it.

I don’t have an oven, so I had to settle for braised carrots. I learned that if you’re patient enough to let them caramelize well, you won’t feel like you’re missing out on oven-roasted carrots.

I mixed some Greek sheep yogurt with Maldon, lime zest, and za’atar. The carrots went on the yogurt and za’atar and lime zest went on top of everything.

That’s it. Minor cooking, nothing extraordinary, but I’ve made it three times in the past week and still want more. It feels worth noting.

Like I did with the kale salad (which someone actually made and liked!), there’s a recipe-ish thing way down below.

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Sourcing.

The magical za’atar is from a company called The Good Thymes (how fun is that name?!). They make a bunch of variations—spicy, seedy, one with goji berries and chia seeds for any health food hippies out there—and also do herbed salt.

I found it in Mon Baladé, a Lebanese specialty shop in the 11e arrondissement. After I got home and looked it up, I learned that they specialize in high-end ingredients from Lebanon. That makes sense because one of the first things I noticed was the luxury vibe. I felt like I was in La Grande Épicerie of Lebanese ingredients.

You can also get food to take away or eat at the tables out front (all the tables were taken and there was a short line of people waiting to order takeaway; both must be good signs!).

If you’re interested, save this address for your next visit to Paris:

Mon Baladé
16 Bd des Filles du Calvaire
75011 Paris
monbalade.fr

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Sidenote: I also picked up some olives and not eating the whole jar in one sitting was a struggle. I now have a jar with just the brine taking up space in my tiny refrigerator. I don’t want to waste it, but I don’t really know what to do with it. The only thing that comes to mind is a dirty martini, but I’m not a martini maker (and not really a martini drinker).

If you have any ideas for what to do with olive brine, I’m all ears!

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A kind-of recipe.

Being a recipe developer who wants to encourage people to not follow recipes doesn’t make a ton of sense, but I am what I am. So instead of a recipe, I guess we can call it a set of measurement-free instructions.

Carrots with Za’atar Yogurt

• Greek yogurt (I prefer sheep, but that’s up to you. The amount depends on how many carrots you’re going to cook and how much yogurt sauce you want.)

• Maldon

• 1 lime

• Za’atar

• Sweet spring carrots, as many as you want to eat (They need to be delicious raw.)

To make the yogurt sauce: In a small bowl, add the yogurt, a generous pinch of Maldon, and grate some lime zest over it. Add za’atar and stir until fully incorporated. Taste and adjust as you like.

If you have an oven: If your carrots are thin, leave them whole. If they’re very thick, cut them in half, lengthwise. Toss them with very good olive oil and Maldon and roast to your liking.

If you don’t have an oven: Cut your carrots in half, lengthwise (this is not optional). In a large pan with a lid, heat some very good olive oil over medium-high heat and spread it around so it coats the whole surface. Place the carrots, cut side down, making sure not to crowd the pan too much (this isn’t like with meat, when excess moisture will ruin the sear, you just want all of them to have good contact with the pan). Let them sit and sizzle until the cut sides are nicely browned. Flip the carrots, sprinkle with Maldon, and let the other side get some color. Add a small amount of water to the pan, enough to make the shallowest pool for the carrots (this depends on thickness, but the water should reach up to about one third of the carrot, max). Cover the pan and reduce the heat to medium-low. Let simmer until the liquid has cooked off and the carrots are tender but not soft—they should be able to hold their shape when lifted with tongs.

To assemble: Spread the yogurt onto a plate, top with the carrots, and finish with more za’atar and lime zest. You can squeeze some tiny drops of lime juice over everything, but I’ve had it with and without and both ways are delicious.

If you make it, I’d love to hear what you think! And if you have any things you like to do with spring carrots, I’d love to know what they are!

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xo

k

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But! One day, I randomly checked Instagram to see if there were any updates from one of my favorite nearby produce shops (this is what I use that app for now; I’ve been meaning to get back to life on there for years, but I just can’t seem to do it). I was feeling low-energy and wasn’t sure if I wanted to make the 12-minute walk (vs the 3-minute walk to the Biocoop) without knowing what I might find and, friends, they’d just posted a story that made me jump out of bed.

They’d just gotten three types of kale delivered from a farm. Three!

