A Tart By Any Other Name

In the film Waitress, Keri Russell’s character, Jenna, names her elaborate pie creations in relation to her current life experiences. I found names like “I-Hate-My-Husband Pie” or “Naughty Pumpkin Pie” (you figure it out!) quite charming.

I’ve been having a love affair with pies that seems to endure the test of time, place and form. I began with the pies of my childhood, which evolved into the quiches of the 80’s (when we were wearing t-shirts with shoulder pads) and I now call the country of tarts “home”...and call my pies “tarts”!

I am often asked how it is that I came to live in Aix en Provence and I always begin, “It was not my intention to be in Aix...I was going to Nice!”


It’s the California Girl in me that wanted to be near the sea. Not to mention that I was more familiar with Nice as it had been my “base camp” when I was traveling here shooting for Façonnable. In an experience that one might liken to nothing short of an harmonic convergence, all of the necessary pieces fell into place at just the right time. What’s more, thanks to the kindness of friends and the unexpected availability of their apartment in a little village outside of Aix, I even had a nest in which to land when I arrived. It was to be just a place to touch down as I made my way to Nice.

Skipping over a few of the details here as they are worthy of another blog (or book!), it will suffice to say that I met a fellow...in Nice. Cool! Not only did I enjoy having someone to share a city that I loved, it didn’t hurt to have someone familiar with French real estate offices and connections as I searched for an apartment. (Not to mention cushioning the inevitable culture shock.)

Together we attended concerts and various soirées with his friends. We strolled along the sea...


...through the marché on cours Saleya...




...walked along the port...


...and explored the shadowy corners of the old part of town.




While were having a great time in that sweet “getting to know you” phase of the early days of dating, he discovered my love of cooking. So one weekend I decided to cook lunch for him. With a carefully planned luncheon fare, I could give him a suitable sample of my talents in the kitchen and keep it simple for transport.

I stepped off of the train in Nice with a basket of essentials, menu in hand, ready to cook for my new friend. In keeping with my long-standing “other affair”, I had decided that it would be a tart with a side salad of fresh baby greens, tossed with a few pine nuts and a balsamic vinaigrette. Simple, tasty. "No over-the-top kind of antics in the kitchen this first time," I told myself. I had nothing to prove...it was just to have a little fun and add a new dimension to this unfolding relationship.


Our walk from the train station to his apartment in the Musician’s Quarter of Nice reflected our growing connection. As we ambled along, arm in arm, we caught up on our week apart and what options lay ahead for the weekend together. After a few minutes of settling in at his lovely apartment, I unloaded the market basket and decided I would get started with my first dejeuner chez Monsieur T. (lunch at Mr. T's house)

In keeping with that typical charming dating behavior that people seem to exhibit at any age, he followed me into the kitchen. He wanted to “watch”. Fair enough. I unpacked the tart pan (packed just in case this bachelor didn’t happen to have one) and thought I’d get the oven cranked up to pre-bake the pâte feuilletée (puff pastry).

A quick scan of my surroundings left me puzzled. As I began peeking behind cupboard doors and pantry closets, anything that looked like it might be hiding an oven, he had taken notice. “What are you looking for?” he inquired sweetly.

“Your oven,” I replied, just as sweetly.

(These would be some of the final moments of that Sweet Phase!)

“I don’t have an oven,” he said...less sweetly.

“Your kidding!” The surprise in my voice revealing my disbelief that this could possibly be true!

“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t have an oven. What do you need an oven for anyway?!”

“Whaaaaat?!?!” I replied, probably losing all the color in my face as images of the Not-To-Be-Realized Tart flashed before my eyes. “You don’t have an oven?!? How can that be?!? You just had your kitchen remodeled!” (Which was beautiful, by the way. Very sleek and user friendly...errrr...except for one little detail!) “Hmmm, that really puts a little kink in my plans as I was planning to bake a tart.” I said, the end of the phrase being squeezed out a few notes higher than the beginning as my tension broke through a glaze of cheer intended to cover the grinding and shifting of gears as I searched for a way to save lunch.

