Love has many different meanings and interpretations. We all agree that love is warm, happy, giving and, in an ideal world, unconditional. Love is found everywhere, from the kiss of a dog, to a Coeur a la crème.
I found love in the trees in Vienna. It was cold, bundled up cold, and my two compadres and I decided to set off and discover this city of music and culture. Just meandering, we stumbled upon a park with tall trees whose barren branches reached across the dark skies and opened up, welcoming us in.
Music is found everywhere in Vienna
At first I had to refocus my eyes. Hanging from the branches were blue, red and yellow violins! It was as if the trees said, “Surprise!” This stunning visual presentation of boldness and artistic endeavor touched me at my core. I closed my eyes and could hear the strings being coaxed and caressed by their musicians playing Strauss and Mozart, the legends of classical music.
“Love, love, love. That is the soul of genius.” Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Despite the fierce chill, warmth came to my heart. This display of art, hanging in the trees, brought my world together: nature + art + historical culture. I could not stop oohing and ahhing. My eyes finally disengaged from this one tree and moved to a tree in the distance. What were the red objects in this tree? As I moved closer, the big, red hearts noticed me, dangling love.
Sharing the love
All these decorations are studded with lights for, I’m sure, an amazing night-time viewing.
Giant acorns waiting for giant chipmunks to find them?
The tree next door was adorned with giant acorns and at its base sat a chipmunk hut.
Home to the chipmunks. Alvin, Theodore?!
The name of this part is Rathauspark, in case you are wondering. I highly recommend a visit if you are in town.
The park filled with art.
So taken with this display of art, I choose to always look deeper for the art in my life. I think of the artist who crafted these pieces and climbed the trees to place them in nature just to make us happy. And happy I was all day long just at this discovery. Extraordinary. This is why I will forever travel!
My friend Nicola is a cook, gardener, artist, historian and proud  Lucchese – a person born in Lucca. Angela, of La Mimosa, introduced us while gathered around her rustic wooden kitchen table, a fire blazing in the open-hearth to warm us during a fall rainstorm. She was in the midst of preparing rabbit stew for lunch and we were the observers. I was drawn to Nicola’s enthusiasm and knowledge of traditional Tuscan foods, their heritage and cultivation.
I learned that olive oil from Lucca is lighter and softer than the spicy southern version I usually cook with. Tuscan bread is unsalted. The reason being, during the medieval times a high tax was levied on the salt and the bakers decided to go without. Romans used faro before wheat, so in keeping with their roots, many Tuscans use it in salads and soups. Tuscan foods have more of a French influence than other parts of Italy.
To become more familiar with typical, local ingredients, I asked Nicola if he would cook with me in my barn kitchen and teach me his family secrets. He eagerly agreed.
Here is his menu:
Antipasto of Artichoke Hearts, Olives and Pickled Onions
Pumpkin Risotto
 Faraona stuffed with vegetables and braised on the stove top
Rutabagas, cubed and cooked with butter, sage and garlic
Salad greens from Nico’s garden, dressed with local olive oil
Tuscan country wine
Antipasto nestles between my Tuscan table decoration of all things nature gathered outside at La Mimosa.
When I saw the abundance of groceries overflowing on my countertop, I wondered how we would be able to eat it all. Good thing Angela and Davino were joining us!
The Faraona, a guinea fowl, Â is stuffed with leeks, garlic, carrots and celery. It is then trussed and wrapped with a layer of lard. According the the famous Italian culinary writer Artusi, the Faraona is native to Numidia and considered to be the symbol of brotherly love in the ancient world. How appropriate!
Ummm. Lard. It gives the bird flavor and makes everything taste delicious. I loved the photo on this paper it was wrapped in.The trussed, larded bird is browned in a heavy pot on the stove. Water just to coat the bottom of the pot, sage, garlic, pepperoncini and wine are added to braise and the lidded bird cooks slowly.
The artist, Nico, set to work creating dish upon dish so effortlessly. It was as if he were floating through time, not rushed, just enjoying the moment. I watched (and helped) in amazement as each dish came together.
Nicola artfully balances four burners full of food all going at once: The Faraona, rutabagas, pumpkin risotto and chopped greens with white beans.
My kitchen was an infusion of mingling aromas – shallots, garlic, sage and roasting bird. In a soft tone, Nicola describes each step, keeping rhythmn with the courses. Rutabagas, which add a color contrast and bright flavor to our meal, Â are cubed and cooked with garlic and sage in a small amount of water.
Il primo. Creamy and al dente, it gets Davino’s approval.Tigre in a trance, dreaming of the bird that fills his senses. Of course, he will be the lucky recipient of tender morsels at dinner time.Il secondi. Now this is a dinner created with love!Angela with Lily upon lap enjoying the camaraderie.
Everything is perfect and so very delicious. The Faraono is delicate and succulent. Angela, Davino and Nicola ate it with fingers, devouring every morsel off the bones.
The conversation (and wine and Prosecco) continued until 12:30am. I will always remember this dinner, the new friendships formed and the enjoyment cooking brings when shared with others. By the way, do all Italian men know how to cook like this? I am impressed!
All the activity wore Gilda out!
So that’s my friend Nicola. The best part of traveling is meeting new people, discovering their artistic talents and sharing the journey. I wish you art and love everyday in your life.
Note: The photos in this story are off color. I had difficulty with the indoor lighting. They are not my usual standard!
Beautiful and tempting macaroons lure me into this shop for a taste
As the years retreat, like soldiers who have lost or won a battle, I march forward down life’s path with a renewed sense of passion. My passion almost always lies in the discoveries that travel brings. This past year brought forth many new heart-opening journeys that are influencing me in new ways.
I love Europe for its art around every corner, so freely displayed. During my last adventure abroad, I felt the presence of art all around me, so strongly in fact that it stirred an emotion deep inside of me. I was struck with an awareness of how every person on this planet leaves his or her artistic mark in some way. It might be grandiose like the intricate baroque cathedrals; indulgent and visually stunning like the cakes and pastries presented in the windows that look too beautiful to eat; the street musicians who entertain with such a flair or the paintings on the village walls, simplistic and with a message. I was viewing the world through the eyes of the artists who created these personal works. This new awareness flooded my senses and inspired me to document and explore my experiences in all things artistic. My focus for the year is love created by art or is it art created by love? I dedicate 2014 to this theme.
Love this! Sorelle = SisterA peek into a private garden revealed the owner’s passion for sculpture artNicola found this old piece of pottery under a tree along the pathway in Lucca. As the rain erodes the ground cover, these treasures are revealedItalian bici. Very clever!These dazzling creations catch your eye with intricacyNestled into a doorway in Florence, an accordion player sings for his supperA friend that kept me company at La MimosaA chocolate lover’s paradise. I love the photo of the man. Who is he?Brilliant reds lining the streets of PietrasantaArtisan bread – so white and organically displayed in LariSignage rustica and handmade. Your eyes want to read the entire menuWine dispensary housed in a small vegetable market in Lucca. The painting says “Try it. You’ll like it!”A farmer at the local frantoio, or olive mill, waits for his olives to be pressed into oilLayers of art. I wonder if one person created all this or if it was a collaboration?
Thanks for letting me share my view of art with you. Keep your eyes open. Art is everywhere!
This story was ready to hit the press on Christmas Eve but because of wifi issues onboard our river cruise, the photos could not be uploaded.Â
It’s Christmas Eve in Passau, Germany. My mom and I are breaking tradition to enjoy a European holiday via a river cruise that stops everyday in charming towns along the Danube. This is a special time of year because the Christmas Markets, or Christkindlmarkt, light up and give warmth to the cold, bringing family and friends together to celebrate the season.
A spectacular backdrop for these festive markets.Huddled together sharing good food, good drink and good times.All you need to keep warm is a mug of GlĂĽhwein, a hot spiced red wine and brandy concoction with the optional spike of rum. Everything is really happy after just one of these!These stands dominate the markets. I loved their display of mugs.
The Christmas markets date back to as early as 1294, the first markets taking place in Germany and Austria. The medieval markets provided the warmth of fires, supplies such as hats, gloves and coats, pots of hot soup and I’m sure plenty of warm drink. This was a gathering place for camaraderie and merriment.
Bratwurst is the king of Bavaria. Three skinny grilled sausages are served in a rye bread bun, slathered with local spicy mustard and a heaping of sauerkraut. It’s delicious!These two guys are serious about their brats!The grill Meister at work.Nuremburg all dressed up for the holidays.Nutcracker Suite.These traditional Bavarian figures made of walnuts and prunes have their origins in the 17th century.
The artisans that display their work here all unite to recreate the feel of the Middle Ages and what may have been the handcrafts of the time. Decorated stalls of handmade ornaments of straw and wood, beeswax candles, all forms of angels, toys, intricate wooden silhouettes, traditional cookies and strudel line the streets.
Star lights illuminate the night and bring color and art to life.Gingerbread is an old recipe that originally was made with just flour, honey and spices. It has remained a favorite cookie, each baker presenting their own flair for design.Her beauty caught my eye.Warm, freshly roasted chestnuts are the perfect accompaniment to the hot drinks.So many ornaments! These are artfully carved of wood and each is different from the next.This woman putting the finishing touches on a Germknodel Kirsch. A large soft roll, stuffed with cherries and doused with hot vanilla cream.Decadence at its finest!Another favorite, cherry and apple strudel.This gold angel is a symbol of the Nuremburg Christmas.Loving the GlĂĽhwein, again! An instant warm up!
Wishing you a Merry Christmas, filled with love and joy. Listen always to your heart and always believe!
Pietrasanta, a charming artist colony, is a stone’s throw from Lucca. La Mimosa’s Angela, who is an artist, thought it might be an illuminating place to spend a leisurely day. She was right.
The first of many sculptures I was about to experience. How lovely to be enveloped in children and birds!
Pietrasanta is small and silent but powerful. Her heavy hand of all thing artistic propelled me into a past time of creative exploration.
We stumbled upon this sculptor’s paradise while walking down a lonely street. Curiously, there were no humans present. Only guardians of stone whose stories would remain a secret.
She captured my soul. Her gaze. Her beautiful, confident wings. The clock she embraced. It was as if she was there just for me. I named her Giuliana.
Flying into the skies leg first.
The main piazza is a sculpture garden in itself filled with marble creations. The entire color scheme took my breath away.
The Italians just know how to display vegetables.
Another favorite -chestnuts- are omnipresent. I’ve grown fond of them.
This archway sits in the middle of the street. It is adorned with pomegranates, an ancient and treasured food.
Pomegranates are a favorite of mine so when I noticed the arch lined with them, I just had to share the details.
This ristorante looked alluring. We took a chance and were rewarded. Ristorante Quarantuno. Excellent.
Amber digs into squid ink pasta with local Pietra fish. Absolutely delectable.
Up close version.
Pasta with a light pumpkin sauce. Equally delicious. I do love pasta!
I love traveling to cities with ancient walls. In France, I was enamored with the bastides and cathars. Perhaps that is why I am charmed by Lucca’s fortress and her medieval city walls. There are four Portas or doors leading into the city. Along the outside up high, a pretty tree- lined pathway provides a walking and biking venue with sneak peaks into the city. Inside, a parade of multiple piazzas, churches, towers, and narrow cobblestone streets invite you to get lost in its history.
This lovely angel sits high atop a church keeping watch and on guard to protect.
A statue of a famous sculptor gazes toward the piazza.
Typical downtown colors.
Bikes are the prefered mode of transportation.
I’m drooling for these right now.
Cookies to celebrate Halloween, a newer holiday for the Italians.
An example of Luchese Pisano, an architectural style from Pisa. So much beautiful natural stone here. Carrera marble is a stone’s throw away.
This labyrinth came from Ancient Rome and was included when the church was built. Story has it that it is a pagan symbol that the church adopted to please the masses.
Other decorum of Lucca!
A friend from the gardens inside an old convent.
This beautiful bush is a Corbezzolo whose red fruit is edible. Such contrasting beauty.
The red roof view high atop the Guinigi Tower. You can see for kilometers and kilometers.
My guida or guide Nicola was happy to show me his home town of Lucca.
Only a handful of homes enjoy a rooftop garden. This one looks well cared for and used. Can you imagine having dinner here with this view?
Street vendors roasting the Italian favorite of chestnuts.
Just a stunning piece of art and history.
I am enthralled by this color combination which shows up in almost every little town.
More photos to come. I just wanted to whet your appetite. My visits to this beautiful city have been interrupted by a Comics and Games convention for four days so access to the city was virtually impossible not to mention the bumper to bumper traffic. A reminder to check for events before booking travel dates!
Last week Angela and I ventured into the hills to find a “festa of the hills” or a celebration of life in medieval times. Once outside of Lucca, we began climbing up narrow winding roads, up to the clouds it seemed. The vistas took my breath away.
