Guilty.

 I’ve been light on the blog posts lastly, but here’s one of the reasons why:

 This is our vegetable garden.

Look over the stone wall; there’s a third plot slightly visible, and I’m not even going to show you the upper field that is need of weeding something fierce.  As anyone can figure, spring is a time that keeps us busy from sun up to sun down.  Our seedlings are still growing, but other things need to be planted.  We have potatoes and onions waiting for us and this year we need to replace all the strawberry plants.  We entering “round one” of spring planting; which is nothing compared to “round two”.  So, I’m still, but I’m outside when I can be and I promise to keep you in the loop when I can sit myself down in front of the computer. 

French Winter Dishes

une potée of pork shoulder, carrots, leeks, and white beans

I was debating if this should have been placed in the Pleasures of the Season series.  I love les plats hivernaux, or winter dishes, but I’m not crazy about the weather that comes along with it, so I decided in the end this was only a ‘half-pleasure’ and didn’t qualify.  Contrary to the image of sun filled lavender fields and never ending warmth, Southern France does get cold.  The Moscow-Paris, a bizarre metrological phenomenon with Siberian winds, came back this year.  Last year’s appearance was supposed to be a one in a life time experience.  We’re hunkering down again until it goes away. 

On any given evening, or a Sunday afternoon, preparing one of France’s multitude of les plats hivernaux is one way to ignore the wicked winds tapping at the door.  Seasonal dishes, such as pot au feu, tariflette, or cassoulet are just some of my favorites.  Pot au feu gets its name from the dish it is cooked in; anything cooked in a pot can be called une potée.  Cassoulet is finished in the oven covered with bread crumbs to give it a crusty top; it gets its name from the baking dish it is cooked in, a cassolette.

Les plats hivernaux often consist of legumes sec, or dried beans.  Other vegetables, such as leeks, carrots, or cabbage, which can either be conserved or grow in the colder winter months, are also used.  Potatoes didn’t arrive in France until 1772 when Antoine-Augustin Parmentier brought them back from Prussia, so they are a relatively new addition to the winter dishes.

Not only do les plats hivernaux warm the soul, but also they heat the house, as often a long cooking time is required, which is just enough time to enjoy the crackle and hiss of the fire and a glass of red wine to chase the cold away.

Chestnuts

Oh precious chestnut, why do you taunt me so?

Chestnut season is here and they fell to the ground by the hundreds this last week as the autumnal winds kicked up.  I gathered a large bowl full and then spent the entire next day making jam from them.  I’m not exaggerating; it took four hours to get their shells off: two hours for the first layer and another two hours for the second one.  I’ve tried just about everything to speed up this process: steaming, boiling, and even freezing the nuts to see if I can get the shells to pop off like a peanut shell, but no luck.  (Happily, peanuts are much easier to shuck, or I would have grown up eating jelly and jelly sandwiches.)  That’s before they’re boiled and ground, which is not even the final step of adding sugar and cooking the concoction.  It’s long work and by the end of the day I’m completely feed up, but it’s worth it at the breakfast table.  We’re already ¾ of a jar down from the five I made.  Christophe is hinting that I should have another go at it before the ground freezes; I’m hinting he should attack that “honey do” list I posted on the fridge.  Neither of us is budging, for the moment.  But, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve: I have just over 4 jars to wait and then we’ll see what can be negotiated.  I'm thinking....painting!

Pickled Peppers!

Hot Peppers: I decided to continue with my vinegar theme and pickle them.  The peperoncini, jalapeño, and hot lemon peppers ended up being a late crop, much later than I expected, so we didn’t get to enjoy them until now.

Contrary to expressed concerns, the hot peppers in my garden have not taken over indigenous plants.  Any future concerns about the French cuisine being later known for its use of hot peppers should be nullified.

(Note to self: Next time you decide to boil vinegar, do so when the weather allows you to open the windows.)

Pleasure of the Season: Blackberries

Wild blackberries on the lower terrace in the garden.

“Pleasures of the Season” is a series of posts which appear from time to time.  They focus on something special that occurs only seasonally, often fleeting, and something we anticipate.  The posts are sometimes food related, sometimes not, but highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

The garden fruit has had its season, so now it’s time to turn to nature for the next round of jams: blackberries!

Wild blackberries grow throughout the village.  This can be blessing, but their thorny bramble does make them more of a weed than a welcomed vagabond.  Blackberry picking is one of my more painful berry experiences since I often get caught trying to get the upper most berry on the bush.  Getting unstuck is like a masochistic game of Twister.  One blackberry plant has thrived on a lower terrace of the garden for years, so we don’t bother it since it does seem to keep to itself and it does give use some fantastic blackberries without any tending.

