Final Days

With Thanksgiving over and the Goolsby clan on the train back to Paris, November came to an end in Arles. The weather had turned cold before I left Paris and it was snowing the day I left Ghislaine's house in Montépilloy to head back down to Arles on the TGV. I had hoped that the south would be warmer. Not so. I experienced firsthand the mysterious winter mistral wind. I'd read about it for years. Peter Mayle gives bone-chilling descriptions of it in his books, but I must admit that I didn't really believe it could be that cold. I am from the Appalachian Mountains after all and went to college in Boone where the wind blows non-stop from October to March. According to Wikipedia, the mistral is "a fresh or cold, often violent, and usually dry wind, blowing throughout the year but is most frequent in winter and spring. It blows from the northwest or north of Europe through the valley of the Rhône River to the Mediterranean." The article goes on to say that the weather is generally sunny and clear when the mistral arrives and it plays an important part in the weather of Provence. No kidding. We were out driving in it one early December day and I thought the van would literally blow off the road. I caught myself offering up a little prayer, begging to make it back to Arles safe and sound. I even went so far as to promise I would not get back in a motorized vehicle again until time to go to the airport to fly home. Even while I was thinking that, I could imagine God laughing out loud. Sure, He thought, the next time someone suggests going to see a new corner of Provence, she'll be out the door in a flash without thinking twice about that promise. I am so glad that God has a sense of humor. Back to the mistral. I thought it was named for poet Frédéric Mistral (1830-1914), the Nobel Prize winning poet from Provence. A statue of Mistral stands in the Place du Forum in Arles. Gilles says the statue comes to life once a year to faire pi-pi. Therefore, says Gilles, it is important to go to Virgil's café in the square every day for a drink after he closes his book shop so he won't miss the action when it happens. According to Gilles the event takes seven minutes so there is plenty of time to take photos. However, Wikipedia says the name mistral comes the Languedoc dialect of the Provençal language (which I did not master in the least during my six month stay). That makes sense, of course, because the wind was around before M. Mistral started writing poems in his native Provençal. On the autoroute there are electronic signs warning drivers about the wind gusts. In the Rhône Valley, gusts of more than 90 kilometers (50-60 miles) an hour have been recorded. In the summer, I did witness it quickly blow into Place Voltaire and take the café umbrellas up with it. I was still skeptical back in summer, though, just grateful for a breeze. It always seemed to be over almost as soon as it began in July. Let me tell you, in December it sticks around! I was so happy to have my wool coat, scarf and ear warmers.
My final adventures included a trip to Marseille to look at minerals, gems and fossils with Leo and Jonas, Érick's sons. We had a great lunch in a Chinese restaurant that Érick remembered from a previous visit. We celebrated Jonas' seventh birthday in Avignon with a wonderful cake baked by Madeleine, his mom. I think I ate three pieces, but who was counting?
Érick took me to dinner at Au Brin de Thym, a restaurant in Arles that specializes in Provençal cuisine (www.aubrindethym.com). I had been there in July with Coleman and Lilly Whittier, friends from Durham, and I was not disappointed the second time around. It was a very quiet evening without many clients venturing out on a cold evening. The owner said that people's wallets must have been as cold as the weather. I had lamb very simply prepared with thyme (photo above). I rarely pass up the chance to have lamb now. It was pink, perfect! The roasted vegetables were excellent, too. We shared a bottle of Mas de Gougonnier 2005 Réserve du Mas from Les Baux de Provence.
I met more of Érick's friends, including three young women hoping to start their own business in Arles. The red-tape was driving them insane at the time. I hope they are having more success. Unfortunately, the recession has hit Arles also. Didier and Monique are selling their brocanterie, or second-hand shop. Their last day for business will be January 23. Where will Érick find his beautiful antique glasses (to replace the ones broken by careless dishwashers such as moi) and paintings? I bought some hand-painted soldiers there for my son, Grant, for his birthday. Didier told me that they would like to open a tea shop in Arles, but would that survive? During tourist season, yes, and hopefully they would make enough to get through the winter months. Gilles' bookshop is going through tough times, too. There is a worldwide tightening of the belt in order to have enough for the necessities now. Restaurants in Arles suffered this summer. There were still vacationers in town, but they were cutting corners and eating more sandwiches from bakeries and less restaurant meals, according to the local newspaper, La Provence.
My final grand adventure was to the medieval walled city of Carcassonne in the Aude département to the west of Arles. I had seen pictures of the city and studied it in French history courses. Needless, to say, I was excited and had my camera ready. One of Érick's very good friends, Jacques, moved to a town nearby five or six years ago. We first stopped in to visit him, his wife, Frédérique and their daughter Élisa at their bed and breakfast in Villeneuve-Minervois (www.closdumoulin.net). Jacques is a well-known local chef and truffle expert. He was featured in the December 2008, January-February 2009 edition of Terre de Vins, Saveurs des Terroires du Sud magazine. We then set off for a quick visit to Carcassonne before sundown. Jacques and Frédérique sent us off, telling us that dinner would be ready when we returned.
My first view of the city literally left me breathless and speechless. Nothing in a photo or a history book prepares you for a sight such as an entire walled city sitting majestically on top of a hill. We parked the van and walked up the hill and through the walls, crossing the drawbridge to enter. The moat no longer has water in it. But it is easy to imagine that it once was filled. The city is actually enclosed by two oval-shaped concentric walls. The entire fortress contains 3 kilometers or almost 2 miles of walls, with 52 towers. I quickly realized that I do not know much at all about the Cathars or the Crusades, two important factors in the history of Carcassonne. The Cathars were considered heretics by the Roman Catholic Church, according to the guidebook I bought. They believed in two main principles: God and Satan. The spirit of man is God's creation, but the body and all matter is Satan's creation. The Earth is the empire of Satan, therefore it is a temporary Hell which will be destroyed at the end of time. According to the Cathars, man can save himself by reincarnations leading him gradually to perfection and therefore to eternal life. It amazes me how many wars have been fought in the name of religion. Anyway, inside the walls, Carcassonne is full of shops selling postcards, books and toy knights on horseback. There are cafés, restaurants and hotels. Tourists can visit the Comtal Castle. We did not. We strolled around the city, looking in shop windows and taking photos until time to return to Villeneuve-Minervois for dinner.
Jacques prepared sausages in their fireplace for dinner. I know we also ate salad and cheese, but the sausage was the star of the meal. The Languedoc region of France is very well-known for its wine and we had a very nice red with our meal.
The next day, we decided to return to Carcassonne to look around some more and to have lunch. We ate cassoulet at a café named Le Trouvère. It was a chilly day and the bean stew was just the right dish to take the chill out of my tummy! I vowed then and there that I would attempt to make that at home. I am still searching for the confit duck legs (recipe found in the previous blog entry).
After lunch, we hit the road again. I thought we were heading back to Arles. After such a wonderful lunch, I fell asleep in the van. When I awoke a little while (well, maybe 45 minutes or an hour) later, I saw a sign giving the mileage to Barcelona. I do know that city is found in Spain. I could also see the Pyrénées, beautiful mountains, to one side of the autoroute. To my surprise, Chef Érick had decided we should make a quick trip across the border since I had never been to Spain. I am a child of the '70's so that reminded me of Three Dog Night's song... "I've never been to Spain, but I've been to Oklahoma..." Very true in my case. Spain is way more beautiful than Oklahoma, in my humble opinion, at least the little part I saw. We drove to the town of Figueres where Salvador Dali was born, stopped in a shop that sells pottery, made a couple of purchases and left Spain to head back to France.
We drove up the coast, stopping in the town of Collioure for dinner in a little seafood restaurant. What a beautiful town. It was windy, with palm trees blowing and waves crashing. Christmas lights had been strung in the palms and were twinkling. The restaurant was owned by a woman from Tahiti. She waited on us and we were the only ones there except for a couple of Tahitian friends. She told me she could tell I am American from my posture. That was the first time I've ever been told that! I hope it was a compliment. I ate a spicy seafood stew and we shared a bottle of rosé.
The drive back to Arles was a bit sad for me. I knew that my adventures were coming to an end, as well as my stay in what I had come to consider my French home. I spent the last few days shopping for souvenirs for friends and Christmas presents for my family. I took pictures of the Christmas decorations in town and in the shop windows. I made the rounds to visit my friends and say good-bye.
We did have a bit of work to do during my last two days. Chef Érick had been hired to make lunch and dinner for a group of radio personalities who were in town for a conference. I assisted in the kitchen for the last time and helped serve the meal. I stayed up past midnight, once last time, washing all the dishes used to serve a three-course meal to 17, as well as three glasses per person. While washing, drying and putting those dishes away, I wondered to myself which appliance I would appreciate more upon my return home, a dishwasher or a clothes dryer. The dishwasher won, hands down.
In order to get everything important back to the States with me, I mailed five boxes (prepaid postage, fill them as full as you can heavy-duty cardboard boxes from la poste) home to myself. I filled my two suitcases as full as possible, hoping that they would not exceed the weight limit. I stashed two truffles, two salt-cured duck breasts and two packages of duck pâté in the middle of one of the suitcases. Chef Érick had vacuum-sealed the bags. I could still detect the smell of truffles, but I hoped for the best. I left behind quite a few pieces of summer clothing. When I arrived at the counter at the airport in Marignane, one suitcase weighed 18 kilos and the other 30. The lady checking me in didn't bat an eye, much less give me the evil eye and ask me what I on earth I had in those bags that could weigh so much. I was down to my last few euros so luckily I did not have to spend them paying for over-the-limit baggage. I said my good-byes to Chef Érick and began my journey home after six months and four days in France, with a tian baking dish in my carry-on bag.
My next post will take you with me to Paris and the week I spent there in November with a very special person.
Since I love lamb, I will leave you with Chef Érick's recipe for leg of lamb, gigôt d'agneau.
Bon appétit!!