Now this is the Tuscany I had envisioned. Grandiose villas interspersed with burnt orange vineyards, olive trees bursting with fruit, ranging from deep purple to olive green, ancient stone towers poking up here and there and just a peaceful greeness overall if that makes sense.
Tuscan vistas. A little hazy but still stunning.
Angela and her pup Gilda sharing a smile.
After twisting and turning for half an hour, we spot a hand carved sign for A Colli Festa pointing up a walkway to the small villa of St. Pietro a Marcigliano.
Let’s go!
At the entrance a woman hands us fresh bread drizzled with her homemade olive oil with a sprinkling of salt. Such a kind welcome.
Up the road men and woman in period costume show children how to shoot a wooden bow and arrow.
Next to them I watch a game of eye-hand coordination. A nut rolls down a wooden slide as a villager uses a mallet in an attempt to squash the nut at the end before it escapes to the ground.
The cobblestone streets are crowded with local artisans displaying their crafts from carved olive bowls to hand- woven baskets.
Torta Verdura or Torta co’bbecchi
This crowd favorite is a traditional Lucca torte made with Swiss Chard, spices, liquor- infused raisins, candied oranges and pine nuts. Even though it is green, it is served as a dessert. I learned he recipe in a cooking class here and will post it when I return.
What’s a festa without the hot mulled wine?
The beginnings of one of my favorites – fried pasta! The dough is rolled thick and cut into rectangles.
Into the oil it goes, puffing and rising to the top as it browns.
Pasta frittam. Tossed in salt. Yum! This sort of ” donut” is delicious and reminiscent of Indian fry bread.
It’s a family affair.
The longest line is for the roasted chestnuts served warm in paper triangles. The six gentlemen manning the open fires are in their element, tossing the baskets of nuts in the air, catching them, then shaking them over the fire.
My favorite roaster to watch! Don’t you love his tossle of hair?
The party heats up as the sun goes down. All age ranges are mingling, laughing and celebrating life.
One thing I really wanted to do on this vacation was to learn more about olive oil and what better way to do that then to learn the process from the ground up. Andreas is a dear friend of Angela and Davino’s and his olives were ready- now. So we jumped in the car and drove up the hill to his grove of densely populated trees. A crew was already picking so we pulled on our boots and went to work.
Angela shows me the technique.
Andreas admiring his bounty.
Large nets are spread out on the ground to catch the olives as they drop. We are careful not to step on the collected olives. I am reminded of the I Love Lucy episode where she steps on the grapes to make the wine!
The net catches the fruit.
Kim climbs a tree to reach the top olives. I learn to just gently release the fruit from the branches by pulling with a downward motion. Kind of like removing rosemary or tarragon from their stem. It feels natural and soon I have a rhythm. My mind relaxes and the only thing I’m thinking of is how therapeutic this is. Sort of like weeding only more fun.
Kim up high to pick every last olive.
Some trees are loaded, some slim. Some trees carry green olives and a few purple, others thick with mostly smooth- skinned deep purple olives. As I harvest one particularly beautiful tree, I say the olives are too gorgeous to pick. This generates a few laughs as we know they all must be stripped naked to enjoy the benefits of their pressing.
They look like grapes, yes?
Once several trees are picked, Sauro shows me how to gather up the nets around the trees tilting them so the olives roll together into a central meeting place. These olives are then poured into a large crate which will be transported to the olive mill just down the road.
Rolling the olives to meet together.
Sauro is Andreas’ lead olive expert who also prunes the trees and watches over every stage of growth. His smile is infectious!
The expert!
Rain starts to fall which means it is a good time to stop for a drink of water. Minutes later and we are back in business. A wafting of mint fills the air around the trees as all the wild herbs have released their scent with the rain. Could it get any better than this?
My olive-picking partner, Angela, and me in our harvest boots.
With the crates filling up, it is time for lunch. How lucky we are to be the beneficiaries of Kim, Andreas’ girlfriend’s cooking. She is Vietnamese and has prepared warm and tasty spring rolls which we gobble up with a crisp Proseco.
Delicioso!
The next course – what a farmer’s lunch – is traditional Goulash. A thin paprika sauce envelopes tender chunks of meat accompanied by perfectly steamed potatoes. Delightful.
Kim’s paprika infused Goulash
Red wine from the region is poured and again I am loving and appreciating every drop realizing that it is not available in the States.
Our hosts Andreas and Kim toasting the harvest.
Grazie Andreas for including me in your harvest and welcoming me into your home. The friends I am meeting here are warm, friendly and happy in life.
Next up- the pressing of the olives! Story coming soon!
Sometimes the most relaxing vacations are the ones where you sleep in, don’t have an agenda, let time organize itself and be spontaneous. This is the second trip of this kind I have created and it suits me. These are scenes from my daily surroundings.
Gino the donkey
Persimmons nearly ready to eat.
I picked this deep orange one that practically melted in my hands as I ate its sugary, soft fruit.
Remnants of early October’s harvest.
The ever- present view of the convent in the hills. The colors change daily.
Olives waiting their turn to be transformed into silky olive oil.
Vacations like these teach us to slow down, take time for ourselves, listen to our hearts and be in the moment. I am grateful for this gift of time.
This morning Angela is cooking rabbit – coniglio- for lunch. I hear Bob Dylan’s “Knocking on Heaven’ s Door” before I even enter and find Angela and her friend Nicola at the large wooden kitchen table, each with a glass of homemade wine in hand. At first my eyes popped. Wine at 11:30? Then I realized that this dinner was really a lunch. I soon joined them and am surprised at the light and smooth flavor of the local red. Nicola, knowledegable in food, produce and things agricultural, begins to tell me the history of Tuscan cookery.
Between Angela’s lesson on making the rabbit, I quiz Nicola on the various types of fruits and vegetables, learning their Italian names. It’s amazing how much Italian I understand. I learn that Tuscan food has a strong French influence. Just my cup of tea.
Braised Rabbit with Olives
Brown the cut up rabbit in olive with three whole large cloves of garlic and a few pepperoncini- small red chiles.
Add three carrots, cut into two inch pieces, two stalks of celery, cut into one inch pieces and one small whole onion. Let this simmer for one half hour.
Add about a cup of fresh (or canned) chopped tomatoes along with pomodoro (tomato) water to half way cover the rabbit. Simmer 15 minutes more.
Add one cup of white wine. Simmer another half hour. Season to taste with salt and pepper. A. slightly thickened sauce forms. Add more pomodoro water if too dry. At the end, stir in a handful of olives.
Olive trees outside the kitchen almost ready tp pick.
Angela and her husband Davino also make their own olive oil. Eager to taste the Tuscan variety, I found a spoon and poured myself a drink. Very smooth with a slight hint of heat on the throat at the end. Delightful. I learn that Tuscan oil is softer and lighter than its kissing cousin in Puglia which has a much more forward bite and heat. I love the diversity.
As the wine flowed, we eat an antipasti of marinated artichokes and olives both made by Angela. The baby artichokes are trimmed (they feed the trimmings to the donkeys which I haven’t seen yet) boiled 10 minutes in salted water and drained overnight. The next day they are submerged in a large jar of olive oil, dried peppers and peppercorns and left to marinate for three months.
Angela’s baby marinated artichokes
Olives brined with cinnamon sticks.
Fresh green beans are trimmed. Angela shows me how to “cook” the garlic and pepperoncinis in a small amount of olive oil just until they soften. We then add the beans and what else but tomatoes and cook on the stove 20 minutes.
Cooking the garlic and pepperoncinis in hot olive oil.
Fresh green beans added to the hot oil.
While we are cooking, Davino is slicing prosciutto on their red antique slicer to feed the cats and us.
The kitchen. On the right is the red antique prosciutto slicer.
We eat al fresco under an arbor of dangling grapes. The rain has cleared and the sun is breaking through. All the dishes are brought to the table and we serve ourselves family style.
This is Italian!
After a delicious lunch, the meal is finalized with dolce but just not any kind of dessert. Today we are eating chestnuts from this property that have been boiled with bay leaves and spices. They are served warm. Davino demonstrates how to peel first the outer layer then the inner to discover the soft white flesh inside. Delicioso!
Like mini bon bons! Dessert of boiled chestnuts.
Using a knife, carefully peel off the hard outer shell then again the thinner skin.
A cup of espresso and I am ready for a nap. Grazie Angela and Davino for sharing your home and bounty of La Mimosa with me.
Tigre doesn’t miss a beat taking every opportunity to look for leftovers.
Buon Giorno from Lucca! This is the first in a series of my life on La Mimosa, an agritourisimo in the hills just outside of Lucca, Tuscany, Italy. This beautiful home is situated at the end of a long and narrow road, surrounded by olive and chestnut trees, wild herbs and flowers, lemon, orange and pomegranate trees and of course, rows of grape vines whose fruit was just last month harvested.
The renovated barn where I will live for two weeks. My room is behind the open windows.
The soft lit colors from my window.
One of the 14 cats on the property. The sweet life.
I arrived at La Mimosa not quite jet lagged yet and full of anticipation for the next few weeks. The roads were easy to navigate and I am feeling confident about driving on these narrow lanes. My hosts, Angela and Davino drew me a map and even led me to the supermercato in Lucca where I would purchase food. Fierce with hunger after eating meager plane food for a day, I went on a crazed shopping spree practically emptying the shelves! Gorgeous veggies – almost all Italian local- filled my basket: fennel, striped zucchini with flower tops, borlotti purple beans, cime rapi from Napoli which is a leafy green like a chard, large white mushrooms and fresh vibrant green spinach all to be given even more of a flavor boost with a gorgeous roped strand of small red onions, garlic and shallots. The cheese aisle lured me in next. Fresh buffalo mozzarella, fresh butter from Lucca, and Caciotta Garfagnina cheese with its creamy, buttery delicate flavor to pair perfectly with crisp red Nurca Campana apples and William pears. My eyes continued to be bigger than my stomach when I spotted the fresh pastas. A spinach and ricotta tortelli packaged in small portions (yeah) and some scialatelli, a fatter linguine type pasta would be delicate accompaniments for the veggies. Olives, ciabatta, pancetta, porcini sauce, yogurt, fresh pomodoro sauce, tomato focaccia and Italian wine flew into my basket. What was I thinking with all this food and just me to cook for?
My shopping spree of local Italian foods. Where to begin?
Fall is a season of contrasts. Besides the obvious color change of leaves, there is a distinct softness in the air, a kind of fuzzy morning haze, with warm afternoons, cool evenings and if you’re lucky and the skies are clear, a chance of a green flash over the ocean with the setting sun. I love this time to reflect on what has grown, in my life and my garden, and the sweet anticipation of what’s to come.
My garden also is a contrast of various stages of growth. The Angel Pomegranate tree I planted last summer has gifted me five garnet red beauties. It has doubled in size and I imagine will continue to multiply its harvest next year. The Meyer Lemon is heavy with green fruit that is beginning to turn yellow for a most likely January crop. My raised bed gardens are filling up with young plants. I started chicory, kale, lettuce and beets from seeds. It’s so interesting to be able to identify the plants when they are so tiny!
Baby kale just learning its identity.
Romaine lettuce – very assertive.
Although not yet recognizable, these will be transformed into red and golden beets. So lovely.
Fava Beans started from seedlings. The anchor of my Italian garden.
Speaking of Italy, in a few days I embark on another adventure, this time to Tuscany. I’m staying on an agritourisimo (farm) for two weeks and immersing myself into the country lifestyle. This is the beginning of the olive harvest season and I am hoping to learn the craft of making olive oil with my farm family. Tune in for recipes I gather as I meet and cook with the locals and savor the foods of the season. The ancient cultures have so much wisdom to impart. I’ll keep my eyes, ears and heart open to learn from them as well as continue my search for Black Madonnas. Let the journey begin!
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Every person has their own garden. A garden of wishes they hope to grow into fruition. When we are young, we plant many seeds of all the things we hope to accomplish in life. As we age and have watched those seeds become living dreams, some happy and healthy, some are weeds that need to be sorted through and recycled. Some become overgrown and litter our mind. I love to weed. It gives me time to deeply contemplate what needs more attention and what needs less. As I loosen the invaders with my fingers and tug gently to release their roots, it is a form of catharsis for me. It’s like clearing my mind at the same time as cleaning up my yard. I can see things more clearly. The trees, flowers and bushes now can shine and be a focal point, their once tag-along side kicks removed. The mind relaxes; the body aches a bit but feels stronger for it. There is almost nothing I’d rather do on a sunny weekend than trim and prune and weed my yard.I am making it more beautiful and hospitable for the birds and butterflies and bees that call my garden home. How we tend and care for our “gardens” reflect how we live our lives. Infuse a little love in everything you do and watch what happens!!
One of the many hummingbirds that delight in the abundance of Salvia in my yard.