As you probably already know, kale is not a popular thing in France. It isn’t something you can find just anywhere, let alone in multiple varieties. I love all varieties, but I’m extra fond of lacinato (or Tuscan) kale, so when I saw it in their story, I think I actually gasped. The spring in my step, I can’t even tell you.

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So I hurried off and was greeted by the happiest of happy-making winter produce displays and stocked up on all the types of kale. And hot pink and purple radishes because I can never resist a radish.

Sidenote: A few years ago, when I first spotted kale in another produce shop I love, the girl at the register didn’t even say “Bonjour.” She immediately spoke English and asked if I was American. I asked how she could tell, and she said “only Americans like this.” [I feel like an emoji should go here, but I don’t really use them and have no idea how to do that on my computer.]

Pro tip/moral of the story: If you’re ever in France and don’t want to be immediately clocked as American, reign in your enthusiasm for kale.

All the way home I was psyched and dreaming of a giant kale salad with nutritional yeast and lime.

Before you turn away…

I’ve seen several people’s faces at the sound of this combination. I can imagine what you might be thinking, but don’t knock it. It’s worth trying.

I first encountered it in a soup a sweet friend brought to me in 2020, when I was sick and alone in Brooklyn. It was a green, vegan vegetable soup with cilantro and lime, she said she used nutritional yeast to add some savory depth. The soup was delicious. The memory of eating it (something that was warm and didn’t require any effort!), and the flavor, has stuck with me ever since.

I’ve been making a kale salad inspired by that soup for years (salad takes less effort than soup, maybe I’ll get to soup-level energy one day, but I really love this salad), and it’s currently in heavy rotation. It’s dinner a few times a week. It makes me happy every time.

I’ve never taken a picture of this salad (I can never wait to eat it once it’s ready). I don’t have a formal recipe and I don’t think this requires one because it depends so much on the kale you’re working with and your own personal preferences, but here’s a starting off point for anyone who’s interested.

Kale Salad with Nutritional Yeast and Lime

• 1 to 2 bunches of kale (depending on how big the bunches and how big your appetite)

• Maldon

• 1 juicy lime (it should be more yellow than green)

• Good olive oil

• Nutritional yeast

• Hemp seeds (optional)

Stem, wash, and dry the kale very well.

Use a bigger bowl than you think you need (this is a universal rule of salad-making). Add the kale and top it with a few generous pinches of Maldon, breaking up the crystals between your fingers as you’re sprinkling it. Squeeze the juice of half a lime evenly over everything (get some lime juice over any big salt crystals you see to help break them up).

Scrunch and massage and work the kale until it’s wilted. I like to go until it’s slinky and juicy (this is easiest to achieve with lacinato). Taste as you go, adding more lime or salt until you’d be happy to eat the whole bowl as is. Add some good olive oil and work it into the mix. The flavor of the kale that you loved before you added the good olive oil should now sing (if it doesn’t, adjust until it does). Sprinkle some nutritional yeast on top and repeat the mixing and tasting until you land at your definition of delicious.

Sometimes I’ll finish the salad with a heap of hemp seeds, for added protein. (Kale, nutritional yeast, and hemp seeds: you can take the girl out of California…)

If I were to turn this into a formal recipe, I’d need a more inviting name, wouldn’t I? If you happen to make it, let me know what you think and what you might call it.

And if you think this salad sounds unappealing and wouldn’t try it in a million years, I won’t be offended, but now I’m curious: Do you have any favorite flavor combinations or dishes that might be bizarro-sounding to others? Do tell!

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xo

k

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When it comes to pretty much everything else, the current state of things in the world at large, hope doesn’t seem to have a place. It wavers constantly. It requires effort.

The news from home is terrifying and incomprehensible, and intended to crush hope. If yours needs a boost, look at the mutual aid and community organizing happening in Minneapolis. This interview on the Citations Needed podcast was so heartening near the end, hearing about what regular people and local businesses are doing to take care of each other. And my favorite bookstore in Brooklyn is standing with Minnesota. People are amazing. There are things we can do.

It feels all kinds of weird to be sharing happy updates when so many devastating things are happening at home, but it also feels amazing and novel to have happy things to share (and with some frequency) after all this time. So, incongruous as it may be, here’s something nice from my life recently.

A Weekend in Nantes

Remember when I said I spent the first weekend of the year on a little trip?

When deciding where to go, my only requirement was “I want to inhale salty air and eat oysters by the water.” We ended up spending the weekend in Nantes, with a little morning adventure to a seaside town.