“Well, you’ll just have to do something else because there is no oven,” he stated unapologetically.

Aha! The oven mitt had been tossed down. Was there to be a showdown in this ill-equipped kitchen?!

Since I was fairly certain that spooning bowls full of chevre and pesto topped with caramelized red onions would not have the quite the same effect as those same ingredients artfully arranged in a lovely shell of puff pastry, garnished with fresh basil, I put together a salad. (I must say, Albeit tasty, it was quite the culinary anti-climax.)

We mutually decided on two things over that lunch: to dine out that evening and that all meals cooked at his place would be stovetop from this day forward.

The missing oven was not mentioned again...well, sort of. To be fair, he did not mention it again! On the other hand, I found a number of occasions to tell the story of my shock upon discovering that someone could actually remodel an entire kitchen and not include an oven!

And so, after a few pasta dinners and one lovely batch of coq au vin for his friends, we parted ways. A fine fellow, this Monsieur T. but really...I mean...no oven?!?

With my little French Affair having gone south, I was now making the search for an apartment in Nice on my own.


I quickly discovered that French rentals do not usually include any appliances...no refrigerators, no ovens...for goodness sakes, there are not even light fixtures in unfurnished French apartments. To be oven-less in France is not all that unusual.

My search ended in a great place, just off of Promenade des Anglais, the main drag into Nice that runs along the Mediterranean.


Then, amid a flurry of very fortunate opportunities unfolding in the span of a couple of days, (the Universe is like that sometimes when it’s talkin’ to you!) everything changed and I would remain in Aix en Provence after all was said and done.

In addition to the possibility of working with American university students here, there was a lovely apartment being offered...owned by Anglophones...with an oven!



Those British owners would become good friends and I would find my first French apartment in the same neighborhood.


But that first apartment was one of a number of very fortunate gifts from the universe at a time when I sorely needed some clear direction.

I happily baked many a tart in that fabulous kitchen and even now, when I pop a tart into the tiny above-the-counter oven in my little French apartment around the corner, I think of oven-less Monsieur T. in Nice...and giggle.

Yes, I think I’ll take a page from Jenna’s cookbook in Waitress and begin naming my tarts. I’ll start with this one, and I’ll call it the “I’m-Glad-I-Didn’t-Move-To-Nice Pie”...errrr...make that “Tart”!


Or better yet, given the Romanesca cauliflower used here, what about calling it “Aliens-In-The-Kitchen Tart”? That works, non?


Bon Appétit!

L

Aliens–in-the-Kitchen-Tart

1 prepared puff pastry, for tart shell
4 oz. goat cheese, cut into small pieces
3/4 lb. of Romanesc or regular cauliflower (or broccoli)
4 slices of thick cut bacon, sliced crosswise into 1/4 inch pieces and browned
2 tablespoons crème fraîche (or sour cream)
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

Pre-heat oven to 400ºF and pre-bake the tart shell for 5-8 minutes. Set aside.

In a small bowl, mix the crème fraîche and mustard until blended. Set aside.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and drop the Romanesque in to cook for about 8 minutes. Set aside until cool enough to cut apart the flowerets.

Spread the mustard cream over the bottom of the pre-baked tart shell. Place the flowerets in a concentric circle starting from the center with the largest “crown” part of the Romanesca cauliflower and working to the edge of the pan from there with the remaining flowerets.

Sprinkle the cooked bacon pieces evenly over the top of the tart.

Finish by adding the pieces of goat cheese, distributed evenly over the top.

Bake for 20-25 minutes.

Serves 4 (Or 8 if you add a side salad of baby greens with a balsamic vinaigrette!)

Pumpkin Propositions

Perhaps it is the pumpkin colored roses that came in from the marché yesterday...








...or the pile of golden leaves gathering at the base of the trees at Parc de la Torse...







...or the walk through the countryside with Bodhi and a friend yesterday after the Mistral had blown through, clearing everything out and leaving behind the blue skies for which Provence is so well-known.













(By the way, hunting season has begun...fortunately they are looking for sangliers, or wild boar, not little white, fluffy puppies!)









