I am a big defender of the farmers market. We started our recent visit to New York City with a Saturday morning trip to the Union Square Greenmarket. It was warm and sunny, and the immense square was filled with gorgeous, just-picked produce, piled high on tables and loaded into baskets.
When I post pictures from the Greenmarket on social media, people often think it’s Paris. (Well, except for the chile peppers.) On this trip, it was fun to see Mara de Bois strawberries, the first heirloom tomatoes, local flowers, things like garlic scapes and green garlic, as well as bunches of fresh basil that were so big that one bunch would yield two batches of pesto, which we don’t get in Paris. Unfortunately, we were too early for fresh corn, which Romain likes as much as I do; I had to steer him away from the ears I saw at Trader Joe’s with dried out ends. You simply cannot eat fresh corn out of season.  Fortunately, when I returned to Paris, I came back to cherries, strawberries, and the first nectarines, all of which I’m eager to eat. While it’s nice to go to the farmers markets in America, there are other foods I crave that — well…aren’t quite farmers market fare. Here are some of the foods that I like to get my “fix” of when I go to the States:
Shredded Wheat It ain’t blueberry-flavored coffee, but I’ll admit that shredded wheat is strange stuff. Milled whole wheat, formed into strands, and shaped into little stiff pillows? And for breakfast? Count me in! The classic brand, of course, is Nabisco Spoon Size Shredded Wheat, a string of words that rolls right off the tongue and can be said in one breath. If it were available in Germany, they’d find a way to compound that into one long word. People in the wine world are startled when I can pronounce Trockenbeerenauslese, although desserts like Prinzregententorte, and Zwetschgendatschi still trip me up. I grew up eating Nabisco Spoon Size Shredded Wheat (which I see is now part of Post), along with adult-oriented cereals such as Life and Chex. But I could say that my lifelong affiliation with sugar probably began with heavily sugared cereals like Cap’n Crunch and Quisp, the latter of which was named for an alien who looked like he needed to lay off the sugar for a while.
Cap’n Crunch, who navigated his way into the hearts (and neurological systems) of many kids of my generation, was so thickly-crusted with sugar that it was like chewing glass, and I still have scar tissue on my gums from chewing it. There were other cereals, like sugar-frosted flakes, that literally advertised that they were drenched in sugar, and even shredded wheat comes in a sugar-frosted variety. Even though my job is to literally eat sugar, unsugared Shredded Wheat still remains my favorite. I also like Grape-Nuts, although I don’t know how I’d explain those to Romain. Breakfast cereals are available in France, but I think they’re aimed at kids, and the idea of adults eating squares of whole wheat floating in milk first thing in the morning would be considered a little weird.
Speaking of weird, years ago I learned that Shredded Wheat also comes in one giant piece, each the size of a beanbag. Those were the original, and I bought those once by accident.
There was nothing fun about eating it, which I’m sure is why they decided to add “spoon size” to the name. Spoon Size Shredded Wheat pieces are just the opposite. They’re a joy for me to eat as each rectangle is an individual adventure. The trick is to add just the right amount of milk, but not too much. You need to keep stirring the bowl as you go. You don’t want the ones at the bottom to get too saturated, which makes them completely unappealing: You want each one to be moistened, but not so soggy they’re falling apart. The only accompaniment I’ll allow on mine are blueberries, but they need to be fresh, not infused in coffee.
Peet’s Coffee When I started drinking coffee back in the ‘80s and ‘90s, American coffee culture was pretty much confined to diner-style coffee kept warm in Bunn carafes that sat on burners for what might have been hours before it reached your cup. Having waited tables, I know the carafes were often mixed together, refilled from other Bunn carafes that had been sitting on other burners, when you needed to consolidate space and free up a carafe.
Love them or hate them, Starbucks introduced “better” coffee to mainstream America, prompting people to pay more attention to coffee. But if you’re from San Francisco, you likely got your start drinking Peet’s. Their signature coffee is Major Dickason’s Blend, named after a retired army sergeant who gave his friend Alfred Peet the idea for the blend. Alfred Peet liked the idea so much that he decided to promote the sergeant to a major. With apologies to all those people who take out their thermometers, Japanese carafes, and scales to make a cup of coffee, Peet’s Major Dickason’s Blend is a rugged cup of coffee that’s for someone who just wants a big-tasting cup of coffee. This review succinctly sums it up:
Yup, that’s the coffee I drink when I’m in the States, and I can’t wait to wake up in the morning to a cup of the richly scorched brew. A bit of history: I used to buy my coffee from Peet’s original shop off Shattuck Avenue, around the corner from Chez Panisse, in what was called, at the time, the Gourmet Ghetto. A few storefronts away was The Juice Bar Collective, where you could buy freshly pressed juice from Wendy Yoshimura, who was part of the Symbionese Liberation Army. The SLA was best-known for abducting heiress Patty “Tania” Hearst, who took part in the armed robbery at the Hibernia Bank. One of my neighbors eventually took ownership of the getaway car and had a metal plaque made and affixed to the door that stated that it was the getaway car along with who drove it. San Francisco sure is a different place nowadays, but thankfully, Peet’s Major Dickason’s blend hasn’t changed and probably never will — except for the bag, which is down from 16 ounces to 10.5 ounces.
