Reliving Italy

Here we are in Tuscany and Florence... you have to have lovers kissing in photos in France or Italy!


I've decided two things this morning... well, actually it is afternoon now, but I started thinking about this in the morning, so that counts. Thing #1: Create your own paradise wherever you are however you can. At this very minute, I am sitting in sunny North Carolina on a deck overlooking High Rock Lake. I am listening to Michael Buble on iTunes, sipping Weingut Michlits Pinot Noir 2007 frizzante rosé, a bubbly organic pink wine from Austria recommended to me by Randy at Wine Authorities. My two buddies, Martha and Monette (it is Monette's lake house) are off at the Childress Winery in Lexington, NC hosting a bridal shower for the daughter of a deceased friend. As much as I love these two amazing women, getting me away from home for an entire weekend was not easy (this is unbeknownst to them-- well, it was until I started writing about it!). I love my new home in Durham. Steve and I had talked about going to the Durham Farmer's Market to buy herbs for my planned herb garden, then heading to Cary for Great Grapes, an outdoor celebration featuring wineries from all over our state and later cooking something on the grill. My weekends with him are relaxed now and always include a trip to the grocery store for our weekly shopping, a chore I used to hate. We've discovered it's much more fun to share the job on a quiet Sunday morning. (We even share cleaning the house in this second phase of our relationship-- he is a darned good househusband! I am the bathroom cleaning pro after my experience in Arles, he does the floors beautifully.) Anyway, Martha and I left Cary after watching game 1 of a baseball doubleheader against Cary Academy. Her son pitched the first game. (He hit a home run in the second one, but we missed it. There goes her Mother-of-the-Year bid for 2009...) My son is the best center fielder in Durham Academy history, not that I am prejudiced or anything. We arrived at the lake around 8:00 pm, ate pizza, drank wine and visited with Trudy and Dan, friends from Lexington. I downloaded Martha and Monette's photos from our week in Italy and then put them together with mine to create a slide show. This is our designated It-Lee Reunion Weekend. We stayed up until 1:30 am laughing at our pictures and reliving that week in Rome, Florence, Tuscany and Cinque Terre, with a couple of days in Arles and Marseille thrown in before they left me mid-way through my sabbatical. So, I have at this very minute, created my own little paradise. I have indeed put on sunscreen but will end up sunburned anyway. To say that I am pale, is an understatement.
That leads me to Thing #2. Do not allow what you look like to interfere with potential fun. I am nearing my 51st birthday. I have not been very active since returning from France. No long, strenuous walks at Duke, no pilates classes. Settling back into wifedom, motherhood and teaching full-time takes every waking minute of my time. Add in cold, rainy weather, darkness by 5 pm for a couple of months and I've become mushy. At least mushier than I want to be. Therefore I very reluctantly dug out my black swimsuit, the same one I wore on the beach of Monterosso and along the French portion of the Mediterranean Sea. I make no excuses for being mushy... menopause, hyperthyroidism, busy schedule (ok, ok, so I am making a few excuses here). However, I decided to not let that stop me from putting on the swimsuit and sitting out in the sun right now. Last night Martha, Monette and Dan talked about a friend from high school who will not attend their reunions due to the fact that she has gained weight. She has gone from being the high school homecoming queen to a middle-aged mom carrying around extra pounds. Why do we women allow the numbers on the scale to rule our sense of self-worth? Sure, I would love to look just like Diane Lane. (I've chosen her to play me in the movie version of my unwritten book. Martha can't decide who will play her. I haven't asked Monette yet.) But I don't. I am me. 50 and a little mushy. I love my (highlighted- thanks to Sarah at Studio K) hair. I love my green eyes. I could do without some of the wrinkles and under eye circles that surround them. But I am me. A work in progress!
Book update: I finished Julia Child's My Life in France and am afraid I have become a Julia fanatic. I really want a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, both volumes, no less. I can't wait for the movie Julie and Julia to come out in August. It stars Meryl Streep as Julia. The book by the same name is a great read. The movie is a combination of the two books, according to USA Today this past week. I am now reading The Widow Clicquot by Tilar J. Mazzeo. She researched the life of Barbe-Nicole Clicquot Ponsardin, the woman behind the stunning Veuve Clicquot champagne empire. Ghislaine and I visited their cellar in November on our trip to Reims. It was actually Betty Goolsby, my traveling companion who has unbelievably good taste, who introduced me to Veuve Clicquot yellow label champagne. It was the summer of 2006 in Paris. Yolanda Litton, Betty and I were walking back to our hotel, Les Jardins d'Eiffel, off of Rue Cler. It was late, around 11:00 pm, but Rue Cler doesn't go to bed early. We found a little table at a café (I get nostalgic every time I walk past that table and tell whomever is with me about that evening) and Betty ordered the whole bottle of champagne. We consumed every single drop, fell in love with the cute young guy at the table next to us wearing the amazing cologne (we didn't have the nerve to even ask him what it was-- can you even believe that?) and then decided to bring the glasses back with us. Closet kleptomaniacs that we are. Sorry, girls, the secret is out.
Another summer movie I look forward to seeing on the big screen is My Life in Ruins with Nia Vardalos. She plays a tour guide who needs to get a life. She was the star of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. She has a wonderful sense of humor and writes about raising an adopted child who has the same gift of humor in the May 2009 edition of Good Housekeeping magazine. I'll bet her mom is laughing at the fact that her daughter finally understands what she herself went through. Mildred, my mom, spent years wishing I would have a daughter who would never shut up... Sorry, Mama!
Since summer is coming and I can hardly wait for fresh vine-ripened tomatoes and zucchini, I will leave you with Julia Child's recipe for Ratatouille and Chef Érick's recipe that uses the same ingredients but in casserole form. And, if you haven't watched Walt Disney's movie by the same name, rent it! It is one of my favorites!
Bon appétit!

