How does your garden grow?

While Summer frets

The heats beset

And hungry bees buzz to and fro.

Chaque matin Minette et moi visitons le jardin. Sometimes together, but often Minette comes to the garden after she hears my footsteps climbing the stairs from the courtyard. We both put on a brave face but what we see and feel is a sense of defeat. During this period of harsh hot, we generally stay away from the garden between the hours of 10h00 and 20h00. Our movements do not reflect those of Summers’ prior, and we just might have to accept that our future Summers will see our garden evolve – and feel different. During these moments of despair, I try to rest with what is, but find myself constantly thinking of new ideas that could work with our ever-increasing global situation of hot and heat. I strive to envision how our garden will grow in coming years, and wonder how I will manage to create a glorious space for all to appreciate. Minette paws about slowly, takes a long moment to think about the short jump into her brushing basin - and often disappears for hours on end – sa localisation est un mystere. I let her keep her secrets - we all need to adopt amusements to distract our sorrowful morale. When she returns her new habit is to screech MIAOU. Is this an all-telling tale to say I fooled you again? Or does she feel I am deaf!

But there is more to our sadness than the situation of our lieu prive. We live with daily threats of drastic changes to our existence. We feel the effects of war, fires, Frankenstein technology, and the extreme heat which ignites lethargy, depression, and in many, a sense of finality. Mais non! Please do not think that we are walking about with a mournful puss all hours of the day – we have Pastis! But these moments of extreme heat impress to be ever-lasting, and we sense naught another notion to compensate our feelings.

This garden has allowed me an expansive connection to nature and has taught me (minette and all other inhabitants of the garden know this already) that natural environment change is inevitable. Though in our yesteryear, we earthly creatures have rarely felt this surge of change in our weathering while a grand portion of society is distressingly uncomfortable with the changes to our status quo.

But as long as we are alive and meowing, we unite in our promise to clasp hope close. I slip between the flora with my snippers and cut away the burnt limbs, harvest the lavande, dead head the roses, and do my best to keep the perennials well hydrated. The annuals have pretty much wilted away but I struggle to remove them from the terre. As for my legumes - there will be no ratatouille made from this plot cette annee! I have only 2 cherry tomato plants producing, and the skins are thick as they attempt to protect their seeds and pulp from the stroking sun. I leave my dwarf aubergines, poivre rouge, courgettes situ - just maybe some insects are benefitting from their ending breath. When my brain is over heating, I want to pull out all the fading beauty. It feels to be the end of Septembre, and I just want to prepare the garden for Winter and take off! But I hold back, and wait for the miracle Summer can provide.

I keep a close watch on Sunflower (I call him Dante) and Lady Dah presents a miraculous bloom.

Indeed, I be a voyeur peeping the pollinators snuggle into her bosom with no desire to leave.

The blackbirds and sparrows are flitting about together, both searching and sometimes satisfied with what is on offer. Oui c’est vrai - they appear to be commiserating. The pigeons are mightily challenged, and not well thought of by the other birds so they tend to stick to the roofs surrounding the garden. The swallows fly above chirping - always sounding joyful - there are still a few bees buzzing, though the hummingbird moth is the constant early evening flitter bug. As dusk settles upon our garden the bats overture another dazzling performance. I wonder where they spend these sweltering hot days. I have great desire to bring my CD player to the garden and play Chopin’s Giselle while the bats ballet about.

My courtyard does not suffer le meme-chose severe ailments the serial canicule killer presents to the garden. I do need to water it every day, some pots twice a day, but the sun does not shine upon the space for hours on end and the high stone walls enclosing this inner haven provide a climatisation of sorts. Needless to say, we spend a lot of our (my) waking hours here. Cats cooling.

I will leave you with a soothing cool recipe. Je suis desole, pas de photo. Imagine and feel le gout.

• Slice a large round Tomato fairly thin. Place on a large plate giving each slice its own space. Cut up Artichokes from a jar, though not too small, and scatter over the tomatoes. Then sprinkle Capers over the lot, chop parsley and do the same. Repeat with zest of lemon, juice from that same lemon, olive oil, salt and pepper. Voila.

Last night Je fais saute un filet de saumon and placed it on this salade compose and truly, it was divine. You can develop many ideas from these 3 main ingredients. Please do let me know if you come up with a brain wave recette to nourish you through a heat wave.

Bisou Bisou,

Bxxjo et Minette

This passage of my French life - enduring months of intermittent extreme heat - find me with little desire to drink wine. The water pichet is at the ready either on the counter or in the frigo laced with citron ou concombre et menthe. But as the day moves along, and the heat becomes even more intense between 5ive and 7even – I take out my bottle of Pastis, the glass purposed for drinking Pastis - and a wee pichet for water which holds just enough eau to allow the recommended 5ive parts water to 1ne part Pastis. The garden is still very warm at this time, so I sit in the courtyard and sip my healing tonic.

There is this thing about Ice. Some like a cube or two instead of water with their Pastis, but I feel the room temperature drink is calming while encouraging sipping over guzzling. Ice is a temporary jolt of relief but the shock is not always sensible. If you feel a cooling drink will better refresh your being, then I suggest keeping Pastis in the frigo, and using cold water to escort your Pastis.

There are new recipes designed for combining Pastis with syrups and juice, I choose to remain old worldly in my Pastis participation. But I will share a recipe that I found that does read rafraichissante.

The French born man – Maxime Belfand - who created this recipe is a Bartender in New York City.

1 oz Ricard. 1 oz Lillet Rose. 1 oz Fresh Watermelon Juice. ¾ oz Blueberry Cordial Syrup. Pinch of Fleur de Sel. Tall glass of crushed ice, add ingredients, garnish with mint.

Being that Pastis is from Provence, a region that has enjoyed long Summers of heat for many moons, I feign to the knowledge of those who I imagine to have lived long while imbibing Pastis when the heat is on. In 1915, Absinthe was prohibited which led to all aniseed-based alcohol being banned. Pastis was created out of necessity to carry on this idea to appreciate the memory of Absinthe. In 1922 the ban of aniseed-based alcohol was lifted, and all those producers secretly honing their new recipe and ideas for big time production saw the simple country cure for all that ails in the form of Pastis - take off. Paul Ricard being the leader of pack Pastis.

It is believed that aniseed existed at least 15 centuries before France decouverte un recette pour Pastis. In those days of yore it was thought to be good for gums, teeth and heart disease. Romans found it to whet the appetite. Perhaps Catherine de’ Medici brought it with her - broke her journey in Avignon for an aniseed break - before adventuring on to marry into a noble family and become Queen of France! (I attempt to be humorous with History, don’t believe a word of it.)

The recipe for Pastis is as the creator of each brand decrees. It could be green anise, star anise, fennel, liquorice and other natural plant extracts. These are macerated or distilled in alcohol. Alcohol content is between 40 and 45.

Bien sur, there are folk who gorge and abuse almost everything that comes into their grasp, but on most days, one Pastis is enough, some days I broach that delicate subject of taking another when I water the garden after 9ine in the evening. And if there is another soul sharing my 5ive -7even, we might take 2wo, just for the sheer folly of feeling social while the wave of indomitable heat inspires sweat to linger on the brow and breast.

What to nibble with a Pastis tipple? You do not really want to turn on any heat to cook during a canicules’ triumphant hour of the day, so I suggest thinly sliced Saucisson, raw sliced fennel and maybe carrot too, with a yogurt dip that combines a small pot of natural yogurt with a heaping teaspoon of curry mustard and a pinch of salt. A Raita inspired dip that finds you peeling a cucumber, slicing then dicing. Place in a small bowl with salt, let sit for 20 minutes, then drain the liquid away. Add one small pot of natural yogurt, a 1/4 tsp of cumin, a squeeze of lime and chopped fresh mint. Serve with Shrimp chips. Why do I stipulate Shrimp Chips? Because if the chip is perfectly produced, when your Raita sits upon its delicate frame, it begins to crackle, and adds to the romance of making it through a flaming hot day.

I leave you with a poem about Drinking. The poem lay within an essay written by Sir Alan Herbert. This essay Sir Herbert tops up:

Some Aspects of HYPERHYDROPHILIA. It is gathered together in a collection of essays written by a stable of writers who would have been well known in 1956 when this book was published and titled: The Compleat Imbiber. I adore this line from the dust jacket: “Each author has contributed of his best upon his favourite subject: each artist has drawn with affection.”

“We must recall that Nature’s laws Are generally sound, And everywhere, for some good cause, Some alcohol is found. There’s alcohol in plant and tree, It must be Nature’s plan That there should be, in fair degree, Some alcohol in Man.”

Sante! Barbara-jo

Have you ever received a message that both surprised you greatly while at the same time found you feeling full of wonder, yet somewhat doubtful?

A few years ago I received a message from a woman who lives in the Dordogne, is Dutch, and makes her living styling, photographing, and publishing articles for a variety of magazines in Europe.

Could she and another come to view my house – they had heard it was an interesting property - with the idea of photographing my maison, finding a magazine to publish my story of both renovating and the questions I have answered a million times; Why this house? Pourquoi la Charite sur Loire? Is Minette French?

So, along they came and happily appreciated what they saw, and booked a few days of my life to return with their cameras.

The light in the chosen day was a factor as they do not use artificial light, ever.

At this point in my adopted French life, I was struggling with a ‘What’s It All About Alfie’ moment. I truly had to put on an act of warm welcoming, and generally stayed out of their way until they insisted they needed a few images of moi.