The quaint village of Monopoli, Italy nestles into the Adriatic, just south of Pulignano a Mare. Our tour guide, Daniela, thought there might be a Black Madonna, my sought-after Goddess, in the local church. Our bus parked at the picturesque harbor which is surrounded by fishing boats but hauntingly deserted. We, as a 10-person group, wandered up the hill navigating the quiet, narrow streets in search of life. Real and rustic, clean laundry dangling from the balconies around every corner, there were no tourists except us. This village has a calm charm, everyday life going along in a nonchalant manner.
Colorful Monopoli!
The Cathedral of the Madonna of the Madia’s exterior is the typical limestone foundation and could be any vintage house of worship. Perhaps ordinary on the outside but crossing the thresh hold, almost in unison, we breathed in a gasp of awe. This sanctuary had all the criteria of “wow.” We had learned that the Roman Catholic Church, in its attempt to win back Worshippers from the Reformation movement, ordered the creation of the ornate, elaborate sculpture known as Baroque. Over the top design and architecture was the standard of the day.
Wow
This church had all that but it seemed more visually appealing, with softer lines, lighter domed ceilings and – a Black Madonna. My glimpse first went vertically down the main aisle, glancing left and right at the intricately carved pillars.
Baroque at its best.
Then my eyes slowly climbed up to view a recessed white domed ceiling etched with brilliant golds and scarlet reds – stunning. Still examining the church’s lines, my gaze finally came to rest on a painting cradled in the center of the upper level. It is framed with a heavily carved panel of wood, angels on either side protecting her. We climbed the stairs to get a closer look. A middle-aged man moored himself in one of the curved pews, his hands working a rosary. I felt like such an intruder but this was my chance to come face to face with the Earth Mother. The Madonna is not black, yet not white either. My guess is that she is Middle Eastern.
Such contentment.
According to the story, in the 12th century, this Madonna painting was sitting atop a raft of logs floating at sea and miraculously arrived in the port of Monopoli. A sign from God, the good villagers used the wood to begin building the church and eventually, a place to house the Madonna painting that dates back to the Byzantine era. Downstairs, another replica tells the story and displays a chunk of the wood intended to originate the church. This unique Madonna is a destination for pilgrims in need of her healing powers. Of all the churches I’ve experienced in Europe, this gorgeous holy house, tucked into this simple city, filled my heart with a sense of love, peace and gratitude I cannot explain.
Just plucked purple!
Adjacent to the church, a tiny farmer’s market alive with local shoppers, displayed the best of seasonal veggies. The vendor’s lively nature, engaged us with their laughter, speaking Italian to us like we can understand them. “Take my picture!” they exclaim, as my camera follows their expressions. I feel immediate warmth and a difference from the French markets where the vendors never have seemed to appreciate their photos being shared.
Proud of his produce.
The artichokes are at the height of the season and their purple tips and long stems prove they have been freshly cut.
One of my favorite veggies. Love the purple expressions!
The long, thick, bumpy beans – favas – are a favorite ingredient in the south.
Ummm. Favas.
I purchase some fresh almonds and notice sliced and dried fava beans. So this is how they easily make the bases for pasta sauces! I buy a Euros’ worth and take a photo of the happy seller raising his one finger gesturing “1 Euro.”
One Euro!
Another unusual veggie, feathers of thin green stalks, reminiscent of fennel caught my eye. Chicory I am told. Ever since eating chicory at our “crudo” dinner, I am hooked.
My new total favorite-Italian chicory. One of my dear friends found me some seeds and they will be planted this month!
My garden will be Italian-themed in an ode to this vacation
My inspired blogging came to a halt in early July when my dear father passed away suddenly. I have been transitioning and re-balancing my life and am just now ready to continue with my stories. My dad always loved reading them and they usually would prompt a memorable saga of his own. His heart was as big as his smile. We had many, many great times together. I miss him.
The smartest, blackest and most beautiful dog I have ever known.
Also in July, one of my dear dogs, Star, crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She was often featured in my garden stories as she loved to watch me work while nibbling the green beans and cucumbers. I called her my Black Beauty – and she was.
The light is brightest when shared between hearts.
Olive oil is so – Italian! Its warmth and/or sassiness can jazz up almost any dish, imparting different nuances for whatever food you want to enhance. The Italians are proud of their olive heritage and like to joke that butter is “forbidden” in Pulia. Instead of butter at the table, one often finds a bottle of local oil for dipping bread or topping off pastas and salads.
I am “in amore” with olive oil and use it daily but now have a renewed appreciation for its origin and its flavor. One of the highlights of my trip to Pulia was touring a 19th century olive mill and farm called Galantino.
The family that started it all.
Galantino is dedicated to the entire process of producing exquisite oil, sustainably with the least amount of impact on Mother Earth. Most of the olives for their oils are grown on the estate from their over 15,000 trees. Olives are harvested in mid October through December and then crushed within a few hours and never more than 24 hours.
Mighty blocks of granite for the gentle press.
Giant granite rounds, which ensure a gentle, cool press, crush the olives employing the same techniques as the ancient Romans thousands of years ago. If the desired result is lemon infused olive oil, fresh lemons are crushed along with the olives. This method creates a bright, authentic fresh taste that makes my tongue revel with each sip.
Lemon infusion.
Our Italian guides gave us a lesson in tasting olive oil. Similar to tasting wine, you follow a protocol. Visually, look for a yellow/green/olive color; smell the aroma, an olive scent with tones of grass, almonds, flowers; and then sip. Taste first under the tongue for sweet and fruity. The next taste should be bitter and the third taste, hot, peppery, spicy. If you taste all these elements in a balanced and harmonious fashion, there is no added filler oil commonly included in less expensive olive oils.
A specialty oil called L’Affiorato is the hand skimmed top 2-3% of the freshly pressed olives that naturally rises to the top of the olive paste after milling. Its exquisite, delicate and fruity flavor lends itself beautifully as finishing oil.
Many of the infused flavors we tasted.
After our lesson in the production of olive oil, our host, Massimo, led us into an enchanting gazebo-covered garden where a tasting and lunch awaited us. A plate with the olive oil to be tasted was passed around accompanied by chunks of Italian bread. A unison of “oohs” and “ahs” sang out with the first taste of the olive oil soaked bread. From subtle to spicy, the distinguished flavors filled every sense in my body: the beautiful surrounding, the smell of the blossoming lemon trees, the romantic Italian accents, the feel of happiness and warmth for just being here and finally the taste of purity, of Italy, of love. I was in heaven.
Surrounded by citrus and olives.
Following the tasting, Galantino’s chef prepared a lunch spread, antipasto style, using all the oils we had just tasted. A visual feast, I could taste each dish with my eyes. Jugs of local, delicious wine graced the tables.
Antipasto style!Colorfully delicious.A more familiar caprese. The Italian cheese is so creamy.New friends.Pasta called “calamarata” probably because it looks like little calamari rings. Served with a fondue of pecorino.Sharing our enthusiasm for the food of southern Italy.
The dessert, a mandarin olive oil cake, moist and not overly sweet was simple yet sophisticated. When asked about ingredients in the cake, the chef graciously gave us the recipe verbally.
Mandarin olive oil cake served with orange sorbet, drizzled with more olive oil!
Our bellies full and our minds, just a little fuzzy from the wine, we head down a pathway to their retail store. A shopping frenzy ensued. We are handed forms to fill out so we can have our “taste of Italy” shipped back home. Since my mom and I decided that olive oil is our souvenir of the trip, we shop with abandon. We both love to cook so I know we will use all the flavors within the year- a time frame for freshness.
Mom deciding what to buy. Too many choices!
The helpful, handsome Italian men help us with our orders and assure us our oils will arrive in about two weeks time. The anticipation is already killing me!
I keep reflecting upon the genuineness, if that is a word, of this company and their high standards. Granite, sustainable, local, sweet, bitter, hot and peppery are the images etched in my memory of this enlightening trip.
Recipe for the Mandarin Olive Oil Cake
My mom and I tested the recipe given to us by Galantino’s chef and here it is with a few tweaks and twists. The texture is like a moist sponge cake, the aroma out of the oven resembles a lemon angel food cake – dreamy! Feel free to improvise with orange olive oil.
Line the bottom of a 8-9” springform pan with parchment paper. Oil the bottom and sides of the pan with olive oil.
1/3cuplemon infused olive oil or the best extra virgin olive oil you have on hand75ml
4eggs
1cupplus 1 Tbls. sugar200 gr.
zest of one lemon
1 1/2cupsplus 2 Tbls. all purpose flour200 gr.
2 Âľtsp.baking powder10 gr.
pinchof salt
Method
Stir together the oil, eggs, sugar and zest.
Mix together the flour, baking powder and salt.
Add the flour mixture to the oil and stir gently just until incorporated.
Bake for 30- 35 minutes. Test that a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool in pan for 15 minutes. Run a knife along the sides and release the bottom of the pan from the sides. Cool completely.
Serve with any fruit, cream, ice cream or gelato. This cake holds up well to an assortment of fillings and can be made ahead. There are so many ways to serve this simple dessert. You can also split the layer in half, fill the cake with whipped cream and sprinkle on some fresh berries or slices of summer fruit.
Garnished lemon olive oil cake with fresh orange slices and whipped cream.Let me know your versions!
The discovery of a new dish does more for the happiness of the human race than the discovery of a star. Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin
One afternoon in Pulia, our tour host Mick, asked if anyone would like to join him for a “Crudo” dinner. Crudo, in Italian means raw. We all had puzzled looks on our faces. As he explained what it was and how it was prepared, my hand shot up as a participant. When in Rome.
Certain restaurants that have a “Crudo” designation have met all the criteria for cleanliness, freshness and procurement from reputable fishermen. Because I enjoy sushi, I was curious to taste the difference.
Fresh tuna drenched in olive oil. Can fresh be fresher than fresh?
Several dishes were set at the table to share. Crudo is not like sushi. There is no wasabi, only lemon slices. The Italians prefer to serve their seafood with a dash of high quality (what else?) olive oil and a sprinkling of sea salt. Some of the dishes did include a flavor, like the octopus with fresh mint and the cooked shrimp with fresh pineapple.
We did have a few cooked dishes like this shrimp with mint and pineapple.The most delectable fried calamari my mouth has ever tasted.
One of my favorite fish to eat crudo was the swordfish. Sliced paper thin and layered on the plate drizzled with olive oil, its only garnish, a smattering of pink peppercorns and a few bits of spring greens. The pretty red dots that lined the curve of the fish revealed that is was unmistakably swordfish. So sweet and tender and mild. It hit my tongue and dissolved with its saltiness. The tuna was also sliced thin, unlike thicker chunks of sashimi.
Decadent swordfish. Warning: My local fish monger advised against eating swordfish raw here. It must be impeccably fresh.
Something I had never seen or eaten before were red shrimp. These vibrant red creatures shimmered on the plate and tasted of a silky brine, the texture at first jello-y, then with a lobster bite.
Seductive red shrimp. Aren’t they stunning?
The oysters slid down ever so sweetly – the best I have ever had – or was it because I was in Italy? Raw mussels and clams also graced the table.
Seafood crudo galore.
We had eaten cuttlefish, a squid like cephalopod, as an antipasti but not crudo. Crunchy and salty is the best way to describe the experience. The texture is similar to octopus and squid. A delicious side dish of black rice, tiny cubed carrots and corn were the accompaniment to the crudo.
Just enough of a flavor contrast to compliment the raw seafood.
Two things capped off this incredible dinner. A very icey, almost liquidy fresh lemon sorbet with just a hint of sweetness, not to be out done by the strawberries it was mingling with. Heavenly.
My mouth waters just looking at this photo!
The owner, acknowledging our extreme pleasure in this meal, treated us to an Italian digestive, Amari Mere, a slightly bitter, herbal flavor that grows on you as you sip.
Per la salute! To your health!
With an abundance of wine included in this dinner, the bill was about $40 each. When I return to Pulignano a Mare someday, this restaurant will be at the top of my dining list!
Food is a central activity of mankind and one of the single most significant trademarks of a culture.
-Mark Kurlansky (1948 – present)
Pulignano a Mare. The name rolls off my tongue like a song. This sweet little town, perched on the Adriatic Sea in southern Italy, is a kaleidoscope of colors, textures, and flavors. There is a reason this place is called The Italian Pearl.
“
My mom and I are on holiday together exploring the best of this unique part of Italy called Pulia which means “stony lane”. Pulia’s rich history of ancient civilizations and status as a Land of Invasions has created an artisan culture made up of a melange of Mesopotamian, Roman, Greek and Turkish influences.
Mom and I smiling the vacation smile.
Art surrounds us and limestone walls serve as the back drop.
With over 20 gelato shops in Pugliano alone, you can be assured of never being too far away from a sweet treat.