Gigôt d’Agneau aux Anchois


The marriage of meat and fish is an ancient one in the Mediterranean.


For 6

One leg of lamb approximately 2.5 plus kilos (5-6 lbs)
4 salted anchovies filleted
a head of garlic
olive oil

Heat oven to 200C/400F.

Trim off the excess surface fat from the leg of lamb. Cut 3-4 garlic cloves in slivers. With a knife, make slits in the lamb and insert either an anchovy filet and a garlic sliver. Lay the lamb in a baking dish and surround with the rest of the garlic cloves “in their shirt” unpeeled. Drizzle olive oil over the lamb, pour water in the bottom of the baking dish and place the lamb in the oven, making sure that the oven has reached its temperature.

There are many ways to roast a lamb. One method is as follows: immediately lower the temperature to 280F/140C and cook for 10 minutes per pound or 25 minutes a kilo. Check the lamb by inserting a long knife into its center and then touching the tip. When done, it will be slightly warmer than your body – around 120F/ 70C. This is for rare lamb. Remove the lamb and let sit covered for 10 minutes before carving.

Simple baked or boiled potatoes go well with this dish.

Quel gros canard!

The last couple of weeks of my sabbatical were busy ones. (I am home now and writing this from the comfort of my kitchen table-- more about that soon!) I was counting the days until I would see my family again but racing against the clock to fit in as much as I could before leaving Provence and France. Chef Érick knew he still had a lot to teach me about cooking and one day came home with the biggest duck I have ever seen. Admittedly, I do not have a lot of experience with ducks other than watching Daffy Duck on Looney Tunes most Saturday mornings of my young life and eating quite a bit of it in June while in southwest France with the Arles 6. Professor Rich and I went to a farm where duck and geese are force fed- gavage- while near Sarlat in June. He, as a biology professor and turkey specialist, was curious and I was his chauffeur and translator. I had also vowed to myself upon receiving the sabbatical and arriving in France that I would not pass up an adventure during my six month stay. We did not witness the actual process, but we did listen to the owner explain how the ducks and geese are cared for and fed, all very ethically, of course, according to him. I am no one to judge and let's just say that visiting the farm has not kept me from eating duck or pâté de fois gras. The birds are fed a mixture of ground corn and oil through a tube for a period of about 15 days until their liver is the proper size, ideally around 750 grams. We were told that the birds basically will do this to themselves before migrating-- well, they don't force the food down their own throats obviously, but they will eat enough to sustain themselves during the long flight. After they are slaughtered, all parts are used and consumed. The French are not wasteful. Listening to the monsieur talk about the process reminded me of watching my grandmother on her farm. No part of an animal was ever wasted. That is why I am still curious about those pig ears that I saw in the market one day...
So, the day came when I arrived in the kitchen to find M. Canard on the steel work table in the kitchen in Arles. I declined Chef Érick's offer to chop off his head. He did so and then went to work with a sharp knife. The first thing was to remove the liver. We got out the scale so that we could weigh the "parts" as we removed them. The liver weighed one kilo or 2.2 pounds. We put that aside and went too work on the breasts. By this time I had lost all sense of trepidation and was ready with my knife, too. We carved out the breasts and they weighed 500 grams (about one pound) each. Érick salted them and put them aside. He cures them with salt. I chopped off the feet and we set aside the legs. (I would love to have them right now for the cassoulet I plan to make soon...) We saved every part of this duck. The neck and feet were to be used for stock. As I said, nothing goes to waste.
I brought home two breasts and some of the liver. My suitcase did indeed make it through customs with truffles and duck! Sorry, Rich, no drama at the airport! I do appreciate the fact that you and Pat were ready to come rescue me should I be detained at customs for "illegal substances," but I made it through. One suitcase arrived at RDU held together with tape. I think it must have been opened and the agent didn't want to even bother to try to zip it back up. The other one, the one with the truffles and duck, didn't seem to have been opened, thank goodness. Chef Érick has become quite adept at packing foodstuffs for the journey to the U.S. He packaged Dorette's saucisson (all 7 of them!) this summer. He has made numerous trips to the States for cooking demonstrations and has made it through customs each and every time. Vacuum-sealing is essential!
I am including a recipe for cassoulet that my mom found in a recent edition of Guideposts. She read the article about it and knew it would interest me. The woman called it the French version of pork and beans. Gross understatement if ever there was one. I did eat cassoulet while visiting the city of Carcassonne the week before I left. We ate in a café, supposedly the oldest one within the walled city. This dish of "pork and beans" was just right on a chilly, rainy day, with a glass of local red wine and freshly baked bread. A nice dinner for a cold January day. It is well worth the time it takes to prepare! Rosie and her husband ate it in a French restaurant in Brooklyn and then worked for quite a long time to find the right recipe. As she says in the article ..."even though it does take time and patience to prepare cassoulet, I discovered that the dish isn't as complicated as I first thought. I think of it as the best pork and beans you've ever tasted-- rich and garlicky and herbaceous, with a crust that crackles when you dig your fork in. It's not health food- that's for sure. It's country food. Soul food, even. French-style."
I love that! We Americans are not the food Barbarians the French think us to be! At least not those of us who would spend practically an entire day on one of their best-loved dishes for winter! Now, where can I find those confit duck legs here in Durham??

