Champagne Toasts

After an early train from Aix to Paris-Charles de Gaulle to catch a flight to Minneapolis through Detroit, I may have been a bit jet-lagged when, at some point during the 2 hour ride from the airport to my sister’s home north of "The Cities", my senses roused enough to ask her if it was rain that I was hearing and seeing hitting the windshield. “No,” she gently responded, “it’s bugs!"


Welcome to Minnesota where the road opens wide to wind through pastures and corn fields, the summer skies change with grace and beauty,




















the state bird is the mosquito...and mayonnaise is as popular here as it was in the faculty lunchroom during my days as a teacher! (Yeah...just for the mayo, had I not moved to the south of France, I think this would be my kind of place!) In fact, it wasn’t until my sister moved from California to Minnesota that either of us learned that the "hot dish" appearing at every social gathering was not referring to a young female wearing something petite (and on the tight side) but rather something often including cream of mushroom soup!

My sister has lived a bit of the Prairie Home Companion existence
since marrying a lovely fellow many years ago and relocating, with their dog,
to several oak-wooded acres that roll down to the river’s edge in a town of 800...make that 803.



Ah yes, Minnesota...Lake Wobegon Country, "...where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."(News from Lake Wobegon/Prairie Home Companion)

After two-semesters of French studies, I was ever-so-ready to sit in the soft light of their lovely cedar-scented "three-season room" and rest, read, sleep, watch a little telly in English and witness the day’s light cross the park-like setting until dropping behind the river’s other shore at an hour that sounds more like my "bedtime" than "sunset".


We made the rounds to the local shopping malls to take advantage of sales, products not available here, a few tortilla "wrap" sandwiches that are not so ubiquitous in these parts, a "girly" day of pedicures...and happily, all in American dollars. What a relief!

As to the actual birthday celebration, it was a small family fête that took place on the deck...full river view while the sun made its last rays shine upon us as we toasted the Birthday Girl with champagne (a birthday gift bottle from my "notable birthday" the spring before arriving in France) and nibbled on none other than a dressed-up mayonnaise dish to whet the appetite as we waited for a roasted salmon dinner to hit the plates.

Although we talk every day, (yes my friends, we are keeping Telesoldes in Europe and NobelCom in the US in business!) every once in a while, sisters need that face-to-face catching up to say the things that don’t get said over the phone in the 7 hour time difference, to be recharged with a hug, or laugh, or to share that unique sense of humor that develops because of (and is made all the more precious by) a shared history. She’s a special one, this sister. Simply the best!

I always feel so warmly welcomed into their home (what says "I love you" more than the fact that there is always a large can of salted mixed nuts waiting for me!) This time, though, she and my brother-in-law graciously made room in their hearts – and on their carpets - for Bodhi, who found the entire experience quite to his liking. What’s not to like when you have free run of several acres, a big dog to follow around and provoke...errr, "play with" and your are encouraged to dig like a hedgehog by your aunt and uncle and not get reprimanded! Puppy Paradise!








After celebrating the big day, taking in a movie, making the shopping rounds, feasting on American television fare such as the Today Show, Food TV and something with Paula Abdul (!?), helping me pack up boxes of books to ship to France, and soaking up just being together, we parted as we always do at the airport in a mist of tears and unspoken wishes that the physical distance was not so great between us...but as hearts and souls go, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt closer...elle est quelque chose de special! (She is something special!) I love her as a sister, a friend, an artist and a "rock"...for it was her ever-present support and encouragement that helped me to breathe through the tough parts of this cultural transition.

Happy Birthday! And thank you!




A sommelier in California gave me the recipe for Parmesan Toasts, touting the pairing of the salty creamy blend of parmesan and mayo with the bubbly sweetness of Champagne...and you know, he was onto something!

As to the "hot dish", here is a little something from the kitchen of one of my sister's lovely Minnesota girlfriends (a bit like the YaYa Sisterhood, they are) back in the ‘hood. Known for her fabulous cooking and entertaining in high style, Carol's Tuscan Strata brings the "hot dish" to a new level.

Bon Appétit!
L

Parmesan Toasts

Parmigiano-Reggiano (preferably aged 3 years)
Best Foods Mayo (only brand that won't break up)
Chopped Green Onions
Black Pepper
Finely chopped garlic
sour dough, pumpernickel or rye toasts

Mix equal parts of grated parmigiano and Best Foods mayo in a mixing bowl.
Add finely chopped green onions, black pepper and garlic (to taste).
Prepare toast in smaller sizes or shaped with a cookie cutter. (The little cocktail loaves of pumpernickel or rye work well in a hurry.)
Put mixture in a piping bag or plastic baggie and squeeze onto toasts (or spoon onto each slice.)
Broil until nicely browned.

Serve immediately, while hot.



Individual Tuscan Stratas

Ingredients:
2 cups diced Lunds and Byerly's Artisan Vienna bread, sliced
1 tablespoon olive oil
8 ounces mild Italian sausage
1 cup chopped onion
1 1/2 teaspoons Lunds and Byerly's Tuscan Seasoning
salt and pepper to taste
2 tablespoons butter
1 1/3 cups baby bella mushrooms, coarsely chopped (4 ounces)
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/3 cup diced sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil, drained
4 eggs, beaten
1 1/2 cups half and half
2 drops hot pepper sauce
2 cups shredded Trugole cheese
1 cup shredded Asiago cheese


Preparation:

Place diced bread in large mixing bowl.

Heat oil in large skillet over medium heat. Saute sausage, onions, seasoning, salt and pepper until sausage is no longer pink (8-10 minutes). Transfer sausage mixture to bowl with bread cubes. In same skillet melt butter; sauté mushrooms until all liquid evaporates. Stir in garlic and sun-dried tomatoes; cook 1-2 minutes longer. Transfer mushroom mixture to bowl with bread and sausage.