The main piazza.
The people of Pulia live in an agricultural arena of tastes and are passionate about the preparation of food.
An antipasti tasting lovingly prepared with all local ingredients and liberal use of local olive oil. Fresh white sardines marinated and fried, mint marinated octopus and shrimp, local yellow potatoes, grilled eggplant, zucchini and peppers, freshly made creamy burrata ( a personal favorite), fresh prawns, cuttlefish, focaccia and more. Everything is served with jugs of the local wine which is always great.
Puglia’s Mediterranean landscape is a colorful composition of shoulder to shoulder olive trees – over 60 million in Puglia alone- short limestone walls, deep mandarin-colored poppies interspersed with prickly pear cactus and scatterings of ancient dwellings.
This photo was taken from the bus but shows the typical coastal terrain.
Crystal clear infusions of the Adriatic’s blue and green waters nudge up against craggy, snaking cliffs forming pools of white sand beaches. Today is a holiday bringing families and friends to the sun.
I’d love to step into Op’s shoes, or whatever goddesses wear on their feet. While perusing websites relating to my upcoming trip to Italy, I came upon a dictionary of goddesses. This one caught my attention. Ops, rumored to be married to Saturn, is “an agricultural goddess of abundance personifying the earth’s riches.”*
Ops is the Goddess of the Harvest and Abundance
Today my mom and I were the Ops twins; she cleaning up my raised beds and harvesting beets, Swiss chard, peas and red cabbage and moi; filling holes dug by my dogs, planting a new baby bay laurel tree, staking up my berry vines and eternally weeding.
Finally ready to harvest after 5 1/2 months of TLC.
My Ops Twin – Mom
Giggling and chatting away like two teenagers who just love spending time together, the work energized our souls. The golden warmth of the sun embraced my body, almost magically pulling me closer to the earth. I was the goddess of agriculture if only for a moment. It felt really good.
These brilliant chard stems were too gorgeous not to share.
In honor of my beet harvest, I decided to make something out of my comfort zone. My neighbor, Ione, makes delicious pickled beets. In fact, she is the pickling queen, using vinegar for everything from octopus to fava beans.
Roasted in foil at 400 degrees for about an hour.
I asked for her recipe. Roast, peel, then slice or cube the beets, she replied. Top with balsamic vinegar, a bay leaf and a sprinkling of peppercorns. That’s it! Marinate a few hours or a few days. I marinated one batch with a traditional red balsamic vinegar and one with a white balsamic vinegar from The San Felipe Olive Oil Company who makes thick and delicious vinegars. It has a slight sweetness that I think marries well with the sugar in the beets.
The transition to spring nudges me to do things that I have had on a procrastination list – cleaning out closets, purging my computer of used emails, exercising regularly and last but not least, preparing my raised beds for summer veggies.
A clean slate with which to paint a new picture.
Why are we such creatures of habit when it comes to “spring” cleaning? What prompts us to create space especially this time of year? To me, transition is a form of new creation, a fresh outlook, and in my garden, a literal new viewpoint of colors and textures. My juvenile pomegranate tree has transitioned from a spindle of naked branches to an explosion of vibrant green leaves and sunset buds soon to become my favorite leather skinned fruits.
Summer will tease charming blossoms into autumn fruit.
Such delicate beauty!
The aromatic sweet peas that have lit up two areas of my yard with cotton candy pinks, snow whites and deep velvet purples are slowly saying goodbye, much to my dismay. It’s like a good friend who is going on a long vacation. I know they will be back next year but miss them already.
Each petal has a transitional color.
How much prettier can these pinks get? Everyday I am grateful and amazed. They are glorious!!!!
The last of my lettuce is in my refrigerator, ready to share with friends. I am grateful for such an abundant harvest that kept me fed and healthy for months. As I cleaned up the last of the broccoli, I noticed that my beets are finally ready to be released from their slumber.
New beets so sweet. Don’t forget the green tops which are just as delectable.
Spring revealed! Beautiful fraise, so tiny and fragrant with the scent of French woods.
So, as nature is constantly transitioning, every day, every minute, I am learning to do the same. Little, incremental changes, that mimic nature’s rhythm, help us shift into the new, opening up space for creative forces to take hold. What will you shift today?
Most of you know the three things I love most (besides my dogs!). They are gardening, travel, food and cooking. I’ve decided to pull these passions together to change the flavor of my blog slightly. Because it is creating such joy in my life, I will bring my garden more into focus, sharing with you its beauty and bounty. Its influence on me is changing my life in tiny increments. Each new sprout, flower of budding fruit and even weed give pause for admiration and awe. To be able to harvest, daily if I wish, and eat this freshness of nature, is teaching me to appreciate life’s abundance.
” Let your life lightly dance on the edges of time like dew on the tip of a leaf.” Tagore
Swiss Chard, Lactino Kale & Italian Kale – all cozy cousins!
My seeds of Italian Kale, Lactino Kale and Swiss Chard are presently producing in abundance. Every night, in order to honor their appearance, I come home and must devise a way to cook these bold greens. Here are two recipes I created. They are both delicious, filled with nutrients and gorgeous on the plate.
Stir in the kale and garlic and cook over medium. Kale will wilt slightly but you don’t need to overcook. If the pan seems dry, add about ¼ cup of warm water.
Stir in the fennel and let it heat through.
Serve as a side dish or you could mound it over brown rice – yum.
Drizzle with walnut oil to finish the flavor. A sprinkling of Fleur de Sel would also be nice!
Add some butter to the pan, heat to medium high and when hot, pour in the egg. Rotate the pan, lifting the cooked parts of the eggs to let the uncooked portion run underneath and cook. Put a lid on the pan for 2 minutes to finish cooking.
Unmold the omelet onto a plate. Â Sprinkle with cheese if you like. Pile the kale in the middle, sprinkle the basil on top. Voila! This is really tasty.
Be creative! Add Herbs de Provence to the eggs. Add onions or shallots or green onions. The world is your oyster.
My hope is that you will be inspired to plant, even the tiniest garden or even just a few seeds and see how they influence your life. Planting seeds of goodness – isn’t that what it’s all about?
My baby Meyer Lemon planted last May. Star is her guardian!
When I think of lemons, this folk tune often sings in my head, “Lemon tree very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.”* The author, of this song, Jose Carlos Burle, must never have tasted a Meyer lemon or he wouldn’t have written this song!
My Mom’s Eureka tree – the Mother Lode!
Lemons are so happy. Their cheery yellow color radiate love, a freshness and an eagerness to be utilized to the fullest. This means the zest AND the fruit. I cannot bear to juice a lemon without first removing its fragrant and flowery rind or zest. For me, this is the flavor, and, hence from which all delicious tartness is born. The Meyer lemon, less acid, more mandarin-scented and thinner-skinned, than its brighter yellow-colored cousins, makes it the perfect flavor for desserts. Its mellow tang shines in vinaigrettes and desserts.
More orange-yellow colored Meyer is in the back and Eureka is in the forefront.
Lemons are as dear to me as chocolate. Their flavor absolutely makes a bold and intense statement. So pucker up!
Here are a few of my favorite ways to celebrate lemon season.
I love the simplicity of this vinaigrette. The lemon gracefully enhances the lettuce leaves. Feel free to embellish it with capers, fresh herbs or olives. I tossed it with warm vegetable ravioli (butternut squash would be good) and was delighted with the taste. Also I can envision this dressing a niçoise salad, or any tuna salad. Feel free to adjust seasonings, amount of lemon juice or oil.
Whisk the lemon juice and zest into the Dijon mustard. Slowly add the oil, whisking constantly until the vinaigrette fuses together. Add salt to taste. Adjust the amount of oil if it is too tangy for your taste.
2 Tbls. finely chopped parsley, basil, dill, mint, etc.
1 tsp. finely chopped shallot or garlic
Instructions
Combine all ingredients. It is easiest accomplished with a food processor.
Spoon butter onto a piece of plastic wrap or waxed paper. Shape the butter into a log and roll it up in the wrap. Freeze until firm. To use, slice off discs and use as added flavor on top of chicken or fish, vegetables, pasta or rice.
I experimented with a few ways to “candy” lemon peel. I must say, it is not as easy as it sounds! My favorite way to create the peel I used for the tarts was to use very thin yellow-only julienne skins, simmered in a sugar syrup, then dipped in sugar. If you would like the recipe, I recommend the one from Epicurious at the bottom of this blog.
In a food processor combine the flour, salt, and powdered sugar. Pulse until blended.
Add the butter. Pulse again just until butter and flour form small peas.
Mix cold water and egg yolk. Add to mixture. If you live in a dry climate or if the weather is very warm, you will probably need the extra 4th tablespoon of water.
Pulse just until combined.
Form into a ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least an hour to rest the dough.
Roll dough to 1/4” thickness. Depending upon the size of tart mold you are using cut out rounds of dough and place in molds. Refrigerate or freeze.
I prefer these sweet little tart molds. They have such character!
Lemon Filling: (caution! This is an adapted recipe from a French version so don’t be intimidated by the gram measures)
Mix together powdered sugar and lemon juice. Whisk in eggs. Stir in cooled clarified butter.
Cook over low to medium heat for about 20 minutes or until lemon coats the back of a spoon.
Pour into a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Refrigerate.
210 grams or 1 Âľ cups of powdered sugar
2 lemons juice and zest
5 eggs
3/8 cup clarified butter
Mix together powdered sugar and lemon juice. Whisk in eggs. Stir in cooled clarified butter.
Cook over low to medium heat for about 20 minutes or until lemon coats the back of a spoon.
Pour into a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Refrigerate.
Zesty lemon just waiting to be savored.
To make the tarts:
Carefully fill the cold tart shells about Âľ full with the lemon filling.
Bake in a 375 degree oven for about 15-20 minutes or until the shells brown and the filling is bubbly.
Le tart citron. Almost too pretty to eat!
Let cool. Filling will “settle” meaning it ends up sinking a bit in the shell. Don’t worry. It will still taste fabulous. Either top with a candied lemon slice or pipe a bit of lemon mousse on top. For the mousse, I just add a little of the lemon crème to whipped cream and fold gently. Pipe mousse on top of the tart and garnish with slivered candied lemon peel, candied violets or mint leaves. I love these tarts for a refreshing springtime dessert or any season for that matter. They are a delightful treat for baby or bridal showers or for an afternoon tea party.
100 things to do with a Meyer Lemon from the LA Times: Hhttp://www.latimes.com/features/la-fo-meyerlemons16jan16,0,5003872.storyere are a few more sites for ideas with Meyer (or any variety of) lemons:
My favorite recipe for candied lemons: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Candied-Lemon-Peels-232352
 A good story on Meyer Lemons from NPR:http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100778147
How to make clarified butter from Joy the Baker: http://www.joyofbaking.com/ClarifiedButter.html
Living in southern California has its perks and one of them is being able to grow vegetables and fruits year round. My summer garden produced less than an abundance of tomatoes, probably due to the unusual heat, and the zucchini took over. I much prefer my winter garden that is thriving in the cool weather. Bunches of soft and ruffly butter lettuce flourishing in shades of eggplant and emerald, co-mingling with stately romaine which ranges from soft grassy greens to more pronounced pea greens.
Dense ruffles of Butterhead “Marvel of Four Seasons”
The oak leaf lettuce, their tender fingers of olive fusing to deep wine, is almost hidden underneath the large, sculpted circles of nasturtium leaves.
An umbrella of Nasturtiums pushed aside to reveal delicate and tender Oak Leaf Blend.
At every glance, my eyes engage in the vibrant colors and I am grateful these greens have chosen to share their beauty with me.
Often times I just use salad greens without cooking them. The food heats and wilts the greens and infuses them with the dominant flavor.
Lemon risotto warming two varieties of freshly picked baby “Nero Toscana” kale, “Red Winter” kale and “Ruby Red” swiss chard greens.Fresh greens topped with winter pears and a drizzle of homemade balsamic glaze. Delectable!
The options are infinite! Be creative. Love the diversity of baby greens and let your imagination run free.
Am I tempting you to plant your own winter garden? It’s not too late! It really is easy. You can even use one large pot if you have limited space. Visit your local nursery or farmer’s market for starters or start seeds in a sunny window indoors before transplanting in outside beds or pots. I’d love to see how your garden grows. Please share yours with me!
The new year brings hope of new beginnings and closure to old endings. I started January 1st by watching the sunrise at Shelter Island and then viewing a brilliant, fiery sunset at Mission Beach in San Diego.
Mission Beach Sunset
My dreams and aspirations for this year are to write this blog at least twice a month, continue with my French lessons, immerse myself in nature, and once again travel abroad.
Curious about how the French ring in the new year, I quizzed my friend Jacques, who lives in Villeneuve-Sur-Lot in southwestern France about his traditions and discovered that the French take the celebration seriously.