Cassoulet
(thanks to Rosie Schaap and Guideposts January 2009)

4 cups of Tarbais or other small white beans, such as great Northern
4 fresh ham hocks, about 1 lb. each
3 large onions, peeled and quartered
6 sprigs thyme
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 Tbsp. duck fat (can be ordered from D'Artagnan, dartagnan.com)
4 links unseasoned fresh pork sausage, cut into 2-in. pieces
1 large head garlic, separated into cloves and peeled
4 whole confit duck legs (can be ordered from D'Artagnan)
1/4 tsp. nutmeg

Topping: (optional, in my opinion; the cassoulet in Carcassonne did not have it)
1 cup bread crumbs (made from dried out bread)
1 Tbsp. fresh parsley, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
Salt

Rinse beans thoroughly, pick through and discard stones, set aside.
Place ham hocks in a large pot. Add 2 onions, thyme, and salt and pepper. Cover with water and bring to boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, partially covered, for 2 1/2 hours. Remove from heat, allow to cool 15 minutes then drain ham hocks, discarding onion and thyme. Cut meat from each hock into 2 pieces, fat and skin, and set meat aside.
Empty water from large pot. Add beans and enough water to cover by 1/2 inch (about 8 cups) and season with salt. Bring to a simmer then reduce to low and cook until bean are tender, about 45 minutes. Adjust salt, if necessary, then set beans aside to cool. Reserve cooking liquid.
Heat duck fat in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add sausages and cook, turning to brown on all sides, for about 10 minutes. Place garlic, remaining onion and 1/2 cup water in a blender and purée until smooth. Add garlic paste to sausages and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook, turning sausages occasionally, for 10 minutes.
Preheat oven to 350F. Using a slotted spoon, transfer about half the beans to a heavy, wide-mouthed, 6-quart pot, about 4 inches high. Assemble cassoulet in layers: Place meat from ham hocks on top of beans and cover with sausages and garlic paste. Divide duck into 8 pieces by separating drumsticks from thighs. Arrange duck on sausages then spoon in remaining beans. Season with nutmeg and add just enough reserved bean cooking liquid to cover beans (about 3 cups). Reserve remaining liquid. Bake cassoulet uncovered until it comes to a simmer and crust begins to form, about 1 hour. If cassoulet appears dry, break top layer by gently pushing it down with the back of a spoon, allowing a new layer of beans to rise to the surface. Add just enough bean liquid to moisten the beans.
Remove cassoulet from oven. Allow to cool completely, then cover and refrigerate overnight.
Prepare topping: Mix bread crumbs, parsley, garlic and a good pinch of salt.
Remove cassoulet from the refrigerator and allow to come to room temperature for at least 45 minutes. Preheat oven to 350F. Bake for 1 hour. When cassoulet begins to simmer, break crust and add enough warm water to just cover the beans (about 1 cup). Reduce heat to 250F, add bread-crumb topping and bake, breaking crust and adding water as needed, for 3 hours. Remove cassoulet from oven and allow to rest for 15-20 minutes. Serve cassoulet from the pot, breaking the crust at the table. Serves 8.

