Canadian Sister!

I love markets.

I love taking my big canvas bag out and perusing the different stands, buying up cheap, fresh produce and meat and fish (and containers of thirty eggs). The Canadian calls it “Emily versus the market.”

Every week, I go to the market near my house. I have to walk about ten minutes to get there, and it’s a nice walk, right across the Champs de Mars. Sometimes, I go twice a week. Whenever I invite the Canadian, he grumbles and stands aloft. He doesn’t help me pick anything. He says he “doesn’t do well at markets.” I tell him that this is ludicrous. He likes food. He should like looking at food. He says he likes looking, but he wants to be able to pay for everything all at once. I tell him I’ll pay. He says if I pay, he doesn’t want to pick things, because he feels bad about me paying for food that he wants. I say, then he should give me money. He says, “then why don’t I give you money, you go, and I’ll stay here and wait for you. Bring me a present.”

I go to the market alone a lot.

On Thursday night, I made Jaden’s Tropical Salmon (coming tomorrow to a blog near you) for me and the Canadian. The Canadian did the dishes (he lost a bet and has to do the dishes for a week. It’s nice.) Then we packed up and went out to the airport for seven hours.
Why, you ask? The Canadian Sister is here visiting us from Barrie, Ontario! She’s never been to France before. She was arriving at six in the morning, and since it takes an hour to get to the airport and the RER doesn’t start running until 5:30, we left the night before. We set up camp in the arrivals terminal, I raided the vending machine for snacks, and we waited.

When she finally got here, she came with me to the market. She didn’t want to sleep, she said. She wanted to get over her jet lag right away.

I like her.

The Canadian gave us money and took a nap.

The Canadian Sister is much better at the market than the Canadian. Maybe it’s a girl thing. She helped me pick produce, made faces with me at the cheval (horse) in the butcher’s case, got made fun of for speaking English with me. (“Américaines? Canadiennes? Allemandes? Anglaises?”), and she picked the steaks we had for dinner.

I never appreciated steak when my mother made it. We had it about once a week, but it was as normal to me as chicken. Now that I know how much it costs, steak dinners are few and far between. But the Canadian Sister likes steak, and I like the Canadian Sister, so we got three entrecôtes.

I’m always afraid of undercooking steak (yeah… that last post pertains to steak as well), so I got myself a recipe. The steaks were incredible. I served them with the Mushroom Hash from the Wednesday Chef, and the meal was delicious. And no, I didn’t undercook them… they were perfectly medium-rare. Even though I did almost set the kitchen on fire (something on the bottom of the pan caught on fire, and for some reason I was perfectly calm as the bottom of the frying pan erupted into flames, and I just sort of held it aloft until it settled down. I imagine this is what Giada di Laurentiis must do if this ever happens to her. Or someone on severe anti-anxiety medication. It is very anti-me.)

The Canadian Sister is sleeping now, and the leftover steak is sitting in the fridge. I think I may go snack on it while I wait for her to wake up.

Belgian Steak (adapted from Everybody Eats Well in Belgium by Ruth Van Waerebeek)

4 sirloin steaks
3 tablespoons butter
salt and pepper
red wine
good mustard

Bring the steaks to room temperature. Heat the butter over medium heat until melted, then turn the temperature up to high and add the steaks. Cook for one minute on each side, and then add salt and pepper and turn the temperature down to medium. Cook the steaks until done, turning every so often. For medium rare, about six minutes in total. Remove the steaks and allow to sit for several minutes to redistribute the juices. Meanwhile, add about a tablespoon of mustard to the pan and deglaze with a cup of red wine. Stir to combine and serve on the side.