In another mixing bowl whisk eggs and half and half. Stir in hot pepper sauce and cheeses. Pour egg mixture into bowl with bread-sausage mixture; mix thoroughly.

Spray (6-cup) jumbo muffin tin with cooking spray. Ladle egg mixture into jumbo muffin cups. Refrigerate, covered, overnight.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Remove stratas from refrigerator 30 minutes before baking. Bake uncovered until knife inserted in center comes out clean (30-40 minutes). Remove from oven and allow to sit 10 minutes before removing from muffin tins.

Amount: 6 servings

Melons and French Sunsets

Bonjour à tous...and a grand merci for your patience and the gentle email nudges that were sent my way during my (albeit unintentional) hiatus. My goodness...who knew La Fourchette had so many followers! It's nice to know you are there.

Classes have ended. Final exams are behind me. And as to the “list of things to do”...well...it goes something like this:

Desk not cleaned off...check!

Billing not completed...check!

Summer studying not yet organized...check!

Oh well...it’s early yet and perhaps the most important thing on my list of things to do in recent days was to go to the marché because the result was that I brought home the inspiration that lives in the colors of a sunset over the Mediterranean!



Having recently witnessed just such a sunset, the colors were still dancing in my head as one day rolled into another and then suddenly, there we were at Saturday again!

My Saturday ritual (which actually began at the open air market in Del Mar, California) is to do dinner shopping at the marché for whatever-strikes-my-fancy aas well as getting flowers for the house. On this day it was roses...my usual larger bouquet of something that sings to me in the key of “not-too-expensive” and always an additional two roses that go on the mantel of spotted brown Le Tholonet marble from the old quarry at Mt. Ste. Victoire. My favorite flower vendor and his wife are big fans of Bodhi and they are often quite generous with me (last week it was an extra bouquet of pink peonies!) This time I found that an additional rose had been added to my bundle. As Monsieur Flower Vendor handed me the papaya-colored sunset wrapped in shades of soft gray tissue, he whispered that the extra rose was for Bodhi. (I promised my sister not to make this a “dog-blog”, but he’s actually quite a popular little personality in the ‘hood!)

My sunset collecting continued as I stopped in at my favorite lettuce vendors for a fresh-from-the-garden red-leaf lettuce and a few Cavaillon melons. (The last bit of lettuce didn’t get quite finished last week: Refrigerator not cleaned out...check!) There is a story to this next shade of sunset on the palette that is these melons. From the fertile region of Cavaillon, just north of Aix, their pastel outer skins, painted at regular intervals around the perfectly rounded globes with a darker shade of green, crack open to reveal a golden orange flesh that is sweeter than any melon I’ve tasted...that would be EVER tasted!

I fell in love with the Cavaillon melons during my travels to this part of the world and craved their honey flavor most when I was trying to enjoy a summer cantaloupe in California. One day, I walked into my local supermarket in San Diego’s North County and discovered, to my delight, a crate of Cavaillon melons planted squarely in a produce display just as I entered. Did I squeal with that aforementioned delight??! I jolly well could have! This was a connection with the land of Provence and all that is good about it: the markets, the lovely vast patches of agricultural activity that I love driving through, the love of good, fresh food that is so woven into the tapestry of life in the South of France...I was actually standing in front of the possibility to refresh all that anchored me to this place from too far away in a juicy mouthful of French melon.

I picked out one of lovely and very petite melons and carried it to the cashier’s checkout without completing the shopping I had originally come to do. (I can be like that sometimes!) So lost in my reverie of “my Provence” was I that although I had checked out every last detail of the red French label that was attached to the melon’s belly, I had failed to look at the price. Imagine my sticker shock when the cashier announced dryly “That will be 9 dollars and 54 cents.” Yes, that little petite gem weighed in at a wonkin’ 9 dollars! Ouch! It was to be my little contribution to a brunch with friends later that morning.

My shock began to soften on the trip down to brunch and the anticipation of digging into that melon was beginning to override the financial consequences. But with the balance never quite realized before walking in the door with my petite gift for brunch – and even before a hug or a good morning or a “How are you?” had been exchanged - I went directly to setting up the experience of this foreign delicacy for my hosts: “You will never believe what this baby cost?!?!” I believe that was followed – finally – with an explanation about why it was so important to me to have spent nine dollars on a small piece of fruit. In hindsight, I do hope the romance of the moment of sharing a little slice of Provence wasn’t too dashed by my clumsy entry...but then again, I’m not sure the disclosure of the price might not have enhanced the whole experience for D and A. ...and besides, I think they love me for some of those quirky things I do!



If these show up in a market near you, make the leap! It will be worth every penny...errr, dollar!

Bon Appétit!
L

A petite p.s. to my friends, new vineyard owner, Jean-Marc Espinasse at the former French-Wine-A-Day and his writer-wife, Kristin at French-Word-A-Day, are in the process of moving to their new digs on that recently purchased vineyard. You can read about their new adventures as a new chapter opens in their lives, which included a recent blast of a Mistral wind and a storm that brought heavy skies and some torrents of rain in these parts. A bit challenging for our new wine grower! May the result of the recent weather challenges result in a Grand Vin du Mistral! Bon Courage to you both! (These are not their "new digs", but I thought of them as I passed this winery near Mt. Ste. Victoire and immediately sent good wishes on that stormy wind for their baby vines to survive the Mistral that was battering us at the time.)

Le Poisson d'Avril

Whew! I’ve finally caught up with my lists of "things to do" and I’m back in the saddle for a weekly post to La Fourchette. April Fools!! Actually, that’s what I’m talkin’ about...a little French twist on the annual day for pranks and pranksters.