Black Diamonds

Yesterday I fell in love with a man, his dog and a mountain. After last Friday's truffle market in Carpentras, Chef Érick and I were invited to have lunch with René, pictured above, and Françoise, his wife, at their home in Isle sur la Sorgue in the Vaucluse. René called on Tuesday of this week to confirm that we were coming. He asked me if I am afraid of walking in the mountains. He did not know he was talking to a mountain girl. And then he told me not to wear my high heels. Since I do not own any, that would be easy enough. He also reminded me that we needed to get there early. So, I dressed warmly, lacing up my tennis shoes, and we set out around 10:00 am. Isle sur la Sorgue is about an hour's drive from Arles. We drove through fog for about 30 minutes and after it lifted, we could see Mont Ventoux in the distance, covered with snow.
When we arrived in the town well-known for its antique shops, Érick pulled off to the side of the road to phone René because he was unsure of how to find his house. René gave him directions and said he would come find us on his bicycle if we got lost. We set out again and, sure enough, at the turn to his neighborhood, there sat René on his vélo. We followed him home. We were greeted by the barking of Sonny, his white lab. Françoise had prepared a feast for us. We ate shrimp, paté de fois gras and smoked salmon on toast and radishes as appetizers. Then Françoise made omelets with truffles for the next course. René brought out a bottle of red Côtes du Ventoux wine and uncorked it. The omelets were followed by endives baked with ham and cheese with truffles sprinkled inside. Lunch conversation consisted of René telling me about his teaching days at the nearby high school and Érick instructing Françoise on the proper way to prepare truffles. He told her that truffles should not be cooked. They should be added to a dish after it has been cooked. Heating them causes them to lose their flavor. Françoise seemed very grateful for the advice. We had cheese, a little dish of ice cream and coffee before setting out on our adventure. Françoise elected not to go (probably because she had so many dishes to wash...) and she lent me her boots. René loaded Sonny into the truck and off we went.
I really had no idea what to expect. I did have a vague recollection of oak trees and roots after reading Peter Mayle's books. We parked by the side of the road and found a little path up the mountain where René owns property and where he does his hunting. I followed behind René and Sonny, keeping a bit of distance between us so as not to distract her. I learned to walk in the grass or on the moss, not on the dirt path. Lesson #1: leave no tracks for others to see. Lesson #2: whisper so that your voice doesn't carry. Others are probably around, hunting for truffles, too, poaching most likely. It is still a bit early in the truffle-hunting season and I had been warned not to expect too much. So, it was a pleasant surprise when Sonny started digging about 10 minutes into our walk. As soon as she begins to dig, René hurries over and scoots her out of the way. She has no interest in eating the truffle, however. I had read about hunting with pigs, but pigs like to eat the truffles. We did see lots of places where wild boar, sangliers, had beat us to the treasure. Once René finds the diamant noir, or black diamond as they are known in France, he rewards Sonny with several dog treats from the little bag he keeps in his pocket. He tells her what a great dog she is and pets her. It is obvious that he loves her dearly and she is fiercely loyal to him. She decided that she kind of liked me, but I think it was because I was wearing Françoise's boots, to be truthful.
René then checks out his treasure, smelling it and carefully rubbing some of the dirt away in order to see if it is a good one. He can tell immediately if it is too wet or too dry. If so, it will not fetch much at the market. There are stories of fake smell being added to the truffles, lead pellets being inserted into them to make them weigh more, poachers who steal from the property owners, and so on. This seems to be a business based on trust, however, and René is a man of his word. He taught high school for about 30 years and loved it. He has hunted truffles for over 40 years. He took great pleasure in showing me how he goes about it. I am deeply grateful to him for the lesson.
We spent about two hours following Sonny's nose and a little path up the mountain. René remembers where he has had success in the past and guides the dog towards those places. She, however, is guided by her nose and her knowledge that a treat awaits her should she find a truffle. We came out of the woods with 11 truffles of various sizes. René even let me dig one up. He carries a small screwdriver in his pocket for this purpose. He places his truffles in a small white plastic sack. His jacket has lots of pockets to hold all the tools of his trade.
At first glance, I thought his René's mountain resembled the Appalachian Mountains, my home. However, once we started climbing up the path, I realized there was not very much resemblance at all. Snail shells are scattered everywhere. A wall made of stones winds up the mountain, built from the flat rocks that are found everywhere. Small stones huts, bories, are hidden away, built long ago by shepherds as shelters while they tended their flocks of sheep. I ventured into one of them, admittedly not very far as it was very dark and I am not too fond of spiders, even French ones. The oak trees are not large ones, as I had expected. They are small and different from any I have ever seen.
All in all, it was one of the best days of my life. René is a master storyteller and continued to tell me stories after we returned to his house. He pulled out his scales, a basic set, nothing fancy or digital for the truffle hunters here in the Vaucluse, and weighed the week's findings, coming to almost a kilo or 2.2 pounds. He gave me two small ones. I just ate one of them grated on top of fresh pasta. To really get a taste of a fresh truffle, take a small piece of bread, dip it in olive oil, grate the truffle on top and sprinkle it with coarse sea salt. Heavenly. In one week's time, I have become addicted to truffles. I just had dinner and am already thinking about tomorrow's lunch. I plan to make an omelet from the fresh eggs we just bought, add some cheese while it is cooking and then grate my last truffle on top. I only have nine days to savor as much of Provence as possible, after all!

Here is the dish we made last week, after the market in Carpentras. This recipe is courtesy of Madeleine Vedel.
Bon appétit!

Fresh Pasta with Walnut Sauce and Truffles (or Mushrooms)

Pâtes Fraîches aux Champignons Sauvage avec un Sauce aux Noix –
Fresh Wild Mushroom Pasta with Walnut Sauce

This is rightly a recipe for the fall, but it can be made all year round with a stash of dried mushrooms. The walnut sauce is a classic preparation that dates back to the time of the Etruscans. Walnuts are particularly present in the Cévennes, the hills of the Gard in Languedoc, just an hour or so from Arles. Fresh pasta is really quite easy to make. Anyone who’s made bread a few times, can easily start making pasta. From start to finish, this recipe can be on the table in an hour after a bit of practice.

Ingredients for the Pasta :

If served as a main course, one egg per person, if served as a side dish, then one egg per 2 people.

One cup (100-150g) flour to one whole egg.
Pinch of salt
Dried mushrooms ground to a powder – 1/4 cup to 4 cups of flour (30g to 450g) if you are not using truffles

For the Sauce :

300 grams of walnuts (this is about 2 cups chopped walnuts)
2 garlic cloves (good sized)
1/2 cup of olive oil (120ml)– not too bitter, extra-virgin cold pressed.
Salt to taste
A few fresh mint leaves (optional, or another herb you like…)
Grated cheese – we like a young sheep tome, or pecorino. A mild parmesan is fine, too.

For the pasta:

On a smooth work surface, such as a large counter space or marble slab, pile your flour in a well, in the middle of the well put your mushroom powder and your pinch of salt and your eggs. With your hands, gradually incorporate as much flour as the eggs are thirsty. If there is a bit of flour left over, you can add a tablespoon or so of water, as needed. You need to work the dough for at least 10 minutes, kneading it and stretching it, till it is smooth to the touch. Put aside covered to rest for 30 minutes.

Either with a pasta machine or by hand, continue rolling and folding the pasta dough. With the machine I pass a portion of the dough through, fold it in three and pass it again, always on the largest setting. I continue this at least 7 times, if not more, till the dough is very smooth and elastic and does not seem brittle and cracks stop appearing. When the dough is ready, then you can either roll out by hand, turning the dough in every direction, gradually increasing its elasticity and thinning it out, the pros use a bit of gravity letting the dough hang off the counter as then roll. Or, alternatively, use the pasta machine and gradually reduce the size of the setting to the desired thickness.

When the dough is the thickness you desire, cut it as you please, in large long noodles, in triangles, in thinner spaghetti lengths… to your preference. Lay the prepared pasta on floured cloths, - you can layer these - and let dry till you are ready to put them into the salted boiling water.

For the sauce :

In a mortar and pestle, grind your garlic cloves and walnuts to a fine paste, add the olive oil as you work to make it easier to form the paste, if you are adding the mint leaves, do so now, and salt to taste.

When your pasta is done, save some of the pasta water to add to the walnut sauce to lengthen it and thicken it. Toss the pasta with the walnut sauce, grate the cheese on top, and serve. If you are using truffles, grate them on top of the pasta, sauce and cheese.

Have fresh bread ready in order to wipe your plate clean so that you do not waste one bit of the sauce or truffles!

How do I bring it all home?