Oysters, sea air, lots of art and activity, and tracing the steps of Jacques Demy and Agnes Varda. (Jacques Demy’s first film, Lola (1961), was filmed in Nantes. Agnes Varda’s film Jacquot de Nantes (1991) is the sweetest expression of love, and I think it’s the film that made her my official favorite favorite.) What a way to start a year!

I had enough energy and did enough things to put together a mini city guide. I’ve been excited to share some of the highlights from the trip.

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For any fellow fans of Lola, there were two big can’t-miss things:

1. We had dinner at La Cigale. A great brasserie and a stunning place. It opens early and closes late, and the food is delicious. (I got steak tartare. It was perfect.) Had we stayed longer, I’d have gone back, for sure.

In the movie, it’s where Lola (real name Cécile, played by Anouk Aimée) works (she’s a cabaret dancer). Can you see it?

2. We walked through the Passage Pommeraye. It was especially sweet, still dressed up for Christmas (slightly regretting I didn’t think to take a picture).

You can’t see it very well here, but I love this scene that takes place in the Passage:

Other things I loved about Nantes: Food and Drinks

• Breakfast at Chop Chop. It feels crazy to say that something as simple as a soft-boiled egg and soldiers was inspiring, but here I am. A generous mound of sourdough strips, toasted just enough to have a gentle snap without scratching up the roof of your mouth, drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with za’atar and flaky salt. So simple, so decadent. And I am still thinking about the piece of Nantes-Marrakech cake we had for dessert (yes, breakfast dessert): almond, pistachio, orange flower, rose petals. Moist, not too sweet (even with a layer of icing!) and just gorgeous.

• I had a choco chai at Izi, a cafe and jazz record shop just across the street from Musée Dobrée, and I’m now considering getting a milk frother so my homemade version can be more luxurious.

• The oyster happy hour at La Bourriche is a good deal. I want to recreate the beet and raspberry hummus (served with a seeded baguette, which is key), but I don’t have any kitchen gadgets for hummus-making. Maybe by the time raspberries are in season…

• We stopped at Amere before meeting up with friends for dinner. This place does beer, natural wine, cider, and hot sauce. I had a Chenin Blanc I loved. I hope I happen upon it again sometime.

• The food at Afghan Nantes Restaurant was so good that it made me sad I couldn’t finish everything (it was really only a few bites, but still, those bright flavors!). They don’t have a website, so here they are on Google Maps in case you find yourself in Nantes.

Other things I loved about Nantes: Sights to See

• Musée d’artes de Nantes. The day we went happened to be a free entrance day! The Sous la Pluie exhibit was great. And the permanent collection is like taking a lovely stroll through an art history class.

• Musée Dobrée. The accessibility activations, in particular, really got me. Not enough places think about accessibility; these were very fun and cool and added so much to the experience.

• Jardin des Plantes. I didn’t see nearly enough of this, but what I did see was beautiful and playful and made me want to go back.

• The LU Tower. This used to be a cookie biscuit factory; now it’s a really cool community space with concerts, lectures, a food hall, a hammam, and more. The tower itself is beautiful from the outside. From the inside, it’s like a mini museum as you go up the spiral staircase. You learn its history and get rewarded with the view from the top.

• Le Château de Nantes. The scale of medieval castles blows my mind. This one belonged to the Dukes of Brittany. I didn’t think we’d have enough time to see the whole inside, so we walked around the outside and took a quick peek in the museum entrance. I do hope to see the inside one day. I hear it’s very worthwhile.

• Cinema Katorza. I didn’t go inside, but if you’re going to see a movie in Nantes, why not go to the same theater that one of the main characters in Lola went to?

Postcard from Pornic

January 3, 2026.

We took an early morning train from Nantes to Pornic, a small seaside town (very charming). The fog was super thick, giving the day a little snow flurry vibe. The air was salty enough to feel like I was eating it with every inhale. Just what I was hoping for! We walked along the water for a while and ended up on a small beach, where I collected shells and insisted on touching the water.

I, of course, forgot to take any pictures, but Arthur caught this just before my excitement got the best of me.