The blackberry season can vary.  A few damp or rainy days can end the season abruptly, rending the berries moldy, or a long hot, dry spell could shrivel them up to nothing.  When I had more time, I would gather the berries in the morning and make jam in the afternoon, but now, I gather them when I can and freeze them until I have enough to merit a jamming session.  Perhaps not the most purist way to start the jam, but it’s clearly the one more adaptable to time restraints.  The berries freeze well and those that have not been earmarked as a breakfast item are often found on a tart later in the year.

Pickle Infatuation

I know I’m being a bit single minded about this lately, but I can’t seem to get my mind off pickles.  Perhaps because it’s hot and I’m craving salty foods, or because they’re crunchy and I find they go great with a slice of ham and cream cheese, or because I get a quick blast of cold air from the fridge when I fish them out of the jar, but I’ve been doing nothing lately than thinking about pickles.  I’ve dreamt about finding new cucumber plants in the garden to make them, and I even bothered Facebook friends about them, extensively.  I have successfully made “ice box pickles”, but I decided I wanted pickles year around.  We normally travel state-side at Christmas for a few weeks, so we unplug the fridge and empty it of its contents.  (Which is not easy with Christophe, who loves having a full refrigerator.)  That of course means I sadly have to dump out any remaining pickle juice before I board the plane.

We only have two cucumber plants, so I have to use our cucumbers wisely. Christophe saw me come in the house last night with the four ripe cukes we had and shook his head saying, “So if I understand this correctly, all the cucumbers we have will be pickled?  What’s wrong with fresh?” 

The answer to that is: nothing.  Fresh cucumbers are great, but pickles are just better.  I’ve canned for years now and even though everyone says pickles are easy, I’ve worried about it.  Basically, I just wanted to get it right: a salty brine, a dill-garlic bite, and of course, the illusive crunch.  I completely over-studied the subject.  There are hundreds of pickles recipes out there. (I saw one that took over three days.)  There appears to be no exact science to it, but nothing is worse than a let-down for something you’ve waited for months to open.  The photos are what I’ve got to look forward to once 2013 rolls around. Undoubtedly, you’ll hear about when the jars are finally opened.  Until then, I’ve got my ice box pickles.  I just need to find a good excuse as to where all the sliced ham and cream cheese is going.

Greater Expectations

New Potatoes no bigger than golf balls.

It doesn’t look like we’ll be bringing home the wheel barrels of potatoes that we happily found ourselves with last year.  Half of our crop is already done.  We planted two varieties of potatoes, Charlotte and Rosabelle, and we are discovering the Rosabelle potato plants are sensitive to mildew.  They’re already done growing, even though it’s 3 to 4 weeks earlier than last year.  We always dig some up early and enjoy “new potatoes”, but this year’s crop will solely consist of them.  Potato plants end up wilting away by mid to late summer, signaling it’s time for us to dig to them up and see what we’ve got, but it looks like this is not the year for us to stock up on potatoes.  The Charlotte potato plants are still growing, so there is hope, but until then, it looks like we’ll be feasting on small new potatoes for some time.

It doesn't take a trained eye to see what plants are the Rosabelle and what plants are the Charlotte potatoes.

Moving into the Last Rounds of Planting

One of four crates of tomato plants waiting to be planted.

The garden: it’s all I seem to write about lately, but it really is somewhere where we spend a lot of time.  I planted the potimarron and butternut squash last week and we are moving into the final rounds of planting for the summer.  So far, spring has been pretty cool and that delayed earlier planting, but the tomato plants our neighbor has given us have gotten too big to ignore anymore.  Christophe planted them all this morning and this weekend we will finish with my seedlings and the rest of the garden.  The “rest of the garden” also comes from our neighbor, who grows everything from seed.  Apparently, she has such a green thumb she can make anything grow just by willing it.  Thanks to her, our garden will soon have all different varieties of peppers, zucchini, eggplants, cucumbers, and pumpkins.  All in all, the garden consists of hundreds of plants, a somewhat monstrous undertaking.

In the past, we used to plant everything in one day.  We would wake up early, get the plants from our neighbor, and start right in on the garden.  We worked throughout the day, but we often didn’t finish until after dark and we would drag ourselves back to the house and collapse once inside.  We didn’t do it this way by choice; Christophe used to work in a sawmill far away and returned home late and exhausted; there was no way he could have tackled even part of the plantation on a weekday night.  As for my part, it was my first few years here.  I never had a garden larger than a kitchen table; I was overwhelmed and unsure.  I didn’t want our neighbor’s hard work to go bad just because of me.  Christophe wouldn’t have let me anyway; even though the work is long and exhausting, there is a satisfaction in looking back at a job well done, and he revels in that moment.

