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.

Happy Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Enjoy the long weekend with friends and family, outdoor activities, and afternoon barbeques.  France too has a long weekend as Pentecost is celebrated as one of the many holidays in the month of May.  While the spirituality of the day is not really noted, the long weekend is marked in the same way, so I’m off to the garden to sit in the sun with a glass of white wine in my hand.

Cherries

Now that the winds have died down and the sun has decided to shine, the weather seems more appropriate for the season.  Sitting in the garden on a lazy afternoon beckons a glass of white wine and some of the fruits of the season, most notable, cherries. 

Cherries are one of the first fruits to appear annually, and while there are numerous cherry trees throughout the village, the fruits aren’t yet ripe due to the altitude.  However, cherries are abundantly found just about everywhere else.  There are numerous festivals dedicated to the cherry alone, and one of the most notable in the region is in the town of Céret, which is considered the “French cherry capital”.  Like many small town festivals, it has baking competitions, (the clafoutis; a type of custard tart filled with fresh cherries) and the probably very amusing stone spitting contests.  Each year, it produces close to 4,000 tons of cherries, offering its first cherries of the season to the French President.

La Tramontane

It’s said to blow for three, six, or nine days.

It was noted by Marco Polo at the end of the 13^th Century.

It has gusts up to 75 mph.

Not typical at all for the season, La Tramontane winds continue to blow.  Springtime here is usually filled with foggy days and cool nights, but strange meteorological patterns have brought the North- Northwestern winds back.  Wreaking havoc on the garden, the winds have left us indoor, temporarily abandoning projects and relighting the wood heater.  The prosperity of spring has temporarily been forgotten while looking out from the inside of a window.  In the garden, flowers have been pulled off from their stems and leaves have been burned from the whipping winds.  Nature will repair itself, but the colors and lush growth of the season is over for this year.

I don’t know what day it is – six, nine, maybe even twelve if a three day cycle restarted.  The winds tend to make me forget night and day, let alone what day of the week it is or how long the winds have been blowing.  It’s said to do that to those not from the region and there is no magic cure to develop a strong affiliation for it.  I just have to wait, hopefully only three more days.

The Importance of Finding the Right Cheerleader

I’ve written a lot about living in France.  I’ve even put those ideas together in a manuscript in hopes of getting it published one day.  So today I’m going to take the blog in a slightly different direction.  Instead of sharing my thoughts on how life has changed since moving here, I’m going to reflect upon the process of writing and one important aspect of it: finding the first right person to share it with.

Once I finished my initial manuscript, I found the most challenging thing to do was to find the right person to read it. (This is course was before I knew about the joys of querying to find a literary agent, but that’s another issue.) The writing process can be solitary; it can be used as an escape from a criticizing world.  My relationship with my computer is easy; it doesn’t judge what I’ve written.  It takes every word without a whimper or a laugh, but I write to share, so I need to find someone who’s going to give me feedback and ideas I can use to help me make it better.  The search for that person who will find the balance between critique and criticism can be difficult.  It’s not easy to find a trusted someone who won’t take your ideas and smash them to pieces against the wall, or someone who doesn’t think simple words like “good” or “like” is useful feedback.  This person needs to know the point of the book, the voice, the characters; he needs to know what you want to do and how you want to achieve that.  He needs to look at the drafts and see where ideas need to be flushed out or dampened down; he needs to know when you need a moral boast, when the dream needs to be stoked, or just perhaps when a beer is required to think things over.  Basically, he needs to simply get it.  He needs to be your cheerleader in full attire – pompoms, saddle shoes, and all.  He is the go to person who helps you get to where you want to go; the person who, in the worst case scenario, is standing on the sideline cheering you on in the pouring rain with seconds left on the clock while you hold the ball for the game willing play.  I find this person to be essential in the process of advancing, improving, and just feeling good about creating. This person could be the face sitting in front of you, but sometimes, he’s not easy to find, but he is a needed element in writing. I believe every writer needs to find this person.  It just makes the whole thing better, even easier, and definitely a happier, less solitary act.

What Food Can You Not Live Without?

Earlier this week I responded to a tweet from BlogExpat.com Their question: What food do you miss?  They were building on a story from CNN who put together a list of what foods American miss the most when living abroad.

Think quick, what would your answer be?

The number one food missed by American living abroad is Mexican food.  For those who have a plethora of good Mexican restaurants just around the corner, this answer might be perplexing, but the truth is, this is real. I speak from personal experience and numerous Facebook rants of friends from faraway wanting nothing more than a taco.  Good Mexican food is hard to find outside the Western Hemisphere, and I have yet to see a Mexican restaurant in France.  There is good reason for this, gastronomically and geographically, but it does present some craving which perpetuate some rather creative cooking and haphazard.  For example:

·         Christophe cracked a tooth the first time I made tortillas.  We didn’t have a rolling pin (This has since be rectified.) and they were thicker than pancakes and harder than stone.