(Note to self: Come back here with a pique-nique that includes a thermos full of hot soup!)



Or perhaps it is simply that the market is filled with so many different varieties of squash at this time of year that seduce me with their depth of color and promise of rich and hearty taste – soul soothing as well as providing of a good dose of anti-oxidants!

















Whatever it was, there I stood waiting my turn for a big hunk o' punkin' while the vendor waited on another woman from my neighborhood selecting a handful of shallots. As my neighbor waited for change, she quickly rattled off her recipe for soup de potiron (or pumpkin soup): shallots, cooked in butter and olive oil until translucent, a press of garlic, the pumpkin hunk, having been baked ‘til soft, just a bit of water, bring to a boil, blend ‘til smooth and add a grind of nutmeg. At the last minute add a couple of soup spoons of crème fraiche and voila! La Soupe de Potiron! ("If it gets too thin, throw in a few potatoes," she added with a lovely smile.)

I find that the French are very generous with their suggestions. In this case, as in countless other cases in which I very much appreciate the suggestion being offered, it was a great tip on just the recipe that I was preparing to post for Monday. But I must admit that sometimes there are suggestions that are rather puzzling and take me quite by surprise. For example, on one of our extremely hot days of summer, I was out with Bodhi on a Saturday morning. The only way to get from chez moi to his sister’s house for a playdate was through the grand marché which is pretty packed on a beautiful Saturday morning in the summer. We started out on foot together but it was soon quite clear that he was way to low to the ground to be down there all my himself, invisible to the crowds. Just as I was bending down to scoop him up, a woman passing by very firmly told me that I must carry him through the market, he is too small to be walking on his own in such a crowd. I thanked her and quickly reassured her that I was just intending to do exactly that. She nodded, seeming content that she had been heard, and continued along her way (hopefully being as watchful of all the other dogs who were trying to navigate the market with their owners on foot!)

As I reached the other end of the marché and took a couple of steps beyond the edge of the undulating crowd to put Bodhi down, another woman took it upon herself to instruct me not to be carrying my dog in such heat! “He is too hot! Put him down! You must let him walk freely in this heat!” She sniffed and turned on her heel to continue along her way (hopefully nodding in approval at all of those owners who were putting their dogs’ lives at risk by making them walk through the market as she found her way to the other end!) This just scratches the surface of unsolicited suggestions I’ve received.

While I try to maintain a consistent sensitivity to cultural differences and not simply view or measure the world through my foreign sensibilities, I find some of these experiences really baffling. For instance, it would seem that my suggestions may not be so welcomed: while buying a gift for a baby of a friend in the US, the fellow who owns the little boutique with cool baby stuff in my ‘hood was wrapping up the little something I had purchased. He does a beautiful job, complete with a creative box, fancy cellophane and a little wooden charm hot-glued to the beribboned final result. In this case, I made the fatal mistake of asking if he had taken the price tag off. Fortunately he had finished the wrapping job but made it clear that he was offended by my even asking such a thing. (Okay...it was a silly question reflecting my own occasional absent-mindedness, I'll grant you...but even so...)

"Where are you from?", he queried.

"California," I replied tentatively, having seen the error of my ways.

“And do they leave the prices on in California?!” he asked in faux amazement.

Confirming my error in judgement, we completed the rest of the transaction in awkward silence. I would prove to be too naïve to know better than to ever go into his establishment again.

The next baby came along and I went in to get another gift. I was my friendly self willing to “kiss and make up” but he appeared to be rather cool toward me...okay, make that downright teeth-chatteringly chilly! In my attempt to overlook the dynamic, I made my selection and told him, just like before, that it was a gift.