I let them have their way with the house and garden as they felt it fit into their lens - though I did ask them not to photograph the third floor flat, where I was sleeping and bathing at that time. When all was done, we sat about the kitchen with wine and nibbles, enjoying a few hours of conversation, then off they went. After thank you messages the next day – communication was over.

I completely forgot about the experience and the intention of Madame Custer to sell an article about my house to a French magazine. You might imagine my surprise when 6 months ago, 2 years past the experience of a thousand photos, I received a message saying the article had been sold to two magazines – Casa Chic in Italy, and Maison Chic en France. An interview with an English woman living in London was arranged which took place over the landline. A few weeks ago another message came into my mobile saying that Maison Chic was on the shelf in fine presse magasins across the land.

In 5 minutes after reading the message, I was in my local Presse and had purchased two copies (leaving one for the proprietaire to read) and ordered 10 more. I went back the next day and ordered another 10.

This 14-page spread is not all about me, or the chambre d’hote that I operate within these storied walls. It is a selection of photographs and a short story for a magazine that features houses and life-styles that appear to be chic.

I came here with a bended heart, and an idea that felt to be a cure. Within every molecule of my being I imagined it necessaire to follow through with this project - while bestowing a great deal of blood, sweat, tears, and love - into this property. I now look upon this episode as my coming out. How I manifested my depression into creative expression.

I was - and still be a smiling flabbergasted soul when I flip through this alluring printed spread – a creative expression of others who knew me naught. I write to you feeling both proud and validated for this decision that brought me into a new old world, et la decouverte of living differently.

As one would say in France: C’est un bon moment pour moi.

My sincerest merci beaucoup to Stylist - Wilma Custer, Photographer - Morgane van Liere, and Writer - Ellie Tennant. Et bien sur, merci beaucoup Maison Chic.

Long live print on paper.

“Prunus armeniaca, a fruit belonging to the rose family and closely related to the plum, peach, cherry, and almond. The apricot’s original wild ancestor has long since vanished, but it is generally accepted that its home was in, or mainly in China, and that it was the Chinese who first cultivated the fruit, before 2000 BC.” I quote Alan Davidson from his livre merveilleux; The Oxford Companion to Food.

Other notable comments from himself: Arriving to Rome in the 1^st century AD, the Romans impressed by its early ripening, named it praecocium, meaning precocious. From this derives the name Apricot.

Apricot varieties differing in size, colour, and flavour. From Turkey to Turkestan - white, black, grey, and pink apricots, from pea to peach sized, with flavours equally varied. Can this still be so? I appreciate Alan including these mots from a French connoisseur M. Leclerc who felt the flesh of the apricot combined in a unique way the subtle and disturbing fragrances of the Orient with the robust and straightforward smells of the French countryside.

King Henry the VIII’s gardener – Jean Le Loup - was a French Priest & plant expert, and brought the apricot to England from Italy in 1542. It took a few hundred years to acclimatize and with the determined efforts of Lord Anson at Moor Park, a worthy apricot – the Moorpark - succeeded. The French spelling is Morpak. Though the majority of apricots consumed in the UK arrive to British bellies via modern transport from North Africa or California.

Remarking on the apricots potent sensory appeal, John Ruskin described it as ‘shining in a sweet brightness of golden velvet’.

The apricot arrived to Virginia early in the 18^th century, finding the climate unsuitable – trundled off to California where conditions for growing a delicate Blenheim variety triumphed - leading the world in production.

SADLY - and I feel devasting to both terre and society – the development of ‘Silicon Valley’ caused most of the growers to move to the east, on less suitable land, where inferior varieties have come to be dominant.

I now share with you the words and recipes of the Jane Grigson. I treasure her Fruit Book, and the chapter on apricots is full of fascinating lore, advice and tantalizing recipes.

“One thing I should like to do is eat a ripe apricot right from the tree. And I suppose that, for perfection, that tree would have to be growing in its homeland near Peking, or Armenia. Or I would happily settle for a journey along the Karakoram Highway into the Hunza valley to try one of those tiny little apricots that we can only sample dried. All manner of virtues are ascribed to a diet in which these wild apricots predominate; they are classed with yoghurt in myths and reports of people living to 150 years, fathering children at 110 and bearing them at sixty. But who wants that kind of talisman? The reason for eating Hunza apricots is because they are so good.”

Jane’s Fruit Book offers 17 recipes for the apricot. I share this recipe for Old Fashioned Apricot Tart - but first - I begin with her introduction to the recette.

Tarte D’Abricots a l’ancienne

Every year at the garlic and basil fair at Tours in July, we meet friends and have lunch out of doors at the old inn on a corner of the square where the market is held, the place du grand marche. Everyone brings something for the general picnic - on peut apporter son manger in that comfortable French style. Drink is supplied by the inn. The standard menu is hot dogs made with Arab merguez sausages from a stall nearby, and this apricot tart from the pastrycook opposite. What marks the tart is the butter beaten into the filling. It bakes to a rich grainy top. In France, unsalted butter is always used, but I find that the light saltiness of Danish Lurpak …….

I prepared, shared and enjoyed this tart very much. It will be cooked again bientot.

I enjoy serving petite dejeuner with a mighty dose of abricot. Commence with abricot yaourt drink. Poached abricot with cardamom to put on your muesli with abricot yaourt. Croissant avec abricot confiture. And if you are feeling frisky, a wee dram of abricot liqueur with your café. A fine beginning to a French Summer Day.

I send you sweet wishes for a day savouring apricots and other delectable Summer offerings.

Bonne journee - Madame M.

In my brain, currently a mass of mush, a Canicule is when the thermometer rises above 35. I have experienced the Canicule, in fact every Summer in either July or August, there are often one or two Canicules. They would last for 3 days and my habit was to shutter the house dark, close all windows and patter about in a cool flowing dress. I feel tres fortunate to have this house when a wave of hellish heat burns about my pastoral countryside – I barely open the front door during the Canicule. And in the past, I have been fortunate to not have guests during the extreme heat events. Mais maintenant, je suis host avec experience canicule!

Yesterday I said farewell to Paula & Selena who came for 4 nights to experience the cooking class week-end and excursions to Sancerre, Menetou-Salon and Pouilly sur Loire. Selena lives in Nanaimo and owns GP Cottonwood Stables. Paula lives in Vancouver and will be interviewing me soon for her podcast – In My Kitchen with Paula.

I also said farewell to Nathanael who lives in Switzerland, close to Bern, and was in the Atelier for 20 nights. When he arrived, he was actually chilly – it was only 22 degres - and used the fire belly to keep warm while he worked on his book. This last week I witnessed no smoke whispering through the chimney! Nath makes films. I cooked dinner for him one night as I was curious to learn more about his life, and he shared a story he made into a 49-minute film and published on YouTube. I asked Nath to send me the link; I watched before retiring - spent many moments pondering the film, and slept softly.

I share the trailer link with you - [TRAILER] Home - Between the Swiss Alps and the Ukrainian War Zone | Award-winning Film

J’espere you are encouraged to regard his film.

Home - Between the Swiss Alps and the Ukrainian War Zone | Award-winning Film | Documentary / Essay

I feel the heat most definitely curtailed the ideas that would have realised if the weather had been temperate, both in time outside of the house and the meals we cooked together and ate. What did occu? Long and compelling conversations roosting together either in the courtyard, under the Wisteria, and as the weather warmed higher still, in a shuttered candlelit dining room. A different experience, but together we settled into what was, and comfortably carried on.

I was to have a couple arrive today for 5 nights, but they were able to change flights and postpone until Octobre.

On our own again.

I sat under the Glycine for a short spell just staring at the garden, watching plants expire before my eyes, even though each morning I rise at 6h00 to water. It did not feel real, I thought I was watching a film about a hot spell in France, mais non, je suis le cinema – come to me for a histoire surrealiste – learn how to trip the heat fantastique while gently swaying through a French Wilt.

You may imagine and would be correct to feel - Minette n’est pas heureuse. Some mornings she greets me with a mournful stare and choking miaou, today she was screaming, angry to have wandered about chaud all night and not at all desirous to experience anotre jour – similar to jour passe, only warmer. She eats little, and I can only hope she is hydrating. In house she has her bowl of water in its usual place, and in the courtyard, I refresh a bowl of water morning and evening. There are 3 different water stations in the garden which she shares with the bees and birds and lizards – all refreshed twice daily. Yesterday she was on the bed from 6h00 to 18h00. I then held her close and carried her downstairs into the cooler salle a manger for apero with neighbours. She enjoyed the sofa and found our gossip comforting. I keep a fan near her when she sleeps, and she is grateful – actually purrs when I stroke her!

So, what do you eat during a Canicule?

Well, we ate a great deal – Paula and Selena are most definitely Gourmandes - and enjoyed bottles of Sancerre Rose, Pouilly Fume, Menetou-Salon et Cote de la Charite.

We probably over ate as my guests were anxious to both decouverte and consume the specialties of this region. Et oui, we drank too much wine. Oui, nous avons fait preuve de vigilance, and did pour a lot of water down our little red lanes – a mediation to balance our overindulgence of food, wine, and heat. Et apres-midi sieste, before the evening menu commence, a cup of tea was both welcoming and wise.

My Canicule favourites?

Espelette Butter on Dark Rye - with Sardines from a Tin - pressed into the butter on the bread.

Fava Bean and Courgette Salade Compose. I take the pods of Feve and roast them in a hot oven for about 10 minutes. I then remove the pod and gently pry the shell from the fava. I then place the separated halves of fava into a prepared vinaigrette. The vinaigrette: 1 clove fresh garlic minced fine, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, a drop of white wine vinegar, 3 tablespoons olive oil, salt and pepper. Add lots of chopped parsley and mint. Using a mandolin slice a young and thin courgette into rounds and layer onto a plate. Do not overlap too much. Sprinkle lemon juice, sea salt, and a drizzle of olive oil over the courgette. Spoon the fava bean and vinaigrette over the courgette, zest lemon over all and leave at room temperature for up to one hour before serving.