Ratatouille
From Julia Child

Ratatouille perfumes the kitchen with the essence of Provence and is certainly one of the great Mediterranean dishes. As it is strongly flavored it is best when it accompanies plain roast or broiled beef or lamb, pot-au-feu (boiled beef), or plain roast, broiled or sauteed chicken. Equally good hot or cold, it also makes a fine accompaniment to cold meats, or may be served as a cold hors d'oeuvre.

A really good ratatouille is not one of the quicker dishes to make, as each element is cooked separately before it is arranged in the casserole to partake of a brief communal simmer. This recipe is the only one we know of that produces a ratatouille in which each vegetable retains its own shape and character. Happily a ratatouille may be cooked completely the day before it is to be served, and it seems to gain in flavor when reheated.

For 6 to 8 people

1/2 pound eggplant
1/2 pound zucchini
A 3-quart, porcelain or stainless-steel mixing bowl
1 teaspoon salt
A 10- to 12-inch enameled skillet
4 tablespoons olive oil, more if needed
1/2 pound (about 1 1/2 cups) thinly sliced yellow onions
2 (about 1 cup) sliced green bell peppers
2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil, if necessary
2 cloves mashed garlic
Salt and pepper to taste
1 pound firm, ripe, red tomatoes, peeled, seeded and juiced (makes 1 1/2 cups pulp)
Salt and pepper
A 2 1/2 quart fireproof casserole about 2 1/2 inches deep
3 tablespoons minced parsley
Salt and pepper


Peel the eggplant and cut into lengthwise slices 3/8 inch thick, about 3 inches long and 1 inch wide. Scrub the zucchini, slice off the two ends and cut the zucchini into slices about the same size as the eggplant slices. Place the vegetables in a bowl and toss with the salt. Let stand for 30 minutes. Drain. Dry each slice in a towel.

One layer at a time, saute the eggplant and then the zucchini in hot olive oil in the skillet for about a minute on each side to brown very lightly. Remove to a side dish.

In the same skillet, cook the onions and peppers slowly in olive oil for about 10 minutes, or until tender but not browned. Stir in the garlic and season to taste.

Slice the tomato pulp into 3/8-inch strips. Lay them over the onions and peppers. Season with salt and pepper. Cover the skillet and cook over low heat for 5 minutes, or until tomatoes have begun to render their juice. Uncover, baste the tomatoes with the juices, raise heat and boil for several minutes, until juice has almost entirely evaporated.

Place a third of the tomato mixture in the bottom of the casserole and sprinkle over it 1 tablespoon of the parsley. Arrange half of the eggplant and zucchini on top, then half the remaining tomatoes and parsley. Put in the rest of the eggplant and zucchini and finish with the remaining tomatoes and parsley.

Cover the casserole and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Uncover, tip casserole and baste with the rendered juices. Correct seasoning, if necessary. Raise heat slightly and cook uncovered for about 15 minutes more, basting several times, until juices have evaporated leaving a spoonful or two of flavored olive oil. Be careful of your heat; do not let the vegetables scorch in the bottom of the casserole.

