I am a faithful person. Once I commit myself into doing something, I keep that commitment no matter what.

That is why after several months of committing to a lifestyle of eating only local, whole, organic, beyond organic, fresh foods, I found myself enjoying a Big Mac and an extra large order of fries.

Just kidding.

But in the two weeks that I haven’t been posting here (I was busy with guests the whole time), I have been subjected to several questionable food choices. First among many is commercial cake.

In those two weeks, after my French food cooking adventure, I attended lots of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with my guests and in most of these occasions there were cakes.

Though it is easy to pinpoint the bad foods in a restaurant menu or a dinning table, there is no way of telling if cakes are on my side or the devil’s. In the case of Devil’s Food Cake, there’s no question.

But how about Angel’s Food Cake? Is it really as pure and angelic as it sounds? If so, why are people often use words like guilt and sinful whenever they have this cake in their mouths?

New York Cheese Cake: Is it really that local?

Pound Cake: a pound gained for every box eaten?

The truth is, in those two weeks, I have eaten cake. Now I feel like going to confession.

How bad is commercial cake? Sure, when you buy a box, the ingredients are there. But it doesn’t say what actual sweetener they used, or what kind of eggs they included, or if the milk is laden with hormones and antibiotics. There’s really no way to find out unless I bug the store or the baker about it – a move I won’t do unless I want spit or other body fluids in my Black Forest.

In itself, cake is processed food.  It is a combination of whole ingredients that dissolve and into one another to form one product that has been a regular in almost every table on earth. From royal palaces to peasant tables, cake is the ultimate symbol of celebration. Try having a birthday bash without a cake see how it feels. I’ve had one such birthday party. It was every bit like having a bachelor’s party with your fiancée present. No sense at all.

Most good cakes come from non-organic sources. Whole Foods Market sells a wide array of cakes made from, they claim, organic ingredients. With this, should I shun the other bakeshops that use conventional things? The Carnegie Deli NY Cheesecake, should I forever say no to that? Magnolia Bakery? Crumbs?

Or if my hardcore paranoia even suspects Whole Foods, should I start making my own cake like I make my own bread? What course to take, I don’t know yet, but let me have my cake!

Just came from a Sarah Silverman event in Soho and then went straight to St. Mark’s for my favorite sandwich of all time: Vietnamese Banh Mi.

I agree that Vietnamese cuisine is the IT cuisine today. Thai is so 2000s. The Banh Mi never fails to make me happy. Actually, it made me smile more than Ms. Silverman. It is a sandwich only masters can make. The pickled veggies, the special paté, the out of this world house mayo, and the assorted cuts of meat, all these are tucked in the center of a freshly baked baguette. Whew!

If the US government’s reason for meddling in Vietnam in the 60s was to get the secret formula for an authentic Banh Mi, the war would have made sense and I would have supported it. Well, in the 60s I was but a potential human floating in a sea of possibilities, so I really couldn’t support it but you know.. whatever.

The sandwich is a unique blend of Asian and French flavors that never fails to satisfy.

I am a locavore and as I said, I prefer to cook at home. But sometimes I allow myself the occasional dine-out so I could experience what’s great out there.

However, I only have some rules when I eat out: I only eat traditional cuisines from different cultures and I make sure the place adheres to sustainable practices, uses fresh ingredients, true to the culture it represents, and definitely no fast food.

The Banh Mi places is one of these restaurants. If you are in the area, check it out. It’s called Bao-guette.

By the way, I am expecting another delivery from my meat and dairy coop. Last week, I was informed that the farmer has some lamb and game meats available (all pasture raised of course) so I ordered some along with my weekly ration of raw milk, eggs, and cheese.

I am planning to make some roasts and I’ll let you know if they are any good.

Oh before I forget, I must admit though that Ms. Silverman was indeed funny, cool, and kinda hot.

Yes, you gave the city a championship.

Yes, you gave us thrills.

I am grateful.

However, dear Yankees, you didn’t need to go the extra mile and offer diabetes to your avid fans, did you?

The candies look cool, though. I still have this as a souvenir encased in a small glass dome.

Photo taken during the Yankees Parade last November

In most of my readings about real food, I have always encountered the term French Paradox. The term refers to the unexplainable fact of how most of the French people don’t get fat despite eating fatty, sweet, and ultra-rich foods.

I have never really given that any thought at all. My guess was that the French get laid more than they eat, hence cancelling out any of the excess calories that usually convert itself to bellies and bulges.

My ignorance with French food is vast.  So far, the only French food I had are the ones with the word French in its names: French Onion Soup, French Fries (There is considerable evidence though that French Fries actually originated in Belgium and I think the Muscles from Brussels, Jean Claude Van Damme, is an advocate of this campaign to rename the fried potato strips to Brussels Fries), French Toast, and French Bread. Oh, does French Maid count? I guess not. Truth is, I know a little French food, and tasted a few.

