Oh la la! C'est super-cool!

It seems likely that I'm going to get some back-sass on this, but I'm firmly of the opinion that everything is cooler in French (and in France in general, those folks know how to live, talk about the War all you want). No, it's not some kind of Stockholm Syndrome after years studying French. I do not wake up in the middle of the night screaming "Où est la bibliothèque?!"

So, it's no surprise that I'll play and replay "C'est la mort" by Stereo Total because I like the nonsensical lyrics... in French. Nor should it surprise you that I'm a devotee of Clotilde and her blog, Chocolate & Zucchini. First of all, the subtitle of her soon-to-come book is "Daily adventures in a Parisian kitchen." Now, THAT sounds cool. Mostly because the implication is before the adventures in the kitchen, there are adventures in the Parisian markets which are wonderful and embody everything that food shopping should be (tactile, local, daily, social... I could go on. Now imagine talking about some neat purple carrots with a vendor... in French. See? Automatically cooler.). Of course, in my head, Clotilde is cooking in the kitchen from Amélie, and shit, I wanna do that (even though I currently cook in the most rockin' kitchen in which I've ever had the pleasure to wield a Wüsthof, it's not, you know, in France).

Clotilde's recipes allow me to indulge the crazy on a few levels. First, she tends to title recipes in French, which gives me permission to write them in The Book of Greatest Hits as such without feeling like too much of a tool. Second, when baking her cakes and whatnot, I bust out the old metric digital scale, thus engaging in a deliciously precise baking process (Seriously. Fuck cups. When are we living? Le Moyen Age? I cannot tell you how crazy I feel scraping sticky ingredients out of cups for recipes; "But. If. I. Don't. Get. It. All. Out. The. Finished. Product. Won't. Be. Right." And then my mother doses me with a glass of Malbec and I forget to set a timer and it's all ok.).

But more than anything, it's just that culinary terms are so much better in French. My favorite example is the bain-marie. It's the hot water bath in which you bake your crème brûlée . It's the pan of boiling water that melts your chocolate. It's also, very poetically and awesomely derived from an alchemy term, according to Wikipedia. I previously thought it meant "Mary's bath" as in the Virgin, but I guess I was wrong. It turns out that it's awesomer, invented by an alchemist called Mary the Jewess.

Now, you tell me, would you rather bake a crème brûlée in a bain-marie or a hot water bath? While we're at it, is not crème brûlée more appetizing than burnt cream? You may argue that the French makes it all seem so impossibly grandiose, but I think that's what makes it so great. You think that crème brûlée is some insurmountably difficult dish, but it turns out it's just a soft custard baked in a hot water bath (it's the torching that makes it fun and grand, and gives you that wonderful crack when you break it with a spoon).

Today's awesome French culinary term, as learned from C&Z: abricotage. This is the method whereby French patisseries get the pretty shiny glaze on tarts and whatnot. It apparently involves heating some apricot jam with a little water until it's thin-ish and spreadable. The combination, aside from adding a pleasant fruity flavor, sets up and makes the confection look like a work of art.

Abricotage sounds so much cooler than "paint with melted apricot jam," no?

So, in honor of abricotage and the bain-marie, and because it uses both, it seems that I'll be attempting this cake for Sunday dessert. Thanks Clotilde!