This photo is of the port of Cassis, a little town on the coast. We went there this week for lunch. I had seafood pasta, Erick had monkfish. We drank a nice half bottle of Cassis white wine and watched the water. It was a chilly, sunny day. I did indeed take pictures of my food, but they are not nearly as beautiful as this one. The cliff in the background, Cap Canaille, is the highest one in France, about 400 meters or 1200 feet. I filled my pocket with smooth stones from the beach.
Earlier in the day we went to Aubagne, the birthplace of writer Marcel Pagnol (if you've never seen "My Father's Glory" and "My Mother's Castle" you should rent them just for the scenery, although the autobiographical story of his childhood is wonderful, too). The town is famous for its santons or crèche figures. The folks of Provence put together amazing manger scenes for Christmas. They include figurines representing people from their villages- the baker, the fishermen, the shepherd, the school teacher, etc. Lots of animals are also added. We saw the crèche at the Abbaye de Frigolet that even included a monk manning the distillery (they make a wonderful apératif liqueur) and imbibing of his own product! His nose is red and his glass is held high in a salute! What a great sense of humor those monks must have.
After Aubagne, we drove to the nearby small port town of Cassis, pictured above.
My lament about bringing "it" all home in the title of today's post does not only apply to packing my two suitcases, although I have no idea how I will manage that task next week. It is mostly my desire to bring home all of the special parts of Provence. I bought a beautifully decorated tin full of herbes de provence at the Arles Christmas market. I wish that I could fill it up with the sights, smells and sounds of Provence. I'd add sea salt, garlic, olive oil and sun-ripened tomatoes to the herbes, the basics of Provençal cuisine. Claudine's goat cheese, the one that is about 10 days old, would have to find a spot. I'd toss in some lavender and sunflowers, as well as the little white flowers that are now growing by the roadside and among the now sleeping vines. The ones that smell like honey. I'd add the smell of the hot August sun as it beats down on the fields of hay growing between Arles and Tarascon. The December sunset with its band of bright orange that fades to almost red before it meets the horizon would have to be a part of my collection, as would the night sky reflected in the Rhône river in the exact spot where Vincent painted it during his time here. The ever present humming of the cicadas in summer as they cling unseen to trees would be my favorite sound. A bottle of red Côtes du Rhône and a white from Cassis would go in. I'd add Virgil's café in the Place du Forum on a hot summer evening with the regular crowd discussing what to have for dinner as a kir, pastis, pression, or sirop de pêche is sipped after work. With that in the box, I'd be able to sit quietly, listening to the conversations around me and watching people pass by. I could see the women in their high-heeled sandals and sundresses, tourists with cameras slung around their necks, and the statue of Fréderic Mistral in the distance. The box is magic, of course, so all of these things will fit nicely in there. I could place it on my kitchen counter when I return in less than two weeks and take the lid off every now and then just to reassure myself that I was really here and Provence was my life for six months.
As I write at this very minute, I am listening to Blake Shelton sing "Home." "I feel just like I'm living someone else's life...." "Another winter day has come and gone away in even Paris and Rome, and I want to go home, let me go home..." (Michael Bublé does a nice job with the song, too!) So, oui, even as I already miss what has become my home-away-from-home, I feel the strong pull of my real home in Durham, my family and my friends.
I still have more adventures, though. René, the truffle hunter, called this morning and asked me if I am afraid to walk around in the mountains. I tried not to shout NON, pas du tout! into the phone. And I had to laugh when he told me not to wear my (non-existent) high heels. We also have a trip to Carcassonne, a walled city to the west of Arles, planned for next week. Érick's son, Jonas, turns 7 this weekend so we will celebrate. How do you put candles in Nutella filled crêpes, his favorite treat, I wonder?

My recipe below is one we made for lunch yesterday. So simple and so good.
Bon appétit!

Spinach and Seafood (Les Épinards et les Fruits de mer)

Take a large bunch of fresh spinach and wash it really well. Remove the larger stems and tear it into smaller pieces. Fry it in olive oil, a handful at a time. This only takes about 3-4 minutes in a hot pan. It is a good idea to cover the pan after adding the spinach so that the steam will help with the cooking. Turn it once with tongs. Remove to a baking dish. After the spinach is cooked, use the pan to heat your favorite seafood. We put in some mussels, tellines (small shellfish found at the edge of the water buried in the sand),and palourdes (I do not know if they are available in NC-- Note:  I now know that these are clams in English!). You could use shrimp. After adding the seafood, we stirred in a bit more olive oil. Salt isn't necessary here because the seafood is already quite salty. A nice fresh baguette and a white or rosé wine completes the feast.

The same seafood would be wonderful on top of freshly cooked pasta, bien sûr.