I got too close to the water as a wave rolled in, but the good thing about when it’s so cold you already can’t feel your feet is that a little bit of water doesn’t make much of a difference. We had oysters indoors, but overlooking the water, at Cafe du Chateau. Walked a little more, then warmed up with vin chaud before getting back on the train. It was only a few hours, but it made the weekend feel like something big.

To top all that off, the morning after we got back, Paris got a good snow day. So many things that felt like good omens for the year! Fingers crossed for good omens leading to good realities that don’t require irrational optimism.

Take care, friends. Of yourselves, of each other. Sending love and hope home to everyone.

xo

k

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I’ve had a good long run of activity (several times, I found myself ready to cry because I couldn’t believe how much normal-person stuff I was able to do), and so many treats lately.

December was wonderful, and Christmas was magical. I spent the holiday week with a dear friend, and it was full of produce shopping, oyster shucking, panettone, and champagne. We went to a Christmas market, checked out all the holiday windows at the department stores (I’ve included a video of my very favorite one below), did a lot of walking and ate so well (I even did some cooking!), and watched all 6 of the movies in the The Thin Man series. Do you know them? Nick & Nora Charles, swoon forever.

Then I spent the first weekend of the year on a little getaway to eat oysters by the sea. More on that later (I’ve been tired since I got back, but there’s some fun stuff to share).

And then! It’s been the season of galette des rois (puff pastry filled with frangipane, invented by Benedictine Monks in the Middle Ages to celebrate Epiphany, usually enjoyed with cider)! I think I look forward to these all year in the same way I look forward to panettone. The season should technically be from Epiphany to Mardi Gras, but really, they’re just delicious and fun and should be enjoyed whenever you want when they’re around, which tends to be .

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Just after Christmas and through a good chunk of January. Bakeries everywhere sell beautiful treats that have a small trinket (féve) hidden inside, and come with paper crowns and a fun little tradition: Someone (usually a kid, because it’s supposed to be the youngest person) gets under the table. As slices are being plated and served, the person under the table decides who gets what slice. Whoever has the féve in their slice wins the crown and is king for a day. Adorable, right?

This tradition was co-opted from the Roman Saturnalia festival. The Roman trinket was a bean; apparently, in France, it used to be a fava bean, hence the word féve. Now they’re made of porcelain, and bakeries get creative with them.

I’ve eaten many galettes des rois, but I haven’t experienced the little ritual until this year with my boyfriend’s family. I got to be the person under the table, despite being far from the youngest. I didn’t win the crown (my boyfriend did), but I got to keep the féve.

Also in season is the gateau de rois, which is a brioche situation. Not my thing, but I like that there are options!

There’s also a baker in Paris who is dedicated to panettone, very much my thing, and he’s made a panettone des rois. I repeat: panettone des rois! I nearly exploded when I learned about this. And the féve is in the shape of a madeleine, which would go perfectly with my croissant féve. I haven’t tried anything of his yet, and I want this to be my first. It’s currently unavailable, but I’m crossing my fingers that he’ll have at least one last batch for this year. If not, which is very likely, I already have something to look forward to for next year.

Speaking of looking forward: After half a decade of being stuck in a body that’s unpredictably stuck, I’ve learned not to put too much pressure on myself with hard plans and New Year’s resolutions. However, last year was full of milestones, and last month was full of moments of old-Kristy energy, so I am feeling more hopeful than ever about what things I might be able to do this year. And it’s the greatest feeling. I’m still not doing resolutions, but I think hopes and maybes are just fine.

This year, I hope I’ll be able to read more, write more, cook more (and want to cook more), and generally spend more time on my feet and in the world. Maybe there will be more market visits, time in my favorite produce/fancy ingredient shops, museum outings, and weekend adventures.

I’d love to hear your hopes for the year ahead. I hope you have many.

Leave a comment

xo

k

And, just for fun, here’s a glimpse at the best holiday window ever with the most happy-making little song (whoever it was at Le Bon Marché who decided to dedicate a holiday window to carrots, I love you):

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No other winter month has SO many sweet specialties and elaborate store window displays, or gets the city to dress up with lights everywhere, or brings delightful scents to the streets, or is so full of opportunities/expectations/permission to drink champagne. And oysters and scallops (in their gorgeous shells!) are everywhere. And everything that’s showing up in the produce shops is super fun and beautiful.

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Is it the Paris charm? Is it because this is the first December I’ve been able to really be in the world like a normal person since 2019? Or is December just really wonderful?