Here in the ‘hood we have Le Poisson d’Avril, a tradition which has its roots in 1564, the year in which the new year would have been celebrated on April 1 as in all the years that had come before, had it not been for the king of France at the time, Charles IX. Seems our Chuck decided to create his legacy with a modification of the calendar year and decreed that beginning in 1565, the new year would, from this day forward, be celebrated on January 1. (These kinds of crazy things happen when leaders are trying to establish their "legacies", don't they?!?) To go along with the new design, people wished one another a good new year and gave gifts to each other just as they would ordinarily do on the “New Years Day” of April 1.

But when April 1 arrived that year, there were a few (aren’t there always!) who were not so happy with the new order of things and showed their displeasure by making gifts for the "real New Year" as they had always done. It turns out that these "rebels" were jokers of a sort and the gifts were false gifts done mostly for laughter with little or no other value.

From that day forward, the first of April has become known as a day for laughter, jokes and pranks. Ahhh...but what about the fish, you ask? At this time France's history, fishing was prohibited at the beginning of April because it was the time for reproduction in the fish kingdom. One of our hearty pranksters tossed herrings into the river and was reported to exclaim, “Les Poissons d’Avril” (the fish of April) to play a joke on the fishermen. (Keep in mind, Jerry Lewis is still popular here!)

Our 21st century pranksters do not toss herrings into fresh water anymore but instead, as discreetly as possible, stick a small paper fish on the backs of people who then walk around all day with the “fish of April” tacked onto their backs. Always good for a giggle, it's pretty innocent on the scale (yes, pun intended...I'm in that kind of mood!) of pranks.

The fish connection may have its roots in early Christian symbols, a few herrings tossed in the river for a good laugh or the fact that in the zodiacal calendar, the moon leaves the sign of Pisces at the beginning of April. Whatever the connection, there’s no getting away from those April Fools pranks...even when you move thousands of miles from the home of April Fools!



Here’s hoping that all of your Poissons d’Avril are made of chocolate...or baked in a salt crust.



This is a fabulous dish that makes a stunning presentation. If you want to make your guests "ooooh and ahhhhh"...give this a try!



Bon Appétit!

L




Whole Fish Baked in a Salt Crust

Make sure your fish is fresh and when you clean it, do not scale it. Leaving the scales on will add flavor and allow the salt to adhere better to the fish making the final filet process much easier. Use red snapper or dorade...actually just about any whole fish will work done in this manner.


1 very fresh large whole fish (2 1/2 to 3 pounds) or four small fish
(1 1/2 pounds)

6 - 8 cups of coarse sea salt

1 lemon, thinly sliced

Several fresh bay leaves and whole herbs such as branches of thyme,
etc. (optional)

Good quality olive oil (the best you have) for a drizzle after it's on the
plate!



Rinse fish and pat dry. Place lemon slices, bay leaves and herbs inside of fish. Spread half of salt in a baking dish just large enough to hold fish. (The tail and head can be sticking out of the salt if need be.) Place fish on top, pressing it into salt. Place 2 or 3 bay leaves on top of skin before covering with remaining salt. Spread remaining salt over fish to completely cover it. Compact salt by patting it. (The moisture of the fish and salt will create a hard crust as it bakes.)

Bake fish at 450 degrees 25 to 40 minutes until cooked, depending on size of fish. (Allow 10 per pound and adjust baking times by 5 minutes either way for each 1/2 pound of fish.) To test for doneness, insert slender metal skewer into thickest part of fish. When fish is cooked, it will come out very hot to the touch.

To serve, present fish to guests at the table. Using 2 large spoons, gently crack and remove top of salt crust. Transfer fish to platter and remove skin. (This eliminates all excess sodium.) Filet fish and serve it on plates with a generous drizzle of olive oil. Garnish with additional lemon slices. Makes 4 servings.

New Associations

To quote an author friend of mine,“Small things change a life.”

And so it was one evening, after returning from coffee with a friend, that I received a call from some friends to whom I had mentioned my recurring thought of getting a puppy. “The puppies are upstairs!” came the announcement. I had mentioned a few months ago that I was once again considering "the puppy idea". This is a recurring theme for me and the idea floats to the top of my awareness with regularity – so much so that I have a file on Bichon Frises, years old now, as my early research had indicated that this is a good breed for someone with allergies.

“The little boy is still available,” said my friend from the other end of the phone. I wasn’t sure if that was the “right” dog to have. Should it be a little girl? Are little boys tougher to raise? I was waffling again as I bumped up against the edge of an opportunity...errr commitment. “Why don’t you just go take a look and see if you like them.” Hmmmmm...a reasonable idea. And so, within 5 minutes I was climbing the stairs to the apartment where the puppies were waiting. I stepped inside the door and two puppies greeted me. Ah! But one of them immediately caught my attention...a bit shyer than the one peeing on the floor in front of me, I found myself hoping that this was the little boy who was still available. Yes...the one that locked my attention was indeed the little boy and as they say: the rest is history. As he tucked himself into the crook of my arm, it was clear that I was adopting a puppy...or perhaps it was the other way around.


And what a story to accompany this little one: the local legend of the quartier is that the owners of the female bichon were at the apartment in Aix one weekend (in from a little village outside of town during the week). She slipped out the door and down the stairs and the male bichon belonging to the coiffure in the building next door had a “love at first sight” kind of experience when he saw her. They would then take their romancing all over the quartier – all three owners following the amourous couple in urgent pursuit. The legend ends, as it turns out, on my very street, where conception is thought to have taken place. So it’s kind of an “all in the family” - or at least all in the ‘hood - kind of thing!