We still have that moment, but thanks to a few changes, we’re able to spread it out over a few days.  We’re still dirty and tired at the end of it, but at least we’re enjoying it and the garden better for it.  I know we are.  So, this weekend, we’ll do the very last round of planting for this summer. I don’t know how many plants are awaiting our attention, I imagine a lot, but I’m pretty excited about it and will finally be able to look back at our completed work without squinting my eyes through the twilight.



Christophe planting on the upper terrace.



The (Unknown) History of the Garden

The vine

The other day, near the strawberry patch, Christophe spotted something a bit peculiar: a vine, as in a grapevine.  We didn’t plant it and grapevines just don’t blow in with the wind.  It was planted there many years ago and most likely, was part of a vineyard.  This is the first vine we’ve seen, so it’s funny that is would finally decide to show itself in a garden that has been cultivated for over 10 years.

We don’t know the history of the all the land we own, but this is a clue to a parcel (or lot) we know little about.  Currently, it is part of vegetable garden, but at one point had a different proprietor than the rest of the garden.  The land is poorer and rockier than the rest, which indicates it was never cultivated previously as a garden.  We’ve seen a fair number of vineyards, some with tremendously rocky terrain, which adds to our speculation.  There is an old stone wall dividing the garden in two, which was once used as a property line.  Parcels of land where divided from generation to generation which explains why part of a garden was from one owner and part was from another.  The garden itself is made up of several parcels; property lines are never rectangular, but run along ridges, water sources, or forest edges.

We have met several old inhabitants of the village who shed light on some of the forgotten history.  Many attest to seeing a garden on the other side of the dividing wall, but none have ever spoken of a vineyard where the vine was found.  We’re going to leave the vine, not necessary for what it will produce, if anything, but for what it represents: history, with hopes that one day we will find someone who can explain it to us.

View of the garden with the stone dividing wall. Old inhabitants of the village recall a garden on the other side.  The vine is growing in front of the water can.  (The bushes are black and red currant bushes.)

The Truth About Planting

What the plants look like after planting:

What we want the plants to look like right away:

What we really got:

Fruits of Labor

Taken in July 2006.
 This is less than half of the garden, which extends past the stone wall and over doubles in size.  Only part of the upper terrace can be seen.

This is the time when things start to get busy in the garden.  Some of the garden is planted, some already needs weeding, and some, like the strawberries, is already giving fruit.  This is our goal, but it means I have to be prepared for making jam that night, and sometimes I’m not always up for the task.  That’s life with the cycle of a garden, and while sometimes it means making jam late into the evening, it also means having a plethora of things to keep us busy and bushels upon bushels of fresh food to eat.

Besides having great produce at our fingertips all summer long, the pleasure of working and accomplishing something with our own hands is something to find pride in.  We like watching the garden grow due to our hard efforts, and believe me, things from Nature here don’t come easy.  Forget the romantic idea about Southern France, not all of it is a cake walk.  There are lavender fields, botanical gardens, and some of the best honey you’ll ever eat, but there is also the daily reality of life in a Mediterranean environment.  The dirt is rocky and poor.  The sun beats down hard and days are long and hot – and there is no air conditioning in a 600 year old house.  We water the garden in the evening so the plants get the most out of it, and the watering the garden is all done by hand – when there is water, that is. 

The work is hard, but we do it willingly; we don’t need the garden to survive.  We do it because we want to.  We want to feel satisfied after a long day and see the fruits of labor.  These fruits, which we conserve to get us morally through the cold and windy nights of winter, are why we toil and do what we do.  Some have asked why we make things so difficult when there are easier routes: don’t mend a stone wall when cement will do; don’t build a fence with string will suffice; don’t grow a garden in a land so hard.

Making jam after the sun has already set is not always my idea of a fun evening, but it is time well spent.  I see the fruits of my labor and I get to go to bed happily knowing it will be there on the table in the morning waiting for me.  I have accomplished something, and I also get to join in its spoils.



This is one of my favorite views of the garden.  It's taken fron a wall on the upper terrace.  The hoses seen are not used to water with sprinkers, but rather to fill up the zinc tub seen.  We plunge watering cans into it and water all the plants by hand.