·         Not having taco seasoning, I over compensated with hot peppers from the garden which Christophe only used “sparingly”.  I think I used four.  I’ve never seen someone drink a liter of milk so quickly.

·         I have discovered Swiss cheese really isn’t an acceptable substitute – for anything.

On the other hand, this has taught me a few more tricks about adapting, and living in a foreign country is always about that.  If you can’t adapt, you can’t make it, and I’m not about giving up.  That said,

·         I now have tomatillos in the garden; we make salsa verde and can it ourselves to last throughout the year.  This year’s garden addition:  jalapeño peppers.

·         One can “train” a spouse to build up spice tolerance.  I think Christophe enjoys Cayenne more than me now.

·         Each year, we stock up on taco seasoning when we visit the United States.  I’m certain Customs thinks I’m crazy when they see two industrial size containers of it in my suitcase.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t do all my shopping in the US.  Now that I have a good pickle recipe, taco seasoning is the only food item we bring back. (Okay, that and Frank’s Hot Sauce.) I love the French cuisine, but there is absolutely nothing like a good taco, and one cuisine cannot replace the other.  Trying to figure out how to have the best of both worlds has taught me a lot about adapting and appreciating the experience I have.  I’ve also learned how to make a darn good taco in the middle of the mountains in Southern France – and sometimes, that’s what it’s all about.

Out, out you go; out out with you.

The race is over: all the seeds I coddled by stating them indoors have finally been transplanted to the seedling box next to the garden.  It’s been two months and I’ve chased the sun around the house with four boxes of seeds in hopes to get them to grow.  Unfortunately, it’s been an overcast spring, so there hasn’t been much sunshine.  Despite my best efforts, the seedlings stayed small and are stunted in comparison to the seedlings of previous years.  I wasn’t able to transplant them outside until recently because it’s been too cold, so they haven’t been able to profit from the momentary breaks in the clouds.  This clearly hasn’t been typical “Southern France weather”.

Disappointed as I might be about their dwarf-like size, the plants have another month before being transplanted into the garden so there might be hope for them yet.  In addition to tomatoes and hot peppers I also seeded potimarron and butternut squash.  Potimarron is an heirloom squash and butternut, while quite common in the United States, is just starting to grow in popularity in France.  Christophe discovered it for the first time a few years ago and found it to be a worthy addition to the garden, which, if you knew how he defended space for the tomatoes, you would know it made quite an impact on him.

Until the big plantation – the tomatoes, eggplants, green peppers, and pumpkin, plus everything in the seedling box - the work in the garden is minimal, except for some watering and weeding.   I’ll take the break; I’m tired of chasing the sun from window to window and having to walk around the living room like it’s a game of Twister in order not to step on the trays of seeds I’ve started.  It’s time for the plants to grow – and chase after their own sun for a while.

Monday's Leftovers: Barbeque

In France, Sunday lunches are sacred.  They are a time for family and friends to gather together, put the work week on hold, and come back to the table to the things that inspire.  Monday’s Leftovers is a periodical series that recaps those moments, the lunches, and the memories that are left long after the dishes are done. 

I couldn’t find a more quotidian Sunday lunch: grilled chicken and potato salad.  There was absolutely nothing French about it; we fired up the grill, boiled up some potatoes, and pulled out the lawn chairs.  This day could have taken place anywhere, and it replicated something I knew from back when.  The smell of fresh cut grass rose up around us and I was nostalgic for meals like this shared with friends and family.  We enjoyed the day’s simplicity while sipping white wine (perhaps the only “French” thing about it) and hoped the sun would peak out from behind the clouds.

Our day to relax and meander in the garden was filled with discussion about new projects and the work that lies ahead of us.  Daily work was put on hold as we hammered out some details, but after a long week of hard work, we were happy with the placidity the day presented.  Our “To Do List” just got a whole lot longer.  The project is still coming together, but once over a critical hump, I’ll share some details.  It’s one we’ve been pondering for a while, so we decided to finally face the challenge and tackle it.  So, for a while, Sunday lunches will be simple, but by the time Sunday rolls around, I’m happy to sit back and just fire up the barbeque.

Springtime Garden

We have lots of yellow and purple irises.



Rosemary



Our garden is more of a springtime garden, rather than a summer spectacular.  Summers are very hot and dry, and anything that requires too much water just isn’t going to make it here.  Spring’s seasonal rains and damp weather helps everything flourish.  We mow the lawn weekly just trying to keep it in check, but as soon as summer’s heat sets in, most things have wilted and even the grass goes yellow.  We generally don’t have to mow again until autumn. Summer has its advantages, but not for our flowers, so that’s why I say it’s a springtime garden.  It’s at its best about now, so let me share some of the flowers we have blooming.

