Les Halles de Lyon

While in Lyon, I spent the majority of my time in the old town or on the island in between the two rivers.  However, I did venture one afternoon to the other side of the Rhone river to check things out.  I am glad I did, because I found Les Halles de Paul Bocuse.  If you don't know who Paul Bocuse is, I won't chastise you like some food snob.  Instead, I'll let you learn about him here.

If you are ever in France and see "Les Halles" it should signal that you are about to enter a food market, typically covered and usually full of diverse vendors.  For me, it's like a paradise.  I love to seek them out in small towns and big cities alike.  Here's a look at Lyon's version which for some reason is connected to Paul Bocuse, but then again, I imagine almost everything food related in Lyon is connected to him.

This glass buliding houses the 59 vendors which comprise "Les Halles."

When you first enter the building, don't be put off by it's initial commercial feel.

As you wind your way though the several aisles of vendors, a more local and friendly French vibe emerges.

Local specialties such as praline tarts abound.

Sausages and cured meats hang around every corner.

Classic French pastries fill the air with tempting scents.

Every olive imaginable is there for you to purchase and enjoy while walking the streets of Lyon.

And the cheese, oh, the cheese.

What is that I see?  Could it be a MOF working his cheese shop at Les Halles?  Why, yes it is.  Again, it's always impressive to run across the chefs or in this case fromagier who has earned the title of Best in France.

Prepared local specialties are ready for you to eat on-site or take away.

And don't forget the wine.  How could you while in France?

My favorite part of the day, though, was seeing old French men with moustaches continuing to practice a trade they had learned and perfected years ago.

Les Halles de Lyon

102, cours Lafayette

Part-Dieu

69003 Lyon

Stairmaster: Lyon Style

On my first afternoon in Lyon, I decided to head across the Saône river to the old town and then head up Fourviere hill to see the panaromic view of the area.  Sure, you can take a bus or a funiculaire up the hill  but by now you should know that's not my style.  Plus, considering the unreal amount of food I was planning to consume in this culinary capital of the world, I knew I had no choice but to hike up the hill.  There was a winding path or stairs.  I chose the latter.

Here is the start of my trek.

At the top of these stairs, I had a nice reprieve, a beautiful old building (which now houses the city archives) and a courtyard to explore.

Not to mention a cool view already.

However, the neighborhood dog who happened to be a new mama was not too thrilled at my presence.  I make it a point not to mess with new mamas (canine or human for that matter). So I hightailed it out of there.

Around the corner, more stairs awaited me.

And more.

And more.  You get the idea, I think.  800 steps in total to get to the top.  800 steps which I dutifully counted in French (which is not that easy when, for example, 798 is the equivalent in English to seven hundred four twenties ten eight).  I swear I am not making that up.

The stairmaster program was worth it.  This basilica was breathtaking.  It still amazes me that so many years ago they could make such beautiful things with so much less technology than we have today and yet today we can build some of the ugliest buildings ever.

Inside was huge and ornate.

The murals/tiles were still so vibrant in color.

And the view.  Ah.  Fresh air.  Warm breeze.  I could have stayed for hours.

When I finally decided to descend, I took the leisurely way down.  Can you blame me?

Lyon: Around Town

By the time the TGV I was riding on from cold, cloudy Paris arrived in Lyon, spring had sprung there.  I must admit between the delicious food and abundant sunshine it was hard to board the returning train to Paris.  I long to return to Lyon when spring or summer is in full bloom and the trees that line every street have fully blossomed.  Until then, I will have fond memories of the food, the culture, the sights and the people.  In the first of many posts about my trip to Lyon, I bring you the sights around town...

The center and the old town are both full of tiny pedestrian streets like this one lined with cafés and bouchons (traditional Lyon restaurants).

Two rivers run through Lyon, making a gorgeous backdrop.

At this particular market stand, the farmer had written a description of how easy it is to cook this squash in order to entice customers to buy it.  Pretty darn clever in my opinion.

The city does not disappoint at night, either.

Danger Zone - Stage Style

Remember back in the fall when I introduced you to the danger zone that was the razor sharp cabinet which decided to slice my finger practically in two?  Well, I still have the evidence of that danger zone and am hoping that the danger zone of a restaurant I work in now will not bring me any lifelong scars like that one.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not a wimp; I simply prefer being intact and having pretty skin.  Sue me if you think I'm in the wrong profession for that.

Today, I introduce "Danger Zone - Stage Style."  And, I'm sorry, but I can't help but put another link to the Kenny Loggin's music video.  It's just too awesomely 80's for this child of the 80's to not bring it up again.  Back to the point - the kitchen is a dangerous place, especially a commercial kitchen.  There are virtual landmines everywhere you look.  Here are just a few examples of the dangers I have encountered so far:

- The mandoline (which I have mentioned before):  If you don't believe me, why don't you try slicing a wet potato on a mandoline and when it slips and the blade thinks your palm is the potato, we can talk about it then.  Yes, I have seen this happen.  And no, not to me, thankfully.

- Gas flames:  I heart working with gas flames.  It makes all the difference in the world to me when I am cooking.  However, it doesn't come without dangers.  Besides the regular danger of a gas explosion, it's also easy for things close to a gas flame to catch on fire.  Like, for example, me.  Yes, about a month ago I caught on fire.  Or rather the towel tucked neatly into my apron caught on fire (sorry mom and dad) and it took a minute for me to realize that the large flame was now attached to me.  No worries, though.  I grabbed it, threw it on the ground and stomped it out.  All the Chef de Partie had to say was that I was allowed to get a new towel.  I didn't have to use the one that was now essentially burned to ashes on the floor.  Oh, thanks.