Set aside uncovered. Reheat slowly at serving time or serve cold.

Le Tian Provençal - Mixed Summer Vegetables Provençal

The Tian is the name for the red clay baking dish of Provence, now primarily made in Spain. These dishes are now being exported to the States. They are wonderful for baking and roasting in the oven. Be sure there’s enough liquid in the dish to prevent drying in the oven, and when you remove the dish you can place it directly on the table. It holds its heat and looks nice.
(I brought a medium-sized one home from Arles in my carry-on bag-- merci, Chef Érick!!)

Preparation time : one hour ; Cooking time : 30 minutes

2 fat eggplant
3 zucchini
4 tomatoes
1 bell pepper (color of choice)
1 onion
2 garlic cloves
3 bay leaves
thyme
1/2 cup of olive oil
Grated cheese (in France, often it’s often gruyère, or Parmesan)

This recipe has two stages, some of the vegetables are pre-cooked, fried in olive oil, and others are put into the tian fresh.

Cut the eggplant in rounds and salt liberally, set aside to sweat for an hour. Cut the zucchini in rounds, the tomatoes likewise, set aside. Mince the onions, and chop the bell pepper in small pieces, set aside.

Take out a large frying pan and put in olive oil, fry lightly the minced onions and bell peppers, simply melting them down, reducing them, to a smooth caramelized mixture. Remove with a slotted spoon and layer on the bottom of the oven-proof casserole dish. Next fry the zucchini rounds, a minute per side, in the oil. Put aside.
When the eggplant rounds are nicely sweated and rinsed of their excess salt, tap them dry and then fry them a minute each side as well, set aside.

Crush and chop the garlic, and put the entire tian together. Place the onion and pepper mixture on the bottom, then start layering the eggplant rounds (just one layer thick), and then the raw tomato rounds, and a bit of the chopped garlic, crumbled bay leaf, a little salt, and then a layer of zucchini rounds. Start again till the tian is full and you have used all the vegetables.
Sprinkle the top with the cheese and place in the oven for 30 minutes at 375F/180C.

Monday reflections and Millefeuille

I sit here, monitoring after school study hall, gazing out the window watching the JV softball team practice and the dogwood tree blooms beginning to open. It rained this morning, typical since this afternoon my son's varsity baseball team has a game. Steve, my soon-to-be un-ex husband called to tell me that he had ripped the navy blue pants I admired on him this morning. He was dragging the baseball field when it happened. I imagine his tennis shoes will need to be washed again tonight, along with Grant's muddy baseball pants. Jake's checking account was recently overdrawn again so we dealt with that drama. I did my part by going on-line and setting up his account so that he can track his expenses instead of relying on the ATM to give him his inaccurate balance. (Strange when the 50 year old mom is the computer savvy one instead of the 21 year old college student, n'est-ce pas?) Steve did his part by going to the bank and asking them to please remove part of the exorbitant fees (they did so, I am happy to report). We both talked to Jake, together and separately. The one thing we were always able to do well together was parent our children, even when the marriage wasn't on track.
Yes, I am back smack in the middle of "real life." Do I long for the days in Arles when all I had to worry about was getting the towels and sheets dry? Ah, oui. But am I sad to be back in the role of wife, mom and middle school French teacher? Absolument non! I feel like me here. I didn't always feel like me in Arles. I wasn't speaking my native language. Expressing one's feelings in another language is not easy. I felt as if all my new friends only knew half of me. They didn't even know that I could tell jokes and even remember the punchline occasionally.
For Christmas, Martha gave me a book hot off the press named I'll Never Be French (no matter how hard I try) by Mark Greenside. I loved this book written by an American who goes to spend a summer in Bretagne and falls in love with it. Who wouldn't fall in love with Bretagne or any other region of France, for that matter, after spending time there? But I identify with the title and I have come to terms, finally, with the fact that that's okay. I could have stayed in Arles. Physically, that it. Emotionally, never. I belong here and am happy here.
I just finished another book whose title could be my autobiography. A Pig in Provence by Georgeann Brennan. I admit to being green with envy most of the way through the book. She and her husband bought a home in Provence (very rustic- no electricity or plumbing for a while) and she made great French friends and learned to cook wonderful Provence specialities. She runs a cooking school and hosts writing workshops during the year. When I win the lottery... As I read it, though, I realized just how lucky I am that I can read it and think to myself-- "Pardon, madame, but we made brandade de morue differently!"
Now, I have begun Julia Child's My Life in France. What a treat to read a couple of chapters before falling asleep every night. Another American who moved to France and fell in love with the people, the food and the country.
I am not alone. I am much changed by my wonderful six months in France in 2008. I will never be the same. Just as the three authors mentioned above were changed by their experiences. They were all able to buy homes there, though. There's the difference. Oui, when I win the lottery...
The Durham Farmer's Market opened this past Saturday. I was thrilled to see that it has grown since my last visit a couple of years ago. For sale was goat cheese, little pots of herbs and garden plantings (I have grand plans to grow my own herbs on my back deck to use in my cooking experiments this summer), lamb, soaps, honey, homemade bread (we were too late for that, unfortunately) and other wonderful goodies. I can't wait until the vegetables come in!
In looking back through the blog last week, I realized that I had not posted the recipe for my 50th birthday cake, the beautiful and delicious Millefeuille that Chef Érick made for me. So, I will make up for it now and post the recipe. The photo does it justice!
Bon appétit!