Pleasure of the Season: The First Strawberry

“Pleasures of the Season” is a series of posts which appear from time to time.  They focus on something special that occurs only seasonally, often fleeting, and something we anticipate.  The posts highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

What more can be said?  There is truly no pleasure like tasting the first strawberry from the garden.  Well, at least the first strawberry for us; this is actually the third one ripe.  The first strawberry we eyed with great anticipation was gobbled up by a fox and the second strawberry was pecked away by an unwelcomed bird.  I was greatly disappointed each time I wandered in the garden for my evening treat only to find it gone.  Success, at last, and it was well worth the wait.  Now, only a few more weeks, patience, perhaps a high fence and something to stop the birds and I might have enough on my hands for a shortcake. 

I think it might be time to try my hand at homemade whip cream.

Ramped-Out

Ramp season is just wrapping up.  Ramp, or wild leeks are also known as spring onion, ramson, wood leek, and wild garlic.  Ramp are smaller than cultivated leeks and have a pronounced onion and garlic bite with a slightly bitter taste.  They appear early to mid-spring and grow in the United States and throughout Europe, and even those they favor forest areas, I’ve also found them in grassy, overgrown marshy plains.

I’ve only recently started collecting them, but find them to be a wonderful springtime delicacy.  They’re a little spicy and I use the bulbs and light green stems when I can find them in everything from tarts to slow cooked meals.  They do need to be used sparingly due to their potency, so when I make an onion tart for example, I mix in no more than half ramp.

Each spring when I start my search, I get lost in the tall grass and wonder if I’d recognize a ramp again, but when its dark green, cylinder-like leek stalk emerges from the ground I am assured once again that I will not be making a dinner full of mistaken weeds.  My favorite spot for finding them is not far and also has been known to produce wild asparagus, which I have no talent for finding.  I always have hopes of bringing home a few of the tender wild stalks for a salad, but end up empty handed every time.  Apparently, I need learn from Christophe’s aunt who can lead a herd of sheep and collect asparagus by the armful at the same time.  Some people have all the luck.

Ramp reproduces like garlic; it grows small bulbs around the base of the larger bulb.  Last year while collecting ramp, I seeded the smaller bulbs in a grassy area of the garden.  Since March, I’ve been diligently checking to see if the bulbs have grown, but have found nothing.  Last night, Christophe informed me that while cutting the grass he ran across a strong odor of onion and garlic right where I tossed the seeds.  Apparently, the ramp did grow; I just didn’t find it.  Looks like we’ll have to wait to next year to have wild leeks again.

Where The Wild Things Grow

Wild Lavender

One of the things that is truly amazing about Southern France is how the climate can change in such little distance.  Our village is in a Mediterranean climate; five minutes, as the bird flies, a neighboring village is in a colder climate and battles snow storms throughout the winter and early spring.  This problem is rare for us so late in the season; we are well into spring and the vegetation is benefiting from our daily rainfall and exhibiting a magnificent tender green.  While it’s too early to plant anything but potatoes in the garden, the mild temperatures allows for all sorts of uncultivated vegetation to flourish, some just minutes from the door. 

There is a variety of wild thyme, lavender, strawberries, garlic, asparagus, and leeks that appear this time of year.  I think the wild lavender can be used to make essential oils, and while Christophe says it’s not very interesting in the kitchen, I haven’t found any information on it being consumable, so I’m pretty sure it’s not used in cooking.  The other plants however, are completely safe and edible.  In fact the wild strawberries, or fraise des bois, are quite sought after; they are also quite fleeting.  Wild asparagus is known for being extremely tender and, if cooked at all, only take a quick blanching.  Uncultivated garlic is small and powerful, and can also be used as an insect repellent, but I think I’d rather use in the kitchen.  The overriding characteristic about all these plants are their intensity; they all seem to have an amplified taste compared to their cultivated counterparts this time of year.  Maybe it’s the emergence from winter vegetables that seems to highlight their notable characters, but they have become a teaser for summer that leaves a wanting for the months to come.



Two Varities of Wild Thyme



Vegetable Tarts

I love tarts, more specifically, vegetable tarts. I prefer their heartier flavors to their fruit counterparts that tend to get watery as they extrude all their juices while cooking. I ate vegetable tarts from time to time before I moved to France, but they have now become a staple in my kitchen. Tarts just seem to be a terribly French thing; they can be seasonal and add flare to an ordinary vegetable. I can’t point to just one thing about them, but there is really something about vegetable tarts that I can’t seem to get enough of.

In summer, there are zucchini tarts, followed by tomato and onion tarts. In the fall, there is a potiron tart, which is like a pumpkin and the only tart that slides into my annual lineup that is more sweet than savory. By winter, potatoes are sliced and stuffed between pastry dough and topped off with a quick spoon of crème fraîche. Spring rolls around and leeks and asparagus are given my full attention. What’s not to like about them? Nature has given me an endless array of things to put into pastry crust – and they’re all good.

