This is part of a series in which I share three delicious things I have recently tasted and genuinely enjoyed. If you have your own list of three very good things, feel free to share it in the comments below or on your own blog.
My latest “three very good things” are all memorable in very different ways: a refined winter squash soup, a beautifully textured Chinese turnip cake, and a simple honey lemon tea that proved more comforting than anything else when I needed it most.
~ Red Kuri Squash Soup with Arabica Whipped Cream
I was recently in Valence for a work project, and while I was there I had the chance to dine at one of Anne-Sophie Pic’s establishments. It was not the three-star gastronomic restaurant, but her elegant bistro, simply called Le 7, named after the highway that runs alongside it.
The evening was wonderful from beginning to end, and the meal was beautifully executed. The dish that stayed with me most, however, was the first course: a velvety potimarron soup. Potimarron, also known as Hokkaido squash or red kuri squash, has a naturally sweet, chestnut-like flavor that makes it especially appealing in winter cooking. Here it was served with a scoop of whipped cream delicately infused with Arabica coffee.
The combination was surprising in the best possible way. I had already heard of another vegetable and coffee pairing from Pic, in which beets are matched with Blue Mountain coffee, and this red kuri squash soup worked with the same quiet confidence. The gentle bitterness of the coffee cut through the sweetness of the squash, bringing balance and depth without overwhelming the dish.
It also reminded me how rarely coffee is used in savory cooking, even though it has so much to offer. Its bitterness, aroma, and roasted notes can give vegetables, sauces, and soups an unexpected lift. This bowl made a strong case for treating coffee as more than a breakfast drink or dessert flavoring.
~ Lo Bak Go
It has become something of a tradition for Maxence and me to celebrate his birthday with dinner at our all-time favorite restaurant, Yam’Tcha. As always, the meal was remarkable, and this year was no exception. Every course had something special to offer, but the one I kept thinking about afterward was the third dish, which chef Adeline Grattard introduced as her interpretation of lo bak go.
Lo bak go is a steamed turnip cake traditionally associated with Chinese New Year. I was not very familiar with it before this dinner, so I later looked it up. Many recipes call for ingredients such as dried shrimp and Chinese sausage, but Grattard’s version seemed to focus on grated Chinese daikon, bound together with rice flour and starch.
The dish was finished with a generous dusting of microplaned truffle, which certainly did not hurt, but what captivated me most was the texture. The turnip cake was soft, sticky, and wonderfully goopy, with that particular tenderness and elasticity that only rice flour can create. It was delicate yet deeply satisfying, and it had the kind of texture that makes you slow down and pay attention to every bite.
Yam’Tcha will close at the end of February until mid-May while Adeline Grattard and her husband, Chi Wah Chan, take care of dining room renovations and family matters.
~ Honey Lemon Tea
For nearly a week, I was knocked flat by a fairly unpleasant cold, which fortunately is not something that happens to me very often. My appetite had all but disappeared, and I had little interest in cooking or eating. The one thing I kept returning to, mug after mug, was honey lemon tea.
I do not mean a packaged tea bag or a flavored sachet from the store. I mean the old-fashioned, uncomplicated version made with a generous squeeze of lemon juice, a spoonful of honey, and boiling water. If squeezing a fresh lemon feels like too much effort when you are ill, bottled lemon juice will do. The important thing is the bright acidity of the lemon, the soothing sweetness of the honey, and the heat of the water.
For mine, I used a creamy spring honey we had brought back from Alsace. I stirred it into the hot lemon water until it dissolved, then carried the mug back to bed and held it close. Before drinking, I breathed in the steam and let the warmth do its quiet work. Once it had cooled enough to sip, it was exactly what I wanted: simple, comforting, and gentle on an aching throat.
Sometimes the most memorable thing you taste is not a complex restaurant dish, but the humble drink that helps you feel human again.