Salad with warm confit of Gesier de volaille. I purchase the confit of chicken gizzards at my butcher. They come vacuum packed. I open the sac, place all innards into a fry pan and gently heat. When gizzards are warm - remove and slice. Into the warm jus, I place a tablespoon, maybe more of Sherry Vinegar, salt and pepper. I then put both gizzards and sauce over the salad and tenderly toss together.

Cerise Clafoutis - 500 grams cherries, 50 g flour, Pinch of salt, 50 g sugar, 4 eggs, 500 ml milk, 2 egg yolks, 4 tbsp cognac (abricot liquer is a fine substitute) Confectioners’ sugar (for sprinkling). Set the oven at a moderately hot temperature (190) Spread the cherries (pits in s’il vous plait) in the buttered baking dish. Sift the flour into a bowl with the salt, and stir in the sugar. Gradually beat in the eggs, two at a time, alternating with the milk, and continue beating until just mixed. Beat in the egg yolks. Strain the batter over the cherries and spoon the cognac on top. Bake for 45 minutes or until the clafoutis is puffed and brown. Let cool until warm; it will sink slightly. Sprinkle with the confectioners’ sugar.

Sicile pistache glace – I purchase from the Chocolate Shops Summer Ice-Cream Parlour.

And last night for apero with neighbours, I plucked one of the few tomatoes I will experience from my struggling vines, and sliced it thin. I sliced baguette tradition, put a thin slice of chevre cut from a crotin demi – sec on the bread, the tomate sur la chevre which I then sprinkled smoked Cornish salt over. Desole, it was too dark in my shuttered home to take a photo!

From our warm hearts to you, bonne journee - and bon courage should a Canicule spread its heavy presence over your region.

Ah, c’est samedi. The day I rise with a spirit unique to les autre jours de la semaine. Saturday the Farmer’s Marche come to la Charite sur Loire. I refer to this pilgrimage to the market each week as my religious experience. I praise the farmers and producers for their desire and labours to produce sustainable fare to nourish my body and soul. The longer I am here, the reason for being here becomes clearer. I have access to good ingredients and I derive such pleasure from the experience of purchasing belle legumes, organic mostly.

Eggs brown, and not washed with an antibiotic solution which means the shell is still able to protect its pearly shaped yolk and flowing white sheath. And most impressive, it is not necessaire to put les oeufs in the frigo. I take my glass bottle to Katrin the dairy maid, and she fills it with fresh milk. Katrin and her family farm make yogurt and butter, fromage frais, crème fraiche and cheese.

As with the goat cheese vendor, they offer the same cheese aged in stages - fresh cheese, moulleux, demi-sec, blue and blue sec. The bulk of my animal protein purchases are from the source - the farmer who raised and cherished the earth they trod upon, had concern for their digestion, and honoured the sacrifice from life to death - to feed humans. There is a trout farm not far, and the truite fume is so flavourful, I prefer it to Scottish Smoked Salmon.

The vendors are all familiar with me now. Some say Bonjour Barbara or Salut Barbara - but most smile wide and welcome me to their stall with a cheerful bonjour. Other shops in town offer the same comforting experience. Two butchers - one knows my habits so well that when I accidently picked up a bottle of sweet cider, she exclaimed non madame, vous prefer le brut! (both the butcher and the cheese shops sell wine - beer and cider if they wish) The wine merchant picks out fine bottles that he feels are best for my budget. And he knows how much I admire natural wine, so is often introducing me to a domaine that is new to me. Dominque was a chef and restauranteur in his past life, so our conversations about food and menus are lengthy and pleasurable.

The boulangeries, we have 4, and I visit them all. I purchase my dark rye from one, my tradition from another, all have good croissants but some days I crave one over another. The boulangerie that comes to the Farmer’s Marche is bio, and the queue is long. 5 boulangeries on Saturday, and they all sell out. What would I do without our cheese shop? Franck opened as restaurant in the same location, then just before covid transitioned into a fromagerie. It was a lucky choice as he was able to stay open through covid where the restaurants were closed. I can ask him anything I want advice about - food and wine related - and his answers find me walking up the hill home with a sac full of cheese – wise and hungry. The image I show of us together has Franck holding a plateau I ordered for a raclette feast.

My opening phrase – We Are What We Eat - has been a mantra of mine for a very long time. Probably insisted into my being from my mother. I am motivated with the words I read from others - Michael Pollan is one I especially admire. His determination to inspire us to think critically about what we eat and where our food comes from - I feel deeply. I recently saw a clip of Michael Pollan and Tim Spector (Instagram) spilling forth engaging conversation full of wisdom. Regard the dedication to the Slow Food Movement of late great Carlo Petrini. I encourage you to read and listen to the words of these humans. Keeping far away from what comes to us from the factory farms is a step to preserving our environment and our health - both mentally and physically. Remember when the small independent business and the family farm were celebrated for being the back bone of our economy? It could happen again – bon courage to those who are single-minded about the idea.

I often hear people reciting the well-versed line; I can’t afford the Farmer’s Market. Recently I heard a woman say she could not afford to feed her children from the Farmer’s market, but she was clutching close her Birkin Bag. We make our choices of what to purchase with our hard earned moola. I choose to eat well brought up nourishment. And yes, I go without a great deal of other things to do so. Another mantra -The World that Eats Well Lives Well. And at this time, in this place, I am fortunate enough to have food to eat, so I wallow in real food, whole and hearty.

I am also a curious soul and like to eat or at least try almost anything. For many years a commune close to me, Mesves-sur-Loire, entertains country folk with an annual Frog Festival, a fund raiser for their eglise. This was the first year I could attend. It was a lovely afternoon for one and all with a marching band and children dressed up in frog costume. Though after waiting for a long while in queue, the aroma of fried legs arousing pleasant gout de repas to come, I was horrified to hear the woman in front of me being told there were no more frogs available for frying. So, after moments of pouting, we bought the merguez, which we enjoyed with fries, mustard and mayonnaise. And as my spidey sense had intuitive, once the merguez was all gone there were more frogs hopping on the griddle and available for purchase. We were most likely the only non-French folks in this crowd of frog enthusiasts. We enjoyed conversation with those sharing our table, the warm weather was fine, it felt like Summer. Un bon moment with our cruche de Rose Vin, and our assiette of succulent grenouille.

I leave you with a wee recette I made last night for friends who came for apero.

Cheese Biscuits

I use a scale to measure 250 grams of butter, 250 grams of Cantal Cheese, and 250 grams of Flour.

I grate the cheese into a bowl, then I grate the butter into the same bowl. I mix them together with my hands, then I add the flour which I have spiced with a tablespoon of Cumin. Mix together with your hands, if you feel it to be dry, add a bit of cold water. When dough, I cut the mixture in half and place into cling film and make into two thin long rolls. When my rolls feel round and firm, I place in the frigo until I am ready to bake. Warm the oven to 185 C. Take the cling film off the dough and slice into ¼ inch rounds and place on a pan lined with parchment paper. About 10 -15 minutes. Take out when golden.

My apero vin was Sancerre Rose, and Pouilly Fume. But truly, these cheesy treats pair with lots of fine wine or cocktails.

Bon journee mes amies.

The calendar says Spring has been with us for 2 months now. Goodness gracious, bientot it will be Summer. What have I been doing these months while the sun has shone hot, then clouds cover cold, then those clouds spew wet and stay cold, and this week after days of cool it will become very warm. Well, there is no moss gathering on this old rolling stone – though unlike the meaning of this proverb - I take my responsibility to Maison des Mots very seriously.

La jardin thrives as do all the creatures within. Though they too are in a confused state. I have always been challenged with escargot et limaces, but this year the birds are eating my buds too. When it was so hot, the soil was dry as was the moss on the roofs – dead dry with no insects to beak up. No worms squirming about the terre – the usual fare was not was showing up - so my buds became a tasty alternative. Actually, this is a fib – the caterpillar that makes Box shrub ill - was enjoying those hot-day moments in its colourful box-kill costume which inspired me to be rid of them. I do not enjoy destroying any of Natures gifts – but their desire to eat and live do not inspire a listen to my pleas of go away s’il vous plait. Why were the birds not eating them?

I have lost lots of seedlings and must do a second planting of courgettes and pumpkins. I still have plants in pots-I am nervous to set them into the soil just yet. At this moment my voisines cherry tree is loaded with ripe fruit. I wish I could share the cacophony of the many variete d’oiseaux who are relishing these deep rouge beauties. What a racket to endure in my quiet plot! Mais naturellement I do appreciate that they are savouring good eats and delighting in their sugar high swoon about. Do birds get diabetes? One blackbird brings his cerise into my courtyard to nosh. He too has desire to be away from the madding crowd. Yes, he leaves the pits for me to clean up before hopping up the stairs into the garden.

L’hiver dernier we endured a long cold spell which found me staring at dead plants. Diligently I persevered to nurse them back, and I had success with a few, but most said au revoir to find their ethereal peace where ever it be that plants fade away. I am somewhat frustrated that I can not find the plants I want to replace in the garden shops. Maybe it’s a sign that I am not meant to plant them again. Someone suggested going on line, but me being moi, je dit non. Even if a nursery does not have what I am hoping to purchase, I love being in place amongst the rows of fleurs et arbres on offer, and speaking with others about the good and challenging moments they experience in their gardens.

