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Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars

Book by Samantha Verant · 17 quotes · French Food, Cat, Flavors

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Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars Quotes

“For a good hour, the hairdresser poked, prodded, and preened me. She twisted my hair into a loose updo, sticking white roses and baby's breath into my locks, the photographer capturing each step with her camera. Finally, Jane helped me into the dress. "Wow," said Phillipa with a gasp, staring at me. "You look absolutely gorgeous. Like you've fallen from the stars." "She does," said Marie, and everybody nodded in agreement. I hooked the necklace Rémi had given me around my neck. And then I took a good look at myself in the full-length mirror. What I saw shocked me. In this glorious dress, the way the silver threads sparkled, I felt like I was sparkling, too, like I had metamorphosed from a caterpillar into a wild butterfly. It was then that I found my own spirit insect---probably Grand-mère's plan all along. Le Papillon Sauvage. Me.”

“The gown was made of ivory silk with an organza overlay, embellished with silver stitching cascading down to a smattering of embroidered stars. The bust of the dress crossed along my chest, thin straps with two stars resting on my collarbone, the waist tying with a silk bow, the open back dipping down, also encrusted with two stars. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, and the woman staring back at me wasn't quite me; she was fierce, maybe even beautiful. I'd never felt that way before, but I did in this moment. This dress was perfect.”

“We've done the grilled tomato and peach pizza at Le Papillon Sauvage. We've served the beet and peach soup. And the peach and cucumber salsa over the chicken. The tarts. The cobblers. The homemade ice cream. I don't know. I'm tapped out for ideas." Phillipa rolled a peach on a cutting board, massaging it. "Pork," she said. "Peaches and pork would taste amazing together. Or pan-seared foie gras? What do you think?" "If you can come up with something interesting, I'm all for it." "Me?" she asked. "But you're the chef. And I want to be inspired by you." "That makes two of us," I said. "You're doing amazing things." Phillipa halved a peach, cut into it, and then handed over a slice. "Eat this, savor it. Find your inspiration!" she said, and as I bit into it, I tried, able to focus only on the texture. As the juices from the slice ran across my tongue and down my throat, the sensation transported me to my childhood, to the teachings of my grand-mère in this kitchen, and her recipe for a peach crumble. The way she taught me to knead the flour, butter, and sugar into flaky crumbs, working her gentle hands with mine. I could almost feel her next to me, smell her cinnamon and nutmeg scent.”

“Phillipa and I had just returned to the kitchen with a full basket of these beautiful mushrooms. I held a dirt-encrusted one up to my nose, breathing in its earthy aromas, happy to have all of my senses back. "What do you want to do with these?" asked Phillipa. "Something traditional and simple so the flavor of the mushrooms isn't lost," I said. "Poêlée de cèpes à la bordelaise?" "Perfectly delicious," said Phillipa. "I'll scrub the beauties down and then grab the ingredients." "You remember what they are?" "Of course. Olive oil, butter, garlic, thyme, bay leaves, flat parsley, salt, and pepper," she said. "And I'm already drooling.”

“Séb and I explored the beautiful neighborhood of l'Île Saint-Louis, eating savory crêpes made of buckwheat and filled with creamy goat cheese, crunchy arugula, and juicy tomatoes at one of the cafés, me doing my best to savor the textures. Lunch was followed by the famed Berthillon sorbets and ice creams, the latter of which we ate on the banks of the Seine, Séb drooling over the richness of the flavors. Considering they had over seventy parfums, we'd both found it hard to settle on one. Séb, the adventurer, took café au whisky with another scoop of tiramisu. I'd ended up taking abricot and framboise, always loving how apricot mixed with raspberries, and wanting something cool on this scorcher of a day.”

“Phillipa placed one tray of appetizers after the other on the table---the jambon sec-wrapped chipotle figs with the cocoa-balsamic glaze; the crab cakes with the rémoulade dipping sauce; the varying star-shaped canapés, the bottoms buttery, toasted bread topped with different ingredients and garnished with chopped fresh herbs; the verrines filled with bœuf bourguignon and baby carrots; and the smoke salmon, beet carpaccio, and mascarpone bites served on homemade biscuits and sprinkled with capers. Everybody dug in, oohing and aahing. "I don't know which one I like best," exclaimed Marie, licking her lips. "They're all so delicious. I can't choose a favorite child." Phillipa winked. "Just wait until you see and taste Sophie's plat principal," she said, turning on her heel. She returned with a large pressure cooker, placing it on the table. She lifted the lid, and everybody breathed in the aromas, noses sniffing with anticipation. "This is Sophie's version of pot-au-feu de la mer, but with grilled lobster, crab, abalone, mussels, and large shrimp, along with a variety of root and fresh vegetables, a ginger-lemongrass-infused sauce, and garnished with borage, or starflowers, a smattering of sea salt, a dash of crème fraîche, fresh herbs, and ground pepper.”