On January 6th, or the first Sunday of January, the French celebrate Epiphany and on this day, make or buy a Galette des Rois, (King’s Cake), an almond crème filled puff pastry. What makes this cake special is the fava bean tucked into the filling. The person who bites into or discovers the fava bean becomes king or queen, receives a paper crown, and chooses a partner. This person is then usually responsible for making or buying next year’s cake.
Le Galette des Rois
I have fond memories of learning the fine art of puff pastry while a student at La Varenne in Paris. This multi-layered dough is quite a time-consuming process in itself but well worth the effort should you attempt it. In a nutshell, you carefully combine flour, water, salt, and cold butter as you would for a pie crust. Bring the mixture together to form a rectangle; let it rest then roll it out to a 10” X 10” square; add more butter, rolling and folding over itself several times it so the butter is evenly dispersed. This creates layer upon layer of delicate, flaky pastry which will rise three to four times its original height during baking. If you rolled and turned the pastry six times, you would have 729 layers! Our adorable pastry instructor, Albert Jorant, with his twinkling blue eyes and beaming smile, shows me how to handle the dough for this galette. Placing his hands on mine, we pat the dough together. Suddenly he exclaims, “Your hands are cold! You will make the perfect pastry chef!” That was the beginning of my culinary career. His confidence in my cold hands empowered me. From that day on, he took me under his wing and attentively instructed me on the fine art of French desserts. His enthusiasm and passion was contagious and soon, my puff dough was rising sky-high. Because puff pastry is such a delicate dough to produce, if you don’t feel up to the challenge, I recommend purchasing it from Trader Joe’s, major supermarket chains which carry Pepperidge Farms Puff Dough or your local French bakery, which is what I did. Julia Child created an easier method for making puff pastry. See her book, The Way to Cook, page 389. King Arthur Flour also has a classical recipe as well as a shortened version of puff dough on their website.
Here is the traditional recipe for Galette des Rois.
Puff Pastry Dough, about 1 ½ lbs.
For the Almond Crème: From a La Varenne recipe
½ cup softened butter
2/3 cup sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 cup almond flour (find at Trader Joe’s or health food stores)
2 Tbls. Flour
2 Tbls. dark rum or 1 tsp. vanilla
Egg glaze: 1 egg beaten with 1 tsp. of water
Cream the butter and sugar together until soft and creamy. Add the egg. The mixture will look curdly at first but then come together as a fluff. Add the egg yolk and beat well again. Stir together the almond flour and flour. Carefully stir in the almond/flour mix into the creamed butter. Stir in the rum or vanilla. You can chill this mixture until ready to use or for several days.
If making your own pastry, roll to ¼” thick. Cut two 9” circles out of the pastry dough and chill.
Puff pastry dough ready to assemble.
Heat oven to 425 degrees. If using a convection oven, heat to 400 degrees.
Take the chilled circles out of the frig. Place one circle on a cookie sheet. Spread the almond crème into the center of the circle and spread it to within ½” of the edge. Brush the egg glaze on the edge of the dough taking care not to let the glaze run down the sides of the dough. If this happens, it will seal the edges together and prevent the dough from rising.
Almond filling with the fava bean awaiting its next king or queen.
Take the second circle out of the frig and score it decoratively with a series of arcs. Place the pretty second circle evenly on top of the almond crème, pressing the edges together. I took the handle of a wooden spoon and pressed it into the crust edge all the way around to create small indentations and insure that the crème would not leak out.
Glaze the top of the galette with the egg glaze and sprinkle with sugar.
Bake in a hot oven for 25 minutes. The crust will be dark brown. Make sure you cook it long enough or the dough in the inside will still be raw. Look on the bottom of the galette and if it is dark brown, the chances are good that it is cooked thoroughly.
Let cool, then slice into wedges. The filling is amazing and will forever more be my go-to almond filling. I made it with the rum and am glad I did. Its dense subtle sweetness hinting of rum was reminiscent of the fine pastries of Paris. You will not be disappointed!
Crispy and creamy. I couldn’t stop munching. Just one more slice!
May your year be filled with special moments, places and faces.
Mirna, my sister-in-law or ma belle soeur, as we fondly regard ourselves, never ceases to amaze me with her culinary creativity.
Ma belle soeur, Mirna, the culinary visionary.
While visiting Denver a few weeks ago, as I do every autumn, Mirna shared with me a recipe she devised that is gluten-free, full of apples and delicious. It all started with a visit to a French bakery and bistro nearby. Pierre Michel, a tiny unassuming authentic French bakery tucked into a shopping center, bakes up a buttery, crispy croissant stuffed with thick, sticky almond filling.
Rich and buttery breakfast pastries baked by a true artist.
Curious about how to make our own almond filling, we experimented with grinding whole almonds with a rotary cheese grater. The results were perfect but oh, the work involved. Buying almond meal made more sense. Our conversation moved from croissant filling to another French almond cookie, the macaroon. Inspired by its delicate crunchy texture which dissolves on the tongue, Mirna wished to deflate the sweetness. Traditional French macaroons are sandwiched with rich ganache, Crème Chantilly or other filling.  To us, they become so sweet that you can just have a bite before your face curls and your brain reacts to the sugar overload. The challenge: how to substitute fruit for the ganache and cut the sweetness.
Add the sugar and salt and cook while adding the apple slices. I don’t peel the apples but feel free to peel away if that is your preference. Note: while taking a chocolate making class years ago, I learned that a pinch of salt added to sugar and butter helps to keep the butter from separating from the sugar. This also works well when making English Toffee!
Pour the clean egg whites into a mixer fitted with a wire whisk. I love the Kitchen Aid my Grandmother purchased for me over 30 years ago.
Add a pinch of salt.
Beat on medium speed until the whites pull together and begin forming soft peaks.
Drizzle the sugar in slowly, stopping to scrap down the sides from time to time.
When all sugar is incorporated, beat at high for about one minute. Beat in the almond and vanilla extracts.
Take the bowl off the mixer and gently fold in the almond meal, in thirds. Do not overmix!
Spoon the meringue over the apples (I have spooned over both cooled and warmed apples and there is no difference in results!).
With a spatula, swirl the meringue artistically to create a design.
Bake for 40 minutes or until golden brown.
Cool for 30 minutes, then release the springform side.
This dessert can be made the day before, as I did, or served warm. I love how it slices and holds its shape. A garnish of half whipped cream and half crème fraiche, topped with sliced almonds gives it a finished and professional look.
Thanks to you Mirna for taking the macaroon to new heights! This is one of my favorite new recipes and  I will be seasonally changing out fruits for years to come. It is the perfect company or dinner party dessert!!
Late summer is my favorite time of year. The skies are clean, the breezes warm and the markets are bursting with late harvest veggies and fruits. So many home and garden projects have taken me away from my writing time. In exhaustion, IÂ find myself sneaking in an occasional afternoon nap, imitating my dogs who get tired watching me work.
My snoozing Star.
This Labor Day weekend my family from Denver arrived to get in the last licks of summer and enjoy the ocean waves. My sister-in-law, Mirna, brought with her several pounds of Italian plums, just plucked from her Colorado tree. We would make Spiced Plum Jam she announced. I learned that Italian Plums are a European type (European domestica), and are harvested in late summer and early fall. Longer and thinner, more like a Roma tomato, they slice beautifully and the pits are much easier to remove than their Santa Rosa sisters. They remind me of elderly petite Italian women elegantly enrobed in deep purple capes.
Ladies of Italy
This was my first experience cooking with these sophisticated beauties. Mirna, who is a fabulous and creative cook and often does not use recipes, demonstrated how to slice the plums, and then cut them in thirds to make eight cups.
My beautiful sister-in-law, the chef and creative goddess.Mis en place. Plums, lemons, cinnamon sticks, cloves.Awaiting spice in their lives!
Using a wide grater, we removed the rind of three lemons.
The thick zest will give a deeper lemon accent.
Into the copper pot went a handful of cloves, about three tablespoons, 6-7 cinnamon sticks, 11/2 cups of sugar and a scant two cups of water. This jam will have character and flavor!
Sugar PlumsDissolving the sugar and ready to cook.
The spicy plums come to a boil and reduced to a simmer for about 45 minutes to an hour. The kitchen is quickly infused with spicy aromas reminiscent of baking gingerbread men at holiday time. We chuckle because it is blazing hot outside.
Bubble bubble. Aromas fill the kitchen with spice.
The French Pandora tunes bring us back to summer and now time to pour the spicy goodness into clean jars for sealing.
Funneling the preserves into hot jars.
15 minutes in a water bath and the lids give a sharp “pop,” creating the seal and indicating the plum jam can wait, patiently and infinitely, for someone to open the jar and delight in its sweetness. Spicy Plum Jam is the perfect holiday gift too. It pairs well with pork or chicken and is yummy spread on brioche toast. For those wishing to jazz this recipe up even more, Mirna suggests adding peppercorns or even crystalized ginger.
Ready for gifting or as I did, smothering it on buttermilk pancakes.
Cooking with Mirna is always fun and I love her spontaneity and joy of life. I envision many more culinary experiments with her in the future!
This story isn’t about food – at least not directly. It’s about experiencing a country and culture, and the origins of its food at an eye level view with nature as my classroom. Europeans love to hike. It goes right along with their lifestyle of walking or riding a bike to the store. When I was asked to join a hiking group of 15 the day after I landed in Bordeaux last year, I jumped at the opportunity. Never mind that I was jet-lagged. Unknowingly, my education about this extraordinary country was about to begin. And so were the many “secrets” I was soon to discover in a few short hours.
Our fearless leader, Jacques, is the man looking back at me.
Our group of hikers numbers about 15. There are slightly more women than men. The women are all small, well-groomed, in good shape, sporting hiking boots, walking sticks, breathable shirts and REI-type pants. Jacques tells me most of the group is in their 70’s and early 80’s. I am amazed. Everyone looks very healthy and young! Our leader, Jacques, is 78 and does not look a day over 62! The hike starts at a brisk pace, on an ancient dirt road, once used by farmers with horse and carts to travel to town or from farm to farm. Around a corner are wild cherry trees filled with small cherry-red fruit, so sweet and tender. Everyone stops for a few quick bites and a drink of water.
Prolific and wild!A rest for the weary or for those in need of a quick nap!
I don’t think about the miles as we walk past fields of brown cows happily munching on grass, white sheep scattered along the hillsides, orchards of walnuts, then fields of corn and wheat.
Groves of walnut trees prevail all over southwest France. Walnuts are one of the region’s specialties creating walnut oil as well as delicious fine pastries.Watch out for giant squirrels!
In the distance, grand castles appear between the dips in the landscape. The countryside reminds me of Wales with its rolling hills, marked farmlands and ancient walls of stone.
I spy a château!
My friend Jacques points out the roofs on some of these old houses made of stone. A grand task back in the day. Thank goodness Jacques, the historian, speaks English so he can describe these ancient fixtures.
Can you imagine being a roofer in the 13th century?
We come upon a stone hut called a borie, where herders could find shelter centuries ago. This is a place you would never see from a road, but only on a hike like ours.
A borie, tucked away off the beaten path for protection.
We also pass a “lavoir,” a small type of pool used to wash clothes, carved from a block of stone. This is most likely Roman from the 1200’s – 1400’s.
Geranium flowers fill the hanging baskets on the balconies as well as the old worn blocks of stone along the street. This symphony of colors announces it is springtime. The ladies in the group patiently speak French slowly and share the names of the flowers with me. I learn the French and they, the English.
Creative flower pots filled with the season’s color enliven the streets.I love this visual contrast.
The quiet little villages we hike through are filled with antiquated charm from the unique signage to rustic and time worn doors.
Crepes anyone?What secrets are within these walls?A sorbet for every taste. Rose, armagnac, salted caramel? I would like to taste a spoonful of each!What is this door’s story? The weather-beaten doorways always fascinate me.
Halfway through our hike, we stop for lunch at a picnic area nestled among large trees. Everyone pulls hard-cooked eggs, cheese, sausage and fruit from their rucksack (backpack). Since I have only just arrived, my feeble lunch consists of a few pieces of French bread with a spread of goat cheese and some sliced Niçoise olives, an apple and some California walnuts and almonds. The polished woman sitting across from me has brought a sheet of packing bubbles to sit on – it has drizzled a bit – and a colorful dishcloth to place her food upon. She pulls from her sack, an egg, salami, yogurt, cheese and a smart Swiss Army-type knife. Carefully, she peels her salami, laying her lunch in an organized fashion on the towel. As she peels her hard-cooked egg, the shell adhering vigorously to the white, I think, how proper she is but she did not read Julia Child’s book on how to hard cook an egg! Onward with the hike.
We come across a fortress-type structure I am told is a Museum of War. Note the catapults on either side of the castle.