.

Minette too finds Spring formidable. The birds are noisy while protecting their bairns. Other cats who like to hide in our garden, sleep in the garden, and find birds in this garden, succeed to stress Minette. But she is finding hours of purring joy with the many guests coming and going. As am I, though the weeds are taking second place to guest care, and why the birds and others don’t eat those, I despair that I will never know.

La recette for my Garden Health Cocktail is: Into a Shaker that is cold with 2 glacons - Squeeze ½ Lime – ½ Lemon – ½ Orange, add a few drops of Orange Bitters and a teaspoon of Miel. 2 jiggers of Gin. Shake like there’s no tomorrow – then strain into a beautiful verre.

The tomates are in the terre. And though it feels I was taking a long while to get to the task, it still is early May and many never plant legumes or the love fruit before the 15th of May. But we were enduring a hot dry spell, it felt like August, and when I regard ma plante de tomates with their burgeoning fleurs - I find myself longing to regard sun kissed morsels - enveloping flesh bonne bouche - and to gently reach into the vine and return to my kitchen with a bowl of plenty.

This year I have planted 7even plants of large tomates, all different varieties. I did not mark them so it will be a surprise when they shape into their skin. I also have 2wo cherry tomato plants - purchased at a brocante for 5ive 0ero centimes each. Recently je decouverte a custom locale. Men who control le jardin familial edibles do not like to plant cherry tomatoes near large tomatoes. Actually, they are not sure they are worthy of root in the garden at all. It is the femme who insists - and she is told to plant them amongst her flowers or in a patch far from the main plot dedicated to the legumes. I decided to research the history of the cherry tomato and it is interesting. I will not elaborate (I looked at the Smithsonian site for information) there is lots to learn but here I note that one country insist they invented the bite size beaute, and another country say no, it was us. Generally, it did not hit the western world until the 1980’s. And if a French man in the country has grown up in a gardening family, c’est normale to plant and eat everything their elders grew. It’s what they know, and what they want. Cherry tomates are a folly.

Share Diner Chez Moi

I adore all tomatoes, but I do love tomates cerise. Strolling about the garden on a fine day, you see a gem, pluck from the vine, and devour. You can make a quick sauce by melting butter and throwing in the tomates whole, add a bit of dry chili flakes and soon you will be saucing your polenta or pasta, rice or lentils. And they freeze beautifully. You place them on a tray - freeze, then place into a freezer bag or box. When Winter finds you longing for a taste of Summer, just pull out what you desire. Being they were individually frozen, you will have no issue with clumping.

The first summer I was here, before I moved into the atelier, and the house was trembling with the boots and hammers of a myriad of artisans, I planted tomates.

I was proud of my harvest. The next year I planted a great deal more, again, a crop of wonder en rouge. I try to alternate the plots of where I plant which is a good idea for any planting of edibles. These past few years with unusual weathering have been sad for my attempts of becoming a prospering femme de tomates, but I do not give up. This year I planted in the same plot as last year. Today they look to be runts. Mais, we all know when a runt is nourished and loved, it too can become grand and gracious.

I am choosing to be countrified French in my mannerisms and plant my tomate cerise in another plot, amongst fleurs et rhubarbe. And for the first time I will keep one in a pot - in the courtyard - for easy pickings - close to my kitchen.

Stay tuned for photos of growth, recipes to delight, and my continued prayers to mother nature.

I leave you with words from Sidney Poitier.

“ My father was a tomato farmer. There is the phrase that says he or she worked their fingers to the bone, well, that’s my Dad. And he was a very good man.”

Postscript - I write short essays for the next few weeks - my maison is full of folks from far and wide.

Petite Dejeuner - Dejeuner - Apero - Apero Dinatoire - Diner

When one from away settles into the French vie, you can of course maintain the habits of your life-eating past - or you can choose to feel - I am here, so why not live as they. At least give it a go. I feel I have adapted rather well, though I do sometimes lament that Porridge is no longer a thrice weekly ritual.

For my petite dejeuner I begin my morning with a drink of hot lemon, honey, ginger and turmeric, adding a dash of ground black pepper – not French - a worldly concoction that is delicious and invigorating. Once the cup is empty I wait about 10 minutes before I ready the moka for le cafe and begin to slather le pain avec beurre et confiture.

I do appreciate my café avec lait steamed and frothy, but most mornings c’est un tasse noir. Croissants are on the table when guests come, and on Saturday I often purchase a croissant from the marche boulangerie to enjoy that morning or Sunday morning. Every so often I will prepare Egg in the Holey Toast, but this is rare. At least once a week I have muesli with yaourt and apples poached in a wee bit of eau et epice avec cannelle. Mais normalement chaque jour, I begin my French morning avec l’habitude d’un French person.

Dejeuner is my preference for the daily main meal. I like to take the mornings for chores, errands, gardening. When famished I prepare a fine repas, at least two courses, then enjoy a petite sieste. Very French indeed. The long lunch hour means everyone can take a nap, young or aging.

On a day such as this Diner is cheese, salad, bread and fruit.

When guests come in the evening, this host makes a choice of the mange chez moi offerings and expresses the invitation with a word. The French know what this word means, and what to expect.

Apero – drinks and snacks. Olives, Nuts, Crudite with an interesting dip. You can offer a Cocktail, Champagne ou Vin.

(side note – I just found out that in Paris there is a gourmet food shop called “Federation Francaise de l’Apertif” - sounds dreamy)

Apero Dinatoire – a selection of raw, cooked, and purchased items designed to offer a light meal, mostly served all at once. You commence sitting in the salon comfortably for your nosh, or at a dining table and enjoy. The host has done their work, rests easily with guests until the food is devoured, and the bottle empty.

When inviting guests for Apero – which is really just a get together at days end for a good gossip when all in session have other plans for Diner - you can tell your guests what time they are expected. Extend the same courtesy for Apero Dinatoire – though once your friends know your habits, you just invite and they will show up between 19h00 et 19h30.

When inviting guests for Diner, you need not mention the arriving heure; a French person knows that in the country you arrive for 19h30, in Paris - 20h00. They just come, and being the host - you are ready.

Guests tend to leave an Apero Dinatoire gathering around 22h00, where with Diner it is usually around minuit.

For Diner (any greeting moment actually) you welcome your guests with a few kisses and light conversation. Begin the evening somewhere comforting be it the kitchen, jardin, or the library. Offer libation, and a small selection of snacks - crudites and nuts - peut-etre velouté in an espresso cup.

You might gather like this for an hour or so, then you move into the dining area to sit at the table pour un entrée, plat, fromage, et dessert. Of course, there may be more than 2 courses to begin – and more sweets than just dessert - but that is a surprise the host might keep.

Most of this eating information is well known to many of us who are not French citizens. And some of the rituals are very similaire within all cultures. However, Apero Dinatoire is a fairly recent addition to the French entertaining menu, and has become very popular.

I like to offer an Apero Dinatoire cooking together experience for my guests, and have created menus that I feel represent well the feel of a light meal both balanced and pleasurable. The smiling lass is Susanna Gilbert - a recent guest and habitue of Books to Cooks. Today I offer you one of my menus with recipes.

Apero Dinatoire chez Maison des Mots

Cru

Yogurt Curry Moutarde Sauce – mix 1t moutarde (curry or your choice) with 1cup yogurt. Serve with Carrot or other crudite.

Navet – Menthe, Citron, Huile Olive, sel - Slice Navet on the mandolin, place on plate with citron presse, Olive Oil, sea salt and chopped fresh mint or parsley.

Cuit

Parmesan & Mimolette Crisps - place grated cheeses in 2 inch round mounds on parchement papier and cook in a 185 degree oven for about 7 minutes. Do not overcook, they will be bitter.

Artichaut Spread – 1 jar artichokes in water, drain and chop. Add one tablespoon mayonnaise, ¼cup grated parmesan cheese, zest of lemon, pinch cayenne pepper. Chopped fine fresh persil et oignon printemps. Melange et place in small oven proof dish, sprinkle more parmesan on top and place in 180 degres for 10 minutes.

Flan – Fenouil et Pomme de Terre – Chevre demi-sec – Persil – Ail frais -2 œufs - 1 tasses lait - rape citron – sel et poivre - Parmesan Rape.

Slice Fenouil et Pomme de Terre into rounds, thinnish. Place into casserole with butter and oil and cook in 190oven for about 15 minutes. Leave oven on. Crumble over legumes a crotin (3/4 cup) of demi-sec goat cheese. Chop lots of fresh parsley and sprinkle over. Slice ail frais or Spring Onions fine, and add to casserole. Zest one lemon over all.

Whisk together 2 eggs, 1 cup milk, add salt and pepper and pour over melange, Grate about 1/3cup parmesan cheese over mixture, bake in oven for about 30 minutes. Done when firm and brown.

Poire et Blue Cheese Yogurt Cake

Prepare pears first. Peal, segment, and place in bowl with lemon juice and a few drops of honey.

In a bowl, empty a one cup container of natural yogurt. Alternate 2 eggs and 1cup self rising flour and 1cup poudre amande. Whisk. Add 1cup blue cheese -mix. Add ½cup chopped walnuts, ¼cup vegetable oil, zest of one lemon - mix. Place one sliced pear on the bottom of loaf pan, pour batter into loaf pan and top with another sliced pear. Cook for 30 minutes at 180 degres C.

.

Purchased

Sardines avec Beurre de Espelette

Pain de Seigle Noir

Saucisson

Fraise

Bon appetite et bonne journee.

