As the final installment of posts about what we ate in Paris, I present a very happy accident.  Imagine my surprise when, searching for our airbnb apartment, the words 'Le Chateaubriand' caught my eye. But could this be THE 'Le Chateaubriand'? Right next to our place? And further surprise when I entered to grab a reservation (managing to get the last open table they had before we left), and I found out the tasting menu at this top 20 restaurant was 60 euros.

The night of our meal, as honorary Spaniards, we took our 5-year-old Buckley with us to dinner. She was delighted by the gougeres that they served as amuse bouche.

What she wouldn't try were the raspberry dusted fried shrimp. Curious, I tried one. I'm not normally of the dried/crunchy seafood persuasion, but these and their touch of sweetness were AMAZING. Once you pop you can't stop.

Then a tiny shooter of ceviche in which the liquid was really the star. A tiny, perfect chunk of lightly cooked fish.  This is when Mugaritz first popped into my mind, and it turns out that Iñaki Aizpitarte, the chef/owner, is Basque and counts Mugaritz as "the best dinner of my life." Hmmm.

Of the next dish I was suspicious at best. Trout with carrots and grapefruit ice. Either really good or really bad, right? Fortunately it was the former.

Then, delight of delights, Iñaki finally started to act Basque.  Enter....marmitako, that rustic Basque soup perfect for cold, semi-rainy days. Iñaki's version was refined, featuring roasted vegetables and crispy potato.

To cleanse the palate, a herring broth with celery that brought to mind miso.

Then, the turbot. So delicious. It came covered in thin potato slices, tender to the fork, sprinkled with almonds.  That fish. That fish. I will not soon forget how tender and perfectly cooked it was.

And, the last dish, the boeuf. I was definitely feeling good about the 60 euro price tag even before this plate.  This surf and turf dish combined a perfectly cooked piece of beef with springy green asparagus and the babiest of baby anchovies. 

Then, dessert...a beautiful rendition of tocino del cielo, the Spanish dessert of egg yolks and caramelized sugar with a meringue base. The exploding "egg yolk" was Iñaki's only real nod to trends from molecular gastronomy like spherification.

Then a rum-raisin ice cream with a nice alcoholic kick.  In silver goblets, in tune with the classic French feel of the place. Iñaki and his team have an exquisite aesthetic and eye for detail.

A famed French paper recently ranked Iñaki right after Michel and Sébastien Bras as the best chef in France. His response? "All that means nothing to me as being ranked like that will never change the way I work. In my opinion, the best restaurant in Paris is far from luxurious - it is the Baratin, in Belleville, where Raquel Carena cooks food which I relate to."

What can I say? I'm American; I'm a sucker for democracy.  And even more of a sucker for great food.

Le Chateaubriand | 129 Avenue Parmentier, 75011 Paris, France

Have you ever wanted to go somewhere for a really long time? Like, two years? A place that was 20 miles away? A distance that I used to think of as a drive to the mall became an insurmountable barrier between me and Zumaia, the nearby Basque coastal town. Why? Because I was waiting for a certain curly haired girl to take me, after she tempted me with stories of dried octopus soup and sunshine.

She finally did.

 We went during jaiak (fiestas in Spanish, the town festival) and the atmosphere was jovial. The sun made its post-winter debut, and tiny huts proffering clothes, trinkets, food, and fun lined the water promenade.

And finally saw the famous Zumaia flysch, rock formations that date back 100 million years. Our guide took us to the 'townie' beach and then, since she knows me so well, on a tour of Zumaia's culinary highlights: vermouth with a dash of bitters before lunch, a sun-soaked picnic in the park of roast chicken and an entire tortilla washed down with a cold bottle of Zumaia txakoli, a liqueur tasting with an impressive spread of orujos, aguardientes, and other liqueurs. And, of course, all finished off with a gintonic al fresco, perched on the wall of the estuary.

She knows exactly how to win my heart. Gora Zumaia!

What is excess?

Surely it's not devouring three financiers, one butter croissant and one-half of an almond croissant each morning with your coffee.

Because on our trip to Paris, that's just what we did, and it felt just right.  This bakery was near our apartment in Belleville, which we found through airbnb, a website that everyone should know about. And, it just so happens that Boulangerie 140 is one of the city's best. No, seriously.  A one-time winner of the Best Baguette in Paris award,  I knew I was onto something good when I spotted this review on David Lebovitz's blog.

When we bit into that first butter croissant, I knew I was in for trouble. Trouble because...this was a real croissant. Buttery, crunchy, light, soft, and in dozens of tiny layers. No longer could I lie to myself, saying that Spanish croissants are halfway decent.