No time to explore but this is a place I would like revisit.
Jacques tells me this is “cèpe” country and in the fall, the woods are lush with the mushrooms. Sounds like a good time to return!
Between the giant walnuts and now the giant mushrooms, I realize the French really do have a sense of humor.
The ladies are very in tuned to the edibles along the way and point out some tiny fraises des bois (small wild strawberries) tucked into the ferns and hiding along the side of the road. I squeal with excitement and place one on my tongue. As it gently releases its juice, I am taken back to 1979 in Paris, the last time I encountered these illusive treats. We predict they will be fully ripe and ready to harvest in about two weeks. Such an adventure I am having!
The most delicate fruit sheltered by its wooded home.The most beautiful surprises revealed along the way…
The hike ends after about five and a half hours and I have hit the wall. Before we left, I was invited to the next hike. I passed the test!
By the way, the photo at the top of this story is of a Pigeonette, a pigeon house. These dot the countryside and house pigeons to take to market. In ancient times, when not used for food, pigeons were kept in their châteaux, where the pigeon “poo” was recycled and used as fertilizer! Lucky pigeons. A gorgeous place to live, isn’t it?
I love Herbs de Provence. I use it regularly and cannot get enough of it. Every time I visit France, I purchase the herbs at the open air Saturday market from local vendors. Packaged so sweetly in a small paper bag and hand labeled, I try to make it last for a year until I can return for more. This year, I purchased Herbs de Provence in Carcassonne and again in Provence in a small ville outside of Avignon.
A fragrant bouquet of herbs.
When I returned home, anxious to cook with the herbs, I noticed a very different aroma from each of these mixtures. Curious, I wondered exactly which herbs are in this aromatic mix. For some reason, I had assumed there was some sort of standard recipe. Well, there is not! I discovered that herbs frequenting the French table are a combination of local tastes, ranging from savory to sweet, using regional flavors. It was not until the 1970’s when spice companies decided to capitalize on the market demand for French herbs and name them “Herbs de Provence.” Rosemary, thyme, marjoram, bay leaf and savory are the basics but many companies also include fennel and more recently lavender, although sparingly. Some substitute the more pungent oregano for the marjoram and areas close to Italy add basil. I prefer the simpler variety with less outspoken flavors and spiked with just a hint of lavender. The fresh flavors of Herbs de Provence lends itself to poultry, vegetables, soups and sauces.
My herb garden is in full bloom with many of the herbs I’m writing about. Instead of using the dried variety, I decided to create version using the fresh herbs growing outside my kitchen door.
Love to inhale these aromas!
I’m not easily impressed with all the fancy olive oils and vinegars out there used in cooking. Sure, I love my Meyer lemon olive oil but have not really found anything that knocked my socks off until I tasted the California Olive and counterpart, San Felipe Olive Company’s infusions. Great News is our San Diego go-to store for all things cooking. I had a 35% off coupon and was itching to use it. As I perused the cutting boards, the knowledgeable sales rep guided me to an olive oil tasting. I met Jeff who introduced me to three of their featured items. As he poured the Peach Balsamic Vinegar into the tasting cup, I was already in love. The thick syrup and fragrance sold me immediately. Did I need bread with this? No! I wanted to drink it. Immediately I was dreaming of recipes with grilled peaches, figs, fruit salad, chicken. Then he poured me the Rosemary Infused Olive Oil. So fragrant and rich. This would be the base for my Herbs de Provence recipes. Ideas flooded my brain and I couldn’t wait to cook. When he mixed the thick White Balsamic with the Rosemary Infused Oil, a salad came to mind of mixed grains, white beans and Niçoise olives. I wanted to cook all weekend! Here is what transpired.
Butterflied and ready for the buttery herb rub.
A butterflied whole chicken, smothered inside and out with buttery Herbs de Provence and garlic mixture came to mind. I would enhance the flavor by drizzling it with a splash of olive oil but not just any olive oil. The rosemary infused oil that came home with me. Here’s how I came to rediscover a classic flavor – rosemary, a key ingredient in Herbs de Provence.
Hot, grilled and ready to eat!
Really such a simple dish, I grilled it for about 15 minutes on each side and paired it with zucchini from my garden and traditional ratatouille ingredients, eggplant, onions, red pepper and tomatoes.
Zucchini stuffing ready to be chopped. The zucchini is from my garden. I added mushrooms for more flavor although they are not traditional in ratatouille.
As you can see, I roughly chopped the veggies, tossed with salt and pepper and a bit of tomato paste. The veggies were then stuffed into the zucchini, wrapped in foil and placed on the grill for 15 minutes.
Ready for the grill. This is so good I’ve made it several times!
When you cook a whole chicken, there are always leftovers. Chicken salad is an easy way to use it up and create flavorful dishes. Immediately, aioli came to mind, a southern French creation of garlicy mayonnaise. I mixed chopped chicken with my own version of aioli by mashing garlic in my mortar and pestle and slowly adding mayonnaise and rosemary olive oil.
Making the aioli.
A dash of salt and pepper and voilĂ , the taste is gorgeous.
My creation. Gorgeous and delicious and garlicky!
Slices of fennel garnish the salad, add crunch and a bit of a clean taste to contrast the heat  of the garlic. Both dishes are easy to make, very healthy and tasty and make use of all the fresh summer veggies, hopefully from your garden.
As a pastry chef, fruit desserts were my specialty as well as my favorite pastries to create. If fruit was in season, it showed up in abundance in my pastry case from Strawberry Napoleons to a Blueberry Bourbon Cream Cake, a tall tower of thin cakes spread and layered with a light bourbon cream and fresh blueberries. It was delicious and decadent! If this blueberry cake recipe interests you, let me know and I will post it.
In researching blueberries in France, I came upon the region of Auvergne, just north of where I stayed in Languedoc, where blueberries reign and a famous Tarte au Myrtilles originated. I made the European version but was a bit disappointed with the results so chose to modify a Cooking Channel recipe with crème fraîche to give it a French flair.
Jacques Pepin’s recipe for Pate Sucre or a sugar cookie crust is by far my favorite.Mis on place. Ready to get started.The pillow top filling of cream cheese, crème fraĂ®che and sugar.Gently cook the berries to retain their gorgeous shape.Mom pours the luscious berries over the creamy filling.Decked out and ready to eat. I like the rustic look of it.
Each version of a fruit tart, like the Clafoutis, is a variation on a theme, each one with a different twist.
This weekend mom and I made multiple blueberry desserts and chose the best to share with you. My mom made divine blueberry sour cream ice cream.
Blueberries and Cream Ice Cream. You will not be satisfied with just one scoop!A duet of flavors. The picture shows how beautifully the ice cream pairs with the tart.
Speaking of my mom, let me introduce her. She is a gourmet cook from the get-go, I’m sure inheriting the genes of her mother who also had a gift in the kitchen.
Mom – my collaborator, mentor and best friend!
We’ve spent many days and nights cooking together canning mango chutney, pitting cherries or creating jams with the apricots from her tree. She is my inspiration. As we were steeped in blueberries and trying recipes, she began to tell me her blueberry story. I’d love to share it with you.
Blueberries…….How I wish I lived in the places where blueberries grow wild. My mom tells me stories of how she picked blueberries right in front of the cottage where her family vacationed in Michigan. If she and her sister filled a large pail of berries, Swedish pancakes were the reward. Her grandfather’s cousin, Uncle Axel, resided in another house on the property and was a master cook at those delectable pancakes smothered in blueberry “syrup”. Of course they ate as many as they picked but what was in the pail, appeared on cereal in the morning, in pie after dinner, and just “as is” in a bowl to eat as you passed by. My mom says that there has never been a blueberry that tasted as sweet and delicious as the wild ones that grew around Higgins Lake in Michigan.
Anticipating the first bite of these juicy little gems.
Since I don’t live in “blueberry country”, I must do with the large containers of berries from Oregon and other growing places. What to do with them? Take a page out of mom’s childhood. Make syrup, make pies, make crumbles, and kuchens. Add them to a bowl of mixed fruit for a salad, and if you are so inclined, crank up the ice cream maker and add the blueberries to a custard for a cool and refreshing dessert.
Happy Birthday Mom!!
To make these desserts, you can visit these websites for the recipes:
Blueberry Tart  In improvising, I made Jacques Pepin’s Pate Sucre recipe and added more crème fraĂ®che than sour cream.
Do you sometimes get that overwhelmed feeling? That’s where I am today. I so want to share with you everything that is swirling around in my head. But where do I find the time? Since returning from France with a million ideas to post, I find that my garden, my home, my real workplace, my dogs, and everything else is catching up with me..so be patient and as soon as I get caught up, my posts will come as regularly as you have come to expect. For now, enjoy the season of cherries.
I know summer has arrived when the cherries have finally made their appearance at my local markets. Worldwide shipping has made it possible to have peaches, nectarines and plums in out-of-peak season but there is only one cherry season – thank goodness.
Wild sweet cherries along the trail.
The French love their cherries. Most homes I visited in the Dordogne have backyards abundant with fruit trees and they all have a couple of cherry trees. The hiking trails of southern France are dotted with wild cherry trees and hikers often stop for a quick nibble. Last year while hiking in the Perigord region, I was fortunate to experience this treat, along with the fraises des bois or wild strawberries that grew along the roadside.
Our hiking group enjoying a snack courtesy of Mother Nature. Note the cherry trees on the right.
My friend Jacques invited me to have drinks with friends of his in Villeneuve. When we arrived, our hostess was in the kitchen, her table overflowing with the harvest of her cherry trees. She explained that it was taking her all day just to pit the cherries so she could preserve her bounty. Of course, she will make the French traditional dessert, clafoutis as well.
Fresh, ruby cherries await their future.
Clafoutis is a country French dessert originating from the Limousin region. This rustic cherry-studded pancake, pronounced kla-foo-TEE, is a favorite among many French households. In fact, everywhere I was invited, it was cherry clafoutis – for an afternoon snack or for dessert. One thing that surprised me was that the home cooks do not pit their cherries. You just plow through the spongy cake, carefully chewing the cherry before removing the pit from your mouth somewhat gracefully. Upon researching the cherry and this recipe, I discovered that there is a very good reason for leaving the pits intact in the cherry. Traditionally the cherries were left unpitted so the kernels could release their delicate almond flavor as they baked.
I chose this recipe above all others because the sliced almonds gave it a sexier appearance and I liked the fact that the cherries are soaked in Kirsch, a cherry liquor, to give the clafoutis a bit more flavor.
Cherry-dotted crust – so lovely!
My recipe turned out perfectly and I loved how the cherries embraced the edges of the pie dish, forming a pretty crust. You might want to make this to celebrate Bastille Day, this Saturday, July the 14th.
Warm clafoutis with a dust of powdered sugar makes an elegant, yet simple summer dessert. Serve with ice cream or crème fraîche for added decadence.
Preserving and canning are also my summer passions but this year I wanted to do something other than making jam. After perusing various cherry recipes, I landed upon Brandied Cherries. Yum! These too are easy to make, will be lovely holiday gifts and delicious spooned over some vanilla ice cream. The recipe, which I successfully halved, is from Epicurious http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Brandied-Black-Cherries-102090
Poached cherries ready for their brandy syrup bath.
Spoon the cherries into pretty jars, let them macerate in a cool dark place for a few months (if you can wait) and you will be rewarded with the fresh taste of cherries with a hint of brandy. Sophisticated.
Glistening cherries will sleep for several months to intensify the brandy flavor. Spoon over ice cream and use the liquid as a base for a spritzer or champagne cocktail.
Fruit desserts are my favorite so look for more creations in upcoming posts. I just bought a pound of blueberries so I will be experimenting this week with new ideas. Until next week, a bientot!
When I think of seaside villages I’d like to visit, quaint comes to mind. My vision includes somewhere petite, void of tourists, with charming cafes brimming with fresh local specialties, small fishing boats lining the wharf, an unpretentious air, and clean, clear blue water. Do these places really exist other than some remote tropical island in the middle of the ocean? At first I thought Cassis (pronounced Casee) would be that typical touristy seaside resort. After driving through Marseille, a rambunctious sprawling city, on the way to Cassis, I realize that anything else has to be more civilized and polite. By the way, Cassis is a delicious black currant liqueur usually poured into a champagne flute followed by, what else, champagne and is called a “kir.” This dark purple liqueur originated in eastern Burgundy and is not affiliated with the village of Cassis.
This fits my petite and quaint criteria. I adore the pastel colored houses which frame the wharf.
The road to Cassis is windy with sharp turns and glimpses of ocean. The route we want to take called the Route des Cretes, for even more of a thrill, traverses steep cliffs overlooking the sea but is closed for construction. Disappointed, we look for other roads into the city. Â A very friendly woman gives us more directions than we can handle, and with our CD-learned French, we smile happily, thank her profusely and head downward which seemed in the right direction to the ocean. Soon we are in the neighborhood. Nous arrive!
