Salt. So simple, so perfect, it completes nearly everything. Since Fleur de Sel became one of my kitchen staples, the "everything" has expanded to things I never would have imagined finishing with a pinch or two of salt. Fleur de Sel, translated from French to "Flower of Salt", is a delicate, moist, pretty, French sea salt that is hand-harvested by workers who scrape only the top layer of salt before it sinks to the bottom of large salt pans. The most traditional, and in my opinion best variety, is collected off the coast of Brittany. From Brittany, Fleur de Sel de Guérande, which comes from salt marsh water, is the most revered. My first taste of this salty goodness was introduced by Sylvie, a certain spicy little French lovely, who gifted my husband with a petite sac of Fleur de Sel de Guérande, brought from Saint-Pierre and Miquelon, in thanks for a little tech help he had provided. I had no idea a little sac of salt could be so exciting and contain the potential to make everything I eat taste brilliant.

We dined at her tiny apartment one evening and were told that we would dine St-Pierre style, which included eating from 8pm until 2am, drinking at least one bottle of wine per person, olive tapenade, watermelon and feta salad, perfectly roasted leg of lamb with rosemary potatoes, a pause for dancing through the apartment to the brilliant Pedro Almadovar's "Talk to Her" soundtrack with eyes closed holding hands, spilling red wine everywhere while dancing with eyes closed, sponging it up with a whole lot of salt (not Fleur de Sel), and finishing with a warm flourless chocolate cake with orange zest. A perfect evening, with a perfect ending. Since then, the perfect ending for many treats is a little of that flower of the salts. A sprinkle on a perfect vine ripened tomato and avocado, a pinch on "hot from the oven" peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, a sparkle on top of a dish of butter that make that slice of crusty bread better than it was before, a simple finish to a perfectly grilled steak, or the magic ingredient in a Fleur de Sel caramel chocolate. Fleur de Sel is a delightful indulgence that enhances the flavor of whatever it's paired with. I store mine in a little ceramic container on my kitchen counter that looks pretty, provides easy access, and helps retain moisture. It's a little indulgence that goes a long way. I buy the same excellent "Le Paludier's Fleur de Sel de Guérande" that was gifted to us straight from Canada's nearby "France". I place my bi-annual half pound bag order online at eco-natural.com at an excellent price, and I think you should too! http://www.eco-natural.com/greysalt/fleurdesel2.html Okay, now I'm having a 70's moment singing the lines from Godspell "You are the Salt of the Earth", to that whacka whacka guitar riff in my head. I digress....

It’s clear that I like to make cookies.  It’s clear that I like to make cookies for others.  But, when it comes to cookie recipes, I’m rarely surprised.  A cookie is a cookie is a cookie.  Butter, sugar, flour, salt, eggs.

I have a number of recipes that I gravitate toward, but only one go-to recipe.  What makes it special for me is that it contains no white sugar and the butter must be melted.  The warm dough has always yielded soft, slightly doughy cookies.  I don’t like cookies any other way, really.  I’ll make them many other ways, but as I rarely cook for my pleasure, that’s not always important.

In a tradesies situation I created (Fairmount bagels for my baking) I went looking for something to take me out of my baking box.  Dorie Greenspan is someone who I’ve been reading for a long while now without trying any of her recipes.  With her recent Chocolate Chunker post, my mind was sufficiently intrigued.  Easy recipe.  Salted peanuts.  The word “gooey.”

 

 

I don’t have much to say except that I think they are the best cookies I’ve ever made.

I forgot the raisins.

I added cinnamon.

I sprinkled fleur de sel on the tops after baking.

I made monster cookies, easily 2 tablespoons of dough each.

 

 

 

Gooey.  Chocolatey.  Salty.

Warm dough.

Finger-lickin’ dough.

 

Make them.

Now.

 

 

Tropical heat is a magic ingredient. Temperature, humidity, and sunshine combine to form a fairy dust that touches flowering vegetation in regions of the world lucky enough to hover on central latitudes.  I left a world of standard apple-banana-orange colours to fall head over heels in one full of rich hues, aromatic flavours, and addictive textures. 

Jewels in the culinary crown of Vietnam, the fruits native to the South are… better than chocolate.  Their sweet juices, soft flesh, and heavenly perfumes reference the sun and all the glory that it brings.

 

The sun bursts from passion fruit, jackfruit, and pommelos.

 

 

 

Can you get much prettier than a mangosteen?

 

 

 

Its thick case is almost sponge-like.  You can push on the bottom to crack it and reveal the edible segments.  Soft and delicate, they burst with intense sweetness.

 

In a place where you “don’t drink the water,” the plethora of peel-able fruit is extraordinary.  The milk apple requires you only to scoop out the soft middles of the halves or quarters you cut.  Doing so releases it’s milky juice that should also be lapped up.

 

 

My new favourite fruit is the custard apple.  It’s slightly fibrous flesh is dense with tropical sugar (and apparently calories).  It is contained within a thick, bumpy skin that could camouflage it as an artichoke from afar.  Its custard flesh is dotted with shiny and black kidney-shaped seeds. 

 

 

 

I’m not sure how to describe it except to say that it’s heavenly.  Perhaps more apt—it’s worth spending 18 hours in a plane to get one.