Cottage Cheese There’s a lot to dislike about Brexit, and if it were up to me, I’d say, “Look…let’s push all this paperwork aside, and on Monday, you can come back.” But the powers that be don’t think that way. Once, just once, I’d like the powers that be to think like me. The upside, though, is that people suddenly stopped talking about a Frexit. One main beef with Brexit is that it resulted in the closing of the Marks & Spencer food stores in Paris, which carried cottage cheese, in addition to other staples like golden syrup and crumpets. We used to get Longley Farms cottage cheese in France, but I haven’t seen it in a while, so it also may be another victim of Brexit. I’ll say this one more time…please come back! When I go to the States nowadays, It seems that large-curd cottage cheese is no longer being made, which was my favorite. While many brands now taste like milky mush, since finding Good Culture cottage cheese, I’ve got my replacement. Good Culture actually tastes like cultured milk with a bit of a tang, and I’m willing to overlook the small curds. But if anyone starts a movement or petition to get them to bring large curds back, I’m ready to sign it.
Carrot Juice “Juice” hasn’t become a “thing” in Paris, at least as much as it has in the States. Two women in the American fashion world came to town a few years back to open a cold-pressed juice bar and ended up heading home. I think one could write a book on the culture of juice around the world, from Mexico to Manila, but America has found a way to market it, for better or worse. While I don’t want to upset sugar, since it’s keeping me employed, store-bought juices are as sweet as soda. And while I don’t want to upset you, juice can’t detox you. A favorite quote from that link: “If we were holding onto toxins, we wouldn't be alive." Since then, there have been some upstart supermarket brands of juice in France, which are just okay. French carrot juice, however, hasn’t had any success. I did buy bottled carrot juice once at a natural food store in Paris, which was on the shelf, not in the refrigerator, and it tasted like something you’d only drink on a dare. I’m sorry, but carrot juice needs to be as fresh as possible. I invested in a home juicer a few years ago, since I was interested in getting more turmeric into my system, until a few people pointed out that it stains your teeth orange, so I stopped. And since my drama of switching to a Moccamaster…
…it wasn’t like I was looking for another machine with four or five parts to clean every morning. I know people who travel with their own coffee apparatus, but until someone invents a portable centrifugal juicer and a portable composter for all the pulp, the next best thing is the refrigerated carrot juice they sell at places like Trader Joe’s. I don’t eat or drink things just because they’re “healthy,” but drinking a glass of carrot juice always makes me feel like I’m fueling myself for the day. And if it involves fewer dishes to wash, I know I’m doing something good for my mental health.
Aged Cheddar We get a lot of really good cheeses in France, which I’m not complaining about. In France, we always have at least 3 to 5 different cheeses on hand, from Abbaye de Belloc to Valençay. But aged cheddar is a very different kind of cheese: strongly flavored and a bit crumbly. As our beloved Comté cheese ages, it becomes richer and nuttier. As cheddar ages, it leans into its sharpness. Like my French half and my American half, both have their good sides, but if I start pitting them against each other, I’m afraid they’re both going to lose, and where does that leave me? When people tell me they can’t get good cheese in America, I scratch my head because even in the most modest supermarket cheese aisle, if you pass over the generic cheddars, colbys, jacks, and the inevitable American singles, you can find cheeses from producers like Cabot or Crowley. And if you shop at a well-stocked supermarket, and your budget is higher, American artisan cheeses are right up there with the best cheeses in the world. Every year, the U.S. Embassy hosts a July 4th party in Paris, and you can barely reach the table of cheeses from American cheesemaker Jasper Hill Farms, which is always surrounded by French people who are inhaling the cheeses. I’ve never seen people eat so much cheese, so fast. Since Marks & Spencer split, the cheddar situation in Paris isn’t dire as there are a few options, but still, when I go to the States, I pick up cheeses at a farmers market if I can find one, but I also keep a block of good-quality cheddar on hand for snacking. And if someone invented a portable grilled cheese machine, that would be a tasty traveling contraption too.