A bit of preparation was needed for the arrival and aided by friends Nathalie and Wayne who had first made the encouraging call to “see the puppies”, I put together a little waiting nest complete with a kitty box, litter and sleeping basket to tide me over until I figured out what was needed to have a puppy around the maison. The owners delivered him to me with his toy from Noël and a few packs of puppy food until we could get to the vet and get all the details filled in.

As to a name for this new association: In France there is a tradition of naming a dog according to an assigned letter in order of the alphabet for the year of birth. This puppy was born on 22 november 2006 so it was a “B” year for naming puppies. I wanted a name that would honor his French roots, so Baudelaire was the chosen French “official” name that would be shortened for daily reference. As it turns out, upon learning what a dandy M. Baudelaire was and that he did not consider photography to be art at all, I did a bit of readjusting and Bodhi became the moniker for this little one – short for "Bodhissatva", a reference in Buddhism to an enlightened soul who agrees to return lifetime after lifetime, working ceaselessly for the enlightenment and liberation of all sentient souls. (May seem like a lot for such a little soul to carry but he seems to be managing rather well.)



Until he has his second vaccination, he is not supposed to walk on the sidewalks in our fair ville. There is a lot of dog dirt to navigate and I’ve often wondered if I didn’t need shots before I walk out the door! So Bodhi is carried like a prince in my large leather travel bag and tucks himself in quite nicely taking in the view and all of the attention that he gets from passers by. Not to mention the adoration from the students at the institute! He goes with me to class daily and sleeps soundly during class time, takes breaks when the class takes breaks and has become a bit of a mascot from the classes to the library to the courtyard…even picking up a couple of babysitters along the way for the few evenings that I’ve gone out for longer than the couple of hours that he is now accustomed to staying quietly in his crate. All in all, it’s all working rather well!

Although he now sleeps in his crate, the first few nights he was chez moi he slept in the corner of my bed with me. He wakes up slowly in the morning and instead of the tail-wagging excitement that many dog owners are greeted with in early dawn hours, he stays quiet and calm and stretches his way into the morning light. As I was joining him in those morning stretches in a pink-grey light, I noticed that like many puppies, he has a “new puppy” smell, but this is something rather unique: Bodhi smells like banana bread!

I think I’ll keep him!

Bon Appétit!
L




Bodhi’s Banana Bread
Adapted from Bon Appetit

With a moist, dense crumb, this banana bread is a favorite of mine replacing an old standby many years ago. Perfect with a cup of tea, a spread of nutella or apricot confiture...or all by itself while you watch your puppy play!

2 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup smashed ripe bananas (about 3 medium)
1/3 cup plain yogurt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 3/4 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly grease 8 1/2x4 1/2x2 1/2-inch pan; dust with flour. Using electric mixer; beat eggs and sugar in large bowl until thick and light, about 5 minutes. Mix in smashed bananas, buttermilk, oil and vanilla. Sift flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt over mixture; beat until just blended. Transfer batter to prepared pan.

Bake bread until golden brown on top and tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 40 minutes and check for longer baking. Turn bread out onto rack and cool.

Makes 1 loaf.

A Friendship Blooms in the Lavender Fields

I was looking for lavender. They had it. A friend of mine who knew us both put us in touch as I was shooting for Façonnable and looking for the quintessential Provençal shots to provide the bling for their us marketing. And so began a lovely friendship.

Immediately and warmly, I was welcomed into their family and their family of friends. In fact, the first night that I had arrived, they had invited me to dinner on a mid summer night. We dined on the terrace of their centuries-old farmhouse under a canopy of stars as course after course appeared from somewhere within the house. Wine flowed and with it, the laughter and chatter that accompanies gatherings of friends. I only had enough French under my belt to be able to get around sufficiently in my travels, but conversation still eluded me at that point so I was mostly listening...and smiling in that American fashion of “politesse”. There was a point in the evening, sometime after dessert that my jet lag kicked in and as the voices of foreign speakers swirled around me, I realized that my head was about to drop into my dessert plate. Recognizing the potential disaster of comportment in this eventuality, I begged off to return to my hotel in the village.

It would seem that from that evening forward, I had made my first friends in France. There would be several more of those dinners on the terrace where the evening would be filled with traditional Provençal fare - a feast for the eyes and the belly.

Last weekend, I made the lovely drive up from Aix to their home in the lavender country. There is a shift that happens for me as I approach the vineyards of that region. Vineyard after vineyard stretches along the roadside from which one can see the vines that are currently being prepared for this year’s harvest. Occasionally there is the little road off the beaten path with a small hand-made sign that indicates farm fresh goat cheese or lavender honey. Some of the smaller wineries remind me of Napa Valley many lifetimes ago, when tasting would happen with the wine grower/maker in his living room and to get to the tasting, one would have to navigate the signs of life - family life, that is: dogs, tricycles, laundry hanging out, watering cans left aside a pot – perhaps when a telephone rang. Life happens here and the wine-making is a part of it.

And after meandering through vineyards, various agricultural patches and the twists and turns of ancient village rues, I begin to pass lavender fields and Grignan appears in the distance. A right turn down a narrow dirt road takes me through oak woods to the home of these friends. Genevieve, who feels like the steady and quiet heartbeat of the group, seems to have endless energy and stays well ahead of three sons, and husband Maurice, who sold a successful lavender business a few years ago. Although there are still lavender fields to manage, he fills his time with other creative projects as well.





Currently, he is working on a serious remodeling project with (and for) his oldest son (who has continued on successfully in the family’s former lavender business) on an old farmhouse in the middle of an oak forest not far from the village.



(Of course, it only makes sense that the walls in this home are now insulated with lavender!)