Tarts are not a pie, and it is more than just the shallower pan that defines that. It appears the delicateness of them, along with the balance of pastry and filling, that does. In a pie, the filling takes center stage, but a tart seems to strike a balance between the two. Maybe that’s the French thing about it, “tart for dinner” sounds a bit more sophisticated than “pie for dinner”. There is a duality of indulgence with sensibility, which seems to work. So when asked, ‘Do you want a leek tart for dinner?” My only response could be, ‘Don’t mind if I do!”

It’s Tillin’ Time!

Two trailers of manure and 17 wheel barrels full of compost later….

The garden has been tilled and is ready for early plantation.  After some predicted rain later this week, the potatoes, onions, and shallots will be planted.  Christophe has a beast of a machine that he maneuvers through the garden, devouring any weed left in its path as it tills the dirt.  We’ve had some problems with mole tunnels, and unintentionally, Christophe broke through to the burrows and sent a small mole flying.  Surprisingly, it flipped over the tiller’s gears unharmed, and Christophe moved it to find a new home in the woods below.

Turning the garden is always an anticipated moment.  The day marks for us the start of a new season and the hope of what’s to come.  It’s very physical, full of dirt and sweat, but it allows us to plant our dreams of tomorrow, think of the maybe and what ifs, and what some hard work might bring.

Pleasures of the Season: Toulouges Sweet Onions

“Pleasures of the Season” is a series of posts which appear from time to time.  They focus on something special that occurs only seasonally, often fleeting, and something we anticipate.  The posts are sometimes food related, sometimes not, but highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

Not cultivated to be stored long, these sweet onions look like Spanish red onions but without the bite.  They are often served raw and, so mild always prepared with tear-free eyes.  Named for the city of their origins in Southern France, Toulouge onions add a complexity to dishes that ordinary yellow onions don’t.  The one hundred plus planted in the garden are quickly disappearing; we pick and cook as needed.  Now their growing season is over, the remaining are left to dry so they might make it to November, but I’m having my doubts. They are crucial to a successful ratatouille, a Mediterranean dish consisting of four ingredients in equal parts - sweet onions, tomatoes, eggplant, and zucchini.  Christophe proudly whips it up by the pot full, but it disappears as quickly as it is made.

America’s Test Kitchen “Dish It Your Way” Challenge: Cupcakes!

Or, to explain why I don’t make them….

Reason #1….

Reason #2….

Reason #3….

Reasons #4, 5, and 6….

And finally, reasons #7, 8, 9, and 10.

I live with my husband in rural France, and think that perhaps anyway but in Paris, cupcakes are an oddity.  When I explained what a cupcake was to Christophe, he gave me the same baffled look as when I explained that a brunch is a meal that is part breakfast-part lunch, to which he responded, “Why would anyone want to skip a meal?” He didn’t understand why I would want to make a “small cake”.  Not to be discouraged, I plotted on.

I have a silicon pan, but it was the only one found after much searching, and it does a terrible job.  It had no lift on the cupcakes and they would not release right.  Trying to get around that, I looked all around for paper cupcakes holders, and couldn’t find them.  I tried ‘enhancing’ the cupcake batter with red currant jam and chocolate, which only sank to the bottom.  I tried ceramic yogurt containers, hence error # 7 - 10.  That was a messy cleanup.

Cupcakes are just not a French thing.  No matter how hard I tried, I was not able to adapt this classic to my new location.  I know, I know… it’s America’s Test Kitchen take on classic American food, so I shouldn’t be saying that, but I’ve been about adapting ever since I met Christophe and this new culture, so I’m all about trying.

I’m not giving up; the fun of experiments also comes from the failures, but I think a step back and a new plan might be needed as well as more local twist.  Speaking of local, the apple trees are producing well this year, so I’m pondering a tarte tartin right about now, which if the story is true, shows good things come from failures.

Summer has come to an end, and so has America’s Test Kitchen “Dish It Your Way” Challenge.  I’ve had a blast trying new recipes – some worked, some didn’t, and Christophe had a great time eating the results, most of the time.  I found a few great new recipes along the way – ice box pickles, salmon with watermelon salsa, how to make a potato salad your own, and that mac n’ cheese can be, and is even better fried. 

The fall winds here are starting to blow, so winter preparations need to be made.  I’m looking forward to evenings in front of the fire while bread bakes in the oven, and dinner simmers quietly on the stove.  I’ll be turning my attention to more autumnal foods, canning from the garden, and writing about rural life in Southern France.  Hope you’ll pull up a chair, grab a glass, and join me.