York Peppermint Patties Other than the Zagora chocolates at La Maison du Chocolat, the French haven’t taken to the combination of mint and chocolate as we have in the U.S. Yes, there are the Lindt Mint Intense bars from Switzerland, but for Americans, what others consider “Intense,” we consider “normal.” (Which is not always a good thing, but that’s for another newsletter I could probably start.) But the mint and chocolate combo doesn’t show up often within l’hexagone. I get gift boxes of Junior Mints from friends coming to visit me in France, which I don’t even have to hide from Romain as he doesn’t show any interest in them — whew! I once gave him a taste of some of my coveted b. pâtisserie granola, and now I have to share it with him for the rest of my life when I get it. (Belinda, the b of b. pâtisserie, told me she shared the recipe with Food + Wine, but I can’t see it coming out as good as hers. Let me know if you’ve tried it.) I know it’s wrong to hide things from your spouse or partner, but is there a victim if they don’t know about the joy of Junior Mints in the first place? Yup, I’ve got a recipe for Peppermint Pattie mix-ins in my book The Perfect Scoop, but just as you can make a cup of coffee or pour a glass of wine at home, it’s fun to have someone else make it for you. I got into York Peppermint Patties during the low-fat era. Working in restaurants, I ate more than my fair share of fat, so it was a treat to have a candy treat that was leaner. I still like them, although they seem to have shrunk in size and gone up in price. This one was $1.99+18¢ tax, and more money being added to the final tally when you go to the register now surprises me, as it does Europeans, who are used to paying the price that’s listed on the item. I guess it’s healthier to have smaller portions of candy, so I can’t complain too much. A while back, smaller candies were rebranded as “fun sized.” I have no idea who came up with that term since I don’t think anyone’s idea of fun is paying more and getting less, except someone in a marketing department.
Fix & Fogg Everything Butter A while back you may have seen that I crushed on Fix & Fogg Everything Butter. The nut butter aisle in America, as well as in France, has become a lot more crowded, which has zero downside, as far as I’m concerned. Although, I once bought Italian hazelnut butter when I ran out of peanut butter, which was soooo delicious, but so rich that I felt guilty eating it. It did, however, make outstanding granola. This heavenly nut & seed butter is the one to beat. Ground peanuts, loaded with little bits of crunchy chia, flax, hemp, and pumpkin seeds, every bit crackles with excitement. And yes, I’m a person who gets very excited when something has a lot of seeds in it, as this spread does. It’s made in New Zealand and hasn’t made it to France, yet. But I’m bringing back two jars, which maybe will plant the seeds for someone to start carrying it over here.
Pepperoni Pizza The pizza in Paris ranges from pas mal (not bad) to terrific. But pepperoni isn’t a thing. And trying to translate tasses de pepperoni (pepperoni cups) will test your translating talents more than spending a few days in the ICU of a French hospital trying to translate cardiology terms between a doctor and a patient, which I can say for a fact, is not my area of expertise. But if you have a French pastry or chocolate emergency, I’ve got that. There are a few NY-style pizza places in Paris, such as Sonny’s and Rori, but when you’re at the source, i.e., in New York, if you want to live like a local, you need to grab a slice of pizza while you’re there. One could argue all day (and night) about where to get the best pizza in New York; the NYT valiantly tried to narrow it down to twenty-two places. Sometimes the place that’s closest to you is best. I don’t see East Village Pizza on all those lists, but when I clicked on their Instagram page, I saw they have 1.7 million followers, which made me feel better about liking their pizza. I’m not the only one.  An irksome question interviewers used to ask food people invariably was, “What would be your last meal on earth?” which is a terrible thing to think about. But when I was back-and-forthing with BTP, aka Brad Thomas Parsons, about where to eat on my last night in New York, he suggested Emmett’s on Grove. When he said they had thin-crust, tavern-style pizza on the menu, with pepperoni as an option, I couldn’t say “Oui!” fast enough. Fortunately he was able to snag us a table, and it wasn’t my last meal on earth. I’d arrived from Paris at Newark airport and people were freaking out about that, so I was glad to be leaving out of JFK, which I’m pretty sure is the only time anyone’s been happy they were going to JFK airport. (Ditto with Charles de Gaulle airport, which is often called the worst airport in the world.) But I made it out of New York safely. You're currently a free subscriber to David Lebovitz Newsletter. For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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Thursday, June 5, 2025
Foods from the U.S. That I Crave When I'm There
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