I don’t know, but so far this month, I’m excited about everything. Being in the world is more fun (and less overwhelming); being at home is more cozy (and less like I’m trapped by a force I can’t fight). I feel sparklier. It’s wonderful.

And I know we’re only a tiny more than halfway through, but so far, this month is light on the stuck-in-bed flare-ups (which is probably what’s making me the most excited), and I have the energy to share happy-making things. So, here we go!

Seasonal treats that are making me happy this December:

The aforementioned shellfish:

The super beautiful seasonal produce of late:

• Italian chicories! (Italians really do do it better.)

• Corsican citrus!

• Litchi!

• Walnuts!

• Quinces!

• PERSIMMONS!!

I found my very favorite panettone! Christmas cannot pass without enjoying at least one panettone or pandoro and a jar of pistachio cream. Since leaving New York, and my source for the ultimate panettone and my favorite pistachio cream, I haven’t had my beloved Biasetto (that’s the brand, and award-winning baker’s last name) in years. Last week, I stumbled upon what I thought was a shop, but it turned out to be an importer of Italian specialties, doing a pop-up. Even better! It felt a little like my visits to the Gustiamo warehouse.

Stacks and stacks of Biasetto panettone and pandoro! This year, I’ll be introducing two people to the magical tradition of sweet yeasted Italian bread, salty-sweet pistachio cream (I’m still on the hunt for the right one), and champagne or, ideally, Franciacorta (which is made in the same manner as champagne, but in Italy).

The holiday windows at Le Bon Marche and Printemps. These are animated, and there’s music, and they’re just more festive and magical than I recall the Bergdorf windows ever being (and I loved those!).

The Christmas lights everywhere. The cute neighborhood lights and the grand displays on the big avenues; they’re all fun, and they all make me stop and stare.

The people selling warm chestnuts on the street. That smell!

It’s the beginning of Vin Chaud Season. That smell!

And it’s the season of Callisons. So dainty, so special, and the taste of melon so long after their season ended. Swoon.

I just learned that there’s a champagne festival in the Champagne region every December. I missed this year’s, and I’m not sure I’d have been able to handle it (travel time + big crowds + the possibility of having to be upright for a long time = something best avoided), but I like knowing it’s there. Maybe next year.

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A Seasonal Film: All that Heaven Allows

I have a small lineup of December-only movies. Normally, I make sure to watch them all once, but this year, I only want to watch one, and I’m watching it on repeat. It’s Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows. Have you seen it? If not, I’m thrilled to introduce you:

Rock Hudson. Yes, he is a full sentence and the first sentence in my pitch to anyone about this film. (Also, I never understood the word “hunk” to describe a man until I saw him in this movie, which wasn’t until my late 20s.)

It’s a lush Technicolor melodrama about a love affair that defies social norms (we’re in post-war upper-class suburban America here). It’s also a sharp critique of said societal norms and values, and it still rings true as ever. Agnes Moorehead (aka Endora!) is in it, and seeing her in anything outside of Bewitched is always a treat to me. There’s a lot of snow, which is something I always want. Without fail, no matter how many times I’ve seen it, the opening music sweeeeeeeps me up. This movie is so many things: Beautiful, swoony, smart, romantic, anti-capitalist (in the form of Rock Hudson!), with humor and wisdom sprinkled in. It’s brilliant. You can watch it here.

If you do, or if you’ve seen it before, I’d love to know what you think!

A Seasonal Read: Christmas Holiday by W. Somerset Maugham

To help explain what a big deal, and what an accomplishment, this was: Three years ago, I tried to take the metro to Shakespeare and Company (accompanied, of course, because I couldn’t do much of anything on my own), and it was a miserable failure. I couldn’t handle the metro, called a car to take me the rest of the way. Once I got there, I ended up stuck on a bench, trying to catch my breath, waiting for my vision to come back and pain to subside, until I felt like I could handle a car ride back home. I basically had an outing to see the entrance of the book shop.

But!

Two Fridays ago (when I told you all about my afternoon of Sant-Jacques), I took the metro to and from, all by myself. Success! I got my books, and I had energy to stop and get some scallops and to make lunch, and then write to my friends about it. TRIUMPH! (I was stuck in bed for the entire weekend, but it wasn’t painful; I was still floating from the scallops, and I had books.)

