food – Page 49 – Myfrenchkitchen

The past year has been rather on the quiet side…in terms of my presence here. I hope to change it in the new year, pump some new life into Myfrenchkitchen, add some new and exciting experiences, adventures and yes, why not…recipes!

..Roasted rack of pork on hay and some marrow..

In the meantime I am at Coin Perdu again , have been here for the past few months, after only a quick return to Montlouis. I am staying in the barn with the cats and chickens and horses. Of course not all us us together in the barn, but almost. It will be the one and only winter we’ll spend in the barn, as our house will be finished next winter, if all goes well. For that reason, I wanted to take a kind of sabbatical here in the barn for the winter. My sweet husband, who is always eager to take on an adventure, was quick to help me close up the barn…putting up some temporary insulation in the up to now open roof. He built me glass doors to allow more light into the otherwise dark barn and moved the heavy wooden doors so they serve as shutters on the outside of the glass doors.. He installed a wonderful Godin wood burning fireplace andfixed the wood burning stove on the opposite side of the barn. This is where we do our cooking and even baking in the oven. It is my first experience with a wood burning oven and since I don’t havean oven thermometre, it all comes down to testing the heat with my hand..slow counting….1 is still too cold, good for slowly drying out biscotti….5 is about really hot and good for baking some chocolat fondant desert, which I usually bake in my fancy oven in Montlouis at 200 degrees C.

..putting in glass doors, insulation..

…baking in a wooden stove oven…

…winter landscape..

Hartman also closed up the very wide openings in the plank floor, where one can see through to the cattle stables down below and where some mighty cold air bellows upwards into the barn. Some carpets picked up at the brocante and a chandelier here and there for a bit of whimsy glamour. Et voila, a barn for the winter! There are still some openings here and there, but a little suffering is good too…it provides fresh air!

..some glamour in a barn…

The worst part of this whole experience is when nature calls and in this case it is literally a call of nature…our temporary toilette is outside, on the Eastern side of the house, while the barn is on the western side of the house. So I literally have to do some cross country to answer nature’s call! First it entails putting on boots to scramble through the mud, then a jacket to keep me a little dry at least and at night…a torch…to see what I’m doing in the mud…and elsewhere, remembering that the toilette has no light. To lighten you aghastness at this experience, it is a modern working toilette, flushing, clean and nice smelling, with a door, no flies or bees or spiders, well maybe some tiny harmless spiders, looking for a little protection from the rain…

…the chemin to the stable and…toilette…

…with wet and muddy clothes……

For most of the time, I am alone here, except on weekends when Hartman join me, or when the children come visit for the weekend. I spend my time painting and doing art, experimenting and playing with mediums and techniques. a typical day would be…waking up warm and snug in a warm bed, stepping first toe out into the cold, cowardly jumping back, finding courage to lift my whole body from the warmth. dashing out, I run for a hot shower, dressing with the speed of lightning. Put on coffee machine. Put on my boots and all, open the shutter doors to let in the day light. Run for nature’s call. Open up the chickens who follow me with moans of happiness knowing where we are going, yoghurt and delicacies are awaiting them. Food for the cats. Talking and chatting to all. Grabbing 4 apples and pocket knife. Off to the stables, all the while whistling to call Gaitchi and Gubi form the fields. Spooning some molasse covered horse muesli into their bowls, I hear the rumbling of the earth as they approach the stables, eager to get to their buckets. We talk ad snuggle, brush and talk. Back to the barn where the freshly brewed coffee makes the trip through the mud and rain all worth it. Two slices of toast made on the wood burning stove, a up of coffee and seating myself by the computer to check mail and listen to morning radio. And then off to work. Drawing, painting, maybe some photography in the countryside. Writing. A walk in the fields with my camera and horses. Sketching in the countryside. A drive to the town of Brive to relieve a bit of cabin fever. Feeding the horses again, closing up the chickens, keeping the fire going in the Godin and stove, dinner, a nice adventure movie, reading, more writing, bed.

..snug inside the barn wit paints…

… and books…

…and a warm bed…

…and food…

..and everything else I need…

…and my friend…Madame Pompadour…

Does it all sound romantic and story book like? Perhaps. But it isn’t always moonlight and roses. My jeans are never clean, always full of mud. I don’t have a dryer and with the constant rain, I can’t get my clothes dry. If I don’t see to the stove and fireplace, I don’t have any heating. the wood is heavy to carry from the other barn. Cleaning the stove and fireplace every morning isn’t fun. After a while, sledding in the mud isn’t funny any more. I don’t have my “stuff” with me…of course can’t fit a whole home into a barn. even though we have put up insulation, I have no ceiling and dust still sifts down. I don’t have a bath in which I can soak my sometimes cold body, only a home made shower in a sinktub. BUT! I have warm running water. I sleep warm. My husband arrives every Friday evening. My children visit. I have my animals that I love around me. In fact I have everything I need.