“CHRISTMAS EVE MENU Foie gras with Caramelized Apples Salmon with lemon, Cucumber, and Dill, served on Small Rounds of Toasted Bread Escargots de Bourgogne Oysters Three Ways Oysters with a Mignonette Sauce Oysters with Pimento Peppers and Apple Cider Vinegar Oysters Rockefeller, deglazed with Pernod, served with Spinach, Pimento Pepper, and Lardons Sophie's Spiced Langoustes (Spiny Lobster) à l'Armoricaine AND Crayfish and Shrimp with a Saffron-infused Aioli Dipping Sauce AND Moules à la Plancha with Chorizo”

“Menu Amuse-Bouche Biscotte with a Caviar of Tomatoes and Strawberries Entrées Chilled Zucchini Basil and Mint Velouté Ou Pan-Seared Foie Gras served on Toast with Grilled Strawberries Plat Principal Gigot d'agneau, carved tableside Served with your choice of Pommes de Terre Sarladaise or Mille-Feuilles de Pommes de Terre Served with Greens and Lemon Garlic Shallot Vinaigrette and Multicolored Braised Baby Carrots Ou Lemon Chicken Tajine with Almonds and Prunes Served with Couscous and Seasonal Vegetables Ou Panko-Encrusted Filet de Limande Served with Wild Rice and Grilled Seasonal Vegetables Ou Quinoa, Avocado, and Sweet Potato Timbale (vegan) Served with Rosemary Potatoes”

“She returned to where I stood, and handed over a flower. I inspected the borage, holding it up like a culinary scientist, noting the blue petals, offset by white stamens, and a raised white ball-like structure in the center, decorated with a purplish-blue pattern with hints of red that resembled a planet or a galactic moon. My heart skipped a beat. Aside from Marie's desserts, I'd never seen anything so beautiful. "This flower is mystical and magical," I said. "Did fairies or aliens create them?" "I'd go with fairies. The thought of aliens flips me out. Eat it," she said, and I did. The flavors of this edible flower rolled on my tongue in waves. A crunch. A bitterness. And sweetness. I closed my eyes, reveling in the magic, the flavor, thinking about what we could do with this. I met her gaze. "Oh my god. You're so right. They taste like cucumbers," I said, licking my lips.”

“Do not manhandle me. My answer is no. I'm not for sale." "But you don't have any family left," said Nicolas, raising an eyebrow. The next few moments blurred together into one messed-up vision. A fist flying into Nicolas's nose. A loud crack. Blood splattering on Camille's dress. Rémi putting his arm around me. Jane, Phillipa, and Marie racing up to see what the commotion was all about. The clicks of cameras. A nightmare. "This is private property. You're no longer guests of the château. Leave now," said Rémi as Nicolas scrambled up from the ground. "And stay away, far away from my fiancée, or I'll hunt you down." Jane, Marie, and Phillipa flanked my sides, supporting my shaky body. Phillipa hissed to Nicolas. "You're wrong. Sophie has a family. She has all of us. And her dad." I couldn't help but smile. What Phillipa said was true. I had everything. "He broke my nose," said Nicolas, holding his hand up to his face, blood pouring down like a waterfall. "I'm going to press charges against you, all of you, you pieces of merde." "Go ahead," said Rémi. "We may not be as wealthy as you are, but we're not doing so bad. You can try to destroy us, but if you know Sophie as well as I do, you know she fights back. And hard. Believe me. Nothing, not you, not me, will stand in her way. You're the only one with a reputation to lose---and from what I've read, most people think you're the scum of the earth." Camille walked up the steps. "I'm out of here." She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sophie. I should have known. Small dick, small mind." "I do not have a small dick," screamed Nicolas, his face turning red. The guests from the Sunday lunch clasped their hands over their mouths. I felt like I was the star of a B movie. Who were these people? Cartoon characters? "Oh, yes, you have a small penis. The smallest one I've ever seen," said Camille, winking at me. "And you think with it. Now, take me back to Paris so I can get rid of you. That is, unless you want my Instagram to blow up. Don't forget. I have pictures of your cornichon." Nicolas raced after Camille. "You salope, those pictures are private." Camille placed her hands on her skinny hips. "For now," she said. I had to give Camille credit when it was due; she wasn't a brain-dead model, she was fierce.”

“An orange cat scurried out from under the bed and proceeded to snake around my ankles, purring loudly. One eye rested shut, as if it were krazy-glued to a close, and her fur was mottled. Marianne scooped her up. "Sac à puces," (Fleabag), she said. "This stray is a devious one, always sneaking into the apartments. I don't know how she gets in. I'll have to warn Claude to stop feeding her tuna." I scratched under the cat's chin, staring into her good eye---a kaleidoscope of greens and yellows. "She's sweet," I said. "She's filthy," said Marianne, tucking the cat under her arm.”

“A loud mew distracted my ocular reconnaissance, and the cat rubbed her little head on my ankles. Marianne had been right; this cat had ninja stealth qualities. I hadn't seen her follow me into the apartment. "Did my grand-mère send you here?" I asked. The cat purred so loud my heart almost burst. It was as if she understood my life, me, and what I was about to do. She may have been damaged, but weren't we all? Didn't every creature large or small need a second chance at life and at love? I sat down on the sisal-covered flooring to pet her. "I want to keep you. What do you think of that? Of course, I'll ask Marianne if Claude will be okay with that. But I think we have a bond. I'm kind of a stray too." Her paw gripped my finger. She'd claimed me, and I realized it wasn't the other way around. "I'm going to name you Étoile. It means 'star' in French," I said, stroking her fuzzy head. "You're moving to the countryside. What do you think of that?" Yes, I was talking to a cat, and she seemed to be listening. Her one good eye closed in a slow blink. I think she was giving me the go-ahead to catnap her.”