Millefeuille Cake


This is a dessert that can be made very simply, or livened up with fresh raspberries, blackberries, blueberries…. Or chocolate shavings.

Ingredients for 8-10 portions

3 sheets of flaky pastry (this will be 2 boxes of Pepperidge Farm flaky pastry dough found in the freezer section of the grocery store or you can make your own)

For the cream:

1/2 liter whole milk (one pint)
4-5 egg yolks (depending on the size of your eggs)
2/3 cup sugar
3 tablespoons flour
optional flavoring: vanilla bean, nutmeg., sweet orange essence, lemon rind/zest

Plus 1/2 pint whipping cream whipped till stiff (this is optional- you can use just the cream, if you wish)

Heat the milk in a heavy bottomed sauce pan. While the milk heats, mix the egg yolks, sugar and flour in a mixer until light yellow. When the milk is hot, pour it slowly into the egg mixture whisking all the while. Then pour the mixture back into the sauce pan and whisk until it starts to bubble and thicken. The addition of flour will prevent the eggs from curdling too quickly.

When thickened, remove from the flame, put the sauce pan and place in the refrigerator to chill. (Lining the pan with plastic wrap makes it easier to remove and easier clean-up.)

Lay your flaky pastry sheets* out on baking pans, poke holes throughout to prevent them from puffing in the oven and bake at 400F / 200C till golden brown. (15-25 minutes). Remove the sheets from the oven and let cool.

Take the pastry cream from the refrigerator and fold in the chilled whipping cream, if you decide to use it. Place one pastry sheet on your cake plate, spread a layer of cream, then lay the next sheet, spread a layer of cream, then the final sheet. You can place raspberries, strawberries or blueberries on the cream, if you wish, before adding the next layer of pastry. You can finish off the millefeuille with powdered sugar or a glaze of powdered sugar and lemon juice and/or Grand Marnier, or sprinkle fresh berries, or melted chocolate. Chill until ready to serve.

*It is difficult to neatly cut millefeuille once assembled, you might want to cut the sheets ahead of time and make individual size millefeuille. The dessert is best when the pastry is quite fresh and crunchy, and just assembled. But, if you make it ahead of time, the pastry will wilt just a bit from the humidity of the cream filling to make it easier to cut. Another option is to put it in the freezer for a couple hours before serving, and then cut it with a slightly warmed knife