Anyway, I was on my way out, purchased books already in hand, and a cover caught my eye—I liked the illustration and anything by Maugham, I’m likely to like. I also love a Staff Picks selection. Here’s the staff note that sold me:

I couldn’t resist, and I’m glad I didn’t. I’m making my way through and thoroughly enjoying myself. This is another big deal/huge triumph; I’ve missed books!

So, that’s all my stuff. Tell me, what’s making you happy this December?

Leave a comment

xo

k

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All shellfish are a treat, but I’m convinced that bivalves are some of Nature’s greatest gifts to the chronically fatigued cook (as long as the cook is not allergic and doesn’t keep kosher). And Saint-Jacques might be the most generous gift, and the prettiest (these shells!) of them all.

After produce, oysters are my favorite food, but Saint-Jacques are special: They’re easy to open, they don’t need to be cooked, and, I just learned this today, they come with their own serving dish! All the scallops I ever bought before this were already shucked and cleaned (I got them from Seatuck at the Union Square Greenmarket), so I didn’t know about the super useful serving shell.

I loved this afternoon. I felt like a little kid, with treasures in my bag and a full-body surge of eagerness to get home and play. I loved my lunch, which took just a few minutes of standing and barely any clean-up.

It was objectively not the most beautiful lunch, but I was fully enchanted, and I am still floating.

When I’m enchanted, I end up doing deep dives into whatever subject is at hand, so that’s where I’ll be for a while, getting to know about la coquille Saint-Jacques.

But before any in-depth odes come from me, because who knows how long that could take, here are a few good things to know:

Saint-Jacques season is October 1 to May 15. These dates are strictly enforced!

They come from Normandy and Brittany.

There are lots of scallop festivals in France! The most famous one might be the herring and scallop festival in Dieppe (in Normandy). And there’s one in Paris, usually the last weekend in January.

Did you know you can tell the age of a scallop by counting rings, like the way you can tell the age of a tree? It takes them two to three years to mature. I *think* all four in the picture are two years old.

And! If you’ll be in Paris at the end of January and want to go to the festival, let me know.

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xo

k

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This was one of the first stop-me-in-my-tracks produce encounters I had after I moved to Paris. Have you ever seen such pretty grapes? Until this point in my life (this was in 2022), I hadn’t. And at that very moment, when I saw them for the first time, I said out loud, “Who are you?!”

Their beauty messed with my head a bit. How can something look so ethereal (perfect orbs containing light and seeds, visible through translucent veils ) and elemental (the slight pearlescent lustre, the pink that looks like rose gold) at the same time? Nature!

Eating them is as lovely an experience as looking at them. As you might expect, those golden/rose golden skins are thin. They don’t cling to the flesh, which is succulent and juicy, floral, with notes of honey. Heavenly.

(Sidenote: These moments with fruits and vegetables, when I get overwhelmed by the genius of Nature and can’t believe my luck that I get to exist in a world in which I can taste such things and feel small in the best way, are pretty much my driving force, and why I am the way I am as a food person/produce nerd.)

I didn’t get their name at the time. Back then, I couldn’t be on my feet long enough for friendly chats with my produce guy. So I took my magical mystery grapes home and vowed to look them up when I had the ability.

Three years later…

I started seeing them again last month, and not just in produce shops. They were at the Biocoop! They were at the Monoprix! They were everywhere.

I finally learned their name. Spent hours in a rabbit hole of produce research, and learned about their history, the region they come from, and what Chasselatières (the Chasselas farmers) have to do to produce these gems. I’m not going to get into all of those details now—this is just an introduction, after all—the main thing you should know is that these are Very Special Grapes, grown with so much care to exacting standards. Legally, farmers must meet specific requirements for size, sugar content, harvesting, and packing. It blows my mind how ubiquitous they are.

The only American equivalent I can think of is the Bronx grape. It also has honeyed notes and skin that slips off the flesh, but its skin is thicker, and the flavor, though extremely delicious, isn’t quite as elegant. Bronx grapes are also not easy to find outside of the Bay Area, and even in the Bay Area, you’re not likely to see them in most stores (get thee to the Ferry Building farmers’ market!). In New York, Eataly might have them for a hot minute in September.

It might just be easier for you to come to France and indulge in the Chasselas.

I have traveled cross-country and across an ocean for produce more than a few times, so I don’t know if that’s an objectively crazy suggestion. Would you? If you do, you’ve got a friend who will happily meet you with Very Special Grapes in tow as long as the Chasselas is in season.

