Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars
Samantha Verant
Top 10 Best Quotes
“We've done the grilled tomato and peach pizza at Le Papillon Sauvage. We've served the beet and peach soup. And the peach and cucumber salsa over the chicken. The tarts. The cobblers. The homemade ice cream. I don't know. I'm tapped out for ideas." Phillipa rolled a peach on a cutting board, massaging it. "Pork," she said. "Peaches and pork would taste amazing together. Or pan-seared foie gras? What do you think?" "If you can come up with something interesting, I'm all for it." "Me?" she asked. "But you're the chef. And I want to be inspired by you." "That makes two of us," I said. "You're doing amazing things." Phillipa halved a peach, cut into it, and then handed over a slice. "Eat this, savor it. Find your inspiration!" she said, and as I bit into it, I tried, able to focus only on the texture. As the juices from the slice ran across my tongue and down my throat, the sensation transported me to my childhood, to the teachings of my grand-mère in this kitchen, and her recipe for a peach crumble. The way she taught me to knead the flour, butter, and sugar into flaky crumbs, working her gentle hands with mine. I could almost feel her next to me, smell her cinnamon and nutmeg scent.”
“The gown was made of ivory silk with an organza overlay, embellished with silver stitching cascading down to a smattering of embroidered stars. The bust of the dress crossed along my chest, thin straps with two stars resting on my collarbone, the waist tying with a silk bow, the open back dipping down, also encrusted with two stars. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, and the woman staring back at me wasn't quite me; she was fierce, maybe even beautiful. I'd never felt that way before, but I did in this moment. This dress was perfect.”
“The flames of drunken shrimp flambéed in cognac sparked in my memories, which, as I recalled, we served over a terrine of chopped tomatoes, avocado, and strawberries, along with a creamy Parmesan-lemon risotto.”
“Séb and I explored the beautiful neighborhood of l'Île Saint-Louis, eating savory crêpes made of buckwheat and filled with creamy goat cheese, crunchy arugula, and juicy tomatoes at one of the cafés, me doing my best to savor the textures. Lunch was followed by the famed Berthillon sorbets and ice creams, the latter of which we ate on the banks of the Seine, Séb drooling over the richness of the flavors. Considering they had over seventy parfums, we'd both found it hard to settle on one. Séb, the adventurer, took café au whisky with another scoop of tiramisu. I'd ended up taking abricot and framboise, always loving how apricot mixed with raspberries, and wanting something cool on this scorcher of a day.”
“Sophie, you look absolutely amazing," he said, spinning me around. "France has done wonders for you." "Chef, you know me. I'm not just a pretty cooking face," I said, glaring at Nicolas. "Oh, I know," he said. "What did the brigade call you?" "Scary Spice," I answered, and he let out a roar of a laugh. "Never mess with a woman wielding an oyster knife," he said, chuckling and shaking his head. "I remember you saying that." "What can I say? I held my own," I said.”
“She returned to where I stood, and handed over a flower. I inspected the borage, holding it up like a culinary scientist, noting the blue petals, offset by white stamens, and a raised white ball-like structure in the center, decorated with a purplish-blue pattern with hints of red that resembled a planet or a galactic moon. My heart skipped a beat. Aside from Marie's desserts, I'd never seen anything so beautiful. "This flower is mystical and magical," I said. "Did fairies or aliens create them?" "I'd go with fairies. The thought of aliens flips me out. Eat it," she said, and I did. The flavors of this edible flower rolled on my tongue in waves. A crunch. A bitterness. And sweetness. I closed my eyes, reveling in the magic, the flavor, thinking about what we could do with this. I met her gaze. "Oh my god. You're so right. They taste like cucumbers," I said, licking my lips.”
“Ranging in different shades of pink from pale to vibrant, the peonies seemed to burst open practically overnight, swarms of bees zipping from flower to flower. In the orchard, fluffy white flowers adorned the cherry trees. The lake glimmered in the distance, the strands of the weeping willows blowing in the warm spring breeze. I'd read somewhere that weeping willows represented strength and were able to withstand the greatest of challenges. I wanted to be the tree, perseverant and ready for anything, even a storm.”
“Phillipa placed one tray of appetizers after the other on the table---the jambon sec-wrapped chipotle figs with the cocoa-balsamic glaze; the crab cakes with the rémoulade dipping sauce; the varying star-shaped canapés, the bottoms buttery, toasted bread topped with different ingredients and garnished with chopped fresh herbs; the verrines filled with bœuf bourguignon and baby carrots; and the smoke salmon, beet carpaccio, and mascarpone bites served on homemade biscuits and sprinkled with capers. Everybody dug in, oohing and aahing. "I don't know which one I like best," exclaimed Marie, licking her lips. "They're all so delicious. I can't choose a favorite child." Phillipa winked. "Just wait until you see and taste Sophie's plat principal," she said, turning on her heel. She returned with a large pressure cooker, placing it on the table. She lifted the lid, and everybody breathed in the aromas, noses sniffing with anticipation. "This is Sophie's version of pot-au-feu de la mer, but with grilled lobster, crab, abalone, mussels, and large shrimp, along with a variety of root and fresh vegetables, a ginger-lemongrass-infused sauce, and garnished with borage, or starflowers, a smattering of sea salt, a dash of crème fraîche, fresh herbs, and ground pepper.”
“Phillipa and I had just returned to the kitchen with a full basket of these beautiful mushrooms. I held a dirt-encrusted one up to my nose, breathing in its earthy aromas, happy to have all of my senses back. "What do you want to do with these?" asked Phillipa. "Something traditional and simple so the flavor of the mushrooms isn't lost," I said. "Poêlée de cèpes à la bordelaise?" "Perfectly delicious," said Phillipa. "I'll scrub the beauties down and then grab the ingredients." "You remember what they are?" "Of course. Olive oil, butter, garlic, thyme, bay leaves, flat parsley, salt, and pepper," she said. "And I'm already drooling.”
“November was my favorite time of the year because so many of the foods that stirred my cooking spirit burst into the season---mussels, oysters, and a variety of squashes exploding in yellows and oranges, including my former nemesis: the potimarron.”
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Book Keywords:
crumble, weeping-willows, food, flower, season, mushrooms, autumnal, seasonings, colors-of-nature, sauces, flavors, ice-cream, crepes, food-for-thought, ingredients, appetizers, wedding-dress, panfried, november, feminine-power, french-food, grandmother, perserverance, heroine, peonies, cucumbers, borage, peaches, stars, seafood, chef, paris, chefs, usages