So last Friday, after buying some products in Union Square, we decided to try and eat in an authentic French restaurant. I didn’t want a fancy French place with an elaborate chef’s tasting menu that costs a few dollars short of a month’s rent, but rather just a typical French restaurant that serves casual French food for the common French citizen. With this in mind, we ended up at Les Halles on Park Avenue between 29^th and 28^th. It was my first time in a French restaurant.

We ordered the following just to taste and experience what and how these people eat:

Foie Gras Poëlé aux Pommes for appetizer

A classic Cassoulet for entrée

A dark chocolate soufflé for dessert

*My friends ordered the following, which I also tried.

Steak Frites, Pavé de Thon Grillé, sauce Vierge Légumes Grillés à l’Huile d’Olive,

Coq Au Vin, Escargot, and Gratin de Macaroni.

The Politics of Foie Gras

I know that Foie Gras raises a lot of eyebrows. But I guess if we view it as a cultural thing for a specific people, in this case, the French, we would understand. The French make and eat Foie Gras because it is a part of who they are. It is embedded in their culture. We should let them be. They raise their own duck, anyway,  so let them do what they want with them and their livers. Perhaps they just don’t see Donald Duck when they see ducks, like most Americans do. Instead they see Duck Confit, Duck fat and Foie Gras, which is fine with me.

Besides, they do not force others (non-French) to eat it or make it. If you don’t want it or couldn’t sleep with how French ducks are being maltreated, then by all means avoid it. In the same way as the French will never in a million years bother with our Chicken McNuggets, which they probably think is the bigger atrocity.

By the way, Americans have pushed Chicken McNuggets to the global stage, which is more embarrassing that nourishing.

The Experience

Anyhow, the Foie Gras arrived and I immediately noticed how small the serving was. It was a slice of liver as big as half-a slice of bread coated with brown sauce and sprinkled with walnuts. The dish was $18.00. A little pricey for such a small portion, but the moment I put some in my mouth I forgot who I was. For a while, in a haze, I thought I was Philippe Petit walking on a wire towards Megan Fox’s dressing room.

The thing exploded with flavor and texture. The closest thing I could compare it with, experience wise, is the experience of slurping high-quality grass-fed roasted veal marrow right off the bone.  I was overwhelmed with flavor like a rush of the best illegal things on earth shooting up my brain and leaving me in an orgasmic seizure.

It was so rich and unbelievably delicious. No wonder the French are determined to start a war with any nation that plans to take Foie Gras away from them.

After my first experience with the fatty liver, I did something different. No, I didn’t collapse signaling for the defibrillator, instead, uncharacteristically, I didn’t crave more of the fine stuff.  It was strange! But yes, I thought it  was so good that a bite of the super rich delicacy seemed enough, and a second bite won’t in any way take me any higher. It was akin to being on top of Everest, where there are no more peaks climb. A complete experience and many answered questions in a single bite.

Right there I realized that French food is all about quality not quantity. Their food is so good, you only have to taste it once to be satisfied. To be full is not in the question at all. Unlike most of us here in the US, where the sign of satisfaction is when we can no longer raise our arms to signal for the check due to a bursting stomachs, the French people are all about the sensual and social pleasures of eating. They eat well without eating more!

The Cassoulet was the same experience. The $23.00 succulent, fatty, slow cooked bean casserole with preserved duck, bacon, ham, and sausages satisfied me without the need of cleaning up the whole earthenware pot. And mind you, the pot wasn’t even big.  The fat infused beans with its meats literally melted in my mouth and I often found myself grimacing with pleasure like I knew all the answers to the greatest mysteries. I was enlightened.

The soufflé did not disappoint either. For a $10.00 cake the size of the Apple logo on my laptop and bathed in dark chocolate syrup, it was unforgettable. I shared it with my friends like I did with the other dishes and they all felt the same: satisfied to the brink of howling.

We ate there for a while, mostly talking about the great stuff we were having. We probably spent more time talking and walking around blocks to find the restaurant than actually eating the heavenly French offerings (I think when we were taught by our elders to give thanks to God for every meal, they meant THIS kind of meals not Happy Meals. For that we can thank red haired clowns and burger monarchs).

In the end, we all got out of Les Halles satisfied but not stuffed. Well, that doesn’t sound like it makes a lot of sense, does it?

That is why it is called a paradox.

We’re planning to see Avatar tonight.

And since it is a three-hour mega movie, it would be nice if we have some goodies to gnaw.

However, many of the movie theater snack bars don’t offer anything real.

Luckily, I found an underground movie theater in the West Village that has this beauty of a snack bar.

Nah, just kidding. Not yet, at least.

Well, If James Cameron managed to invent his own camera, develop a story and create a magnificent alien world in 12 years; certainly movie houses can offer healthy stuff in their concession stand in a minute. I mean, how hard it is to introduce some fresh fruits and perhaps some raw, unsalted nuts there? How about fresh fruit juices?

For years, I have been enjoying movies in theaters as well as the processed food buffet there. Oh, that gooey nachos cheese syrup? I drank that stuff.

But now I am certain that if I continue doing so, soon I would be watching a rapid flashback of my own life just before I float towards a tunnel without an end.

Until theater food becomes healthy, I guess, I will just bring my own snacks.

That’s the best move.