Also, I’m no grape expert, so if you know of any other grapes that are similar to the Chasselas, I’d love to know about them.

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xo

k

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This has been a big year in my recovery. I started taking the Metro in March. I can go on longer walks, and being in the world is less overwhelming. All of this means I can handle market adventures!

My market life is one of the things I’ve missed the most, and one of the things that’s taken the longest to return. I am by no means back to my old ways (I don’t go 4 times a week, and I rarely think of taking pictures like I used to), but market visits are becoming more frequent occurrences, and a Paris market I really love is Marché Popincourt.

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This market feels cozy to me. It’s calm, everyone is friendly, and this produce stand (pictured above) is there. And I love the oyster stand.

Having the chance to write a story about a market made me giddy, and then I found out my dear friend, Kaite, was coming to Paris to shoot it. When we were at the market for the story, I had more energy than I knew what to do with, and I kept telling her I can’t believe this is real, and I haven’t felt so much like my whole self in over 5 years, and it just feels like I’m alive in a different way, and a bunch of other enthusiastic thing like that. All true.

Going to a market in the morning, having all my friendly interactions, getting pretty produce, and then writing about it in the afternoon and calling it a work day? Total dream. I’d like this to be my life all the time. (There are over 80 weekly markets in Paris, and then there’s the whole rest of France, so maybe it could be my life most of the time?)

Anyway, this is something that made me happy beyond belief, and I wanted to share. You can read the market guide here.

I’ll let you know if there are ever any more. And if you come to Paris and want to meet up for a market stroll, or if you want to know more about a specific market, let me know!

xo

k

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I made this for breakfast and felt compelled to share because the plums were so perfect, in the way that reminds you the season is almost over.

So, this is mostly a note to remind you to do all the things with plums before it’s too late.

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This was a significant Stone Fruit Season for me. Actually, this whole summer was significant because, for the first time in five years, I felt like an active participant, rather than a shut-in (something a little like Boo Radley).

Last month, I had a strong urge to put together a collection of random things about stone fruits: Practical, historical, literary, and personal. I don’t really know where the urge came from, but it was impossible to ignore. It ended up being a 25-page magazine-ish thing and I called it Stone Fruit Studies. Here’s the cover:

I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but I wanted to share a few pieces from it.

I know we’re at the tail end of the season, but this one’s recipe-adjacent, and could potentially still be of use before plums disappear:

The other is very personal, and one of many experiences that could explain why I am the way I am about produce:

But like I said, more than anything, I wanted to sound the alarm to enjoy plums in every way you can before they’re gone. And I’d love to know what those ways are for you, or to hear any stone fruit stories you might like to share.

xo

k

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I’m a food writer, editor, cookbook author, and former New Yorker living in Paris.

My life was turned upside down by chronic illness in 2020. After a whirlwind of uncertainty, a 5-year absence from the world (the physical world and the internet), and several false starts, I ended up in Paris. Now I’m slowly rejoining the world.

This is a newsletter about coming back to life: food, cooking, reviving various appetites, and general pleasure-seeking in France.

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Starting over.

I’ve recently started feeling like my life is really beginning again, and parts of me that are essentially me are coming alive. This has been going on long enough to know that it’s for real this time. No more false starts (fingers crossed)!

So many of my old pleasures have returned: I go grocery shopping and fall in love with new products and ingredients. I’m starting to cook again. I’m reading again. And I’m not so stuck (literally, physically) inside anymore—I’m going to museums and markets and on occasional weekend adventures. I’ve fallen in love (with a person, not just ingredients) and I’m rediscovering what it’s like to live a life I enjoy.

On top of that, I feel like I can write. Words come more easily, and I finally have things and moments I want to share.

So, here we are.

Here you’ll find:

• Love letters to produce, ingredients, and seasonal specialties

• Notes on cooking, sometimes with recipes

• Postcards from adventures outside of Paris

• Other happy-making things from my life in France that might have nothing to do with food

And I hope to hear about the things you’re enjoying, cooking, and exploring.

What you can expect from me.

For now, you can count on one letter a month. Two if something exciting comes up. That could increase as my energy increases.

Thanks for being here with me at the very beginning of this fresh start. I’m looking forward to everything.

xo

k

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