A Tribute to Mme Buchanan

In the fall of 1973, I signed up for French I at Harris High School in Spruce Pine, North Carolina. My aunt Sandi, 11 years older than me, had studied French and I pretty much worshiped her and wanted to be just like her. I was also a big fan of Pepe Le Pew, to be perfectly honest, of Looney Tunes fame. That smooth-talking bumbling French skunk. He never really got the female cat (he thought she was a skunk...). I even dressed up like him one Halloween. French was not particularly easy for me at first. And to be honest, I probably did not quite see the value in learning to conjugate verbs. However, by Christmas of that year, I had fallen in love. I was head over heels in love with a country that was 4212.9 miles or 6780 kilometers from my home in the Appalachian Mountains. I had never been on an airplane and the farthest I had ever been from home was to the Gulf Coast of Florida with my grandfather. By my junior year of high school, I was determined to go to France. I remember asking Mme Buchanan if any of her students had ever studied in France. She named one person and then and there I vowed I would be the next.
With Mme Buchanan's help, I went to Appalachian State University to study French. She actually took me to campus one day (only about an hour's drive from Spruce Pine) and marched me into the office of the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences to introduce me. We also visited the language lab where she managed to get me an on-campus job. I was a full scholarship student and needed the work-study job so that I would have some spending money.
I worked hard and saved my money, determined to go to France after my sophomore year at ASU. I went with two friends who were also French majors. We were accepted as foreign students at the Université de Dijon. However, when we arrived we couldn't find a place to live. Diana, one of my friends, found a family to live with and be the family's au pair. Melody and I headed to the south of France, to Cannes, to enroll at an international school and find a place to live. I lived with the dad of a friend we had made. The dad worked at the Hôtel Martinez and took me under his wing, teaching me to cook and to play squash. He made me watch game shows so that my French would improve.
At one point, before heading back to the States, Melody and I decided to visit the city of Soissons, hometown of Mme Buchanan. We had dinner with her sister's family and stayed with her niece, Claudie and her husband. Claudie had spent time with Mme Buchanan during my senior year in high school so I already knew her.
Mme Buchanan told me that she would be ready to retire when I graduated from ASU. I, however, had other plans. I was briefly tempted to become a flight attendant and filled out forms for Pan Am. My senior year, I heard about Durham Academy and decided to apply for a teaching job. Lo and behold, I got the job even before graduating and never looked back. My former chemistry teacher told me that he would give me one year in the "big city" and then I'd be ready to come home to Spruce Pine. While I do miss the mountains, I love living in Durham and am still at DA, 29 years later.
I stayed in touch with Mme Buchanan over the years, sporadically sending Christmas cards and postcards from Paris. I regret that I did not get to know her as an adult. I am sure that she had amazing stories to tell about France during WWII. She did as General Charles de Gaulle told the French young women to do at the end of the war. She married her American soldier and moved to the mountains of North Carolina. Her mother, Mme Roze, moved in with them at some point. Mme Roze would come to French class once in a while and we would practice our French on her. The poor woman. I imagine we all said the same thing... "Bonjour, madame. Comment allez-vous?" She was very patient, as I remember. Mme Buchanan told us that her husband spoke no French and her mom spoke no English. Hmmm... maybe that's the secret to getting along with your belle-mère.
Every time I go to Notre Dame cathedral in Paris I light a candle for Mme Buchanan. I am not Catholic. She, however, was very devout. I light a candle, as a small token of my gratitude for the woman who took such a strong interest in me and my future. In November 2008, I was in Paris with Steve, my soon to be un-ex husband. On Sunday, November 16 we went to Notre Dame. Steve was uncomfortable since there was an evening service going on, but tourists were walking around the cathedral. I assured him that it was okay to do this, just be quiet and respectful. The cathedral is a pilgrimage place for Catholics, with hundreds, if not thousands, of visitors every day. As usual, I paused at one of the altars to light a candle and say a quick prayer of gratitude for my French teacher.
The following Tuesday my sister called me on my cell phone to let me know that Mme Buchanan had passed away. She knew that I would want to know. As tears came to my eyes, I thought to ask Marsha when Madame had died. She said she thought it was Sunday, but she wasn't sure. She later called me back to let me know that it was indeed Sunday, November 16. I only hope that my little candle, lit in the magnificent Gothic cathedral of Notre Dame, Our Lady, helped light Christiane Roze Buchanan's way to heaven. I am sure she is there and I will want her to visit my heaven when I get there so that we can get caught up!

Note: The top photo is of my students lighting a candle for Mme Buchanan in Notre Dame during our spring break trip to Paris. I told them the story of my annual candle-lighting before we left Durham. I came down with the flu the second day of our trip, the day they went with Chappell, my co-chaperon, and Béatrice, our Parisian guide, to Notre Dame. They kept up my tradition. I was able to light at candle at the church of La Madeleine later in the week.

It is what it is...