And their financiers were equally heavenly. Each day we got deux de chacun, one for me and one for Buckley: raspberry, chocolate, and regular. A must eat if you're nearby in Paris.

Poker night. It's an institution worldwide, but seems to be especially common amongst American males as a form of bonding. It consists of cards, snacking, comradery and drinking, and while it may remain a bit of a mystery to girlfriends as to why this is such hallowed ground, there is no debating the social role of poker.

And just like many other cultural traditions, it takes place around the table. Food & drink is a must, and we always prepare a little something special when it's time for poker at our house. You can find great "poker food" all over the web, but going beyond beer into the cocktail realm is a tad more mystifying.

Well, I am going to introduce a secret weapon to your arsenal that may or may not help your poker game: the Campari formula.

Campari is an Italian liqueur that dates back to the mid-1800s. It's a bright red bitter that is made by infusing alcohol and water with a variety of herbs. With a lovely spicy, bitter taste, it is often enjoyed alone, over ice. I, however, find it a bit strong for my tastes when served solo. Enter Campari as cocktail game-changer. Its unique flavor profile gives it an incredible quality as a bonding agent in cocktails.  It brings together grain alcohols, liqueurs and fruit juices in a very special way.  Not a math person? Here's one formula you can (and should) remember:

1.5 oz spirits + .5 oz liqueur + .5 oz citrus juice + .5 oz Campari.

This combo of spirits (gin, tequila, whiskey, vodka), juice (lemon, lime, grapefruit), and liqueur (Cointreau, Chartreuse, Southern Comfort, Drambuie, whatever) could be lethal and ill-advised. But there's something about the Campari that has the ability to draw them all together in perfect harmony and create a balanced cocktail that could be at home on any fancy-pants cocktail menu.

As I type this, I can't believe I'm making this secret public. Now everyone will know I'm not a super mixologist. Oh, well. Don't believe me? I put this theory to the test and blindfoldedly selected three liqueurs, three spirits, and three fruits from my fridge and cabinet and randomly matched them in order to create a cocktail for the boys and their poker snacks. The surprise? All of them were good. Here goes the results:

Random pairing #1: Bulleit Bourbon + Cointreau + Lime. This was a manly cocktail if there ever was one. With the bite of whiskey present in a strong way, the Cointreau brought an unexpectedly delicious orange note into the mix.

Random pairing #2: Jose Cuervo Tequila, Licor 43 (vanilla and citrus), Lemon. There is no way this should be good. Tequila mixed with vanilla and Campari (along with the typical citrus suspects)? Oh yes, oh yes it was. This was my personal fave.

Random pairing #3 (and the poker party taste test winner): Tanqueray gin, Drambuie, grapefruit. Wow. The whisky liqueur played so well off of the gin and grapefruit (which for me is a cherished combo anyway).  This one is worth a whorl any night you need a quick drink. Sometimes a little structure allows you to be even more creative.

And here you have it, in its shining glory, the winning cocktail from the experiment. It appears that this combination is fairly unique, so I feel entitled to name it: Poker Night Pote. (From the Spanish potear which basically means to go around drinking all night).

If there's one place in the world I would rather be, it's probably Axpe, Spain.

Why? Because it combines three things that I am an absolute sucker for: Basque-ness, rural life, and incredible food.

It's incredible, to me, that you can find some of the world's best food in the same six-building village that you can find a town bulletin organizing holiday celebrations and announcing marriages.

For these reasons, I am unable to say no to a visit to Etxebarri. Call it crazy, call it smart, call it lack of self control; it's a fact.  Self control, however, does enter the picture when I have to do what I call "Etxebarri Light".  This is what I did recently with a couple friends who were just dying to check out this asado (grill) in the countryside.

As they devoured the tasting menu (and even let me try the goose barnacles, above, which were squirty, sea-flavored fingers), I withstood (imaginary?) looks of skepticism from the wonderful Basque waitresses and ordered a half ración jamón and a half of Etxebarri's housemade chorizo. This chorizo makes frequent appearances in my dreams.

And, to finish my meal, I just had to try Etxebarri's version of txipirones pelayo, a dish of calamari, caramelized onions and squid ink. Theirs was easily the best I've had, made with tiny baby octopus.

And that, my friends, is How To Survive on a Budget in Culinary Paradise.