And then of course, there is the task of keeping up with two other sons, one a fireman in the village of Grignan, and the other in Los Angeles engaged in his first year of work after successfully completing his MBA at Pepperdine University (which I always thought was a wise choice: when leaving France for the US, choose to go to school where you have a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean...although I think his reasons for choosing Pepperdine were all formulated before he even knew about the view!) This is a family that welcomes new friends with enthusiasm and generosity.

I caught up on some of the latest news while walking with Maurice. As lavender fields slept, quietly renewing themselves for the bloom that is to be, ancient stone structures whispered fragments of stories from centuries past...and our footfalls along the path and quiet conversation was simply woven into the tapestry that is life in this village. (On this mild mid-January day, we were not the only people out for a stroll through the little roads on the edge of the village.)

The Christmas holidays a year ago were spent with all of them eating fois gras and drinking champagne and hanging out with the rest of their family members and friends. Once again, course after course was brought from the kitchen. Genevieve makes it look so easy.

One of the dishes served over the course of that holiday feast was a Courge Dans La Peau (Pumpkin in its Skin). A gratin prepared inside of a pumpkin, it is baked and comes out looking like a piece of ceramic art that would be very expensive to purchase at an art show to grace a coffee table or kitchen corner. But it’s what comes out of this beauty when the lid comes off that is something really special.

On a cold winter night this would go well with with a salad and a glass of wine...or as a side dish for roasted chicken or turkey. Last weekend it was served with a roasted goose...but before that goose ever hit the table, the weekend fare included a rich watercress soup, a terrine of chicken and truffles

(they have a friend who sells truffles and have access to beautiful, dark round gems far more beautiful and seductive than anything one might see in stark relief against the creamy white pages of the Dean and DeLuca catalogue), a tender mâche salad with a vinaigrette made from the “house vinegar” (from Genevieve's pottery crock of homemade vinegar), rich and smoky braised endives, garlicky green beans, and a mushroom sauté of a local harvest of dark and fragrant mushrooms.


As I prepared to return to Aix after a much-needed weekend in the country (given my recent push to finish required assignments for the end of the semester), Genevieve put together a "care package" that just kicked my little French kitchen up a notch: a mother of vinegar so I, too, can dress my salads with "vinaigrette du maison" and a stash of herbs de provence...some of the herbs taken from one son's garden, the remaining from another. Special treasures that link my little French kitchen to Genevieve's.





My first glimpse of Grignan was in an evening's wash of gold, just like this. As I shot this image last weekend, I thought of that first evening back in 2000. I had no idea what was ahead of me. I had no idea that the people I would spend that evening with under the trees and stars would become the friends I have today...and I had not yet realized the true bounty of Provençal fare.

The village has not changed in appearance since that first shot. My life, on the other hand...well, as the French say, "Tout est possible!" (All is possible.) The momentum of that change really picked up speed after that first visit to Grignan.

Bon Appétit!
L

Courge dans la Peau

1 medium sized pumpkin, seeded and cleaned (with the top cut to fit for baking)
1 baguette of day-old bread, cut in 1 inch cubes
1 1/2 cups of gruyere cheese, grated
1 small container of crème fraiche
salt, pepper and herbs de provence to taste

Cut top from pumpkin (to be replaced as a lid for baking.) Clean seeds from inside and layer bread, cheese, crème fraiche, herbs, salt and pepper in two or three sets of layers (depending on size of pumpkin). Firmly fit lid onto pumpkin and place in shallow pan. Place in 400º oven for an hour or so or until the flesh of the pumpkin is soft to a knife point.

Serve immediately.

Serves 6-8

Stewing in Provence

On a cold November night in Nice many years ago, we were two jet-lagged and hungry souls finding our way in the South of France as first-time travelers to Provence. He was a bit conversant in French, et moi: pas du tout (not at all)! We had pored over guides and maps and sketched out a rough outline of our serendipitous tour but when it came to eating, gourmand that he was, he had the reins of finding our food...or at least finding the place where we would sit down to eat that food.

A fabulous cook, this man. He also enjoyed the finer things in life and was willing to go to any lengths if he "sniffed" a potential food pleasure. As a result, his instincts led him to some extraordinary places that were well-off the beaten path. On this particular night, though, I was hungry enough to simply stop at anything (short of the two-storey McDonald's on Promenade des Anglais) as a survival issue and leave the hunt for the next culinary adventure for the proverbial "tomorrow". He was hearing nothing of it (and I mumbled under my muffler against the cold that he must have eaten in secret sometime earlier to maintain this hunt with such unflinching stamina!)

As we trekked through the streets of Nice, there had been certain criteria established for our search: a packed restaurant in which no English was being spoken. If we walked into a place and heard English, we (he) took that to mean that the place was for tourists and we (he) would have none of that. And so we continued to wander through Nice, perusing the menu boards outside restaurants that looked interesting, poking an ear inside the door to listen for a language other than our own and determining “thumbs up”...or down. On and on this went. I’m sure at some point I must have fainted from hunger and had to be dragged from place to place (just kidding...sort of...). But then, on a tiny, easy-to-miss side street that skirts the main market area of Old Nice, there was a window out of which poured a warm golden glow. Parting the wooden beads that hang in front of the door with our noses, we pressed our faces to the glass to see that the place was packed! Of course, it’s not so hard to look "packed" when you only have 12 to 15 small square tables lined up against the opposing walls of the place and people seated on little backless stools! The menu board listed Provençal specialties that made our mouths water. As we reached through the beads for the door handle to poke our heads in for a quick "listen" to finalize the decision, the aromas wafting from the open kitchen at the back of this little place were enough to lift us off of our feet, cartoon style. I had an image similar to that of the "Goofy" character in the Disney movies: our bodies, having been lifted a few feet off the ground, would only have to follow our noses as they were seduced by a visible aroma that danced before us drawing us deeper and deeper into the place! But it gets even better: we heard only French! This was the place! Hallelujah! Just as my vision was starting to blur and my speech was becoming less and less coherent as the darkness of hunger began to close in on me...voilà! (And this search process couldn’t have been too pleasant for him as well, mind you...I’m not my typical cheerful self when I’m too hungry.)

