Duck Laden Afternoon... France (Fall Sessions 2011)

 Going over menu ideas for the January duck repas, Katie and I found ourselves reliving a lunch we'd had on a misty afternoon in a sleepy enclave just northeast of Barbezieux. Sliding through a series of low hills and subsequent hollows, we'd been tipped off by acquaintances who'd generously given up one of their favorite "neighborhood" gems. Quite a neighborhood it is with two bio (organic) farms, a spot that focuses on small pigs and geese, another that does foie gras, and lastly the Auberge des Grands Aulnais where duck is served in many a remarkable way.

 Despite very clear directions, it was not easy to find as the landscape kept nearly all of the concerns mentioned tucked subtly away from each other; around a bend, behind a knoll, down a lane. It was only when happening upon the farm producing foie gras that we took a shot at a driveway set opposite that led us to the auberge. Greeted by an old pooch roused from sleep, we slid into the nearly empty restaurant; a pleasant byproduct of a late, mid-week lunch. The simple decor of plastic tables covered in oil clothes seemed perfect as the rain increased it's pace, and us with nothing to do but eat the preferred meat of the house.

 Glasses of pineau arrived, the port-like blend of eau-de-vie and young red wine reminding us that we had no where to be. A terrine of zucchini soup soon followed, puréed smooth, helping to keep the damp from settling upon us. As a piché of simple Bordeaux was set on the table so were sautéed duck livers and gizzards served with lightly tossed lettuces, the former plump and tender, the latter with a subtle crisping about the edges. A few slices of smoked duck breast along with a chunk of rillette were slipped onto the plate for good measure. Decadent, with no argument from us. With drops leaving large circles on the pond beyond the windows of our table, Isabelle, the cook and owner, kindly allowed us stove side as she finished off Katie's confit cuisse de canard and my magret au poivre. Warm and calm, the kitchen a reflection of those that used it. 

 Again seated, Katie's duck leg slow cooked in it's own fat until falling off the bone, was tender and succulent. We traded bites, as my á point duck breast with green pepper corn sauce proved the equal to her dish. Both came with potatoes fried in duck fat, of course!!! Cheese followed, more red was poured, and the rain continued. Somehow we managed to share a slice of apple tart, not able to say no to the morning's efforts. Coffee yes, cognac no; hard to do, but necessary with a drive home still to come. 

 As we stepped out into the fresh of the rain soaked afternoon, we were treated to a few bands of warm sunshine. They stayed with us for a stroll about the frontage of the small lake, and for most of the drive back to Charmé. Coming over a rise just the other side of Montigné, a bit of roadway still to cover before home, the horizon was inked in black; streaks of lightening implying little good. We somehow slid below it's menacing presence, the first ping of hail hitting the car's rooftop as we hustled inside the house. The iron wood burner caught on the first match, and the cognac passed over at lunch seemed right to lift  the chill present before the fire warmed the room. Images by Robert Hass kept my attention while Katie turned to a collection of the Times crosswords. The field turned white with the falling ice, and we were home.

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Repas CG: The Aftermath... November 20

 To distract from the turkey hangover many are suffering, I'll offer a tale of three rabbits. (Or, at least, rabbit served three ways.) For the last repas before the New Year, on a day of soft and steady rain, we turned to an old friend for a warm, dry space. Dopo, home to artisanal Italian magic, opened their "home" to us and our merry band of rabbit eaters. The wet weather actually enhanced the intimacy, the way it can when the weather is cold and damp and you've escaped to a room with candles lit, the table full, and aromas pouring from the kitchen.

  Eggs en coucotte, done with chantrelles, rabbit livers, cognac, and tarragon,  was paired with a Rhône blend of Grenache Blanc,  Rousanne, and Bourboulenc. The wine proved bright and clean to handle the egg, but with fruit round enough to keep up with the livers and mushrooms. For Katie's rabbit rillette, salad of Bosc pear and radicchio, and walnut tartine, it was a Chinon (Cabernet Franc); a wine bearing depth to match the richness of the shredded meat without a lingering fruit to overwhelm the pear. Turned to Sebastian Gay's Chorey-Les-Beaune for the rabbit braised in mustard, sweet onions, and prunes; a true pleasure with it's initial bright fruit and subsequent clean finish. Lastly, for dressed arugula as well as a runny Camembert and bold Blue, went with a luscious Côtes De Nuits-Village from another very talented young wine maker, Veronique Drouhin. As the walnut cake with persimmon crême anglais settled, and the press pots were readied of our neighborhood roaster's coffee, the cognac arrived: a light and floral Maison Park, the fine marriage of the Tessendier family's old vine eau-de-vie and Dominic Park's contemporary approach (organic, no caramelized additives, etc.).