…Gaitchi et Gubi…

…Tartelette, Mimolette, Ciboulette et Camembert…

…Tokala et Ayiani…

This winter time in the barn makes me realize how we take life for granted. How we actually have too much of everything. Our homes are overheated. Our kitchens are over equipped. Our closets are luxuriously full. A bit of struggle can do us all good. It can make us realize that life is actually a gift.

May you have a wonderful festive season and may you see life as it is meant to be. A precious gift.

Joyeuse fête!!

Ronelle

Very few people enjoy white beans. I’m actually not one of those few. But a salad…that’s something I always enjoy, and with bean salad, it is no different. Not a cold salad though. Slightly warm. And not a mushy one either. Fresh and crispy. That’s how I like all my salads. Try it, you might like it too.

Suggestions:

There can be so much playing around with this recipe:

Use a mixture of white and red beans.
Do yourself a favor and use either the fresh pods or dry beans from the organic store, but not the canned beans…there is just no comparison between beans freshly cooked…just, just tender with still some bite…and those overcooked, bleak, mushy, floury canned stuff.
Keep the colors and flavors in your recipe simple.
Add other grapes of your preference, or try figs, which are also in season now.
Use chervil along with the parsley, which will compliment the anchovies.
The anchovies can be left out or replaced by another fish like sardines.
Use red onion for its sweetness.
Add some freshly grated ginger for extra piquancy and flavor, in which case one would leave out the chervil.
This little salad can be used as an aperitif, which is very “tendance” at the moment – serve a helping on pretty spoons with a cold wine, or serve on a small toast triangle, or in a verrine(small glass), or serve in a bowl with slices of baguette so each person can serve him/herself.
Add the grapes cold and just before serving, so as to have nice crisp and cool contrast with room temperature.

Here at the end of summer, I am remembering a garden by the Loire. One I haven’t seen in almost 6 months. A garden I miss for its beauty. Its tranquility. Its animal life. For the many memories it gave birth to.

I remember the hard work, shaping something from nothing. I remember the many mistakes made. But mostly I remember the small but significant successes. The bounty in flower and foliage, the madness of rambunctious herbs, the unforgiving heat of summer sun, the many surprises and no less , the stubborn, but amusing persistence of the weeds. This all shaped my garden, gave it a rich and full life… gave me a rich and full life… season after season.

I remember being too ambitious. Having too little space and planting far too much. I My little garden turned into a forest by the end of summer…the roquette sweeping through the pebbles, the fennels reaching for the skies, the lavenders dancing wild sambas in the beds, the Pierre de Ronsard climbing rose playing out a Sleeping Beauty fairytale. The boxwoods’ constant demand for pruning, the long shoots everywhere, the new shoots everywhere, the dead heads waiting paitiently…

I remember how the garden could change as often as I can change my mind. Each seasons’ corners were plentiful and changed from one year to the next. Or even more. There was a corner for reflection, for morning coffee, one for sipping a coolness in midday. There was room to bask in the sun and of course a spot chosen somewhere for the meal of the evening. And how romantic were these summer evenings in this garden by the Loire, accompanied by the heady fragrances of jasmines and roses, lavenders and lilies! These lazy dinners lasted long into the night, lit up by candles and lanterns, handmade especially for me by a lover.

I remember how different this love affair with my little garden was to what I have now here at Coin Perdu, where our eyes follow the fall of the sun every evening to far beyond the horizon. It flames up the skies and we are woken up much later by the brightness of a moon and a starlit sky. In the garden by the Loire, sunsets were rare, cut off early evenings by the shadows of the cliffs and the welcome coolness of the caves. The small garden enfolded our evenings in a soft dusk pashmina, a warm embrace of familiarity and comfort. We lit up our candles and made fires in the summer kitchen. With herbs from the garden we stuffed meats and marinated vegetables. Our summer days began and ended in this little garden.

We lived and worked close together in this tiny “jardin de curé”...the cats, the chickens, the people…we all crowded in the summer cave, or in the working “cave” or in my “ atelier“…purring on cushions, lounging on daybeds, playing guitar, listening to music, reading, talking deep talks, speaking deep thoughts, painting, eating, sleeping…