By now it was very late in the evening and although we had missed the main dinner "crush", (at which point we would have been certainly turned away) there was still a wait for a table. After several minutes, we were seated at one of those little tables covered with a red checked cloth on a couple of those small stools with just enough of a cushion to take you through a meal without wiggling to get more comfortable. Nose-to-nose we were with one another and elbow-to-elbow with the diners on either side of us. It was definitely cozy but everyone was friendly, striking a nice balance between making contact and keeping to themselves. The waiter/manager of the place is an artist in the other part of his life and has that polite edge that conveys that his role has more meaning than one might guess. There are no menus so a smallish blackboard with the selections of the day is brought to the table for review before ordering.

Over the course of the evening, we would learn that the chef, Dominique Le Stanc (listed among the top chefs of France), had formerly been at the Hotel Negresco earning 2 Michelin stars during his reign at its Chantecler restaurant. After his successful run at the Negresco, he had opted for a slower lifestyle with weekends off and the ability to work with his wife, Danielle. The owners of La Merenda, who were ready to retire, were just waiting for the “right buyer” who would have the desire to continue the tradition of the restaurant rather than change it. The connection was made, a contract was signed and a new era of La Merenda began to take shape.

With a commitment to keep things simple – from the fresh produce purchased at the marché a few steps away and loaded into the box on the back of his bicycle to the straightforward preparations of traditional Provençal dishes – that simplicity continues into the nuts and bolts of how the place is run: no checks, no credit, no phones. It isn’t just the elbow-to-elbow seating or the ability to view the man himself at work in the open kitchen space as he prepares your meal that keeps people coming back for more. Perhaps it’s the consistent sense of simplicity apparent from the business operation to the food on the plates that feeds a deeper hunger than the most obvious one.


Here is where I had my first taste of fried fresh sardines. It was here that I discovered a pesto pasta that made little tears in my eyes. (So taken with it I was, that the lovely artist/waiter/manager told me a couple of secrets about what the chef does to finish this dish...but you’ll have to come back another time for that, because...) this was also the first place I had ever tasted Beef Daube. It put any and all beef stews that I had grown up with to shame and I never returned to those old tired and watery stews. This was something different. Perfect flavors. Perfect technique.

Cooked in a well-sealed pot, Beef Daube offers a rich, winy broth that cooks down into the meat over hours. The result is a hearty plate of flavorful vegetables and meat that melts at the touch of a fork. With a hint of orange and the complexity brought about by a mélange of spices...well, simply put: it is a lovely mouthful.

If that’s not enough to get you on the next plane to Provence, then the next best thing is cooking it up on your own.

I like to serve this rich, wintery dish with oven-roasted potato “fries” as the chef at La Merenda does. Another friend of mine, who prepares Julia Child’s version of daube, serves it with steamed baby potatoes. My ”favorite fromager” suggests potato gnocchi or a gratin of macaroni. I’ve also had this served with pasta but I’m just a potato-kind-of-girl. I guess if it’s good enough for M. Le Stanc and Julia...well, I’m okay with that company!

My friend, and new vineyard owner (!), Jean-Marc Espinasse, suggests the following wines in the following order to accompany your next Daube de Boeuf. Check them out and see what else is cookin' at French-Wine-A-Day.

Châteauneuf du Pape
Barolo
Priorat
Cairanne
Cornas
Bandol

(This was a "welcome-back-to-Provence" daube for friends who had arrived from Toronto for their annual six months of "French nesting" in a little village at the base of Mont Sainte Victoire. Welcome, my friends! It’s good to have you back in the 'hood!)

Bon Appétit!
L


Adapted from Savoring Provence (Williams-Sonoma)

Daube de Boeuf

Preheat the oven to 350ºF (175ºC)

2 pounds stew meat
3 yellow onions
3 carrots, peeled and sliced into 1 1/2-inch lengths
5 cloves of garlic, chopped
2-3 fresh flat-leaf parsley sprigs
5 peppercorns, lightly crushed
4 whole cloves
pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1 bouquet garni of bay leaves and thyme
1 bottle of red wine, such as Bandol or Cabernet Sauvignon
2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar
2 orange zest strips, about 1/2-inch wide
3-4 thick slices of bacon, chopped (we get small packages of lardons here, which make this part really easy!)
2 tablespoons of olive oil
2 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and roughly chopped.
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Cut beef into roughly equal pieces. Place the beef in a large dish and add 1 of the onions and the carrots, garlic, parsley, celery peppercorns, cloves, nutmeg and bouquet garni. Add wine and vinegar, cover, and marinate overnight in the refrigerator.

The next day, remove the beef from the refrigerator. Pass the marinade mixture through a sieve placed over a bowl to capture the liquid. Remove the onion and carrots from the sieve. Pat the beef and vegetables dry on paper towels. Pick out the bouquet garni and spices from the sieve, placing the peppercorns and cloves into a mesh tea ball, cheesecloth OR muslin bag and add the orange zest strips to whatever you are using to contain these ingredients. This parcel of spices will be dropped into the daube pot before it goes into the oven.