Well, we'll get there eventually. But meanwhile, for my first "Happy Eating in Paris" moment, we're going direction guarrada. If you know me, you know I love a good crunchy, puffy snack.  The kid in me was thrilled to see a whole new flavor range on the shelves of french hypermarchés. Roasted chicken, curry, provençal, and these beauties: Mustard Pickle. Which actually translates better to English as "mustard chutney," but as someone who spent her childhood eating white bread, French's mustard, Kraft singles and pickle sandwiches, I'm invoking "this is my blog na na na na na" rights and sticking with Mustard Pickle.

If you've traveled abroad, you've probably noticed that chip companies in particular are masters at globalization. Check out this ridiculous list of the Lay's flavors from across the world. On my bucket list to try? Cucumber and guacamole (Poland), Lasagna (Argentina), Kebab on Charcoal (Egypt). On my list to avoid at all costs? Scottish Haggis (UK).

Leave a under I'm Asking with your favorite foreign junk food. Inquiring minds want to know.

The gintonic craze here in San Sebastián has reached new heights. Enter La Gintonería, a new bar in Gros that, as its name suggests, devotes itself to the preparation of everyone's favorite refreshing cocktail, the gintonic.

Selection: 61 gins, as well as extensive collections of other liqueur, such as all three Balvenie whiskies.

Default tonic: Schweppes premium line.

Location: Gros. The corner of Dunas Kalea y Zabaleta.

Vibe: Definitely a summery place. This small place feels twice as large thanks to its tall ceilings, and feels four times as large when the doors are open. There's a TV over the doors (new tennis viewing spot?) that was tuned to soccer.

Sample clientele: Four of the hipsters behind San Sebastián's coolest furniture studio, three 60-something men finishing their neighborhood route, three nondescript 30-something guys, and a father, mother and daughter.

Price: Our gintonics were 9 euros apiece, but they were made with premium gins.

We tried two new (to me) gins that came at the recommendation of the owner, after I told him my favorite gins: Magellan and Caorunn.  Magellan is a French gin that has iris flower root, he explained, and Caorunn is Scottish(!). Before serving, the owner/bartender dropped a few dots of grapefruit bitters (in both glasses) and allowed us to smell. Then the drinks were garnished with three (!) lime peels and one lemon. Pretty, but a bit too much citrus when I really wanted to taste the different gins. I need to go back to see if the garnishes differ for different gins. They were accompanied with gummies and potato chips, which is always a welcome touch for a neighborhood bar.

Because, did I mention, this place is right below my house. Uh-oh.

You know it's springtime in San Sebastián when the sun's not really shining, rain can strike at any moment, and the perretxikos start to show up in fields and markets everywhere.  Today I had my first perretxiko sighting of the year at one of my favorite greengrocers.  These mushrooms, also known as St. George's mushrooms, are on the expensive side, ranging anywhere from 75 to 300 euros per kilogram (that's $45-$180 dollars a pound).

As you can see, this particular lot caught my eye because they were so. dang. cute. Some of these little fungi were no bigger than a pinkie nail. Here, the Calocybe Gambosa is often served sauteed with scrambled eggs.  Secondarily, you may find it sauteed with garlic and parsley in typical Basque fashion.  An aficionado friend of mine likes them shredded raw over fresh bread and drizzled with olive oil. I like to enjoy their light, earthy flavor sauteed alongside the tiny peas that are also in season (and if they're de lagrima, even better).

Frutategia Baratze,  in the old part of San Sebastián

75/euro kilo

We're in Paris! Eating, drinking, and going to Disney. Expect some pastry pics and some dishing on the incredible food we're eating.  Overdosing on ethnic foods (while we can) and accidentally booking tables at the no. 15 restaurant in the world. Oops! Go with it.

There's a new book out, one that will never be known and probably almost never read, but is full of incredible stories about the American history of one of the world's most mysterious people groups: the Basques.

The Basques of Kern County, by Stephen Bass and George Ansolabehere, tells this unique story of a people "guided by a fierce internal drive that told them they'd have to work harder than anyone else to earn any sense of belonging".

Our history books often call Basques 'Spaniards', but it's not hard to distinguish them either by their occupation (shepherd), their looks (noses!), and their work ethic (oh-so-unSpanish). This book, however, is full of legit personal histories, like this one from Jean Arambel:

The worst thing about sheepherding was the loneliness and cold in the desert. These were the hardest things I remember. Most of the time I spent in the Sierra Nevada Mountains by myself with my two dogs and a donkey. The camp tender came once a week with supplies but only stayed one or two hours. I looked forward to these visits because it gave me a chance to speak to another human being and to speak to someone in the Basque language. It was very lonesome but I had no choice.

For more, read the article here.