- Stairs:  So, sure, stairs are not unique to a kitchen.  In fact, most kitchens don't have stairs.  However in Paris where real estate is small and pricey, many restaurants are multi-story, including the kitchens.  My restaurant is no exception.  The pastry room is in the basement along with the chambre froide (walk-in fridge), freezer, fishmonger, and pantry.  So, suffice it to say I do my fair share of running up and down 14 (yes, I counted) concrete stairs every day, one of which has an eerie looking red stain that freakishly resembles blood. 

And might I add that if you don't run up and down the stairs everyone seems to think you are a sack of lazy bones.  Sometimes I just want to scream, "There's barely anyone having lunch here today and we've done our entire mise en place, I think it is ok if I walk down/up the damn stairs!"  But, that is neither here nor there so sorry for the aside.

I try not to think of that stain as I carry huge, heavy copper pots full of boiling butter down to the pastry chef or when I am carting buckets full of bright orange fish soup that seem all too oddly eager to slosh over my body if I happen to trip and fall.  

I must admit - I had a fall last week.  Luckily, by the grace of God, I happened to not be carrying anything at all.  I'm not quite sure what happened but I have reason to believe it has something to do with the ugly as sin and way too big shoes I am still forced to wear.  Needless to say, the fall was not too pretty.  I flew into the air, landed on my back, one leg twisted up behind me and my shoulders/arms hanging on the rails on the wall.  This meant the next day I could barely move, especially my back and right shoulder, but at least no one saw me and at least I wasn't carrying the aforementioned boiling butter at the time.  Honestly, I feel like in my fight against the stairs I came out on top since I didn't contribute to what I maintain looks like a rather large blood stain.

- Broiler: Not an electric broiler like many readers might be used to.  This thing is called a Salamander and looks somewhat like this

except it has righteous flames that flare non-stop in order to heat, reheat or even cook some of our fish dishes.  Now, I used to be scared to have to stick my hand in between the rack and the flames (a gap that only a hand can fit in).  I quickly got over that once I realized that: 1) I really had no choice and 2) no one else seemed to come away with a charred hand.  What is scary is when it starts to act up.  For weeks straight, it would shoot wildly large flames down and out of the salamander, accompanied by freakishly scary loud booms.  This is the only time I have been somewhat scared for my life while in a kitchen.  I figured if the thing blew, there was really no chance, no time to get out.  That doesn't mean that I stood extra close to it, though, as I don't have a death wish.  Instead, I would stand as far away from it as I could, trying to act like I nonchalantly wanted to watch the people in the garde manger make the same dishes I had made hundreds of times.  Don't worry, a fix-it man was eventually called and now I'm back to sticking my hand under it with little fear.

- Knives: Now, this one seems obvious and it is. However, most people think of the knife as a danger to oneself. Cutting something too fast or not paying attention and nicking oneself is, of course, one of the dangers a knife can pose. However, there are other dangers as well.  If someone leaves a knife, say, in a sink full of otherwise non-cutting utensils and you stick your hands in it. Ouch. To me, however, the scariest thing about knives in the kitchen is other people's carelessness. You can be cut (or stabbed come to think of it) by someone else who is wielding a knife. I saw this the other night. Two very experienced chefs were working side by side. One turned to the other to show him something in his hand and SLICE went a knife into one of his fingers. Not a pretty sight.

I might be jinxing myself to say this, but after re-reading this post, I feel pretty good about having just one cut, one fall, and only one instance of being on fire so far in my stage.  Let's hope it stays that way for the remaining 5 weeks!

Rue Vavin

One random weekend day (and keep in mind that would be Wednesday or Thursday for me these days), I stumbled upon a quaint street in the 6th arrondisement that I thought was just perfect for an afternoon stroll. Why, exactly did I think that?  Well, first and foremost because the street extends from one of the exits of Luxembourg Garden, which is a perfect place for a picnic lunch and catching some warm rays from the sun.  Yes, all you naysayers, there can be sun in Paris.  And when there is, you will want to be in Jardin du Luxembourg.  If afterwards you would like to soothe a sweet tooth or calm a shopping itch, you can do either on Rue Vavin.  I guess this is what I found so appealing about the otherwise non-descript street.  To me, too many streets in Paris are all identical - art gallery after art gallery, haute couture shop after haute couture shop, antiques after antiques.  Ok, I think you get the picture.  Rue Vavin was simply a clean, quaint street right off the park with options for everyone.  If you are in the area, take a few minutes to stroll the block.

Park exit that leads directly to Rue Vavin.

Looks cute, doesn't it?

There are several children's stores.

And who doesn't love gelato?  I can vouch for Amorino.  It's quite good.  Try it out for yourself and see.

There are a few clothing stores.

A linens store.

A chocolatier.  Again, who hates chocolate?  Of course, there are those random people you meet who claim that they don't like chocolate.  I don't know about you, but personally I think they're aliens or glutton for punishment.  Either way, I ignore them and think, "More for me!"

A florist.

And the all-important boulangerie/patisserie.   Every good street in Paris needs one and this appears to be a good one with a line out the door.