A Week in Provence

Back from a windy and wonderful week in Provence with my parents. We stayed with our friends Angela and Rod at La Belle Cour – their lovely bed and breakfast in the village of Cereste. Augustin camped out in a dresser drawer…which he seemed to enjoy. I’m still waiting for the American mommy police to arrest me for not buying a baby travel bed.

Angela served lunch outside on Friday – (“Provence has 320 days of sunshine a year”, announced Rod when we first met). There was local ham, curled into neat ribbons, and a wonderful salad of lamb’s lettuce, julienned beets, tender dried dates, pine nuts (or was it walnuts) and crisp slices of apple, all dressed in a tart lemon/olive oil vinaigrette. It’s just the kind of simple but inspired combination that I want to keep in mind for future sunny autumn afternoons. The finale was a local goat cheese from Banon – wrapped in the dried leaves of a chestnut tree.

Saturday morning we went to the outdoor food market in Apt – it takes over the entire town, basically my idea of shopping nirvana. My mother and I parked the boys at a cafe. Now there are officially three generations of bored gentlemen waiting to carry our shopping bags.

Among the olives, boar sausages, and enormous tomes of cheese, I found a stand where you could taste the jams and chutneys…a tiny plastic spoon in every jar. I walked away with a jar of compote de fenouil (fennel chutney) and some melon preserves.

Saturday evening we celebrated birthdays, arrivals and just general well being at La Manade, an intimate restaurant in Apt with only 8 tables. Their menu is limited (in a good way) and grounded in seasonal products. It is mushroom hunting time in the region – so I had the silky mixed mushroom soup to start, topped with a dollop of foie gras whipped cream (file that under terribly good idea). My main course was a local daube made with taureau (native black bull) and topped with candied orange peel. Below is a photo G’s dessert – a sable cookie topped with chocolate ganache topped with pistachio custard (oh, how I love all things pistachio). And below that, the wall of glasses (mean, mean man) that he constructed to block my incoming arm. G. knows that being married to me involves a curious second spoon in anything he orders. He is normally very good-natured about ceding half his dinner - but every once and while he gets surly and defends his territory. I admit, it’s a slippery slope. As soon as Augustin learns to use a fork, there’s a very good chance G. will be eating sloppy thirds, instead of sloppy seconds.

Though he is not quite ready for a fork, Augustin did start smiling this past week. It’s like watching the lights go on on top of the Empire State Building. It changes everything. He doesn’t just need me, he likes me. Of course he also smiles at Lili the musical chicken, who has orange polka dot legs and a rattle inside her left foot. I think I could take Lili in a bar fight, but for now I’m hanging back. In the immortal words of John Wayne: never come between a man and his musical chicken.Tuesday night was my night to cook, and Angela liked the idea of my rabbit with Pastis (from a post in July). Of course, I was late getting started (cocktail hour run long…) – by the time I entered the kitchen I found Angela over the computer, Rod over the pot, my mother over a wine glass and Paul over his iphone, recording the whole thing.

I’ve never watched anyone try to follow one of my recipes before. Especially since I seem to have forgotten half the ingredients. I bought zucchini instead of fennel, and fresh peas were no longer in season. The spirit of improvisation took over. Rod added an extra slug of Pastis to the browning veggies (very good, I’ll be adding that to the original), and Angela (God save the Queen), had a bag of peas in the freezer (added a few minutes before the end, they work just fine). Looking to compensate for the forgotten fennel – I threw some fennel seeds into the pot for good measure.

On fine china and linen, we sat down to our meal. Dear reader, it’s official. Good friends can save any recipe.