I have no idea how he managed to pull this next trick off because the only thing I noticed that was different from last time was that there was a bit less care taken with that cellophane wrapping and he put a piece of scotch-tape to affix the wooden charm to the finished package. Beyond his truly icy treatment and the scotch tape job, I really didn’t give it another thought.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived in the US and delivered that baby gift to the new mother, who opened it immediately, excited to be receiving something kind of cool from France. The opened box revealed that the little stuffed toy had had the ribbon around its neck untied and left rumpled and it had been placed completely askew in the box, looking as though it had been jammed into a box in which it had never belonged in the first place. That same fellow now turns his back on me as I pass his shop in the street. This is a complete mystery to me as I find it difficult to believe it’s all about my helpful suggestion...it would seem that helpful suggestions happen all the time in these parts!

Mysteries of comportment (that still call for some deep breathing on my part) aside, I have to say that these scratchy experiences are far out-numbered by those like the recipe shared freely in a brief shared moment by my gentle neighbor. I took her suggestions to heart and blended her version with a favorite pumpkin soup recipe that I’ve pulled out every fall when prompted by such things as leaves changing color and crisp walks in the countryside. I like to think of it as an expample of what is possible when we remain open to another culture and yet still find a way to honor our own. Try hers...or the California Girl's southwestern version...or give your own blend a whirl.

Bon Appétit!
L



Pumpkin Soup with Lime-Ginger Cream
Adapted from Southwest the Beautiful Cookbook by Barbara Pool Fenzl

1/4 cup (2 oz./60g) unsalted butter
2 cups (10 oz./315g) finely chopped onions
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 1/3 cups (11 oz./330ml) milk
3 cups (24 fl.oz/750ml) pumpkin purée
6 cups (48 oz./1.5 l) chicken stock(preferably homemade)
sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/4 cup (2 fl. oz./60 ml) fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
1/2 cup (4 oz./125 g) crème fraiche (or sour cream)
2 tablespoons grated lime zest, from non-treated limes

In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium heat; add the onions and slowly sauté until translucent. Stir in the cayenne and transfer the mixture to a food processor or blender. Add the milk and pumpkin and process until smooth. Pour the mixture into a saucepan and whisk in the chicken stock. Over medium-high heat, bring the soup to a simmer. Add salt and pepper.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, cook the lime juice and grated ginger together for 2 minutes. Strain into a medium bowl, discard the ginger and whisk the remaining liquid with the sour cream.

Ladle the soup into bowls. Drizzle a spoonful of the lime-sour cream mixture to decorate the bowls before serving. Sprinkle with lime zest.

Serves 10-12

La Tarte Tropézienne

Sometimes you lend someone a helping hand...

...and the problem gets resolved...

...and you end up with an entire Tarte Tropézienne delivered to your door!

The recipe you ask? I cannot recall the specific amounts but it seems to go something like this:

Basic kindness seems to be the main ingredient
Listening carefully doesn’t hurt the mix
Hold the bigger picture clearly in focus so others can share the view
Respect yourself and others
A pinch of reassurance...but just a pinch
Add freely a sense of humor...
...with an equal amount of compassion
Speak from your heart
Trust that the end result will be for the good of all...

...and voilà! Well, at least in this case, you end up with La Tarte Tropézienne!

Oh! That recipe! Nope, that's a secret. Created in 1955 in the place for which it is named by the artisan boulanger, Monsieur Alexandre Micka, the "real" recipe is kept secret. As if its association with Brigitte Bardot isn't alluring enough!

I suspect that the parties involved had no idea how much I love these delicious specialties of the south of France! (And perhaps they had no idea how touched I was by such a thoughtful gesture.)

Constructed with a giant flat brioche and filled with a lovely custard-y crème filling, there is enough here to be mildly indulgent and still share with friends! Yippppeeee!

Bon Appétit!
L

p.s. It’s been hard to watch the news coverage of my old neighborhoods being licked by hot flames and obscured by thick smoke and feel so helpless. For those of you in San Diego, there is a help list if you are looking for help or looking to help.

A list of therapists offering free support services to be a part of the healing process is being compiled here.

And from France, there are many international souls sending prayers on what is hopefully a cooler wind to a place some have never visited but have certainly heard about...a place of special beauty and friendly people who know how to work together to rebuild from such challenges...I’ve seen it before. It's a place I'm proud to be from.