Do you feel you are a Gourmand? Do you have a full understanding of the meaning of this word? Until I read “The Physiology of Taste” by Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin 1755-1826, I admit to confusion when expressing my definition while often vituperating my behaviour. When describing my habit of digestion, I had been comparing myself to a greedy cochon. I love to eat, and eat everything (well I did before age settled into my tract) and I also eat everything placed before me. And if the serving platters offer more, sitting idle with an air of come hither and scrape me clean s’il vous plait, I happily oblige.

So, there is a bit of greedy behaviour in my etat particulier, but according to Monsieur – I am not what I thought I was.

“Physiology of Taste” was published in 1825 – now over two centuries young. And it is still in print. Brillat-Savarin was a judge, writer, gourmand, mayor, avid hunter, and shameless flirt, but above all, he was a lover of gastronomy. That is, he reveled in everything from the proper execution of a fondue to the fine art of sitting at the dinner table among guests. This classic work muses profoundly on the minutiae of eating - discussing with poetry, penetrating insight, and sometimes hilarious absurdity, the spectrum of gustatory acts. The essays range from the “Differing kinds of Thirst,” “The Erotic Properties of Truffles,” “Definition of Appetite,” and “Influence of Gourmandism on Wedded Happiness” to many more topics all directly or loosely affiliated with gastronomy (there are chapters on dreams, rest, and labour which at first glance seem to have little to do with food, but really, to Brillat-Savarin everything had something to do with how we eat, which is precisely what makes the book so fascinating).

I share a few snippets of Gourmandism wisdom. “Social Gourmandism unites an Attic elegance with Roman luxury and French subtlety, the kind which chooses wisely, asks for an exacting and knowing preparation, savours with vigor, and sums up the whole with profundity: it is a rare quality, which might easily be named a virtue, and which is at least one of our surest sources of pure pleasure.”

I quote more of Brillat-Savarins’ definitions: “Gourmandism is an impassioned, considered, and habitual preference for whatever pleases the taste. It is the enemy of overindulgence; any man who eats too much or grows drunk risks being expelled from its army of disciples…..No matter how Gourmandism is considered, it deserves praise and encouragement. Physically, it is the result as well as the proof of the perfect state of health of our digestive organs. Morally, it is an implicit obedience of the Creator, who, having ordered us to eat in order to live, invites us to do so with appetite, encourages us with flavour, and rewards us with pleasure.”

Woman Are Gourmandes

I adore this next passage: “The leanings of the fair sex toward Gourmandism are in a way instinctive, for it is basically favourable to their beauty. A series of precise and exhaustive observations has proved beyond doubt that a tempting diet, dainty and well prepared, holds off for a long time the exterior signs of old age. It adds brilliancy to the eyes, freshness to the skin, and more firmness to all the muscles; and just as it is certain, in physiology, that it is the sagging of these muscles which causes wrinkles, beauty’s fiercest enemy, so it is equally correct to say that, other things being equal, the ladies who know how to eat are comparatively ten years younger than those to whom this science is a stranger. Painters and sculptors have long recognized this truth, and they never portray subjects who, through choice or duty, practice abstinence, such as anchorites or misers, without giving them the pallor of illness, the wasted scrawniness of poverty, and the deep wrinkles of enfeebled senility.”

Our dining habits and rituals evolve, and in many ways, I find this to be sorrowful. When this book was published in 1825, and being it is a book about the French race, and their mannerisms with regards to digestion - society embraced eating what we would now feel exotic, consider heavy, too much food and just might whine about lingering long at the table. Our way of working is different, and we have many devices to occupy our attention, inspiring sedentary behaviour. But when it comes to cooking and eating, I feel we have been brainwashed with particular ideas around our most important health habits.

We strive to keep it simple; we eat too fast and too often on our own even when others our in our midst. We purchase too much take-a-away and food to heat up quickly in a microwave. We order in too much. And we buy way more than we need to and often do not realize what we have in our pantry and congelateur. You can stock well without appearing to be a hoarder. I feel we should Cook at home, and Go Out to dine whether it be pizza, moules frites, or an elegant elongated experience. Your budget will thank you, and so will your corps humain.

In my experience more productive and enjoyable moments are fulfilled both cooking creatively in the kitchen with others, and dining with one or more for hours.

Recently I was in Clermont Ferrand for the week-end. There is a restaurant in CF that I am very enthusiastic about, and asked my friend if he would like to dine there. He had never experienced a tasting menu before. Just before leaving he looked at his watch and uttered in astonishment ‘we have been sitting at this table four hours’. We ordered the same menu which consisted of 9 courses, 2 glasses of wine each, mignardise et café. He was delighted with this not so brief encounter – eating and sipping, appreciating fine hospitality under an ethereal dome of culinary might, and exclaiming that the value received for the bill that was offered - was extraordinary. I may have converted a being into the world of Brillat-Savarin.

I also feel that everyday dinner time meals should be an occasion. Not necessary to be 4 hours every night, but most certainly an altogether ritual that begins once everyone is at the table with full attention to each other and the menu that has been prepared by another or you, with care and love. Talk about your days activities, argue about the political landscape, what did you espy in Nature? And even if you are not crazy about the repas set before you, eat it without comment. Then say thank you very much for feeding my stomach and soul.

I eat alone most evenings. I prepare my meal thoughtfully. Normalement I begin by looking into the frigo and creating a menu around what I see. Most often I have a refreshing drink before my dinner with nuts, cheesy morsels, or olives. Then I sit down and enjoy it, sometimes with a glass of wine, but not always. But always 2 courses, sometimes 3. This pleasure of cooking and dining nicely is my gift to moi. And if someone else is with me, j’espere they feel the gift too.

The world that Brillat-Savarin lived in was indeed another time and place.

One difference being that folks could not imagine another way of communicating with each other spending their time together in bars, cafes, picnics, restaurants, and homes. There was no option but to take time to talk to each other, eating together, which inspired a collective unity when they felt they needed to protest loudly with decisive intent to have the elected leaders listen to their concerns. Yes, they had the newspaper to read and share news. There is something quite comforting about reading print to yourself - sharing tidbits with others in earshot - and passing on the paper to another if you do not need it for starting the fire or wrapping your fish. It was not so easy those years of yore to tamper with the words written when you did not own your own printing press. Then as now, many people in our world can not and do not read. Then as now, leaders rage with the same foul messages repeatedly. Now it is on a screen that can be replayed all hours of the day. If someone can not sleep, they turn on their device and putrefy their soul.

This time in our histoire is finding us crazed and feeling very much alone. Many of the powers that be are lost and unhinged. We might read worthy posts from reliable source on our internet of the machinations occurring, but once into the web, we can easily fall into a trap. And if we pay too much attention to the rhetoric, wondering what is real, we too will find ourselves unhinged and following the path of least resistance. If we ever needed to be strong and brave, it is now. And we can only carry on with fortitude when we are feeding ourselves well.

When I read that restaurants that cater to those who dine out to honour tradition are in decline, I weep. Not only for the long lingering menu that I adore, but for the occasion of being together in a place that encourages polite mannerisms, respect for the service from both front and back of the establishment, and where conversations can be witty, learned, and constructive, leaving you with a memory of both a splendid menu and engaging thoughts to rest with you at days end. If we do not support the less expensive of the traditional restaurants, only very expensive fine dining establishments will be available for those with extremely deep pockets, haughty mannerisms, and most often boring with dark souls. No fun eavesdropping on that table!

I encourage you to Embrace Gourmandism – understand that you are what you eat. And to those like myself who have need to alter their diet, enjoy what alternatives you can create to accommodate your appetite with flare and grace while finding yourself both entertained and enlightened.

A few light adjustments j’ai decouverte recently.

- When I slice a baguette pour fromage, I take a slice and break it into 4 or 6 small pieces, and take a small morsel of cheese for each of the little bits of bread. I eat less of both. But enjoy every selection offered on the plateau.

- When I serve Rillettes, instead of spreading on bread, I wrap a heaping spoonful in a leaf of lettuce - light and luscious.

- I make a flan or a crustless quiche. Ethereal.

- I serve cream soups as an amuse, in an espresso cup.

- Chocolate has become an issue, so I only eat it in the morning, and in small doses.

- I make a gluten free yogurt cake. Instead of 2 pots of flour, one pot almond powder and another pot of rice flour.

Sending you all my good wishes for a calm day, hopefully with something delicious in mind for your main meal. Bon courage to us all. Sante.

The images I share with you are from a book titled: A table by Noelle Chatelet.

“Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.” - Jean Paul Richter

Illustration by Roxanna Bikadoroff

My mother was adamant that one should never tell their age. Her reason being that society tends to pass quick and often incorrect judgement about a human when they feel that the number of days lived - defines ones ability - and that one could possibly be beyond springing in step, or too young to comprehend the complexities of a situation without years of experience.

Each and every one of us has an individual histoire. Wisdom is not with us each and every day but can feel profound from the all telling eyes of a bairn in the cradle, and if we remain disciplined, a few other odd days before death!

Sometimes when gathered with a gaggle, I look about and smile to myself realizing I am the elder one. But seriously, I feel proud that I am able to tell anyone who cares to know, that I have lived a compelling life full of struggle, challenge, love, sorrow and joy. I’ve cried buckets of tears and laughed heartily with many engaging others. I feel rich even when my pockets open out empty. Restyled frame, fluctuating brain, transitioning world - I embrace it all.