It is what it is has become a popular saying as of late with my friends. It came in handy last week when the 7th grade teachers and I loaded our 93 students onto charter buses to go to Washington, DC for our annual class trip and the windshield wipers on one bus stopped working. We had to go about 1 1/2 hours out of our way to get a new bus. Therefore, we were late arriving in DC and missed our lunch stop at the Old Post Office. It is what it is. It has also come in handy for my BFF Martha as she and her family deal with her brother's illness. Ben, the smartest kid in the family according to Martha's mom, had surgery to remove a brain tumor last week. He is at home recovering, waiting for more test results. Helen, Martha's mom, came up with another very wise saying. It is very simple, but it pretty much covers most of life's unpleasantness. Upon learning that Ben was scheduled for surgery, Helen said, "Well, sometimes you just have to live with life." In my world, I choose to believe that God doesn't send bad things down to punish us. I am a reformed Southern Baptist and I chose to believe that bad things just happen. That's the way life goes. It is what it is. It is how we choose to deal with what happens to us that makes or breaks us. So, Helen's philosophical pearl fits with my own way of looking at life. Martha gave me permission to quote her mom. Thanks, BFF, you are pretty smart yourself! Ben didn't get all the brains. You are all in my prayers.
I continue to try desperately to get myself back into the American world of multi-tasking. In France, I vowed to give up that bad habit. And, admittedly, it was much easier not to multi-task in Provence. Real life was not knocking on my door there. Deadlines and schedules really didn't concern me too much. I could wake up each morning and play it minute by minute or hour by hour. I didn't have to worry about forgetting meetings or preparing the test for tomorrow. Now that I have returned to real life, I find myself in charge again. In charge of 7th grade team meetings, in charge of planning lessons for my eager-to-learn 7th and 8th graders, in charge of making sure everything is ready for our trip to France next week, in charge of the business meeting on March 14 for the NC American Association of Teachers of French. I love my job. I love my students. I love my family. But I do wistfully think back on my six months of adventure and not being in charge of much of anything.
I try to take a few minutes each day to transport myself back... I have thousands of photos on my computer to look at. The one in today's posting was taken by Chef Érick on our trip to the Gorges de l'Ardêche. Très beau, n'est-ce pas? It was a beautiful fall day. Fall is my favorite season. Jeans and long-sleeve t-shirt weather, my favorite weather. The leaves were changing colors and I was so excited to see them. There weren't many trees in Arles that changed into the reds, oranges and yellows I am used to, so seeing those yellow leaves through the rock formation made me feel a bit at home. If you've ever been to Linville Gorge in the fall, you know what I mean.
I listen to music. Chef Érick introduced me to Buena Vista Social Club. Even though they are Cuban and the music is in Spanish, it takes me back to Arles and the music we would listen to at dinner.
I read Kristin Espinasse's Word-A-Day posts and look at her incredible photos of Provence. I turn green with envy as I read about her life and her husband's vineyard.
This morning, my colleagues Daniela (she speaks Italian, French, Spanish and English) and Marianne (Spanish, French and English) and I got together in my classroom and spent about 10 minutes speaking French. This comes in very handy when you do not want to be understood by very curious little ears! But it also gives me such immense pleasure and reminds me of how much more proficient I became while I was in France.
Alex Goolsby sent me a live webcam website from Paris so that I can gaze at the Eiffel Tower and watch it sparkle every hour in anticipation of my visit in just a few days.
I pick up my current book, I'll Never Be French (no matter how hard I try), and laugh at the author's descriptions of his life in Brittany.
I chose a recipe that calls for herbes de provence and olive oil for dinner for Grant and Steve.
I am very lucky that my daily job supports and indulges my French habit!
I continue to promise stories from Paris in the very near future. I will be there in one week with my students! Quelle chance! However, Anna, a friend and colleague, informed me today that I have just about used up my "fun quota." I beg to differ, Ms. Tabor- I still have quite a bit of fun left in me! And I firmly believe there are more adventures just waiting out there! Right around the corner...
Today's recipe comes from Kristin's website. She credits her Uncle Jacques. Elizabeth, one of my 8th grade students, made it for her classmates a couple of weeks ago and not a crumb was left at the end of class.

Bon appétit!

Gâteau au Yaourt

One small container of plain yogurt
flour
sugar
vegetable oil
3 eggs
2 tsp baking soda
salt

Fill the empty yogurt container with:
3 x flour
2 x sugar
1 x vegetable oil (Elizabeth says you do not need this much...)

Combine the yogurt, beaten eggs and sugar. Add the flour and baking soda. Stir. Add a pinch of salt. Pour in oil and mix well. (Uncle Jacques recommends using a fouet or whip to mix the batter.) Pour into a cake pan and bake 45 minutes at 300F.