The Mushroom Memoirs

As the night gives itself a long stretch into morning around here, leaves fall and colors turn from green to gold and rust, I’m reminded of an October evening many years ago when I found myself in Provence for the first time. Over the course of the first few days, temperatures dropped and we began to see more and more signs of autumn as we wandered from one village to another. The obvious show of colors was one thing, but we began to pay attention to the more subtle signs that are part of the rituals of the season.






We passed a hunter returning with a catch of birds and his dog and we watched as he made his way back to his village house...















...and we were about to learn about mushrooms (or champignons as they are known in these parts) at the next village.




A haze had come in with the cold and mixed itself with the smoke of leaf-burning fires from the hillsides surrounding the village. The oak woods between our cottage and the main building of this little inn we had found (way off the beaten tourist track) looked haunted. Wisps of gray mist were winding seductively between the tree trunks. The sunset wrapped the soft dream-like image in rapidly changing hues of golden orange until all was swallowed by the dusk. A good evening for sitting by a fire with a glass of port and a good book.

As darkness fell, we wandered down the path through those oak woods to the restaurant. In the long dining room we were seated at a small table draped in white on the wall-side of the room, across from the high French windows that must let in floods of sunshine in the mornings. Somewhere nearby, a fire crackled in a large fireplace throwing warmth and shadows into the room. Owned and run by a very feisty woman "of a certain age", we imagined she was probably doing the cooking in the back as well!

We were drooling over the menu of rustic fare when she brought our apéritifs to the table. Over one arm was a basket...also of a "certain age". Drinks were set down, and she brought the basket to eye level to give us a closer look at its contents as she explained that she had been to the market that morning and these were as fine as any mushrooms she had seen. With a rather unexpected enthusiasm, she was recommending that we make this a part of our choice for the evening. Peeking into the irregularly shaped basket (which probably had a few choice stories of its own of decades past) we saw a collection of mushrooms, all shapes and sizes in an array of colors releasing an earthy perfume of the forest floor from which they had been plucked. Done deal! Those intriguing knobs and ruffles in that old basket would definitely be included in this evening’s meal!

He chose a steak with a side of braised mushrooms in a red wine reduction. Me, I had roasted chicken with the mushrooms in a light cream sauce. The entire experience was one of many magical memories that would remain with me for years and ultimately bring me back to this place I now call home.


These days, as the colors begin to change, as the cold begins to descend and the champignons come into the marché, I enjoy a bit of reflection on memories of that first autumn trip to these parts and that lovely no-nonsense woman with her market basket full of fresh champignons.









I fill my own market basket now with a stash of the autumnal harvest and, like the innkeeper, I would enthusiastically recommend them as the choice of the evening.

Stepping outside of a cream sauce for these little jewels or the risotto, in which I love to give them starring roles, (both delicious ways to make the most of the season of mushrooms), I was looking for something a bit different. Happily, I landed on a way to combine my mushroom cravings and my love of tarts in one fell swoop! With a simple green salad and a glass of wine, you’ve got a fabulous brunch for friends on an autumn afternoon...or a dinner for two...by a crackling fire...




Bon Appétit!
L




Wild Mushroom and Walnut Tarte Tatin (Adapted from Patricia Wells)

3 pieces of thick-cut bacon, cut into 1/2 inch pieces.

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

3/4 lb. chanterelles, girolles, cremini or standard cultivated mushrooms (or an assortment of varieties) cleaned, trimmed and cut into thick slices.

Fine sea salt to taste

1 t. fresh or dried thyme leaves

3 plum garlic cloves, green germs removed, minced

3 T. minced fresh parsley

1/2 cup freshly cracked walnut pieces

Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Pâte feuiteillée (check your refrigerator case for a quick and easy alternative to preparing your own)

for the Walnut Oil Vinaigrette:
1 T. freshly squeezed lemon juice
fine sea salt to taste
1/4 cup best-quality walnut oil