I do have a regret this natal day. In this ancient village where I live in a beautiful old home with an even older garden, there are lovely and kind people (young & old) who gathered with me this past weekend to celebrate my substantial age. I am exceedingly grateful for this. Folks who contribute to my comfortable existence in my new old world. The bubbly flowed, music soothed, conversations gabbed with ease. I also had guests visiting from Canada - coincidently celebrating thought provoking zero years - a quartet of fine femmes mais tous new acquaintance. I barely felt that nary a soul knew me from my ‘avant France’ life until I lay my head upon the midnight pillow where instead of falling softly into a slumbering spell of sweet dreams, I felt a wistful fog drift in. Oui, I meditated on that long life - beautiful memories lingering still - with longstanding wonderful friends. Food for thought if you are thinking about running away from home alone. So today, and truly with a joyful heart, I will take the medicine that works best for pain of loss, joy of birth, natures gifts, and dance into the kitchen. I will open the frigo to see what’s on offer and cook a restorative menu. Mais first, I open a bottle of Champagne. Pop! Ahh - these glorious sips of ages - Sante !

PS minette turns 10 this year. Oui, my furry friend has caught up to me. She was a bit overwhelmed with our fete, we were 25 noisy humans - but did not venture away from the gathering. Being that she has no desire for Champagne I will prepare her un repas deliceux- poulet tendre saute en creme.

Coq au Vin was on many menus of restaurants in North America, and France. I never ordered it. When deciding what French recipes to cook for friends, I tend to choose a recipe that one may not have experienced before coming to dine in my French kitchen. But when a message came to me from the vendor whom I often purchase organic pork, beef, lamb, and chicken, that old bio-Coq were to be available - et s’il vous plait - place an order, I decided that it was time to toss out prejudice et memoire triste, and cook a dish from Belle Bourgogne, where I now reside.

So, into my cookbook library I go with thoughts of one book: French Regional Cooking by Anne Willan.

This book was gifted to me in 1987 by a group of men who met quarterly for a blind wine tasting event, and asked if I would cook a menu that they could appreciate while tasting and guessing which grape, domain and year was being presented. Each vin mystere was poured from a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. This was not a wine/food pairing menu as I was not allowed to know the wines on offer, just in case one of the men offered me a bribe I could not refuse! I have no memory of what I cooked that day, but the experience I do remember. To everyone’s surprise, I correctly guessed the Taylors 1948 Port.

From that day until now, I have treasured this book and when I opened my Books to Cooks shop, I sold many copies before it went out of print. And even when out of print I tried to locate it for those that were desperate for a copy of their own. But truly, I love this book of French Regional Knowledge even more now as being here in France I have a better understanding of the regions and their idiosyncrasies with regards to food and wine. When I find myself traveling to another region, I read about it first, think about what I might order at a restaurant, and research interesting ingredients that I may not discover here, but can purchase in the markets and bring home to my kitchen. I think one of the most humbling discoveries for me coming here was to realise how much I did not know about French food.

.

When looking in the index of Regional French Cooking for Coq au Vin, I noticed another recipe titled Coq au Reisling. A variation of the recipe that is popular in Alsace. (a German friend here feels it is much tastier) I was intrigued, and being I had purchased enough Coq to make 3 hearty preparations, j’ai sorti un sac de coq congeal du congelateur, purchased a bottle of Reisling, and got cooking. I noticed in the list of ingredients it called for Chicken and I immediately wondered if old Coq might not be a correct choice for the recipe, and I was right. I love the recipe, the sauce is delicious, but next time it will be prepared with a young chicken. To accompany I made a puree of potato and celeriac with cream and butter. It was very nice, but not a wise decision as both recipes are rich. Next time I serve a young Poule au Reisling with steamed white Rice, and steamed fresh Spinach.

After a 5 day rest from Coq fever, I prepared Coq au Vin Burgundian style. Marinating the old Coq overnight – using a local Pinot Noir - and following the traditional method found me crowing with delight. The recipe states that if the Coq is old, simmer it twice as long as the time indicated, which I did. To accompany I prepared a puree of Carrot, Rutabaga and Potato with Olive Oil, Salt, and Pepper.

Apres le plat an Endive salad with Walnuts and Blue Cheese.

For the sweet course, a Clafoutis. In Regional French Cooking, Anne has a recipe for Clafoutis Limousin, from the Centre where its Volcanic soil finds trees growing tiny black Cherries. (oui, c’est vrai that leaving the pits in the cherries when making clafoutis will result in a much more delicious recipe) This recipe is made with Pears, and was given to me from a local French friend. Fresh Apricots or Plums also make a tasty Clafoutis. But you cut in half and remove the pits-unless the plums are Mirabelle where pits can stay in for the same gratifying result as clafoutis cerise. When you cannot purchase any of the above fresh fruits, try the recipe with Prunes. Miam Miam.

Christians’ Pear Clafoutis

Butter and lightly flour a baking dish. Peel, and slice about 4 or 5 pears and place into the dish. Whisk together 4 eggs, then add 100 g Flour, 100 g Sugar, 25 cl Heavy cream, a pinch of Salt. Strain over Pears. Then sprinkle 2 Tablespoons of Sliced Almonds, pour over 2 or 3 Tablespoons Rum, then place about 5 teaspoons of soft butter here and there over the melange and place into a 180 C. oven for about 45 minutes. Check after 35 minutes, if it firm to your touch, remove from oven.

You can make this ahead of time as it is delicious at room temperature.

In the late Autumn, Winter, and early Spring – I leave my warm lit on the premier etage - and stumble down the escalier into a dark and cold kitchen. From slumber to chilly reality, I hasten to turn on the radiateurs - ready my moka with grounds of coffee from the next rue over local roaster - and slice pain for the toaster. As the kitchen warms, the aroma of coffee caffeinates my senses, and I greedily slather butter and confiture on toast. Nourishment installe - I glance about the kitchen - and feel my heart open to the dawn of another day.

I have lived in 9 other kitchens, my French kitchen being numero Ten (feel Bolero). When I purchased this old house, I did not renovate the existing kitchen that was on the premier etage - I constructed a new kitchen from scratch on the rez-de-chaussee. I was often asked by friends if I was finally going to design and construct my dream kitchen. No was my answer. With the space I must work with and the funds in my coffers, I will not build my dream kitchen–realistically-this kitchen is for others to feel comfortable in, not just dream loving me.

But, from the moment I saw the menuisier install the shelves and cupboards, I did fall in love with my kitchen. Not because of the configuration, appliances or the lovely windows looking into the courtyard, or the beautiful solid oak door. I love that I intentionally built open shelves, and with cupboards above waist level that close with glass, so that I can view into with ease. For me and for others, I feel that seeing into a life of one’s treasures inspires curiosity and comfort. These shelves and walls are home to dishes and objet d’art - inherited, gifted and purchased. Some of these objects amuse with my imagined story, others sentimental truth. Many I have found here, and they most surely have a before me story – one I sometimes create for pleasure.

Today I offer you a few images of my kitchen collection with stories.

Close to my cooking table, on a shelf above the sink and stove, a cherub reads to me from a cookbook. I hear no voice from this ethereal ceramic, but I do feel a spirit guiding me to cook the recette well.

Chickens and Cows, Rabbits too – this old McIntosh lives in a zoo. When I was a young child our home had a lovely back garden. My brother had pigeons, a rooster and hen, frogs, a dog and a cat, a budgie and gold fish. The neighbours called our plot McIntosh Farm. I find it amusing how the idiosyncrasy in ones family history, often subconsciously, sticks and realises when you least expect it to. My house is home to only one live Minette animal, but a vast collection of artists (mostly french) renditions of others.

Dante – being my Smeg cooker is Italian, I thought Dante would feel happy to be reciting his inferno next to my fire.

A photograph of Julia. This delightful image was taken to celebrate both her 90^th birthday and the re-release of her book: From Julia Child’s Kitchen. Being I had a bookshop at that time that sold livre de cuisine, the publisher sent me this promotional picture. I adore how she has a mallet to force the knife into submission – only an aging soul can feel this pleasure! Hundreds ask where they can get a copy – desolee - I have no idea.

Hungarian Beer Jug. A few years back a Hungarian friend came for a long stay. One day we were strolling down the grand rue and as we passed the antiquarian brocante, she stopped short and exclaimed that the object in the window was Hungarian and that she wanted to purchase it for me. We are not sure if the shopkeeper knew its provenance, but with the aid of a homegrown Hungarian, I most certainly do, and it happily awaits a guzzling beer drinker to utilise.

Chinese Picnic Tea Pot in a Basket - This is a treasure given to me by a friend who had inherited it from his mother. My friend is gone, his mother long gone, but their memory is with me always.

Japanese Sake Cups - In 2007 I went to Kyoto for 10 days. My friend Tojo chef/restauranteur had sent a letter to his friend in Kyoto asking him to be mindful of my visit and share experience. He took us to his local canteen, and after a lively dinner where I accidently ordered whale thinking I was ordering quail, while drinking an abundance of cold sake from a darling cup that I became besotted with – Tojo’s friend declared that his aunt had a business that made the cups and would I like to visit her factory? Oui oui, bien sur. The next day we went a calling. It was not a large factory but well organised and all who were hand painting the cups and saucers were squatting floor side to do so. I ordered quite a few in 2 sizes, mostly for gifts, but I kept 5 of the larger versions for myself. They were transported, packed thoughtfully in crates, and not a chip or crack came with the journey.

5 Tiny Houses - These were created by Roberta Batchelor - an artist who worked at my restaurant – 1990-1993. I purchased these from Roberta and they hung on the wall in the restaurant, and on all other walls that I have lived with and stared at since.

Ceramic Cups - were also created by a woman who worked at the restaurant, Deb Dewar. Yes, that restaurant had a unique staff of artists and actors and cooks, and others whose theatrical personalities determined that not one moment was dull. One day I must write an essay about the dishwashers. Though I truly can not count how many washed up after the Saturday night shift, and never returned!