Friends and Thanksgiving

There were no French pilgrims, therefore there is no French Thanksgiving. However, I had my own personal American pilgrims come to visit me for the holiday! Betty Goolsby, formerly of Durham and a member of the Arles 6, arrived on Tuesday with Tom, Alex and David. We spent four wonderful days together exploring some nearby spots, eating and sampling lots of great wine. Betty came to Arles with me in 2006 for a Mini-Gourmand week and we also spent 10 days together this past June in the Dordogne, Bordeaux and Paris. Tom and Alex had been to France before, never to Provence, though, and it was David's first trip to France. I feel fairly certain that it will not be his last! Especially after he enrolls in French lessons in DC and learns how to really say "The heat isn't working" instead of "The shoes have no choice." No kidding. "Les chaussures n'ont pas le choix" came out of his mouth at a bistrot in St. Rémy where we had lunch. Tom and I just looked at each other wondering if we had heard correctly and then we burst out laughing, after asking him to please explain. Tom and Alex speak French very well, having lived for in Belgium and Switzerland as exchange students. David studied it in high school and is fearless about using what he remembers and what he picks up. However, I am getting ahead of myself. I must start at the beginning and tell about our adventures.
They arrived in Arles while Chef Érick and I were exploring Mont St. Victoire near Aix en Provence. They spent the afternoon seeing the Pont du Gard and getting lost and driving on the narrowest streets they could find in Arles. When we returned, we got them settled into the rooms of their choice in the B&B-- Betty chose the green room, her room from 2006, Alex and David choose the yellow room and Tom opted for the top room, the pilot's cabin or wood room, as I call it. We had dinner together and rested up for the next day.
On Wednesday morning we went to the Arles outdoor market to find vegetables for our Thanksgiving feast. I chose a lovely bright orange potimarron or squash for my Tian de potimarron (recipe follows) and Betty and the guys chose root vegetables to roast. After market, we returned to the house to have lunch. Un déjeuner simple which is never really simple here. We had our after lunch coffee and set off for Chateauneuf-du-Pape, in hopes of finding the infamous Jean-Baptiste of roadkill fame behind the tasting bar. We were not disappointed! He first gave us a quick tour of the on-going excavation of the cave where they continue to find ruins dating back to the Romans. Then the fun began. We tasted two whites, five reds and ended with a sweet wine, Esprit d'Henri, named in honor of one of the wine makers who recently passed away (or disparu, disappeared as the French say). Every time I taste wine I learn something new. Jean-Baptiste showed us the difference in color between a "young" wine (brighter red/pink) and one ready to drink (orange/brown tones). Even I could taste the difference. Figuring out the smells and individual tastes in a glass of wine is not my forte, shall we say. We all know now that Tom goes for the wet hay, tobacco, wet baseball glove smells in his glass. To each his own, n'est-ce pas? We returned to Arles after taking photos of Mont Ventoux covered in snow and the Rhône river bathed in muted afternoon sunlight. We made a stop at a chocolate/wine shop on the way out of town. Who could pass by a shop offering both of those treats? No one in that rented Volvo grand camion 4x4. Everyone pitched in to make dinner that evening and we ate around the family table since it was warmer on that side of the house. The mistral wind had arrived and it was quite chilly outside. Alex made margaritas (we found citrons verts or limes at Monoprix finally) and salsa from the fresh tomatoes bought at the market and onions from the Onion Festival in the Cévennes we went to last month. We had couscous, full of vegetables, chickpeas, lamb and sausages. Alex had chosen a red Chateauneuf to accompany it during our visit to Cave du Vergers.
On Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, we strolled around Arles, looking in the windows of the shops, returning home for an early lunch. We decided to head to Mas des Barres in the afternoon to taste olive oil. I figured that the olive oil pressing was over and that I had missed it all. I was so thrilled to find out that I was wrong. Finally I was able to see those nice shiny machines hard at work. This is an amazing year for olives. Mas des Barres has already pressed four times the olives they pressed last year. I learned that they usually press until mid-December, but they stopped this weekend because they are out of space to store any more oil. We watched the olives being washed, pressed, ground into paste, the oil, water and paste being separated and the oil pumped into the containers. The owner grabbed my hand and led me to the small steel vat where the oil was being held until being pumped into the containers. He dipped my finger into the fresh oil and asked me to taste it. Oh my gosh! Their oil is spicy and truly delicious. In 2004 it was voted the best in the world. It is not a cooking oil-- far too good for that. It is for salads, pasta, dipping, and adding to dishes after they have been cooked (before serving pot-au-feu, a beef stew, add a little to the plate, then add the stew). We wandered among the olive trees for a bit, visited the shop to buy oil and olive soaps before bidding good-bye to the owners and getting back into the Volvo. We decided to do a bit more sightseeing in the Alpilles, the name of the mountain range where Mas des Barres is located. The area is also well-known for its bauxite, the mineral used to make aluminum. It gets its name from Les Baux, a medieval town perched high on a nearby mountain. Bauxite is red and, oui, I have a good sized piece of it to bring home. I have always had a thing for rocks. Growing up in Spruce Pine, the Mineral City, and working in a rock shop in the summer while I was in high school, I learned a bit about rocks, gems and minerals. We returned home in time to get our chapon, a 6 pound rooster, in the oven. Betty stuffed him with onions and garlic. The guys arranged the vegetables in a tian, keeping the beets separate in their own little tian in the center of the larger one. I prepared my potimarron. Assisting in the kitchen during the cooking lessons is not at all the same thing as preparing the dishes myself. I need more practice, truthfully, but my tian turned out well. For dessert, Alex and David made fried pastry in the shape of butterflies and Alex meticulously stuffed them with tiny pieces of fruit. We drank champagne, Duval-Leroy, as we cooked and a bottle of white Chateauneuf to accompany our chapon, once again thanks to Alex. We went around the table telling what we were thankful for this year. I have so much that I really did not know where to start. Durham Academy, for giving me these six months to explore the things I am most passionate about, France and food, my family and closest friends for understanding my desire to be here, Érick for his infinite patience with my French and kitchen skills and for sharing his Provence with me, friends who flew across the ocean during my time here to see me (in oder of appearance: Pat, Joan, Yolanda, Rich and Betty (the Arles 6), Coleman, Lilly, Martha, Monette, Steve, Betty (again!), Tom, Alex and David). A wonderful Thanksgiving!
On Friday morning, we all got up early, drank a quick cup of coffee and headed out in the rain to Carpentras, a town about an hour's drive from Arles. Carpentras hosts a truffle market each Friday morning from mid-December to mid-March. No, friends, not the little chocolates, but the dirty, smelly little gems that grow at the base of trees and are hunted with a pig or a dog. I had never even tasted one and had only read about the markets and their mystery. We arrived before the market opened, so we headed to a café across the street to have coffee. The café was filled with men in berets, caps and toboggans carrying bags of various shapes and sizes. A woman was holding court near the door, surrounded by men, scribbling in her notebook. Quite a few small plastic sacks were passing hands. We decided that she was the Queen of Truffles at this market. When the rain subsided, the action moved outside. We drank our coffee, I took a few discreet photos and we left to head across the street to the official market . A chef was setting up a little gas stove in order to prepare scrambled eggs flavored with truffles, for the tourists, as the fellow in charge explained to me. It is so that we can taste them before buying. For 10 euros, I got a cup of the brouillade truffée, a piece of fresh bread and a glass of red Côtes du Ventoux wine. Scrambled eggs at 9:00 am are for tourists only-- the French do not eat eggs in the morning. We watched as a long line assembled in front of steps leading into a room that was guarded by a policeman. A whistle blew a few minutes later and the wholesale portion of the market began. Only permit holders were allowed in that room. Chef Érick's truffle-hunting friend René arrived and he and I were allowed in the room at the end of the sale. It is early in the season and the truffles are not at their best, according to Érick and René. However, they were still fetching between 200-400 euros per kilo (2.2 lbs = 1 kilo, $1.30 = 1 euro, you do the math!). In mid-February when they are at their best, good ones will cost at least 800 euros per kilo. There was a lot of sniffing going on amid the mystery of it all. The transactions taking place outside of the market are all legal, for those who do not want to deal with wholesalers. One reported scandal, however, involves spraying the less than good truffles with something that makes them smell more fragrant. Tricheurs! I promise to report more about truffles later since Érick and I have been invited to René's home on Thursday of next week. I have my fingers crossed, hoping for a hunt! Érick did buy a few truffles from one of the gentlemen. They were in little mustard jars with tops. I got to carry them home in my purse. After truffles, we drove to St. Rémy de Provence for chocolate at Joël Durand's shop and lunch. Betty and I visited Florame for essential oils while Tom got his hair cut. Alex supervised Tom and David supervised them both. A small dog supposedly supervised the whole thing. The guys suspected that le petit chien had highlights in his fur... Lunch was at the Bistrot des Alpilles. Betty and I had la soupe au potimarron, an excellent choice. David was the most adventurous-- he ordered pieds et paquets, feet and intestines wrapped up, tied with a string and served in a little cast iron pot with vegetables. He loved it. I have yet to try that delicacy. After lunch, we went back to Arles because Betty and I wanted to go to the Arles Christmas market. There were 150 different booths set up, selling mostly food products. Chocolates, candied fruits, sausages, wines, olive oils, salt, Camargue rice, hams, cheeses, pastries, cookies and breads, just to a name a few. There were also quilts, jewelry, paintings, books, pottery and clothing offered. We looked at everything then sat down to have a pastry and cup of tea before walking back to the house. By the time we left the sun had set and the Christmas lights of Arles had come on. We took the route through the middle of town so that we could see it all. At home I always get very frustrated when Christmas decorations to up even before Halloween. I do not like to mix my holidays. However, I am grateful that the decorations are up here. I have two weeks to enjoy them before I go home to North Carolina. When Betty and I arrived back at the house, the men were all busy in the kitchen preparing homemade pasta. It had been decided that would go best with the truffles purchased earlier in the day. We had moules marinières, mussels, first, then the pasta. We made a sauce for the pasta out of ground walnuts, garlic and olive oil. Those three ingredients were made into a paste and then water from the cooked pasta was added to it to make a creamy sauce. We spooned the sauce onto our pasta then grated truffles on top. The taste was heavenly, nutty and spicy. I even grated truffles on my brie cheese later. I seriously doubt I will be buying any of them when I return home, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to eat as much as I wanted! (I did eat the leftover pasta and sauce for lunch on Saturday with more truffles, I have to confess.) We drank a red Pic St. Loup wine with the pasta and truffles. What a marriage of flavors. Dinner lasted until about 10:30 pm, as we spent plenty of time talking about our adventures together.
Saturday morning, after a breakfast of pain au chocolat from Le Blanc bakery in Arles and fougasse from the Fassy bakery in Maillane, Betty and I strolled around the open air market. Then it was time to get back to give her enough time to pack her bags for their return to Paris and the trip home.
As I sit writing this on Sunday evening, they are already back in Indianapolis, Betty's new home, Alexandria for Alex and David and Durham for Tom. I want them to know that I enjoyed every minute of our time together and hope to see them all again soon. Watch out for elephants, David, since you did not buy the elephant hunting gun... I hope they were able to glimpse the magic of this place and that the food and wine lived up to their expectations. Betty, Yolanda and I will be there as soon as we can! We will need to start planning for the 2010 trip!