In a large, heavy Dutch oven or sauté pan, add the bacon and brown to render the fat.
Add the olive oil and the onion from the marinade. Working the meat in batches, add the beef and brown on all sides, 10-15 minutes. Return all the beef to the pan. Add the reserved liquid and carrots from the marinade, the remaining onion wedges, the tomatoes, the bouquet garni and the “bag” of spices to the pot. If necessary, pour in enough water just to reach the top of the meat, then cover the pot with foil, sealing it tightly, before securing the lid onto the pot. (Traditionally, a daube pot is sealed with a paste made of flour and water. Happily, I found the foil seal worked very well.)

Place covered pot into a 350ºF oven and cook for one hour. Lower the temperature to 250º F (120ºC) and cook an additional 3 to 4 hours (this time is very flexible after the 4 hour mark), until the meat falls apart easily. (During the last hour of cooking, I take the foil off and determine to continue “covered or uncovered” from this point based on the consistency of the sauce.)

Remove the pot from the oven. Remove the bouquet garni and spice bag from the pot. Adjust the seasonings and serve immediately with steamed or oven roasted potatoes, gnocchi or pasta. (Give them all a try and then decide which will star alongside your daube!)

Serves 6-8

Of Kings and Cakes...and Beans?!

Bonne Année tout le monde! (Happy New Year to everyone!)

With a load of various conjugated French verbs still dancing in my head (I can vaguely remember when it used to be sugar plums!), I am enjoying the New Year with its promise and potential. What a difference a year makes! I am surviving winter (an easy thing to do when the temps are more spring-like than anything resembling the winters just passed), I am settled into my very sweet little nest (and have even managed to enjoy that lovely courtyard on a few winter days), I am actually understanding conversations I overhear in the street (one such conversation between two young men who were commenting on the rip in the knee of my jeans should have made me blush or sent me into an indignant rage instead of the private celebratory
“Yesssss!” that I whispered to myself after passing them…and just for the record: that response was related to my ability to understand everything they said and NOT to the content of their exchange!), and I can now have a bit of a chat with the check out people in stores without breaking into a cold sweat and looking like a deer caught in headlights. Yes, things are definitely looking up and I think I’m going to like living on this planet!

On those occasions when I’ve initiated arguments in my head with sarcastic provocations like: “Exactly whose idea was it to enroll in a full-time university program?!?!” it is most satisfying to begin decoding my surroundings and actually forming words that I can string together and have tumble out as fully developed strands of French that are actually received and understood on the other side. Those moments serve to motivate me to put my arms around this lovely language even more and break out of my awkward miming stance to actually join in on the collective conversation. Yay me! (Although I was humbled the other day by another student in my class who was very pleased to have understood an entire enclosure of intricate explanations for a medication she had been prescribed...while I, on the other hand, had recently felt a surge of pride for having understood - without having to translate in my head - a poster for a children’s puppet show. The fact that I actually tested into the highest intermediate level is still a mystery to me - especially when I measure differences like that!)

Needless to say, there hasn’t been a lot of cookin’ going on chez La Fourchette! As I was studying those aforementioned verb conjugations and writing exams for my photography and literature and Provençal fairy tales classes (which is far more psychologically/sociologically based than it sounds), I was aware of the rapid passage of an autumn and early winter of food-based adventures in my petite cuisine. The Beaujolais nouveau has arrived (and passed its prime), the 13 desserts have starred on many a Provençal table and the blé of Sainte Barbe has been sprouted to foretell a prosperous year (given my blé harvest, it looks like it’s going to be a pretty good year for La Fourchette!)

As I pass the seafood trays lined up at Les Deux Garçons, I'm reminded of the evening spent slurping up fresh briny oysters that smelled like the ocean, laughing and drinking champagne with friends.

There were Gregorian Chants in a little chapel in centre ville at midnight on Christmas eve followed by the Buches de Noël

that made their appearances to add a hint of woodsy charm to holiday tables after ducks and geese had been roasted to perfection and enjoyed with friends and family.



But at this point in our brand new year, it seems fitting that La Fourchette kicks off 2007 with a royal bang! ‘Tis the season of the Galette de Roi, or King Cake outside of my little French ‘hood. Every boulangerie in town has an array of Galette de Roi in their windows and when I went to dinner at the home of friends the other evening, their cat greeted me wearing a lovely gold crown...part of the tradition of the Gâteau de Roi…but I’m getting ahead of myself.



Dipping back into some local history, Aix en Provence was built on thermal sources by the Romans – in fact, I live in a building that was built on one of those ancient Roman sources - so there is quite a connection. Let’s bring them into mix to honor the roots of this place:

Story has it that in pagan times, the solstice celebration (honoring the Sun God) included a big party complete with a cake that had a token hidden within. The lucky person who found the token in the cake would be recognized as the leader of the tribe for the next year. (Yay!) I imagine there may have been a fair amount of hearty partying! But there was a twist to this honor: the following year, the leader of the tribe was sacrificed and his blood distributed in the fields to assure a good harvest. Next party starts at this point...there's another cake, another token...and, well...you get the idea.

Fast forward to the late 3rd century during the rule of the Roman emperor, Aurelian. That ancient solstice feast had been taken over by the Romans still honoring the Sun God. The “official” birthday of sol invictus (the Invincible Sun) was declared to fall on December 25 (which had been established as the winter solstice during Julius Caesar’s reign). It didn’t take long for the Church to take this day for its own as they raided the territory and seized everything they could get their hands on – apparently holidays were included in the booty.

A century later, St. Augustine would romanticize and embellish the story of the Epiphany to include the Three Wise Men who visited an infant Jesus in Bethlehem on the 12th day following his birth (it just so happened that he shared a birthday with the Invincible Sun). The kings named Melchior, Gaspard et Balthazar, represented mulitple ethnic origins et regions. This 12th day would be established by the Church to celebrate the revelation of the divinity of the Christ to mankind. The visit of the kings bearing gifts would give the holiday its royal associations (and who among us doesn’t appreciate a royal connection now and again, really?!)