 Time now to settle in to what we hope for all will be a satisfying Holiday season. May you be safe and contented. We'll resurface in January focused on duck to begin the New Year. Until then...

http://www.chez-gautier.com

Market Day in Rouillac... France (Fall Sessions... 2011)

Open air markets dot the French countryside, but few are able to shut down a whole town. The Foire de Rouillac, held each month on the 27th day, is just such a market. A mixture of community, commerce, and just a hint of chaos, the vendors and their stalls line streets and alleys, parks and parking lots. Nearly every element of life in France is represented or on sale. Not only are there butchers, fish mongers, and sellers of produce seasonal to the time, but also available are an array of live animals to stock or restock a property: dozens of types of fowl, several varieties of rabbit, more chicken breeds than thought existed, dogs, goats, even donkeys. That is just the beginning. Tables of local artisans are loaded with cheeses, breads, wine, olives, numerous types of saucisson, and jambon cru. Snaking through the narrow streets there are hawkers of knives, kitchenwares, aprons, housecoats, socks, underwear, leather goods, music, and oil clothes for the table. If you need some chairs caned? Done. Looking to buy any type of garden/farming tool, right down to a tractor? Done. It is a true celebration of country life in it's most simple and humble form.

 Arriving in the early morning with guests who had trained down from Paris the previous afternoon (A few days well spent acclimating to the jet lag.), we dove right in. A light meal of roasted quail, and a good night's rest, and they were more than game. After initially making the rounds together, some then broke off to adventure on their own. For a few hours we wandered and explored,  stopping to collect things that would be used the next day spent playing in the kitchen. We eventually reconvened at a designated café, driven by the smells of food in the air: a wall of rotisserie chickens roasting above a fire of hard wood, grills covered in different types of sausage, fresh water eel tossed in an enormous pan with garlic, olive oil, herbs, and lemon. It was time to eat!

 We slid into the waiting arms of Auberge de Fin Bois, where we had reserved spots in the dinning room striped in long communal tables. Never known to before, they did not disappoint. A soup of roasted pumpkin and chestnuts got us started, and was followed by filets of salmon in tomato, capers, and white wine. Next came a succulent pork cheek braised in red Bordeaux until it fell apart to the fork, set upon lentils to add an earthy richness. Salad and cheese of course followed, a runny cow's milk version from a farm a few villages away proved to be my favorite of the five or so offered. Nervous laughter passed across the table, and perhaps a belt notch or two was loosened, when the pear tartes started to arrive. We wisely passed on cognac with coffee, the heat of the afternoon along with full bellies calling out for the cool water of the pool waiting for us back home.

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Autumn Turns Up The Heat... France(Fall Sessions 2011)

 Couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy for leaving a remarkable indian summer in San Francisco. The fog had eased, the sun emerged, and temperatures began to climb. Still, there was something comforting about September in France, the soft light, temperate days, and evenings that would allow for a log or two on the fire. Then... somebody turned up the dial.

Neuvicq-le Château

 The Monday morning of our last group began oddly warm, and wouldn't stop there. By mid-morning it was in the 70's, and would consistently hover about 90 degrees for the entire week. So, you get lemons... With a full group, we'd chosen well the large Maison de Maître in a hamlet a short walk from Neuvicq-le-Château. Bearing all the necessary amenities (i.e. a private pétanque court), the most appreciated aspect was the VERY LARGE SWIMMING POOL!!! An afternoon dip, a cold beer or a sip of rosé, followed by a nap proved refreshing, and set us up for the evening aperitifs and dinner that would follow.
 Gone were the deep braises of the first week, and the rich reds that went with them. The reds chosen were more light, there was of course an array of whites, and the subtlety of really well made rosé was introduced. (It helped to have laid in some crisp and dry offerings from Bordeaux and the Loire, along with a slightly more round version by local vintner Roland Vilneau made from merlot grapes.) The group was a blast, and easily took to the warm weather, with two guests even committing to daily afternoon "blood matches" on the badminton court.
 Having thought that we'd left indian summer in the Bay Area, we were pleased to have found that it had followed us to the Charente.

