A bit of Paris, my home here

In France, "le concept de la maison", the concept behind home is how you feel at home. For instance, in Paris, most people live in crowded 2-3 rooms apartments. Hence, the importance of making the most of your space while ensuring you don't feel clustered. Growing in Paris and especially in the Latin Quarter, I was exposed to beautiful spaces. When I first came to the United States, beside the culture shock, I missed most my ability to walk anywhere as here in the suburbs, I now had to drive, I also felt homesick. I felt as if most homes felt too sterile, too new, too modern as if lacked a soul. I mean I grew up in a 1700 building, my parents' apartment had beautiful history: from the ceiling mold to the marble chimney to the big french doors windows... I have to say, I also was lucky, my parents were "chineurs", they are passionate antique collectors. They went to auctions in the country, to antique dealers, to local flea markets... As a result, our apartment displays the traditional french charm. While I can't recreate the architecture in my apartment, I certainly surrounded myself with bits to remind me of home: Paris and France.
As a child, I already loved the architecture details of the buildings in my quarter, the atlantes surrounding the doors... I loved also escaping to the Luxembourg garden, a 5 minutes walk from my home. As a result, when I came to live in the United States, I missed my sanctuary: the streets of Paris. As a teenager, I would often in the evening walk from home to Montmartre, passing the Opera house, the Haussman boulevard with the famous Le Printemps store. Another favorite evening stroll would be crossing the Pont Neuf bridge and pass through the Place Dauphine (midway on the bridge) to head toward Notre Dame on Ile de la Cité to then head toward Ile St. Louis where I would stop to truly taste and relish into the best sorbets I dare anyone to ever taste: the Berthillon House's frozen treats. My old time favorites: Pear, Dark cacao, Peach, Raspberry, Marrons glaçés, Mirabelle... according to the seasons.
My point is part of living in Paris is being a passerby, to wonder within the streets and get "lost". Trust me if you grow up in Paris, you don't get lost though what I mean by getting "lost" is feeling, experiencing Paris. Paris contrary to the suburbs of Chicago, is an older city, it has a history and hence a soul in my opinion. When you wonder in Paris, you are then experiencing Paris and its charm. For instance, some quartiers have hôtels particuliers, or sometime as you walk by a building front door, you may get lucky and peek if door is open and see a hidden garden or courtyard: another world. Anyhow, I suppose this is part of why Paris has eluded so many artists alike: writers, painters and photographers who with their respective art, have attempted to capture and recreate through their art.
As a child, I loved pictures, I found them to be magical. I could look at a picture and felt immediately transported back in time. As a teenager, I fell in love with Black and White pictures: Doisneau, Bresson and many anonymous photographers. As a result, I started to collect pictures in format of Postcard that spoke to me. These became very important here: I use my postcards to make me feel home: Paris.

Le pain d'épices

I noticed that as I tend to get overwhelmed, I enjoy escaping into the kitchen. It seems that my kitchen becomes my refuge. As many I am certain, when stressed I seek safety by returning to my childhood. Yesterday as I recalled fond memories at my paternal grandmother, I remembered as a young child enjoying thick yummy slices of "pain d'épices" - traditionally a cake from the region of Alsace-Lorraine. Anyhow, I decided to bake one, mine is currently in the oven as I am typing. I had the recipe in french hence the measurements in grams. I attempted my best at converting them into cups equivalent. It is traditionally a cake enjoyed in the winter and especially around Christmas, though I find it to be a nice alternative to pumpkin pie or pecan pie around Thanksgiving. I have made some with pecans, though the original recipe does not call for pecans.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup honey
• 2 tbsp hot water
• 3/4 cup flour (though you can go a bit over as 200 g)
• 1/4 cup brown sugar (50 g casonnade)
• spices according to your taste buds (I use apple spices mix (cinnamon, nutmeg, anis))
• 1 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 1 tbsp baking soda
• 1 egg

• 1/2 cup halves pecans (optional)

Set oven at 370 degree Fahrenheit. Into a bowl, using the hot water to smooth the honey then incorporate the flour, mix well as to avoid forming lumps.  Add to the mix the baking soda, brown sugar, vanilla, mix well then  add the egg. Pour smooth batter into a cake pan, bake for 30-35 minutes. 

Note: I cannot describe the divine smell sipping from the oven. I just had a peek, I must admit as the smell hits my nostrils, I was flooded with childhood memories: I am back in my grandmother's living room/dining room (small apartments in Paris) and I cannot await to bite late into a slice. I suppose this is what I enjoy most about baking or cooking. Not only does it feel magical to me, from various ingredients blended together comes extraordinary "délices" but it also seems that some sweets or meals can transport you back in times. I hope you'll enjoy it too.