As time passed, gifts were given to children to commemorate the gifts given by the kings to the infant in Bethlehem. The great houses of Europe brought a new sense of glitter and glam to the holiday by featuring magicians, acrobats, jugglers and other entertainers.

Although there are variations on this theme throughout all of the European cultures, the common thread that exists is the “cake and king” connection. In France, the Galette de Roi is used to celebrate the coming of the Three Wise Men bearing gifts 12 days after Christmas. Now known as the Feast of Epiphany or 12th Night, the special treat is a French-style pastry filled with frangipane (a paste made from almonds, eggs, butter and sugar). Hidden inside is a charm and/or a bean.



The person who finds the charm in their piece of cake is determined to be the "king" for the night. The king is crowned (yes, these cakes come complete with crowns!) and depending on the group, the king is either in charge of providing the next party, the next cake (for instance, for the office), is stuck paying the bill for the current celebration, or gets to call the toasts and lead the drinking. In just about all cases, the cake and king are linked as good luck omens for the year ahead. The cake and the bean became symbols of fertility and harvest, health and prosperity. Cool huh?! (And nobody is sacrificed after his or her reign these days. We've come a long way!) And what about the dried bean also hidden within each cake? Well, she's the queen. (Okay, so maybe we haven't come as far as I thought!?)

These mock kings (and their queens) have been reigning over the winter holiday season’s festivities in Europe for centuries, from way back in the day when they ruled over the feasts honoring the pagan solstice celebrations.

Wanting to join in on the festivities (as well as provide La Fourchette with a bit of sustenance!), my little Galette de Roi came from the boulangerie just across the street from me. (In fact, I just learned that this boulangerie is called "La Madeleine" from the card that accompanied it. Everyone I know refers to it as "The-Boulangerie-Across-The-Street-From-You"!)

The first hidden treasure found: the bean. Queen for a Day!

And then, as I was enjoying a little slice with my breakfast tea, I bit into a small bearded character peeking out from under that lovely layer of almond paste. (I've taken this as a good sign of what's ahead in the new year!) Climbing out from the frangipane, he introduced himself as Gaspard and having had a chance to clean up, he's not half bad. He's taken up residence at the base of the pot of hyacinths that are dressing up my desk.

These cakes are a part of gatherings among friends and family throughout the month of January. My first was enjoyed with friends (and their royal cat!) last week. The next one for me will be shared with another set of friends who have just arrived from Toronto and will be coming in for dinner this weekend. (We'll have to see if Gaspar ends up with any room-mates as the season progresses.)

And in keeping with the tradition at La Fourchette, you'll find a recipe for Galette de Roi at the end of the post. I've not tried this at home...and will probably continue to find may way to a boulangerie somewhere nearby. But just in case you are wanting to give it a whirl...

By the way, I found this rather charming little verse that goes along with the season. I’ve gotta say, a country that has cheery little songs written in honor of butter is the right place for my soul!

J'aime la galette**,
Savez-vous comment ?
Quand elle bien faite
Avec du beurre dedans.
Trala la la la la la la lère,
Tra la la la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la la lère,
Tra la la la la la la la la.

Translation:

I like cake.
Do you know how?
When it is well done
With butter inside.
Tra la….blah, blah, blah….(It loses something in the translation, but you've gotta love that “butter” line, huh?!)

In the meantime, The Bean, Gaspar and I wish all of you a Bonne Année and send you all good wishes in the new year. Fill it with promise...and hope.
(Aww go ahead: fill it with butter!)



Bon Appétit!
L

** A petite detail: Apparently, the galette version of the puff pastry filled with almond paste is from the north. Here in the south, we see that as well as the gâteau version of a brioche ring topped with red and green candied fruit and sugar. Either way you slice it, it's a seasonal celebration I'll be looking forward to annually!


La Galette des Rois
Puff Pastry Tart filled with Almond cream.

INGREDIENTS:
1/4 cup almond paste
1/4 cup sugar
3 Tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
pinch of salt
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
2 Tablespoons flour
1 package frozen puff pastry sheets, thawed according to package
directions
1 dried bean (lima or kidney beans work well)
1 “king” charm or a second bean
2 teaspoons confectioners' sugar


PREPARATION:

Preheat oven to 450°F. Butter large baking sheet (not dark metal).

1. In a food processor, purée the almond paste, sugar, butter and pinch of salt until smooth.

2. Add 1 egg, vanilla and almond extracts and purée until incorporated.

3. Add the flour and pulse to mix it in.

4. On a lightly floured surface, roll out one sheet of the puff pastry into an 11-1/2 inch square.

5. Invert an 11-inch pie plate onto the square and cut out a round shape by tracing the outline of the pie plate with the tip of a paring knife.

6. Brush the flour from both sides of the round and place it on the buttered baking sheet. Put in the refrigerator to chill.

7. Repeat the procedure with the second square of puff pastry, but leave it on the floured work surface.

8. Beat the remaining egg and brush some of it on top of the second round. Score decoratively all over the top using the tip of a paring knife and make several small slits all the way through the pastry to create steam vents.

9. Remove the first sheet from the refrigerator and brush some of the egg in a 1-inch border around the edge. Mound the almond cream in the center, spreading slightly.

10. Bury the beans in the almond cream. Place the scored round on top and press the edges together.

11. Bake the galette in the lower third of the oven for 13 to 15 minutes, until puffed and golden. Remove from oven and dust with the confectioners' sugar.

12. Place oven rack in the upper third of the oven and return galette to cook for an additional 12 to 15 minutes or until the edge is a deep golden brown. Transfer to a rack to cool sligthly.