What Dreams May Come

Last weekend I had my neighbours over for breakfast and dinner. They've been flattering me since I sent over a plate of my chocolate chip cookies, made them some authentic fougasse, and asked them to sample my Thai-Mexican fried chicken.

To be complimented on my cooking by anyone is always a great treat for me, but to be complimented by French people makes me shy. I think it's because I am greatly inspired by American cuisine and naturally assume that French people won't appreciate it. I fry a lot. I use lots of flavour combinations not found in French cuisine. When I'm asked I refer to my cooking style as hodgepodge, a word that has no real translation in French but prompts me to attempt a poetic and delicious sounding explanation.

I didn't think anything about it when my neighbour started to ask me questions about what kind of a restaurant I'd want to open in Paris. What I would serve, when, how, and where. Then he told me he wanted to introduce me to his cousin who is looking to invest in a restaurant; how he's been talking about my cooking and thinks I'd be a brilliant choice to be its chef.

To be truthful I wish I'd answered his questions differently, but I didn't know it was a test of sorts. More than once I've leaned towards the idea that I should make my living involved with food - and in Brooklyn I did for four months. I ran a small take out place out of my loft. I had paid my rent for the year, had a little pocket money, and didn't really care about making a profit. I stuffed menus under the doors of my neighbours, many of whom had suggested I start a take out place after dinners at my place, and had so many orders the first week I had to put a badly hand painted "first come, first served" sign on my front door.

For one month my little takeout place (called Chez Ama) served something different every night until my customers started writing their requests on the menus. They wanted more fried chicken, chicken & sausage gumbo, lamb curry, and what they called my "fancy Chinese food" (which was just authentic Chinese food).

So before I meet with the cousin I need to get my thoughts in order.

If I could open my restaurant anywhere in Paris, anywhere at all, I'd want to have a lunch stall at the Marché des Enfants Rouges.

Located in the 3e arrondissement, between rue de Bretagne and rue Charlot, it's quite a happening spot. There's a few types of cuisine to choose from - couscous, Italian, Japanese, African - and lots of outdoor seating that means it's packed on nice days. The market closes before dinner, so lunch would be the only meal to serve, and because it's always packed the clientelle are more accepting of delays and hiccups.

It has its downsides as a location. The competition is delicious. My favourite Japanese restaurant would be one of them. I couldn't see the other restaurants being happy about a fusion cuisine restaurant when they're marketing themselves as authentic straightforward examples of the cuisines they offer. Plus the places in the market are expensive. The Japanese place offers a sort of bento lunch around 12,00 euros. It's not a lot of food for the money, but delicious and fresh and I don't mind shelling out for it now and then.

I could think of other locations where the lunch traffic would probably keep a restaurant in business even if the dinner crowd was much quieter, but dinner is more fun to cook.

And what would I cook? I think that depends on what I can find. I'd want to source locally. I wouldn't cook in season because the variety is limiting, but as locally as possible when possible. I'd offer two or three choices for entrees, plats, and desserts - with a few favourites always on the menu.

But the cooking would be home style. Nothing fancy or poofy or posh or chic just to jack the prices up. Just delicious food at reasonable prices using the full repetoire of my cooking abilities.

I'd serve American, French, Korean, Thai, Mexican, Indian, Lebanese, Filipino, Chinese, Moroccan, Italian, Japanese mixing up taste, ingredients, and cooking techniques. Food I'd serve at home to friends and with the same kind of feeling. Lots of mismatched dishes rescued from flea markets and sidewalk sales and thrift shops in a cosy room with large tables and comfortable chairs. I'd come out of the kitchen now and then, and wouldn't have to make excuses when the cooking drags me away like I do at home.

So if my blog strays from book talk to cook talk, it's because I'll be giving a lot of thought to the recipes I'd want to use. Maybe my dream will become reality. Maybe not. That's the beauty of food really. Even if taste testing everything means my bathroom scale might be groaning a bit more in the future.