Tag Archives: brunch

BOULANGERIE NIEMAND

Yesterday I wrote about the Kamouraska restaurant Pizza Mag as part of a Serious Eats story about our recent Quebec road trip. Pizza Mag was heartily recommended to us by David McMillan, the owner of Montreal restaurant Joe Beef, who grew up in Kamouraska. (He also mentions Mag in Food + Wine).

McMillan also tipped us off to the spectacular Boulangerie Niemand, which is adored province-wide for its nutty, complex German breads, golden croissants, and small-batch organic preserves. I know people who regularly make the five-hour drive to Niemand over the summer just to stock up on their pain au chocolat! (Adam, actually, had already heard about the bakery because he’s pals with Kamouraska chef and farmer Kim Côté, who he wrote about, along with the Joe Beef guys, for Gourmet magazine — in its last-ever print issue!)

Even though the bakery was closed for the off-season (like many restaurants in the tiny town of Kamouraska, it doesn’t open until the summer tourist season begins), the wonderful, generous owners opened their home just for us! It was such a special and sweet gesture, and everything about our breakfast with them I will remember forever. We sampled the buttery, caramelized brioche, which was laced with a tangy marmalade and nubs of dried fruit, and the seed-crusted, dense brown breads, which are made from ancient German recipes. We both freaked out over Nathalie’s smooth, rich boudin blanc (which I happily ate again, a week later, at the Foodlab!), as well as a few of her other Fou de Cochon products, like the lean, smooth porc creton and addictive dried salami.

Their beautiful Victorian-era house, which was built right on the Saint Lawrence River (that means they get to gaze at the wide, blue river every day at work!), contains both the commercial bakery as well as the home where they lived (and where we ate).  They make absolutely  everything from scratch — even their flour! — and only use natural grains, grown without any chemical fertilizers, herbicides or pesticides. After we finished brunch, the family gave us a tour of the grounds, including the cellar, where their mill stone grinds small batches of the whole wheat flour that they use for their products, and their backyard wood-fired oven, where they make pizzas in the summer! Yeah, it was kiiiiind of my dream house.

The Niemand crew are some of the most generous, fun-loving, and kind people ever. The entire morning was full of smiles and laughter — it was such a nice way to end our trip. I can honestly say that there is nothing close to Boulangerie Niemand in Montreal. You would think that a big city would have something just as good, but if living in Ithaca for seven years has taught me anything, it’s that often small towns are just as special as the big, busy cities.

GOODBYES

Our farewell brunch was cooked by talented Sasha, who, on our final morning in Ithaca, casually whipped up one of her famous frittatas. (They are beautiful to look at, and they taste even better in real life!) This one was studded with sweet corn, basil, feta, and fingerling potatoes. I ate three fat wedges! There was also a mouthwatering tomato and peach salad, tiny blueberries, and a simple green salad. I was really glad I didn’t miss this meal, because I felt bummed after missing this one. Sasha’s food is so special, it made me want to stay forever, which may have been her plan all along.

HOME OR OUT

Brunch at home –

Terragon lobster scrambled eggs with creme fraiche / pan-fried rosemary potatoes with smoked paprika / slow-roasted bacon / sourdough toast / freshly squeezed tangerine juice / Taiwanese tea

Or brunch at a restaurant –

Buffet at La Valencia Hotel.

Honestly, despite all the lavish extras (and bottomless champagne and neverending crab legs and chocolate fondue fountain),  I prefer brunch at home. Every single time. Absolutely no question.

MID-MORNING, MID-SIZED FEAST

Brunch. It doesn’t happen often around here, and when we venture into the controversial late-morning meal, I prefer to keep it blissfully simple. One fried egg, one piece of toast. A bowl of granola, slim crescents of pear. A plate of bacon.

Recently I had a two-pronged approach: sweet, flaky pastries from Cheskie’s Bakery, and a couple dozen Fairmount bagels (irrefutably the best in the city), smeared with tangy cream cheese and topped with tissue-thin smoked salmon, slivers of shallots, lemon juice, and capers. With a hot pot of Darjeeling, freshly squeezed orange juice, and strong tea cups of espresso, it was a wonderful, complete Sunday morning. Despite my own documented misgivings, I admit that I love the casual vibe of brunch, the chatty nature of the table, the mixture of sweet and savory.

EATING MY WORDS

Contrary to popular belief, I love being proved wrong. I admit I was overly adamant about my resistance to brunch as being a legitimately trendy/awesome thing. Although I still stand by that opinion, I also concede that sometimes I end up craving that particular meal with a strange ferocity. This was one of those days. I woke up thinking, migas!! My man calls them chilaquiles, although I guess we are both right.

