I fancy myself a slightly ambitious, book-reading, blazer-wearing, Brooklyn-based, 20-something publishing professional.
In the fall of 2009, I studied abroad and lived with a French family, whom I loved dearly. The woman of the house, the ever-celebrated Madame De Ribier, encouraged me to try everything. I’ll never forget the first time she roasted lamb, served me salmon en papillote, and the first magical time she brought out magret de canard.
In Paris, I learned that everything my parents ever taught me about eating was wrong. Food was not something to be shoved down one’s throat; rather, each bite was to be carefully contemplated. Spending time in the land of my namesake cheese (my parents have called me “Brie” rather than “Brianne” my whole life), I fell in love with food the same way I fell in love with my high school boyfriend: head-over-heels, irrationally, and positively sickened at the thought of ever losing him. As time passed, I began to ask myself, who needs a boyfriend when there’s steak tartare?
When I returned to New York, I developed a lactose-intolerance. After months of eating dairy-based sauces, heavy cheeses, and various yogurts, I’m now unable to consume most of these delicacies. My diet suffered tremendously. In college, it’s much more efficient to grab a yogurt container and go, eat a bowl of cereal for every meal, or devour a grilled cheese in the dining hall. I relied on Ben & Jerry’s pints to get me through long nights at the library. Once I lost the ability to eat dairy, I was deeply concerned that I’d also forfeit my ability to love food. This proved wholly false.
This blog is about my passion for food, developed both in New York restaurants and in my Brooklyn kitchen. It is a celebration of a woman who taught me that foie gras is best served with fig jam on toasted croutons, and that salad always comes after a meal. It is my testament to anyone who suffers from lactose-intolerance or IBS – life’s too short not to find a way to make these both work for you.
So, enjoy friends and readers,
Your own little slab of brie
A Slab of Brie 