Valeriane in front of lavendar.



pink roses



Lily of the Valley



Red roses




These remind me of yellow pom-poms, but I have no idea what they are called.



Lilac



A flowering succulent.




Clematis



Clematis





Pleasures of the Season: Breaking Ground

“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.  In some cases, the season is quite short, other are longer.  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.

It’s a pretty cool moment the first time every year when we notice the potatoes finally breaking ground.  The garden is vast, and for the last few months it has been fallow.  Tilling always stirs the excitement, but then there is a waiting time.  We wait for the rains to subside, the weather to warm, and for the right moment to plant the potatoes.  Then, we wait for them to finally push upwards to the surface, dotting the empty garden with green plants that quickly claim their space.

We planted the same two varieties as last year: Charlotte and Rosabelle.  Charlotte is extremely versatile, like an Idaho potato and the Rosabelle is a firmer, red-skinned potato excellent for sautéing.  Both can be eaten as new potatoes, or stored for the winter months.  We had a bumper crop last year and are hoping for the same results this year.  The crop was so generous that, in fact, we didn’t buy potatoes until February and I still have homemade gnocchi and fries in the freezer made from our own homegrown.

It will be several weeks before all the plants are big enough to be mounded and then not until early July when the first are dug up, but potatoes are an early vegetable, so they signal a definitive change in the season and a change in our daily rhythms.  We welcome this as we slowly wean ourselves off the daily chore of bringing in heating wood and replacing that with tending to the garden.

Change is Now

Change has arrived in France.  After 17 years of having the same political party in the President’s seat, France has voted for a man who has promised to take the country in a new direction. 

The incumbent President lost his position after a single term; the first since 1981. France’s direct vote placed François Hollande with a little less than a 2% margin; it may be slight, but landslide victories are rare.  Mr. Hollande takes the position of President in about a week, and in the next five years he has vowed to balance the budget, raise the minimum wage, hire 60,000 more teachers, and lower the retirement age by two years for manual workers.  He promises to be a President for “all the people”.  The challenges before him are vast, both nationally and internationally, but he also has promised to restore social equilibrium in France and pull back from of the austerity that has steered the country for the last several years.

My opinion on this is that change is positive.  I’m not too sure what image the American media gave Nickolas Sarkozy, but from living here, on the inside, I can say he was not a man who governed for all the people.  Clearly put, I would not invite him to dinner.  After raising his own salary 180%, he provided tax breaks for the uber-rich, such as Liliane Bettencourt, the second most wealthiest person in France, (15^th most wealthiest in the world), reduced educational posts creating holes in the system where no substitutes were available, hence closing classes, and refused to raise the minimum wage, regardless that it was no longer feasible with the cost of living.  (During the last five years, the minimum wage did increase, but this was in accordance with French financial laws and against Mr. Sarkozy’s wishes.)  I saw a basic abuse of power, and a man who wanted to be a rock star, and not a politician.  His term made a mockery of the position of President and was used for vast personal gain.  So, the change is now.  The challenges are large, but I feel better behind a man who is leading the country with heart and not his ego.

“Too many divisions, too many wounds, too many ruptures, too many cuts have separated our fellow citizens from one another. That’s all finished.”  -- François Hollande, May 6^th 2012 in a speech thanking Mr. Sarkozy for his service to France.

Cheese: Selles-sur-cher

Selles-sur-cher

I love this subject, but more importantly, I love doing the research on this subject.  Sometimes, it can be a bit grueling, tasting all that amazing cheese and all, but I sacrifice myself for the knowledge and for the possibility of sharing that with you.

This month’s cheese is Selles-sur-cher; another unpasteurized goat cheese, which is timely for the season.  Most goat cheeses are at their peak in spring and summer, and some fresh varieties (think softer, younger cheeses) are only available for short amounts of time.  Selles-sur-cher is available year around due to industrial production, but if artisanal, it has limited availability.

The first notable characteristic about this cheese is its rind, which is bluish-black and is a fine mixture of ash and salt.  A thin layer of mold forms on this which is not to be removed when eaten.  The rind is responsible for the cheese’s lightly salty and smoky taste.  The white interior is mild, firm, and slightly nutty.  Overall, this is a creamy dry cheese, but it is considerable light.

Selles-sur-cher is produced in the Centre region of France in the community of Selles-sur-cher.  Selles-sur-cher is a mid-sized town of approximately 4,500 inhabitants and is located about 115 miles southwest of Paris.  The town is also known for its historic château and its abbey (Notre-Dame-la-Blanche) which was constructed in the 12^th Century. 

The origin of the cheese is humble.  It started out as farmed produced for family consumption, but it grew in development during the 19^th Century.  In 1986, it was declared AOC (appellation d'origine contrôlée) and later gained the title AOP (appellation d'origine protégée) in 1996 making Selles-sur-cher a cheese controlled by its conditions of production and its geographic origins.

Château at Selles-sur-cher

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.