Macallan Whisky Jug- I purchased at the distillery in 1998. I was fortunate to have a private tour. I am not sure how it operates now, but then it was stilling in the ways of longstanding, gradually developing new ideas. I am grateful for this very memorable day.

.

Cette sombre Scales are a brocante purchase – the late Spring, Summer and Autumn months are busy each week-end for brocante stalkers. An abundance of communes hold them, most once a year, but bigger communes hold them more often. I tried to haggle the price down but the woman I was bartering with looked into my eyes, with weight in hers, and spoke: These scales are worth 18 euros and I hold to the price. Of course she was right, so now they are mine. And I will sell them for 98 euros! ha ha

Petite vases were designed and created by a woman–Naomi Norberg-who lives up the river in Pouilly sur Loire. I have several of her creations but I love these best as they help me celebrate the seasons sporting what is in bloom.

My maternal grandmothers Toast rack and Cruet for salt pepper and mustard – both hail from York as did she. Oui, they do need polishing, and when taking down from the shelf for this photo, I snapped the handle. I will find a way to repair this treasure. My granny was so unlike my mother – but I know from whence I come - I have haunting traits of each.

Hirondelle – such joy erupts in this village when they return each Spring. When my doors and windows are open, they enjoy to fly about the kitchen investigating an opportunity to build a nest. I found these Portuguese crafted beauties in Paris in a wee café that sells espresso, custard tarts, tins of sardines, ceramic sardines, and life like – Spring affirming swallows.

Asparagus plate – a gift from a guest who purchased it here in la Charite sur Loire. And, Asparagus Servers I found at a brocante. As white asparagus season is beginning, I give you a few ideas for simply enjoying this delicacy. I promise more recipes and images as the season comes into full swing and my favourite vendor feels his crop is worthy of selling.

There are more note worthy items with stories to share – when I first arrived here, I had folks knocking at the door wondering if I wanted to purchase their grandmother’s crystal, earthen ware etc. Of course I found it difficle to say non. Along this Diner Chez Moi journey, you will discover other pieces of my French kitchen collection performing their duty.

My kitchen is the heart of my home. More than just an everyday nourishing centre, a place to sit with myself or another, stare and remember, or share a story. I know naught one who has crossed the kitchen threshold and not asked a question of where something or other came from – and I tell them.

Asperges blanches must be peeled. I start just under the delicate tip and strip away the tough layer. I test where to cut the tough ends of the stock, sometimes you are left with a short stem, but it will be superbe. I then simmer the asparagus for about 20 minutes. I like the stalks soft, as they are much more flavourful. Depending on the thickness of the asperges, begin testing after 10 minutes.

Idea numero one: I melt butter in a saucepan, add orange juice and zest, salt and pepper then pour over the warm asparagus after it is in position on the plate. The asparagus plate is designed for the asperges to settle uniform and cozy.

Idea numero two: I make a vinaigrette for when I want to serve asparagus at room temperature. 1-part orange juice, and orange zest. 1/2-part lemon juice, 1-part Champagne vinaigré, sea salt and white pepper, whisk together then slowly whisk in 3 parts olive oil. If desired, you can also add honey to this vinaigrette – before the oil - about 1 teaspoon.

1, mars - Saint David’s Day – Patron Saint of Wales

Is your March coming in like a Lamb? Are your Daffodils blooming? Maybe you have a vase of Daffodils offering calm & beaute within your home? Are you aware that the Welsh ritual for this day includes pinning a petite leek and/or daffodil upon ones self?

March 1^st is a day I regard thoughtfully for a few reasons. My brother David was not a saint, but many of his ideas and behaviours were indeed saintly. So, I think of him always on this day, and especially this year as I have been spending time in the garden creating Plot David in his memory. The idea commenced a few days after he died last June. I was very fortunate to have friends staying with me at this time, and when they were readying themselves to leave, they presented me a card of condolence, enclosing a cheque. The words written upon the card asked that I use the euros to purchase a plant for my garden in his honour.

It was quiet for me after these generous souls left, and I would spend hours lounging in my garden chaise mourning, thinking, gazing, and wondering what plant would be the perfect to create a calming remembrance of my big brother. One day a Bee came buzzing - a few inches from my face - clutching a load of pollen and clearly trying to advise me what to do. As my brother had been a Bee keeper for many years, I knew the message was to plant what Bees will thrive on. A few days later, a pure white Pigeon stationed itself on a roof close to my chaise and stared at me for hours each day for about a week. My brother had kept pigeons as a lad, and his favourite was King, a pure white Pigeon. I took this as a message that white Bee loving flowers should be planted within Plot David, and that I should never again chase the Pigeons out of my garden. My brother was in love with all Fish, especially Salmon. So many of the plants will be pinkish. And if I am successful there will be lots of blue ground cover with intent to rouse one’s imagination, and feel to be at Sea.

.

As Plot David thickens, I will photograph and share with you.

The other reason the 1^st of March encourages me to sit up and think clearly is that my natal day falls on the last day of March. I am always aware of what weather patterns I should plan for to celebrate the years of wonder, beauty, and a compelling life. So, as today comes in like a Lamb, March will leave us with a roaring Lion, and I will plan for a kitchen party by a warm oven

.

January and February – this year especially dark and noisy - have left us now. Winter for me in this French country life is habitually cold, quiet, and calm. Not so this year as I have been blessed with company from afar which has been an enriching tonic for me, most definitely satisfying for Minette, and those Wintering spirits who prefer to lurk about lonely and cold, were also amused with their unexpected company.

My last guests left this past week – 8 days and nights that were full of good eating, fine wine-ing, laughter and engaging conversations. It was tough to say farewell to this couple. Madame was diagnosed with Leukemia a few weeks before setting out for a month’s vacation in Paris and la Charite. She was advised to carry on with plans and enjoy all on offer in France before her therapy is to commence. I was mightily inspired by her love for life, her determination to appreciate all that could be enjoyed, and a great desire to carry on cooking and entertaining which are her greatest joys of all.

Madame wanted to cook me dinner, so she cooked dinner twice. Mushroom & Pea Risotto, and the other evening a quick Bolognese for pasta. Both delicious. I took on the sous chef role and allowed myself to be ordered about. For one of these meals I offered to provide our apero snack to accompany the evenings opening bottle of wine. I was planning to make a Tempura batter for fresh Anchovy and deep fry these delicate morsels. But no, she suggested I do an Anchovy Sage concoction. In the quick whip of a lambs tail, she hightailed it into the garden returning with large sage leaves. You place a filet (or 2 filets) in between 2 sage leaves, dip into flour, then the batter, then into a frypan of hot grapeseed oil et a tout suite - voila, an incredibly delicious ethereal treat that I have dubbed: Sage des ages de l’anchois

.

I hope you try this recipe, enjoy it, and feel all of the goodness that can be shared in a kitchen, cooking together.

Cael diwrnod da - Bonne journee - Have a Good day.

Moi et Minette are entertaining a Canadian couple from Victoria. They are with us for 8 nights. Oui, c’est vrai, a couple brave and happy to explore the French countryside when the air is cold, the wind is blowing rain, and the rising river threatens downtown la Charite sur Loire with more than a few puddles. I am grateful ma maison is mid-town la Charite sur Loire, though the wind howling at night, with rain pelting against the panes of glass, does not find me resting comfortably when I wonder what might be raging riverside.

When I was making ready their apartment on the deuxiemme etage, I decided to encourage ideas for preparing simple meals with a copy of a book I penned in 2010; “Cooking for Me and Sometimes You”. I wrote this book after spending a month in Paris, in an apartment on the Ile de la Cite where my chambre looked up to the steeple of Notre-Dame de Paris. That was February, 16 years ago. As much as I loved Paris and France then, I would never have imagined that fast forward to now - I would be writing today that 9 years ago I purchased a house in France - and here I be.

Madame read the book in the afternoon which led to beaucoup discussions in front of the fire with a Vodka Martini and slices of Winter radish.

.

I call this book my little grey one. I enjoyed the process of both writing and publishing with a team of professionals who helped me realize this dream. Of course having a bookshop at the time was very useful to sell the 5000 copies I had printed -but other bookshops carried it too. It was a memorable moment for me when one of my customers came into my shop to say bonjour after returning from Paris. She showed me the photo she took in Shakespeare & Co. where my book was piled high beside an equally high stack of Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast”.

Maybe it’s time to publish my “Growing Grey” one.

.

“Cooking for Me and Sometimes You” is written in the form of a journal. Almost every day I muse on my wanderings, remembrance past, and occasion with others. I include recipes that fed both my voracious appetite and sometimes nurtured another. I have always enjoyed cooking for myself - it provides multi-sensory experience; nourriture, entertainment, enlightenment, and almost always, cuisine delicieuse.

However, cooking for others is a treat, and others cooking for me, is a delight.

This February, cozy with others in my old French house, I prepare a menu to warm and comfort. Being that the salad I created for my last guest was a hit - a melange of mesclun greens, choucroute cru, and grated beet with a balsamic apple cider vinaigrette - I served it again. It was very well received second time served, and is definitely a recipe I add to the journal of keepers.

Here is the photo !

For the plat - A gigot de agneau, which cooked in a low oven for 5 hours. I served the ‘falling off the bone’ Lamb with a puree of Rutabaga, Potato and Swiss Chard, Olive Oil, Salt & Pepper. The leftovers will become a hachis parmentier which is French for Shepherd’s Pie.