I love the view of this fortress admiring the simple, but classy ville below.
Watching the other cars, we take note and park up the hill, avoiding the one-way streets and possible crowds below. We follow a steep cobblestone street, which luckily lands us smack dab in the middle of town.
The ambiance is overwhelming. So many cafes to choose from.
The octopus melted in your mouth – so tender and gushing with flavors of herbs and vinegars.Merci for the delicious dejuener!I ordered a shrimp cocktail and this is what I got! Incredible and the crevettes (shrimp) taste of a clean and fresh sea.
The ocean sits a short walk from the cafes. There are smells of suntan lotion and briny sea air. Squeals of joy and sounds of giggling and laughter provide the accent for the splashing waves in the background. Scantily clad men and women of all ages relish in the sunshine and warm water. Groups of friends gather to enjoy a day at the beach. I know there are tourists here, including us, but it seems more local than “touristy.” The Mediterranean glistens with hues of aquamarine blues and greens, sharing its saltiness in the breeze. Yes, this is a place I could spend a few days.
Dancing with the sea.Such a gorgeous day to spend with friends.We try to fit in but really needed to be in bathing suits!
After dipping our toes in the warm water, and soaking up a few rays, I am now hungry for ice cream. It seems like everyone is carrying a cone of some sort, stuffed with chocolate, vanilla and other flavors of the south. On the main street, a gelato shop called Amorino catches our eye with the colorful ices in the window. You order by the size of the container and can choose as many flavors as will fit into that size. I think I squeeze in about six tastes ranging from noisette and strawberry to coffee and nougatine. Every melting bite is delicious.
Amorino love.
Every region has its own specialties and shops that show them off. I am lured into one by baskets of perfectly shaped cookies with flavors of anise, rosemary, chocolate and lemon. Local olive oils and vinegars, herbes de Provence, lavender and jams also line the shelves. I buy a 4 oz. bottle of lemon basil olive oil that has a spray top so you can mist your salads. I also purchase rose wine vinegar infused with herbes de Provence with the same spray top. So clever. The creative packaging shows the typical French artistic flair. Rows of jams, baskets of marshmallow sticks, and tins of dried herbs have my camera clicking. What I like about stores like these is they are not a chain and an artisan is in the back, creating all the edible showpieces for which Provence is famous.
Marshmallow sticks including the flavor “cola.”A terrific selection of pungent oils and tangy vinegars awaits us.I love the packaging and especially love that these herbs are local and organic.Spectacular candied fruits are a specialty of the region.
Our day in beautiful Cassis has ended but leaves us with fond memories of a relaxed and laid back fishing village, full of color and warmth. I will return.
Look for my weekly posts on food and travel in which I will share more stories of France and soon-to-come recipes.
I first heard about Jacques through my mom. She and my niece Maya spent two weeks at a grandparent-granddaughter Elderhostel in Villeneuve, France five years ago. My mom forms life-long relationships everywhere she goes, and she and Jacques, the French teacher, quickly became friends and then pen pals. Just so you know where Villeneuve-sur-Lot is, it is about two hours southeast of Bordeaux, in the heart of Bastide (walled cities) and wine country. My mom introduced me to Jacques via email and soon we were conversing about my upcoming travel a year ago to France. He graciously offered his “city” home to me while he reined over his summer “country” home outside of town. What I did not realize was that Jacques, a teacher by profession, was also a treasure trove of French history and culture. While in Villeneuve, he became my tour guide and introduced me to the customs, conversation, and little nuances that make the French so French. Tall for a French man (he’s half Italian), with longish grey hair often spilling out of a baseball hat and a wry smile, I was now seeing France through his steely blue eyes. One topic that often came up was hunting for wild mushrooms. His father taught him the secrets of finding these delicacies at a very young age. Jacques keeps jars and jars of mushrooms preserved in his pantry and is always searching for wild fungi on his frequent hikes in the forest. I secretly think he is obsessed with finding these much sought-after tasty morsels. Just last week, he sent me a note with photos of his recent mushroom find. I was amazed to hear it was near a place we had visited together, Bonaguil Castle, which I had found enchanting.
I felt as if I was in an epic movie. This gorgeous King Arthur castle, surrounded by woods hiding delicate mushrooms, is a perfect setting.
This week my friend Jacques wrote to me about his latest mushroom conquest.
Hello Mary!
Hope you’ll able to open and read the pictures I enclosed (I took them on Thursday). Those pictures are showing the last harvest I did in the numerous woods which are to be found close to Bonaguil (you remember the famous and so nice medieval castle of Bonaguil) .
Mysterious and elegant at the same time. So many stories to tell…
While visiting the castle last year, Jacques said that he had grown up nearby and that, as a child, he and his friends had the “keys” to the castle. When I asked what this meant, he replied that this was their personal “fort” where they were free to roam, explore, and live their wildest dreams. Such a childhood. Bonaguil was not yet a destination castle and was fairly unkempt, so it was wide open to curious kidlets.
Bonaguil’s entrance. Were there no keys?
We call those wild mushrooms “girolles ” or “chanterelles”…
Fresh and woodsy. I can smell the earth. Did the King’s servants hunt for these same mushrooms?
If you can’t have their smell, please look at the wonderful yellow colour they have ….maybe you ‘re thinking they ‘re easy to be found …then you would be wrong because such mushrooms grow under a thick carpet of brown dead leaves, so you must be for sure eagle-eyed to see them
Pidgeons scoping out where the mushrooms are hidden.
And you have to be very experimented too …I first followed my dear father in the forests when I was 7 or 8 years old! So I ‘m an old seeker right now!
Those “girolles” are so good fried in a pan with eggs, garlic, parsley and olive oil of course.
But you can eat them with chicken, pork or… rabbit ( we’re French!).
Which wine to choose ? Maybe a good red Bordeaux …or a white one with the French special omelette. (Meaning if you are to eat them with an omelette. Perhaps a good Viognier or Sancerre?)
A very special addition to any dinner. How fortunate the French are to be able to walk out their door, and Mother Nature is there to provide in the most gourmet way possible!
Just a last word: before cooking you must clean them …with a very smooth brush please, because the numerous gills under their cap are often very dirty (sand, leaves, small slugs and so on).
Do you remember days when you set out on a mission to do something but you end up somewhere completely out of your range? Well, that happened to us. My friend, Bonnie, had fallen the previous week, while visiting our beloved Cathars and injured her hand. Our hostess at Moulin de la Roque, Gaby, had sweetly offered her services to translate all injury-related issues at a nearby clinic in Avignon. Country driving suits me just fine but navigating in rush hour traffic through roundabouts with honking horns set my nerves on edge. We finally made it to The clinic in the early evening only to find it was closed. Quel dommage! Ok, so we will table this visit until tomorrow. Since we were so close to a Geant, I asked if we could pop in to see if I could get some help with my Samsung camera that I had purchased in Carcassonne when my Nikon bit the dust. As fate would have it, my Samsung shutter also failed after six days. Gaby asked if she could drive our car (I secretly think my city driving alarmed her!) and she took us straight away to the nearby Geant. Unhelpful, they said that since it was day eight, I could not return my camera. Had it been day seven, I could have exchanged it for a new one. One day shy! Strike two! Hungry to pick up dinner, Gaby asked if we had ever been to a big supermarket and we said “no.” She proceeded to take us to Hyper Marche, a store so large and overwhelming, that it made Super Target look like a puppy whining for its dinner.
On an interesting note: Gaby told us that all the warehouse, mega grocery, and box-type stores are all congregated together, usually outside of town so as not to interfere with the ambiance of village life. You will never find a “strip mall” randomly placed alongside the road for convenience. All you will find are hectares of vineyards, lavender, olives, cows, sheep, and other lovely vistas.
The first thing I loved were the carts on wheels so you could pull your groceries along instead of lugging a handcart. Why don’t we have these here?
Fresh Raie is so gorgeous if fish can be that way.
Gaby was anxious to show us her favorite aisle in the store —the yogurt section. Almost twice as long as our average freezer aisle, the yogurt aisle is lined on BOTH sides with every kind of yogurt imaginable. Cow, goat, sheep, unpasteurized, with cream, with fruit, for breakfast, for dessert, in beautiful glazed ceramic jars – anything your heart desires. She tells us the French are crazy about their yogurt and now I can see why. There are as many yogurts as there are wines. We choose a few to try and can’t wait until breakfast.
Let your imagination run wild!
One of our favorites. These containers are ceramic and make beautiful little flower vases.
Yogurt, yogurt everywhere!
Gaby explains the finer art of Fleur de Sel.
On the way out, the wine aisle lures us in. Displayed in only a way the French can, bottles pop out of the shelf with a handwritten tag describing the contents. We learn that in Provence, 60% of the wine that is sold is Rose, that beautiful light pink softness of dry that resembles nothing of our Rose here. In fact, in most restaurants we frequented, the favored wine was Rose. I am now a fan of French Rose.
French wines galore. This is the red selection. Rose was on the other side.
One of the better Roses. A Tavel. Check out the prices! This is about $6.75 and would easily be around $15+ in the US!
Back in our comfy apartment, I took on the Raie, cooking it to perfection, finishing it with a dash of cream and butter, and a smattering of capers and lemon slices. Delish. How I wish this fish would swim our way!
The Raie in its glory.
First, lightly saute.
Lemons make everything tastier.
The plates just made this dish seem even more Provençal!
All fresh. All from the land and sea of Provence. All extremely delicious!
I first learned of Cathars from my friend Jacques, who wrote to me that his hiking group was planning a tour of these great monuments. Curious, I looked up what a Cathar was and where they were located. As it turns out, they are scattered throughout the Languedoc region very near to Carcassonne.
Majestic cathars dot the landscape.
A web search revealed the history behind the Cathars, the name of the tall hilltop, castle-like structures, and the name of the people who inhabited them. The Cathars were a group of austere believers who formed their interpretation of Christianity around the 9th century. Wikipedia states the word “Cathar” comes from the Greek word katharos, meaning unpolluted or “the pure ones.”
Sky City
Preferring not to acknowledge the Old Testament, they lived very basic lives, were vegetarians, and were pacifists. By the 12th century, the religion had quite a following, mostly in southern France and northern Italy. At this time, the Pope, believing the Cathars were heretics, ordered a crusade against them in an attempt to wipe them out, which eventually occurred, often in tortuous manners. What remains are magnificent outcroppings springing forth far away from villages on lonely country back roads.
Living with the earth.
La Grasse is a small, delightful village we stumbled across along the Cathar trail. Here, we enjoyed a fresh salad of local vegetables and anchovies, which tasted nothing like the canned version in the US.
Every salad is an art form and an expression of the local ingredients.
A very hot day in La Grasse.
Sneaking a swim in the heat.
I hope this parrot made it. He looked a little over-heated!
I loved the color in this tiny ville on our road trip.
The light was high in the sky until 9:30 p.m., when dusk finally sank in, so our Peugeot just kept taking us further and further into the green landscape. Some of the Cathars I photographed are unnamed because they were in the distance and unmarked. If you are fascinated by history like I am, viewing the Cathars is well worth the effort it takes to reach them in the countryside of southern France. You will also be surprised by the quaint villages you happen to chance upon.
One of my favorite things to do in France is to visit the local markets, each one with its own personality. Just north of here lies Vaison la Romaine, home of one of France’s oldest—dating back to 1483—and largest markets with over 450 vendors. This true reflection of Provençal life stands out as my favorite market so far.
Nougat ice cream with crème Chantilly is visually stunning and tastes as bright as its ripe strawberries. The sugar dissolves in your mouth which leaves the crunchy nuts to savor. THE best dessert so far, hands down.
Dissolved in your mouth.
I love history and another highlight of Vaison is the excavated Roman ruins right in the downtown village where life long ago has been unearthed. Artifacts, statues, mosaics, and coins all reveal what life was like long ago.
Bonnie explores an ancient Roman ruin.How would you like to cook with the vessels and oven in this Roman kitchen?Ancient cooking pots.
The Haute Ville, or upper town of Vaison la Romaine, is a residential Medieval district oozing with antiquity. To reach it, we walked over a single arched Roman bridge, across the Ouveze River.
Haute Ville
A curious kitty perched on a window sill eyeing the passer-byes.
The upward-winding cobbled streets emit an energy of tranquility. Here and there, tucked into the walls, artists showcase their paintings and pottery. I was especially intrigued by the large photos of generations past around every corner.
These black and whites really add the charm to the narrow streets.Such vivid colors brighten the stone entryways.Vibrant pink roses are everywhere.
Remnants of the old castle, circa 13th century, sit high upon the Haute Ville. You must have a steady leg, traversing the rocks, to reach it but once you arrive, the view is spectacular.