I made tortilla chips from scratch, by frying triangles of blue corn tortillas in an inch of vegetable oil, and then dousing in salt and lime juice in honor of my favorite secret snack. I whipped up some guacamole — using avocado, diced red onion, hot sauce, lime juice, cilantro, and liberal amounts of salt and pepper — and learned that a pastry cutter gives guacamole the most perfect texture ever. I know plenty of San Diego people who insist the authentic way of preparing guacamole is using lemon juice, but I prefer lime’s tanginess.

We fried up some breakfast potatoes, using tiny cubes of potato coated in smoked paprika, cumin, Mexican oregano, and chili powder, slowly frying in butter until crispy and tender. (So good in tacos the next day). And finally, the migas themselves — butter, fried onions, garlic, black beans and corn folded into soft scrambled eggs, bits of tortilla chips mixed in, then finished in the oven. Our migas gets topped with crumbles of soft cotija cheese, cilantro confetti, and thick wedges of lime. All finished off with a bottle of Mexican coke, of course. Hello brunch, let’s be friends!

FAKE CAN BE JUST AS GOOD

Right now, it’s Sunday. Sunday morning. In other words, BRUNCH BRUNCH BRUNCH. BRUNCH!

But I have a confession to make (please don’t hurt me): I loathe brunch.

My idea of the perfect breakfast? A huge cup of coffee, a lot of water, a piece of fruit, maybe a piece of toast or some granola. Followed by a gigantic lunch four hours later. And in my perfect breakfast world, fake meals like ‘brunch’ don’t even exist. I don’t get hungry for at least three hours after I wake up, and when I am coerced into eating 4 eggs, scrambled with butter and cheese and whatever else, 2 pieces of soggy buttered toast, 5 pieces of bacon (actually, I like that bit), and lots of processed sugar and weak coffee, it makes me feel a bit ill. And the idea of going to a restaurant and paying twenty bucks for eggs and milk and bread also makes me feel ill. Also, I don’t like drinking alcohol in the mornings. You can’t make me. I love light, little breakfasts. When I was in Europe last fall, I fell in love with my friends’ tidy breakfasts of espresso and white toast with jam. That’s it. Americans are addicted their decadent, super rich, super expensive breakfasts and it makes me want to freak out. And want to take a nap.

Growing up, we never had brunch. Maybe twice a year, on Easter and Mother’s Day, and they were both buffets, so I would just eat a plate of bacon and honeydew melon and call it a day. But our breakfasts stayed the same, even on the weekends. Even now, my parents eat breakfast together every morning — they drive to Whole Foods, get coffee, sit in a booth, and share a piece of fruit and a muffin, or maybe some bread and cheese. Isn’t that perfect? It’s so simple and sweet.

So, anyway, it’s Sunday, and this is my idea of a “big breakfast,” or “brunch.” 1/2 cup whole wheat couscous with harissa paste and vegan bullion stirred into boiled water. Assortment of leftover vegetables gone into oven to roast at 425 for 25 minutes: A handful of Brussels sprouts, one floppy carrot, one potato, diced, dotted with pats of butter and lemon zest and fresh chives from my garden. Two clementines. Strong coffee.

Am I being harsh against what is decidedly the most popular meal in Portland, and an iconic meal for many Americans? If anyone has an argument for brunch, please let me know. [My Manhattan-based best friend loves brunch, for example]. I want to be a convert. I want to do the right thing. I just don’t know how.

GETTIN’ HIGH IN THE MORNING

Anyone will tell you that I’m not a big breakfast person. I also secretly hate brunch, which is tantamount to sacrilege in Portland, which seems to be the biggest brunch-oriented city I’ve ever been to. I just don’t understand what the fuss is all about. Eggs, cheese, scrambles, whatever.

So the other morning I made “brunch” for some friends which consists of what you see above: Stumptown coffee with soy milk, hunks of French bread and warm salted butter, potatoes roasted in bacon fat with chives and smoked paprika and cayenne, and a huge farmer’s market spinach salad with roasted golden beets cut into tiny cubes, crispy bacon (the meat addition is in honor of my best friend Katie), red onion, melted goat cheese and green lentils stewed in white wine. Not breakfast, but better. I think so anyway.

up uneven steps and talking’s hard

DSCN5332-pola

ah, breakfast. keeping it simple yet decadent for a saturday midmorning brunch. piping hot coffee, strong. the rest of the pot was later converted into iced coffee that i brought with me to the pond for a post-brunch nap & spliff. sliced strawberries on buttered whole wheat toast with bonne maman preserves. home fries with black beans, cheddar, red bell peppers, red onion, and lots of parsley & cayenne pepper. the trick is to parboil the potatoes for 10 minutes before dicing and throwing in a very hot cast iron skillet. total heaven – and don’t forget the sriracha.

note: there were scrambled eggs with pesto & parmesan, too. i don’t eat eggs, hence absence of them on my plate. they looked delicious, though.