1. Preheat oven to 425°. Place rack in center of the oven
2. Brown bacon, drain on paper towel and set aside.
3. Heat the olive oil in a large nonstick frying pan over moderate heat until hot but not smoking. Add the mushrooms, season lightly with salt, and sauté just until the mushrooms begin to give up their juices, about 5 minutes. Reduce heat and add the thyme, garlic, half the parsley, half the walnuts and the bacon. Mix together and, while stirring regularly, let it cook for another minute. Season generously with salt and pepper.
4. Place the pâte feuiteillée on top of the mixture, gently pushing the edges of the pastry down around the edge of the pan. Place the pan in the oven and bake until the pastry is golden, 20 to 25 minutes.
5. Meanwhile, in a small jar, combine the lemon juice and salt. Cover and shake to dissolve the salt. Add the walnut oil, cover and shake again. Taste for seasoning.
6. Remove the pan from the oven. Run a knife around the edge of the pastry to release it from the sides of the pan. Immediately invert a serving platter with a lip over the pan. Quickly but carefully turn the pan directly over and the tart will drop onto the serving platter. Remove any mushrooms sticking to the bottom of the pan, and place them back onto the tart. Sprinkle the mushrooms with the remaining parsley and walnuts. Season with freshly ground black pepper. Drizzle with the vinaigrette and serve warm, cut into wedges.

Serves 8

Fabulous Fennel

Love the stuff! There will be a fish soup with fennel coming down the pipe a little later in “soup season” but for now, just a shout out to a staple here in my little French life.

I eat a lot of fennel and in a whispered admission of such to a friend of mine, I jokingly wondered out loud, “Is it possible to eat too much fennel?!” (I told you, I eat a lot of it!) This friend, always a veritable wellspring of information on well to little known pieces of information, she turned up with a little book that would not only quell any concerns for eating too much fennel, but also fill me in on the benefits.

According to Jean Palaiseul’s Grandmother’s Secrets, Her Green Guide to Health from Plants, fennel is a native of these parts and grows wild in fairly difficult conditions (rocky banks and rubble mounds and given that, it might have even done well in my old decomposed granite garden at the edge of the Pacific.). It is cultivated just about everywhere, although I must admit, they grow it a bit larger around these parts than what I used to get in So Cal!

For an additional 3 units this week at La Fourchette U. in The Health Benefits of Fennel, read on:

“There are records of the use of fennel in cooking dating back to ancient times: the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans incorporated it in their dishes; Hippocrates and Dioscorides recommended it to wet-nurses to activate the secretion of milk, as well as to persons threatened by blindness; the Chinese and Hindus used it to neutralize snakebite and scorpion stings; lastly magicians and sorcerers regarded it as a beneficent herb and believed that sprigs of fennel, hung from the rafters, would drive the evil spirits out of a house, whilst the seeds, inserted in the keyholes, would bar the way to ghosts.

“Outside the kitchen – where you can use the leaves (either fresh and finely chopped like chervil, or dried and powdered) or the seeds (dried and ground like pepper) for sprinkling on stews, fish and farinaceous vegetables which are thus rendered more digestible – fennel has many other uses.

“The dried seeds are prescribed for stomach pains, aerophagia, digestive difficulties, sluggishness, lack of appetite, inflammation of the internal mucosa (bronchitis, gastritis, enteritis, cystitis, etc.), as an infusion (25 to 40 grams to a litre of water; leave to infuse for ten to fifteen minutes; one cupful to be taken after the two main meals of the day).

“ ‘Fennel seeds’, writes the Abbé Kneipp, ‘should be in every family medicine chest, for they are a remedy for conditions that occur very frequently; I am speaking of griping pains and flatulence…A spoonful of fennel should be cooked in a cupful of milk for five to ten minutes and given immediately to the afflicted member of the family, to be drunk as hot as possible…It generally brings about a rapid improvement, the warmth spreads through the body, easing griping pains and expelling flatulence. According to Oertel-Bauer this same treatment is also a sure and certain remedy for influenza.

‘Used externally, the decoction of seeds (30 to 50 grams to a litre of water; boil for about 5 minutes) is used in the steam-treatment (the head held over the steaming decoction, with a towel over the head forming a kind of tent) of conditions of the eyelids and the eyes; it is also used, lukewarm or cold, for bathing the forehead and the temples, three times a day, to ‘strengthen the nerves” and combat chronic headaches and migraines.