View from the ville.
The old castle still stands, having seen many rulers throughout the ages.
Peephole view from the sky.Peek viewCan you imagine having a view of the castle from down below?
Crossing back into town, we discovered a shop selling local olive oils, balsamic vinegar, and pastis by the ounce.
Pastis, anyone?I love the bottles.I’d never seen jars of Babas au Rhum – yum!Babas au Rhum
A full day indeed, again, filling all my senses. Here’s the au revoir from a happy dog greeting everyone who notices. Goldies love to make new friends!
Bonnie and I are now staying in a tiny town in Provence near Avignon called Noves. Our little apartment is actually part of an old mill on a twelve-acre estate called Le Moulin de la Roque. This gem of a villa is tucked into a wooded area lush with tall trees and ancient stone, hosted by the warm and friendly Gaby and Guy. http://www.moulindelaroque.com/
Our sweet apartment at Moulin de la Roque.Moulin de la Roque
The scents of lavender fill the air.
Gaby was happy to share her favorite parts of Provence and insisted we see the nearby Luberon region of France. Peter Mayle wrote his famous book A Year in Provence there, and now I know what drives throngs of tourists here each year. Our Peugeot winds us back and forth past lavender fields, not quite in bloom, interspersed with lime green vineyards and groves of sagey green olive trees. The lighting is soft, and I feel as if I am driving through a painting. From the valley, we ascend uphill, taking more than a few hairpin turns. My breath is taken away as I turn the corner and peer to the right. Perched high upon a steep cliff is the ancient village of Gordes, so majestically rooted into the earth. This is one of the most photographed sites in France.
Bonnie and me at the outlook before driving over into Gourdes.
Gordes is now a traditional Provençal village with cobblestone paths that wind past boutiques and bistros and lead to a church and a castle. This year, the church houses photo exhibits featuring the work of Hans Sylvester, who became famous for documenting Provence in the 1950s. Specialty shops like this produce stand, and local product shops are numerous.
Quaint little market.Herbs and spices galore.Specialty canned jars of condiments.
We lunch outdoors, munching on a pizza of Corsican sausage, olives, and chestnuts and a salad of tomato and chevre (goat cheese).
Corsica pizza.Salade Chevre
Nearby is the village of Roussillon, where the red ochre stone dominates and contrasts with the Monet blue sky. The colors are so deep, I cannot capture them with a camera, only with my eyes and mind. The depth of vibrancy is reminiscent of Santa Fe.
Roussillon is known for its red clay.Color abounds in every groove of Roussillon.Red walls provide a pretty contrast to blues and pinks.A show-off of colorful flowers.This red is splattered over the entire town.Even the pigeons love it here.
Quiet cafe. Perfect for viewing the light changes.
A day of light, color, and surprises has ended. I am so grateful for this mind-expanding experience.
I am having difficulty adding photos to my blog. I have tried three times to the tune of over eight hours of effort and still no photos. WordPress has my heard my frustration and I hope the problem will be solved soon. I have so much more of my adventures to share with you. The castle of Carcassonne, our lovely villa in Noves, Provence, a local festival of horses and the beautiful Luberon. So, as soon as these issues are resolved, be ready for an assault of articles, history, artists, and of course, my favorite foods of the Mediterranean. Thank you for bearing with me. My stories will return soon!!! Bon Nuit, Mary
Bonjour! Did you know that the Languedoc is France’s largest grape-producing region and it has been since Roman times? In fact, the vineyards flooded the landscape on just about every drive we took. According to Angela Murrills, author of Hot Sun Cool Shadow in which she writes about the region, it is the world’s most colossal vineyard, stretching from the Banyuls appellation close to the Spanish border to the tiny region just west of the Rhone where the Clairette grape—once the leading white grape of the region—is still grown. The vineyards here date back to the 6th century BC when the Greeks and Etruscans were their guardians.
One of my traveling companions had researched wine tours and struck gold with the company we hired to introduce us to French wine. Vin & Company (www.aerobus-hautevallee,com) out of Limoux provided us with an expert guide and chauffeur, Jean Luc, who not only knew his wines but also imparted some history of the region. Our first stop is Domaine Gayda. This wine is made to show off the flavors of the fruit and does not have a taste of oak. Fairly new and modern, it is modeled after a high-end Napa winery complete with a top-notch restaurant.
Stunning vineyards of picturesque Domaine Gayda
We learned here that roses are sensitive to diseases that can plague the grapes, so it is traditional to plant them in front of the grape rows. If a disease were to strike, the roses would be affected first, therefore alerting the growers of a potential disaster.
Protectors of the grape!
An extensive tasting gave me an appreciation for this region of France’s fine wines which, disappointingly, are very difficult to locate in the U.S. Of the three vineyards we visited, none of them import to us, not even Domaine Gayda, which produces 800,000 bottles a year.
Bonnie, Nancy, Jean Luc, and Liz all enjoying the Viognier Blanc 2011. From Jean Luc, we learned that “the flavors visit your entire mouth.”Gayda’s showcase wine tasting room. They spare no expense. We must have tasted eight wines!
Our tour included lunch worthy of many stars in Gayda’s beautiful restaurant with views of the vineyards.
Can’t you just taste all these fresh ingredients? My mouth waters just remembering the flavors!
Chateau Guilhem was built in 1851 and has been a family winery for five generations. Bertrand Gourdou is the charming (and handsome) owner who manages the 400,000 acres. He is proud that his wine represents the style of the land and that his organic winery is one of the top 30 wineries in the Languedoc.
Family wines for five generations in a charming, rustic setting
What I found most interesting about this winery is that Bertrand’s great-great-grandfather used oak barrels to age the wine. His great-grandfather used concrete – isn’t that amazing? Grandfather used stainless steel, and now he is back using concrete.
Here, Bertrand is showing us how his grandfathers made wine. The stainless steel tanks are on the left, and the concrete is on the rightThe old barn is full of relics and antique copper – my favorite. The concrete cellars are just belowJean Luc admiring the old concrete cellars. Don’t worry – they don’t make wine here now!Our host, Bertrand, gets the show going! We love his wines, which are made from the heart.
To take a break from the wine, we stopped in a beautiful abbey and church, Notre Dame de Marseille, for a taste of Roman and mid-16th-century history.
The ancient columns all embrace a variety of carvings.A black Virgin, so unusual and a stunning find! I saw one in Rocamadour last year.The translation on this wall clock is a lesson to live by. “The hours that pass will never come back.”Jean Luc surprised us with a bottle of Blanquette de Limoux, a sparkling wine that the French call a “neursthenique” which means good for depression! In 1531, the Monks of Limoux discovered how to keep the bubbles and were truly the forebearers of champagne
By 5:00 p.m., we thought we had seen and experienced so much of the vine, but no, there was more. Our last stop at Villarzens enchanted us all, and we fell in love with this petite three-hectare vineyard.
By Thierry’s face, the proprietor of Villarzens, you can tell he loves the land.
Eva, Thierry’s wife, created a gourmet assortment of appetizers to complement the wine tasting. Especially delicious were the Boudin Noir sausage and apple bites. Superb!Bonnie swooning over the Tarte au Aubergine (eggplant). The puff pastry crust, so thin and crispy with the thin slices of eggplant and tomato drizzled with olive oil, burst forth with freshness and a buttery crunch
The owner and operator of Vin & Company, Alison, said it best. “The wine should vibrate in your mouth.” We were satiated with the delicate wine, the fresh food, and the incredibly friendly and charming people (the best part!) We were definitely vibrating! Thank you, Jean Luc, especially, for sharing this quaint part of France and the Languedoc with us. You made this experience the highlight of our stay in this delightful region.
Bonjour! It is a gorgeous sunny day, and the birds are chirping out melodies of joy. Today, I am excited to share my cooking lesson with you. As you know, we four women ate at Le Sixieme Sens earlier in the week and were charmed by the “cave” experience and the owner, Lionel. He invited us back and said he would cook anything for us, perhaps a French recipe we had never tried before. We put our heads together, looked through some cookbooks, and came up with Bourride, a type of fish soup. I emailed him our choice and, on second thought, asked if I might watch the process. The reply was “oui” and could I be there at 2 pm? Of course!
I walked into the restaurant, and Lionel did not waste any time handing me an apron and asking me to please slice the fennel and leeks he had cleaned and organized on a cutting board. I was thrilled. Not only could I watch, I would be his sous chef for this recipe! I washed my hands and quickly got to work in his pristine kitchen. He asked me how I chose the recipe for Bourride. I replied that it was something you would not find on a menu in the States, and I could smell the melange of flavors in my mind. He commented that it is an ancient recipe that your grandmother would have made. The recipe for Bourride is in Lionel’s head, and ingredient after ingredient appears in a small refrigerator below the counter. Into a giant, maybe three-gallon stockpot, we toss leeks, fennel, onion, parsley, and garlic. I will write out a rough recipe to share on a separate page from this post.
The veggie base for the stock.
Next, we add a cupful of cherry tomatoes, which he says have better taste than the larger whole tomatoes. “Now you can stir the pot.” The vegetables sweat as we continue to add a tube of tomato concentrate, generous sprinklings of pepper, and sel gris (gray salt), which has more depth than regular salt. As we cook, I try to extract as much as I can about this man in my beginner French. Lionel’s mother is a passionate cook who prepares international dishes for the family. This influence and appreciation for food led him to experiment with different recipes while DJ’ing in St. Etienne for 14 years. Six years ago, he came to Carcassonne to realize his dream, opening Le Sixieme Sens, appropriately named because he creates the tastes and smells for your six senses. He manages the kitchen by himself and enthusiastically cooks for his guests.
Back to the Bourride—into the pot goes the whole fish, eyeballs and all, Poisson Roche, a kind of rockfish, and Lotte. Next, a handful of thyme and turmeric and a few quarts of water. This all simmers for three hours.
Lionel’s tiny kitchen.
A rouille is the traditional accompaniment for the dish, so we begin with fresh, homemade mayonnaise, to which I add finely chopped garlic, salt, pepper, turmeric, and a tiny dash of hot pepper sauce. We reserve this for dinner tonight. Lionel asks, can I return at 6 pm to finish the soup? Ma oiu!
The next step in this lengthy process is to strain the gallons of fish broth we prepared earlier into another stock pot. First, Lionel uses a hand processor to blend all the simmered ingredients. Okay, I am game, and in this steamy kitchen, I sweat as I ladle spoonfuls after spoonfuls of broth into this small strainer.
15 minutes later, we have the Bourride. It simmers again on the stove to reduce by a third. The finishing touches come tonight.
The first course is the delicious soup, so creamy with gentle fish flavors and a hint of the fennel and leek. I had never tasted such depth and richness without the help of cream and butter. Served with toasted baguettes and the garlicky rouille, it exceeds my expectations.
After the first course of soup, Lionel gently poaches fresh fish of lotte, loup, meurlu, squid, and calamari. This second course is served separately on a giant platter, enough food for 10 people!
The finished Bourride.
A chardonnay from Limoux, a local wine-growing region, paired perfectly with the Bourride.
Merci Lionel for a very memorable experience. I enjoyed every minute of cooking and learning with you! Good luck with your new tapas bar set, which will open in the fall.
There is so much to drink in here in the land of all things that heighten the senses. Look up, and history is staring at you in the face. A distant castle, a gargoyle, an ancient door. Look across the countryside; all is bright green and lush, dotted with poppies. A waft of jasmine fills the air. Peer inside a window at pastries, cheese, and meats, all so artfully displayed that they lure you inside. This is what I love about France, but this trip has been even more delightful because of the special people we have met. As I write this, am I munching on a Narbonne, a most delicious pastry filled with perfectly diced apples and seasoned with a hint of anise, topped with a generous sprinkling of pinenuts -wow!
The generous spirit and joy of life are evident in the many friends we have made. First, there is Lionel, the chef of Le Sixieme Sens, who invited me into his kitchen to learn how to make Bourride, a traditional French soup. While visiting St. Martin, an artist invited us into her garden and then gave us a tour of her eclectic house filled with treasures and antiques. The purveyors in the markets and shops have all gone out of their way to describe a certain cheese or give directions. It is this warmth that draws me in and makes me feel welcome and longing for more. Enjoy these photos of the locals, some of my favorite foods, and their shops.
Lionel is the chef and owner of Le Sixieme Sens.
This man gave us so many tastings of his cheese we didn’t need breakfast!
Epicerie Fine La Ferme. They have the BEST chevre on the planet.
Citron Presse.
Vibrant cherries and glowing apricots.
Macaroon vendor in The Cite. Best macaroons I have ever tasted!
Kicking back on our patio after a day of hiking the castle.
Today, we embark on a private tour of wine country. This region, the Languedoc, Roussillon, is a well-kept secret, and many of its wines have yet to reach the states.
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