When I make a Shepherd’s Pie, I dice up (mostly) root vegetables and saute in a bit of oil and butter. For this particular concoction I use what’s in the frigo - carrots, turnip, sweet potato, leeks, and the white stock from the leaves of the swiss chard that I sliced fine for the puree last night. I want the vegetables to be cooked, but not fully - si, al dente. I make a roux with Espelette butter and flour, then pour in warm jus, which was leftover from cooking the lamb. I purchase ready to go Espelette butter from Fromagerie Franck, la marque est Bordier. But you can make your own with good butter and Espelette pepper. When the sauce is smooth and salted to your taste, pour it over the cooked vegetables and shredded lamb, mix together gently, and place the melange into a casserole. I top with a combination of newly cooked and mashed potatoes, and the leftover puree from yesterday.

Cook for about 30 minutes in a 175 C. oven.

My upstairs guests came downstairs to the kitchen and we shared another way to appreciate lamb. They came bearing gifts, a fresh salad and Sancerre blanc.

Here’s to another day of cooking, eating and drinking well. Sante a tous.

PS one guest is allergic to Minette, the other is in love with Minette. Life is a balance - elle est contente.

nurturing, entertaining, educational, and the result most always - delicious. Cooking for others is a treat, and being cooked for a delight. Yes, I believe I am a well rounded soul with regards to the rituals around the hob and the table.

For my visiting guests, I prepared a simple menu. a repeat of the salad I prepared last week; this time with a photo. gigot de agneau - 5 hours in a low oven, puree of rutabaga, potato and swiss chard. And with the leftovers I will prepare a Shepherd’s pie.

There are 4 days in early February that I remember with both joy and sorrow. Four kind and special people that enriched my life immensely, all having left this mortal coil, were brought into this world in Wintering spirit. My father - 8th, a very dear friend - 9th, my brother - 13th, and a long ago lover - 16th. They all enjoyed cooking, eating and drinking, some a bit too much! Both my father and my brother were very good home cooks, and actually did the cooking for their families on a regular basis. And the son of my brother, my nephew Dylan, is a lovely cook. I wonder when his ‘soon to be bairn’ is born, he too will carry the man-shall-cook torch from remembrance past and prepare nourishment routinely for his family.

.

Today I share with you the menu I prepared a few nights ago for a friend visiting from London. Anna has been here a few times, we get on well, and it is always a delight to have her visit. Our conversations inspire me to feel Anna is a Renaissance Woman in training.

The chill of early February, a grey hue, and humidity into the bones, clearly called for a rustic and warming menu by a crackling fire.

A cocktail always warms the cockles. I do not enjoy drinking spirits without food, so a few nibbles to doubly whet our appetite for the main meal I feel to be essential. Pistache - the pink Pistache - from Iran, and Mimolette Parmesan Crisps I have prepared and waiting. I prepare a cocktail I call the Winter Sling; One part Campari, One part Gin, a dash of Orange Bitters, and 2 parts Freshly Squeezed Grapefruit Juice. All ingredients go into a cocktail shaker with 2 cubes of glacons, and then you shake heartily. A good 30 seconds of strong shaking successfully melds the flavours, and also feels jolly. Strain into your favourite cocktail glass of the moment. The Winter Sling is refreshing, and easy to drink quickly, but it’s stronger than it feels going down your little pink lane, so one is plenty. And yes, the Winter Sling inspires compelling conversation.

We sally forth into the kitchen to prepare our menu. I apologize that I neglected to snap images of the menu as it progressed. I blame it on the Winter Sling. But I promise you, it was a pretty sight to behold on delicate, gorgeous, china and earthenware plates.

Entree course: Salade Composee

I had purchased Choucroute cru at the Bio vegetable stall at the Farmer’s Marche. As well, I purchased Mesclun Mix, and a Beet. I had already cooked the Beet, well done, but not too soft. I grate the Beet. I mix together Olive Oil and a Balsamic Apple Cider Vinegar from Normandy, salt and pepper. On individual plates I place the Mesclun, top with grated beets, then the Choucroute (sauerkraut). I drizzle the Vinaigrette over all, and we take to the table, and once seated, we take our fork and mix through the vinaigrette. Fresh, Sour, Sweet - delicious and satisfying.

Plat course: Pork Schnitzel with Mushroom Cream Sauce, Celeriac and Potato Puree.

Potato and Celeriac are peeled and chopped into large chunks, placed into a large pot which you cover with equal amounts of milk and water. A rolling boil until soft. (in France Celeriac is referred to as Celery, and the green stalks we call Celery , is referred to as Celery Branch) Once soft, drain and puree with butter, creme fraiche, salt, a grinding of white pepper, and a grinding of nutmeg.

Slice clean mushrooms, and place into a fry pan over low heat without butter or oil. Once they are soft and have a deeper colour, add butter and carry on cooking. Then add a few ounces of dry white wine and reduce, salt and pepper next, then a goodly amount of creme fraiche. Let simmer away until a spoon coats smooth and the taste is lovely.

Take escalope of pork, place between 2 pieces of parchment paper and pound until thin. In a shallow bowl, whisk one egg. On a plate, some flour, and on another plate, fresh fine breadcrumbs. On the hob, melt butter and oil together over medium heat. Take the escalope and dredge through the flour, dip into the egg, then allow the crumbs to soak up the egg. Fry for about 90 seconds each side. Thin Pork Cooks Quick. And if the flesh be a wee bit pink, the tastier it will be.

To serve I place the puree on a warm plate, the escalope covering half the puree, and then pour over the mushroom sauce. Chopped chives or parsley sprinkled over all provide colour.

Fromage course: Marinated Crotin of Goats Cheese - the cheese of this region, and Saint - Felicien, a cows milk cheese produced in the Rhone-Alps region of France. Soft rustic Baguette.

Dessert course: Yogurt Pear Gateau. In France when you prepare a cake and bake it in a round pan, it’s called a gateau, it you prepare the same mixture and bake in a loaf pan, it’s called a cake. Today I choose a round tin pan, so I call it a gateau, but often I make this in a loaf which inspires me to enjoy bigger slices and the cake disappears tout suite.

I crinkle parchment paper, flatten into the tin to ready it for the batter. And turn on the oven to 180 Celcius degrees.

I peal a pear, slice into wedges, combine with some sugar, orange zest, a wee bit of orange juice and set aside.

Then I take a small pot of natural yogurt and empty into a mixing bowl. I fill the pot with sugar, and whisk it into the yogurt. Next, I fill the pot with almond powder and whisk into the evolving melange. Whisk in one egg, then fill the pot with white cake flour, one teaspoon each of baking soda, baking powder, and ground ginger. Whisk in, then whisk in another egg. The next to last step is to put vegetable oil into the wee pot, but not full, only 1/4 full. Whisk again, ensure you are happy with a smooth batter before using the aid of a spatula to pour into your parchment lined tin. Place pear wedges about the top, it will look pretty, but the pears do fall to the bottom during the baking process.

Into oven for 30 minutes. However, I always check the status quo after 25 minutes and often it is ready.

A few words about the wine we enjoyed. Domaine la Petite Forge, Cotes de La Charite. A local winery, 8 km from home. The grape juice in this bottle is a blend of Chardonnay and Pinot Beurot. The next day I took Anna to meet the producers and they insisted we stay for Mousseux and Walnut Tart.

So, if you care to prepare these recipes and have any questions, I am delighted to converse with you be it in my French kitchen, on the telephone, or writing notes to each other on our computers. Here’s to Cooking, Eating & Drinking well. Bonne journee, Barbara-jo

.

Bonjour! Je m’appelle Barbara-jo, a Canadian living in small ville France, two hours south of Paris. This distance is important to me as I enjoy Paris a great deal, and this 2-hour traveling time allows me to visit often, mostly for the day. Sometimes I take a few days there which is lovely, but I am always happy to return to my quiet home, garden and Minette - my furry feline who is very happy to see me.

My life has been dedicated to hospitality in many guises. Albion Fisheries-selling Fish & Seafood to restaurants. Umberto’s Restaurant Group. Catering Director of the Mandarin Hotel in Vancouver which is now long gone, but was the first Mandarin Hotel in the Western World. Fox McIntosh, a special events and catering business. Barbara-Jo’s Elegant Home Cooking, my jewel box of a restaurant. And for 20 years, Barbara-Jo’s Books to Cooks, my beloved bookshop with a kitchen designed to showcase chefs and authors from far and wide. These talented folk would come to us with their newly published books to both introduce the work, and share life experience. We took special care of, and in return were entertained astonishingly well by the likes of Ferran Adria, Nigella Lawson, Mark Bittman, Anne Willan, Gordon Ramsay, Judy Rodgers, Anthony Bourdain, Naomi Duguid, Martin Yan, Donna Hay, Madhur Jaffrey, Michael Pollan, Dorie Greenspan, Michel Roux….. the list is longer still and not a soul who came is unworthy of a mention, but the experience of welcoming cooks for 20 years could fill a book and should be written.

And Vancouver’s own culinary treasures, many who honed their teaching and media skills cooking in front of a live crowd in the kitchen of Books to Cooks. These generous souls would cook from their own publications, and favourite books written by others. Assembled guests were delighted to witness the joy with which these chefs shared their love for the book, what they had learnt from it, while preparing a 3, sometimes 5 course menu - recipes from the book - for all to savour. Ah, the memories are glorious.

So here I be, living and cooking in France. I find myself cooking more than I ever have, learning more than I thought was possible at this time in my longish life, and enjoying both the cultural experience of another country, and the good company of folks who adventure to la Charite sur Loire to stay with me in my big old house and garden

I invite you to join me in my kitchen, share my escapades, and hope you enjoy my scribblings.