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 Recipe by Eileen Randman Paris Trained Chef

1 & ½ strips of thick sliced Applewood Smoked Bacon per person

1 or 2 eggs per person

Handful of Arugula per person

Low soupe/pasta bowl per person - warmed but not too hot

Sea Salt & Peppercorn Medley – McCormick Brand

Dried Tarragon

½ “ Strips of Bread (sourdough white and wheat combo is fun) 

 

Slowly cook the bacon starting in a cold pan- watching carefully and turning once bacon has released it’s “water”.

After the bacon is cooked, turn to low.

Lightly oil a 8” omelet pan with Pomace Olive Oil

Warm on a low heat and add the eggs, crowding the pan

Cook until set, add hot water and cover to “baste” with the humidity of the water.  When whites are set and yolks cooked to your likeness, add the tarragon and turn off heat.

Just before the eggs are finished, take the bacon and place in paper towels to drain excess fat.  Drain most of the fat from the pan and add a tiny bit of butter and turn up the heat and

Fry the toast strips in the bacon drippings and butter, turning quickly.  Salt and pepper at the end.

Assemble the soupe plates with the arugula, then eggs, salt and pepper the eggs bacon strips, and then place the toast fries on top. Also, delicious with creamy grits or polenta underneath! 

Bon Appetit! 

 

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Memoires et Souvenirs de Madame Eileen Randman depuis 1994 

There’s something about a name, a word, that evokes a feeling, and that of The Ritz is nonetheless true. Call it old, traditional, stuffy, out-dated, expensive, snobbish, but silently submit, and say what it is, a palace, and then call it luxurious.

Somewhere in time, I had an experience, unlike many others, maybe no other actually, to study at The Hotel Ritz Paris over a long expanse of time, beginning in 1994 and ending in 2007. I laughingly tell those captured to listen, I was their longest matriculating student, only by default because I owned a restaurant, Café at the Corner, and I could afford to come to study but for one week at a time, one week per year, which later grew into weeks and months at a time. Most students came for the year and so naturally they tired of their studies, but for me every time was brand new, the first time all over again.

b2ap3_thumbnail_Picture2.jpgSo call it slightly crazy, but my favorite street in Paris was and is Rue Cambon, because down the street that is the back door of The Ritz. I can close my eyes and feel it spin before me, as I exit the speeding train of Line 1 on the east end heading toward the petite sortie marked “Rue Cambon” I step on an electric mat and the twin doors slap open momentarily to let me slip through, I wind up the dark stairs protected by a small mirror and cross the maddeningly busy Rue de Rivoli. I face the haute couture shop BCBG MaxAzria and wonder “who wears that” and instead scan the book lined windows of WH Smith, as I trickle down the narrow sidewalk past Chez Flottes, where the scene never changes, unending friendliness, delicious food and drink, a family business. I feel at home, whether early in the morning, during the lunch-time bustle, afternoon or late midnight evening, I feel safe here, but never unchallenged. At my café, I feel like I can cook for the world, but in Paris, the pans are different, the food is fresher, the stove is hotter and the pressure is on, invisibly, silently. It comes from within, a comparison, the desire to become accomplished. At home I am at the helm, here I am a nobody, a student, maybe a tourist, they don’t know who I am or what I do, I am anonymous.

 

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