Here's my Thanksgiving recipe.
Bon appétit!

Tian de Potimarron (Baked Squash)

The squash, the pumpkin, and all its varieties are an import from the New World. But this fall vegetable has been around Provence for at least 200 years. The most popular preparations are either in soup/potage or as a gratin or tian. In Provence, there are now many different squash available on the market. The most abundant is the potiron which most resembles a pumpkin, but has a slightly more watery flesh. This grows to quite large proportions and the vegetable sellers sell it by the kilo, in large slices. More rare, but much more flavorful with a meatier flesh, is the potimarron. It can be either orange or green skinned, and is 6-10 inches in diameter, and quite dense.

Ingredients:

1/2 cup olive oil
3 slices of bacon cut in 1/4 inch (1cm) short strips
2 onions minced
One 1 1/2 kilo (3 pound) squash peeled, sliced and cut into 3/4 inch (4 cm) cubes
2 bay leaves
2 garlic cloves crushed and minced
Nutmeg, freshly grated, if possible
Salt and pepper, as needed
3 tablespoons of honey (you can use a strongly flavored honey like chestnut, or a milder one, depending on availability and your preference)

In a large frying pan, pour in enough olive oil to cover the bottom, reserving the rest for later. Turn your flame up to medium high, and add the bacon bits and onions. Sauté until the onions are sweated and the bacon cooked. Add the squash and the remaining oil, and sauté over a medium flame, allowing them to lightly brown, for 10-15 minutes. They should start to become tender.

Remove the squash from the flame, fold in the bay leaves, the minced garlic, and nutmeg. Salt and pepper to taste. Transfer to a baking dish/tian/gratin dish and place in the oven at 400F or 200C. Let bake for 30 minutes, or till tender. When just about done, drizzle the honey over the top, return to the oven and bake for another 10 minutes or until the honey caramelizes.

Champagne!!