Uncle Jacques also suggests adding canned, drained pears to the top of the cake before baking.

http://french-word-a-day.typepad.com/recipe/2007/12/gateau-au-yaourt.html

A Life Resumed

The Sabbatical Chef has returned to "real life." As of today, February 15, I have been home for two months. I have resumed teaching at Durham Academy and have finally learned the names of my students. I have worked with Dorette at C'est si bon! (I continue to stress the fact that I am an assistant, not a chef!) I have taken over as president of the North Carolina Association of Teachers of French and survived my first board meeting. I moved in with my sixteen year old son and my ex-husband. (Steve got his passport, came to Paris, finally, and proposed at the top of the Eiffel Tower. What can I say? That story deserves its own entry and I will try to get it all in words soon. The headmaster at DA is taking full credit for our reconciliation since he gave Steve the time off to come visit me.) I have unpacked almost all the boxes and found most of my belongings, thank goodness. Grant's two cats seem to like me and Rusty has stopped hiding from me. I went to Spruce Pine to visit my family in the mountains. They are very happy to have me home safe and sound but still do not understand what I was doing over there in the first place. I have a meeting tomorrow with the features editor at the Durham Herald-Sun newspaper to talk about the possibility of a new column. Life goes on, almost as if it was never interrupted. Life has a way of doing that, I have discovered. My six months in France seem dream-like now. I bring up iPhoto on my MacBook daily to look at a few photos, however, to remind myself that it really happened.
Life in Arles goes on without me, too, of course. Wally has returned to Lisbon. Didier and Monique have closed their brocanterie on Rue de 4 Septembre. Business had not been good, unfortunately, for a while. They hope to open a tea room, if they can find a suitable space. Or Didier said he can always go back to work as a stock trader in Paris. (I was shocked to find out he had done this at one time- I told him he seemed much too nice for that line of work!) Business at Gilles' bookshop has been slow, too. Although Christian Lacroix told the newspapers and magazines that he thought his exhibit at the Musée Réattu would be good for the local businesses, it didn't really help much. The exhibit was a grand success, however, and was extended until December. The B&B is up for sale. No offers have been made, though, so Chef Érick continues to rent out rooms. He plans to continue offering his cooking classes and visits around Provence but is looking for someone who is computer savvy to help him set up a website and blog, as well as an English-speaking assistant for the spring and summer. Provence experienced its largest snowstorm in 21 years. I begged Érick to go out in it with his camera so that he could send me some photos of Arles covered in snow. The posted photo is of the front door to the B&B.
At one point in the summer, probably mid-July or early August, I thought seriously about making Arles my home. I wasn't sure how to do that and didn't even have a long-stay visa for the six months I was there (another story involving red-tape and passports). A guest joked that I could find a French man to marry. The pace of life suited me perfectly. I loved the guests and meeting new people every day. I could walk wherever I needed to go. I could feel my French improving daily. I ate like a queen- all the shrimp and mussels I wanted. Nice chilled rosé and Picpoul de Pinet. Lovely reds from Pic St. Loup. Moussu T e lei Jovents music. Drinks at dusk in the Place du Forum, gazing at the Van Gogh café (now painted to match his famous painting of Le Café la Nuit- but do not eat there. Lousy food and questionable owners.) But waves of homesickness would hit me like a ton of bricks every time I thought about my two sons. And I finally realized that I missed my life, my real life. When I put Martha and Monette on the plane in Marseille in mid-September and drove myself back to Arles on that early Sunday morning, I knew that I would be ready to fly home myself in three months. At that point in time, I still had no idea that I would come back to Durham and resume, in many ways, my life of four years earlier, before Arles ever happened to me in 2005. Only the new and improved version. Older and wiser but still young enough to appreciate and enjoy the changes that can happen if you are open and can let go of the past.
I am asked repeatedly if I miss France. The answer is a most definite oui. How could I not miss speaking the beautiful language, enjoying long lunches and amazing conversation in that language, staring history in the face every time I walked down a street past a monument built over 2,000 years ago, walking through the market and smelling roasting chickens, herbs and spices sitting in open baskets, fragrant goat cheese, freshly cut lavender and lavender scented soaps. The scenery is a work of art and most of it has indeed been painted and photographed many times over the years, from the abbeys and churches to the fields of sunflowers and lavender to the Roman arenas and aqueducts. Provence is a feast for the senses.
I have indeed brought some of it home with me. I have made lamb and tarte Tatin for friends (I couldn't have made the tarte without Martha's help and pan!). I have turned Grant on to the joy of freshly grated parmesan cheese on his pasta instead of the stuff in the green can. I have made French toast for him from my orange brioche. I sprinkle my chicken recipes liberally with herbes de provence as they cook in olive oil. I have shown a video clip of Moussu T et lei Jovents to my students and taught them the song "Forever Polida," as well as "Le Tube de Toilette" by Boby Lapointe, a song that goes along with the vocabulary we are learning. I made a presentation to our middle school students on truffle hunting and showed a short video that I took with my camera. Martha and I are going to cook with the boys from the Durham Nativity School in March and teach them to make tarte Tatin. I am reading Death in the Truffle Wood by Pierre Magnan, a murder mystery that takes place in Provence. I'll Never Be French (no matter what I do) by Mark Greenside, The Widow Clicquot by Tilar J. Mazzeo, A Pig in Provence by Georgeanne Brennan and Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't Be Wrong by Jean-Benoît Nadeau and Julie Barlow are on the nightstand waiting for me. I consult Bistro Chicken by Mary Ellen Evans and French Woman Don't Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano for new recipes once in a while. I check out Kristin Espinasse's French Word-A-Day website two or three times a week for photos of Provence. In less than three weeks I head to Paris, Normandy and Senlis with 21 8th graders for our spring break trip. I continue to be a very lucky woman.