‘Again with the seeds you can prepare an excellent appetite stimulant and tonic recommended for anaemia and general debility: 60 to 80 grams of seeds macerated for eight to ten days in a litre of good wine (red or white); strain; one wine-glassful after meals, midday and evening.

‘A decoction of fennel root (20 to 30 grams to a litre of water; boil for five minutes; leave to infuse for a further five minutes) equally stimulates the appetite (one wineglassful before each meal); it is also an excellent diuretic, prescribed by Dioscorides for “those who can only urinate drop by drop”, and recommended by numerous specialists for disorders of the gall-bladder (calculus and biliary insuffiency) and kidney and bladder conditions(one wineglassful after each meal).’ ”

Who knew?!? Not bad, eh?

If you’ve only tried it raw in its salad role, give roasting a try.


Me, I prefer it sliced, tossed with olive oil, salt, pepper, herbs de provence and roasted in a 375º oven for 20 to 30 minutes (turning once) until it is soft and caramelized. Serve it with this salmon...or with roasted salmon with a pesto drizzled over it along with roasted haricots verts...or in a party of other roasted vegetables tossed with pasta (toss in a bit of sautéed sausage, fresh tomato sauce or a couple of spoonfuls of pesto for a bit of variation on a theme)...


...or all by itself with a bit of shaved parmesan over the top once it’s on the plate.

Roasting brings out the sweetness and gives my feathery-fronded friend fennel a depth and richness, taming the strong licorice flavor that comes singing through when served raw.

What are you waiting for?! Shake a leg! We’re heading into flu season...get some fennel into that belly!

Bon Appétit!
L

p.s. Last week I offered a link to a previous post with a more "precise" recipe for fresh tomato sauce...ooops!

Here it is:

From Patricia Wells At Home in Provence:

Tomato Sauce

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 small onion, minced
3 plump fresh garlic cloves, peeled and minced
Sea salt to taste
One 28-ounce can peeled Italian plum tomatoes in juice, or one 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes in purée
Bouquet garni: several sprigs of fresh parsley, bay leaves and celery leaves, tied in a bundle with household twine.

In a large unheated saucepan, combine the oil, onion, garlic, and salt, and stir to coat with oil. Cook over moderate heat just until the garlic turns golden but does not brown, 2 to 3 minutes. If using whole canned tomatoes, place a food mill over the skillet and purée the tomatoes directly into it. (Note from LF: Or crush them in your hands over the skillet like I do!) Crushed tomatoes can be added directly from the can. Add the bouquet garni, stir to blend, and simmer, uncovered, until the sauce begins to thicken, about 15 minutes. For a thicker sauce, for pizzas and toppings, cook for 5 minutes more. Taste for seasoning. Remove and discard bouquet garni. The sauce may be used immediately, stored in the refrigerator for up to 2 days, or frozen for up to 2 months. If small quantities of sauce will be needed for pizzas or other toppings, freeze in ice cube trays.

Comfort Food

Signs of autumn are all over the place.

I love the change of light...





...and the first leaves drifting to a soft landing to join others in piles around trees in town and in the parks. I love the milder temperatures.




So I was baffled the other day when I overheard (in French – yay me!) two women commiserating about autumn not being a good season. It’s always been one of my favorite seasons but I’m beginning to understand the less than affectionate welcome it receives here.

I’ve been down for the count with a little bug, or “vee-rrroose” as the doctor charmingly called it, due to the change of seasons and the fact that this little bug is making the grand rounds in Aix right now. He prescribed patience. Well, that and a scarf around my neck during these transitional days to protect my throat - a very French notion and I must say, style aside, I think it makes a difference. (And if I thought for one petite moment that the good doctor's counsel was covered by my international health insurance, I'd be dragging my little virus along as I made a beeline to the Hermes shop around the corner!) I did add to that prescription a little something in the realm of essential oils from my trusty “pharmacien” to clear my aching sinuses. Put it all together and I am into my third day of feeling better...and actually looking a bit more French with that scarf wrapped around my neck before there is a need for a coat to go over it!