After finishing our last Mini-Gourmand course of the season on November 2, I headed north. The train system in France is the best way to travel. My first train took me from Arles to Nîmes, a short trip. I changed trains, taking the TGV, train à grande vitesse, the fastest train in the world, to Roissy-Charles de Gaulle airport, north of Paris. My friend, Ghislaine, picked me up there and I have now been at her house for a week. She and I have been friends since 1991 when we became penpals. She teaches middle school English at Collège Anne-Marie Javouhey in Senlis. We began an exchange program between AMJ and Durham Academy Middle School in 1992. The exchange hasn't taken place since 2001, but next year we will reinstate it. We firmly believe that our students need to have the chance to use their language skills and living, even for a week, with a host family is a wonderful experience. I also have a meeting with a teacher at Lycée St. Vincent, the Catholic high school in Senlis. The teacher there wants to meet me because she hopes to set up an exchange program with our upper school. How exciting! I know several students in Durham who will be thrilled because they have asked me repeatedly to find families for them to visit.
When I first arrived in Montépilloy, the village where Ghislaine lives, she was still on vacation. French students always have a 10 day vacation around November1, Le Toussaint. She made arrangements for us to go to Reims and the Champagne region, a two hour drive from her house. We headed out mid-morning, Monday, November 3. Neither of us have a great sense of direction, but we managed to easily find centre ville and the cathedral. I don't think she realized that having me as her navigator and map reader is a serious handicap. I can get lost anywhere. We found a great little hotel with a view of the cathedral, checked in and then set out to explore. First things first, though, and we were hungry. Usually the best way to find a good café or restaurant is to look for the most crowded one. That is how we found Le Gaulois, situated on the corner of a pedestrian street (there is great shopping in Reims- even a nice Galeries Lafayette). We settled in, ordered the quiche maison and a half bottle of rosé. The service was fast, the quiche hot and served with a lettuce and tomato salad on the side. We were proud of ourselves for finding such a great spot. The waiters were nice looking, too, always a bonus!
The cathedral of Reims was the scene of the baptism of Clovis, the first Christian king of France. He was quite a warrior and pretty savage according to the history books. His wife was a very devout Catholic, but could not convert him for years. However, when his child became sick, he promised his wife and the God that he had shunned all of life that if his child survived he would convert. So, on Christmas day in 496, Clovis was baptized by the man who would later be named a saint, Rémi. Joan of Arc came to Reims on July 17, 1429 for the coronation of Charles VII.
Now, to be completely truthful, we really came to Reims to taste champagne! So now it was time to visit a get down to business. We visited the tourist office near the cathedral and found out that a reservation is needed at most of the places that allow visitors. The only one where a reservation was not needed was Taittinger, so we got in the car, armed with our map and headed in what we believed was the right direction. Reims is installing a tramway and there are a lot of one-way streets, so that, plus our nonexistent sense of direction, can only mean one thing... we got lost. But, in doing so, we all of a sudden found ourselves in the very middle of the vineyards of Champagne! Everything around us was golden- the leaves of the vines, the trees in the forests surrounding the vineyards, the afternoon sunlight. It was stunning. We could see a windmill on a hilltop in the distance and headed towards that. The windmill is now owned by Mumm, but they were not giving tours. After stopping to take photos and walk alongside the vines, sampling some of the grapes left from harvest, we got back in the car, in search of an open cave, more than ready for our first lesson in the making of champagne. We found Canard-Duchaîne and were there in time for the final tour of the day. We were the only ones and the young woman was very welcoming. The soil of Champagne is very chalky, perfect for the three grapes used to make champagne, chardonnay, pinot noir and pinot meunier. Underneath the region are kilometers and kilometers of tunnels, dating back to Roman times, now used to store the millions of bottles of champagne made by the 300 + champagne houses in the region. The temperature in the tunnels is perfect for keeping the wine cool until it is ready to consume. Under French law, sparkling wine cannot be called champagne unless it is made in this region with grapes grown there. At the end of our tour, we were offered a glass of their champagne and we chose Charles VII Grande Cuvée Blanc de Blancs. This champagne is 100% chardonnay grapes. It is recommended as an apératif or to accompany light meals. It was divine.
Night falls before 6:00 pm at this time of year in France and it was almost dark by the time we pulled out of the parking lot so we decided to head back to our hotel. We got back much quicker, finding and following signs back to the center of town and the cathedral. We wandered around, looking in shops and stopping at Monoprix for a few essentials before deciding to head back to our lunch restaurant for dinner. This time I had a salade de chèvre chaud, warm goat cheese on toast on a very generous bed of lettuce and other vegetables. Another great choice.
On Tuesday, we were determined to find Taittinger and Veuve Clicquot champage houses. We easily found Taittinger this time. The receptionist called Veuve Clicquot, practically across the street, to make an afternoon reservation there for us. Taittinger is very well known in France. I had heard of it but never tasted it. For this tour, we were joined by a young couple, but once again it was a very personalized experience. I can only imagine the crowds of tourists in the summer and am pleased we visited in November. Once again, the weather gods were with us- sunny and warm. We were led through the cellars, shown all the various sizes of bottles (there are 10), and we were able to actually watch two men working. Here's the short version-- the grapes are harvested and pressed very soon afterwards. The juice of all three grapes is clear, even if the skin is dark, what we call red and the French call black. Red and rosé wines get their color because the juice is kept in contact with the skin for a certain period of time. The grapes from each vineyard a champagne house uses is kept separate until blending time. The terroir or all elements present in a vineyard give the wine different tastes and characteristics. The juice is placed in stainless steel tanks for the first fermentation. The winemaker blends the juices to create the taste his house is known for and for the particular blends. The wine is then bottled, using a plastic cap instead of a real cork. Yeast and sugar are added at this time to cause the second fermentation (here come the bubbles!). The bottles are turned, no longer manually, though, so that at the end of the process they are standing upside down. When they are ready and the yeast and sugar have done all they can do, there is sediment in the bottle. The sediment settles into the neck of the bottle, the bottle is dipped into water so cold that it freezes the sediment, the bottle is quickly uncorked, the wine is topped off with a mixture of wine and sugar (the amount of sugar added at this time will determine if the champagne is brut, sec or demi-sec, from driest to sweetest). The bottle is recorked, this time with a real cork, and it goes back down into the cellar to age. Some rest only a few months before being consumed, some age for several years. We got to watch the uncorking, topping off and recorking process. How cool. We were then taken to the tasting room, a glass poured for us to enjoy. On the walls were invitations to various state dinners featuring Taittinger champagne. If you had been invited to the luncheon offered by Nicolas Sarkosy on Tuesday, September 9, 2008 in honor of the Ukraine, you would've been served Taittinger Comtes de Champagne 1998 vintage.
Our last visit took us to Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin. I already know this champagne thanks to my traveling buddy and friend Betty Goolsby. I will never forget the bottle she, Yolanda Litton and I shared in a little café on Rue Cler one summer night in 2006. Betty has excellent taste! Veuve is the French word for widow and the champagne is named this because the Widow Clicquot took over the business in 1805 at the age of 27 after the death of her husband. Her maiden name was Ponsardin. The family no longer owns the business. It was sold to L.V.M.H., Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton Group, in 1987. Veuve Clicquot champagne is aged for 30 months, twice the legal requirement of 15 months for non-vintage champagnes and a minimum of five years rather than the required three for vintage wines. I was impressed by the fact that the great houses of champagne work together. They are all concerned about the quality of champagne produced in their region and they work fiercely to protect it. As we drank our glass of Veuve Clicquot, I attempted to explain the American voting system to the (once again- handsome) Frenchman who led our tour. This isn't easy to explain in English and even more difficult in French, of course. I wish that I had a bottle of champagne for each time I've been asked about the election since I arrived in June. I would have a very impressive collection!
Champagne became the preferred drink of the royal court in France in the 18th century. Madame de Pompadour, mistress to King Louis XV, said that champagne is "the only one that keeps a woman beautiful after drinking."
I head to Paris for a week in just a few days. More about my adventures there next time!

Au revoir, Provence

But I am only saying good-bye for three weeks. Tomorrow morning, November 2, I am taking the TGV and heading to northern France to visit my very good friend Ghislaine Mauduit in Montépilloy. Ghislaine and I have been friends for nearly 20 years. She teaches English in a Catholic middle school in Senlis. French schools are on vacation now due to Le Toussaint, All Saints' Day, today, November 1. Ghislaine is on break until next Friday and she has planned two days in the Champagne region in France for us. If you know me well, you know that I do love good champagne. I am sure we will have fun visiting a few cellars and tasting their sparkling "stars", as Dom Perignon reportedly said when he drank champagne for the first time. Bless him for discovering the process!
The photo above was taken on a recent outing to the Pont du Gard with clients. It was cold and windy that day. We had been to visit Véronique in Le Cailar to watch her make her beautiful pottery. We decided to take a detour on the way home, with Cindy, Jan and Susan in tow, to see this amazing Roman aqueduct.
I do not have much time for this posting since I haven't quite finished cramming too much into my suitcase so that I will be ready to go by 7:15 am tomorrow. When I am back and have time, I promise to write about the two cooking stages we just finished to end the 2008 season. I promise to fill you in on Jan, the most amazing woman who broke her arm upon arrival at Charles de Gaulle airport (and come to find out, 4 ribs were also broken in the fall), Cindy, her friend and taskmaster par excellence, Susan from Florida to whom I had the privilege of introducing the fabulous music of Moussu T and lei Jovents (sorry, Ken!), Jackie and Fred from LA (I promise to visit if only just to meet Toby the vegetable-eating dog) and the Helton family from British Columbia. Mom and Dad have taken 4 months off from work in order to make history come alive for their 12 year old twins. How awesome is that? The kids go to a French immersion school and are having a great time seeing real history. They ate dessert with us the past two nights. We ate like kings and queens this week, by the way. Wonderful comfort food, perfect for cold, rainy evenings. I have discovered that the sun does not shine ALL the time here. But fall here is beautiful, too. The B&B will now close at least through the end of December and maybe permanently. I hope not, though.
I will also be able to spend an entire week in Paris. I've booked a little hotel in the Rue Cler district and look forward to visiting a couple of museums I've never been to. There is a huge Picasso exhibit going on at the Grand Palais I hope to see. More news about the Paris trip in the next blog, too. It is going to be a great week in the City of Lights in more ways than one, I am quite sure! Rarely a dull moment with me here in France, that's for sure.
I also promise to post a list of books I have read about France, French life, French cooking, etc. Several people have asked and I will follow through, I promise!
But for now, au revoir et à bientôt!
Teresa, The Sabbatical Chef