My (Nearly) Perfect Orange Brioche Recipe
(found on the back of a package of yeast in France and slightly modified...)

1/4 lb (one stick) of softened butter
1/2 c. sugar
3 eggs (at room temperature)
1/4 c. warm water
one package active dry yeast
1/4 c. warm milk
orange flavoring
2-3 cups all-purpose or bread flour
1 tsp. salt
1 egg yolk
apricot or strawberry preserves
sugar

Dissolve the yeast in the warm water and let stand for 5-10 minutes.
Mix the butter, eggs, sugar, warm milk and orange flavoring. I have sweet orange essential oil that I bought at Florame (www.florame.com) and I use 4-5 drops of it. I know that you can find orange flavoring at the supermarket.
Add the yeast mixture and mix.
Add the combined flour and salt. Add enough flour to have a dough that you can knead (not too sticky).
Turn onto a flour covered surface and knead for about 5 minutes or so.
Place in a bowl and cover with a kitchen towel. Place the bowl in a warm place to rise. My microwave is above the stove and is a great place. Allow to rise for 2 hours.
Turn onto a flour covered surface again and knead for another 5 minutes. Shape however you wish-- into rolls, two small loaves or one large one. Place in pans.
Cover again and allow to rise for 2 more hours.
After the second rising, you can bake or you can put it in the refrigerator overnight and bake the next morning (allow the dough to come to room temperature before baking).
Brush with the egg yolk and bake at 400F for about 20-30 minutes. Baking time will depend upon the shape of your brioche. Rolls take a shorter time. Adjust the oven, if necessary, lowering the temperature a bit if it seems to be baking too fast or if your oven tends to be on the hot side.
After baking, while still warm, brush with preserves (you can warm them in the microwave so that they brush easily- I have also used orange juice at this point, when I didn't have any preserves) and then sprinkle lightly with sugar. I have mixed orange essence in with the sugar before sprinkling to give it more orange flavor. As you can see, I have played around with this recipe. It is wonderful hot from the oven. It makes really good French toast when it is a couple of days old and a bit stale. It is also good sliced and toasted. It is not very sweet. French pastries and desserts are not as sweet as American ones.
Enjoy! And please let me know if you make it and something just doesn't work or you make a modification that helps! It isn't perfect yet! A work in progress!

Érick's Rice and Tuna Salad
(with my modifications!)

2 cups rice, cooked and drained (I use whole grain)
2 cans of tuna (I use tuna packed in olive oil- big difference in taste!)
1 can chick peas
1 jar (about a cup) of artichoke hearts, if desired
1 Tbsp capers (or more to taste)
Chopped green or red bell pepper, if desired
Juice of 1/2-1 lemon
Olive oil- enough to moisten the salad or to taste
2 Tbsp Dijon mustard
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp tarragon

Mix everything together. If desired, however, you can mix the "dressing" ingredients separately- lemon juice, olive oil and mustard- and pour over the salad. This is good warm or cold. I like it at room temperature so that the olive oil warms up. I sprinkle on the sea salt just before eating.

Sometimes I use leftover pasta instead of the rice. I leave out the chick peas when I use pasta.

Bon appétit, mes amis!

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.