Needless to say, I’ve really been into easy do-it-in-my-sleep kind of stuff: Linguine with cream, tomatoes and smoked salmon (my favorite dish at the Fish Market in Del Mar, California and inspired by a dinner shared chez N & W several nights ago), a slice of 6 cereal bread slathered with pesto and topped with smoked salmon then drizzled with lemon juice and a bit of lemon zest with a spinach salad on the side or roasted chicken with leftover refried black beans and a Napa cabbage slaw, or a bit of roasted fennel with shaved parmesan...stuff like that. Things I could drag myself up from the couch and put together without a lot of fuss. (Clearly I've taken the route of feeding a virus and starving something else...something I rarely come down with because I can't remember the last time I starved anything!)

In keeping with only cooking the easy stuff, there was a great price per kilo the other day on the end of the season’s roma tomatoes at one of my favorite veggie vendors at the market. The woman standing next to me sorting through the crates of tomatoes assured me that these were very good even if they were not very pretty. So instead of being comforted with apples à la Ruth Reichl, I decided to be comforted with fresh tomato sauce.




I mentioned a few posts ago that I was making batches of the stuff to freeze with the last of the tomatoes from summer but faced with the critical mass of these tomatoes in the market and the desire for comfort food, I thought the result might be worth sharing.

A bouquet of basil, the head from a twisted rope of garlic and a snowy topping of aged parmesan cheese and it gave that old “vee-rrroose” a run for its money.










This...



...became this...




...and this...



...became this...



...'nuff said!

With an appreciative curtsey to Faye Food, as she inspires me to be a bit more adventurous as I play with my food (one of these days I am certain I will make it to one of her cooking classes in Italy!), this recipe is more of a description of process so I encourage you to use your instincts! If you’d like to see something a bit more precise, I have used this recipe for years to make my fresh tomato sauce – with very consistent results.

Bon Appétit!
L

(There is actually another savory madeleine that I want to try that would go well with this dish…but it was not in the category of fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of thing so it will have to wait for another worthy partner.)

Fresh Tomato Sauce with Roasted Garlic and Basil

(As long as you’ve got garlic going into the oven, put in an additional head or two. It makes a great appetizer – a soft, sweet clove squeezed onto a piece of bread...mmmm! Or toss a roasted clove into a bit of mustard and mash with some added good vinegar...whisk with your best olive oil and voilà: roasted garlic vinaigrette.)

Cut a head of garlic in half and place it cut side up in a small baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil and place in a 375º oven to roast for 45 minutes. When it is done, set it aside to cool.

Bring a pot of water to a boil and gently drop 12 to 15 roma tomatoes into the pot to blanch for 2 minutes. Remove from the pot with a slotted spoon onto a tray lined with a paper towel and allow to cool a bit. While the tomatoes are cooling, heat a drizzle of olive oil in a pan and add one small onion and a clove or two of garlic (chopped) and cook until softened and translucent over a gentle heat.

While the onion and garlic are cooking, peel, seed and chop the now cooled tomatoes. Add them, along with the juice (I collect the peel and seed mixture in a bowl and then toss it all in a sieve over the pan after I’ve added the tomatoes to the pan to strain out any extra juice) and mix to blend with the onion and garlic. Allow to simmer over a low heat to blend flavors and reduce the juice a bit.

Put a pot of water on to boil for the pasta. While you wait for the water to come to a boil, squeeze the roasted garlic cloves you’ve set aside to cool into the sauce and gently fold in to mix. (I like to keep them in large chunks to really get a melt-in-your-mouth exclamation point every now and again in the sauce.)

When the pasta is ready, drain and plate it and top it with the sauce. Garnish with a few leaves of basil (either torn or in a chiffonade) and give it a flurry of freshly grated parmesan.

Stick your own fourchette in it and...well...you’ll know what to do next. Trust your instincts on this one!