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

                                                                                

Repas CG: The Aftermath... October 23

 A warm dry day found us at the top of the Oakland Hills (technically Berkeley via the Postal Code) at Lynn and Dave's stunning nugget nestled just below Grizzly Peak. Draped in the green of pines and native growth, the quiet canyon spilled down to the Bay peaking out from a lingering marine layer. The large table was well sat with some new faces and others familiar.

Small Hens and Chestnuts

 "Little birds" were well represented, and the wines seemed to work as well. A Vouvray offered enough fruit to match the foie gras, but allowed also for a bright side that didn't hold down the butternut squash soup. Went with a Burgundy from Volnay for the quail with fig compote , round and even to match both. Did a Vaqueyras for the hens, chestnuts and pannade without regret; spicey, rich, with a good weight. Even slid in a Corbiéres (a generous addition from friend Sean) with the greens and the three cheeses selected, the syrah and mourvédre blend continuing with a light spice what the Vaqueyras had begun. We were very happy to have brought some of the countryside back for the meal: the foie gras from a farm in a nearby village, fig compote which Katie had done when the indian summer made for heavy branches, and even the chestnuts found during a day of foraging with Suzanne.
 With the last of the dishes put away, the breeze spilling in from the open balcony doors still holding a hint of the day's heat, we sipped a last cognac (Jules Gautret, Jarnac) with our hosts. The quiet of the newly emptied space offered a contrast to the hum of conversation and laughter that had carried us through the afternoon. Tempted to speak of the rabbits which will be our focus for November, I deferred to my wife's well earned fatigue. It was a good time to just sit with smiles and thanks to all those who joined us.

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RepasCG: The Aftermath... August 28

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 As with remarkable travels, great meals must end in order to begin preparations for the next one. Very large thanks to those who took part, embracing the communal table with shared stories, laughter, and good spirit. The deep fog of Mill Valley's morning gave way to warm, sun filled blue skies for the afternoon meal, a suitable way to show off the effort and love put into the garden location by our host, friend George. Add to this that the food was pretty decent, allowed for smiles to come easy as Katie and I sat sipping a last glass of a soft red Burgundy from Pierre Morey's Monthelie holdings, which we'd used to pair with the pot au feu.
 Now, we set our sites towards a return to France with guests set soon to arrive for the Fall Sessions there. We'll try before leaving to get the word out on the next repas, wavering between rabbit or "little" birds. Good meals, may they always just keep coming.

White Goats, Raw Milk, and Cheese... France (Spring Sessions... 2011)

 When you're used to a market each morning, Monday's without any to visit can leave you a bit empty. Rather than lament "what's a girl to do", this one made cheese! In the nearby village of Juillé resides the generous and welcoming Madame Flaud along with her some 200 fluffy white goats. Introduced by our  dear friend/neighbor Alice (Ah-leese), who had told of my fledgling cheese making with cow's milk,  the response was simple and matter of fact: I would need to come early the next day to experience her goats!

One of my friends.

 The milking is done at day break on a farm so unassuming it would be easy to pass right by if not for the tiny little wooden sign tucked on the side proclaiming farm fresh cheese for sale. When the air is cool the goats will venture to adjoining fields for a nibble of grass, but the present dry conditions in the Charente had them that morning under cover. The barn housing the flock is quite large and made of wood, surprising for a region dominated by stone structures. Anyone who has stated, "It's a dog's life.", has clearly not met a goat. Eating and milking are wedged between a steady flow of naps, lounging, and the occasional licking of one's coat. Only the most curious stir when a visitor arrives, but even they are eventually drawn back to the straw bed. After a good deep scratch behind the ears, that is. The air was rich in hay and animal, but absent of the dank musk expected.
 Common to most farm cheese production, the "raw" milk is not warmed (pasteurized), but instead taken directly into the "lab". There it is transfered to freshly scrubbed vats, a présure (rennet) is added to coagulate, a bit of a wait and stir, and then a whole lot of delicate scooping goes on by way of a very large ladle; the separation of curd and whey. Many small straining baskets are set upon an expanse of stainless, a slight angle feeding the excess liquid into a drain set in the tables center. Consistent with the beautiful notion that nothing be wasted, even the drained liquid is the used to make another grade of cheese.

Get me some tartine! Quick!

 The result is a fromage frais, similar to a lightly shaped ricotta, eaten young, creamy, and spreadable. Delicious! There are also two more aged versions: One being given a couple of weeks to develop a thin rind allowing for a bit more of the goat to come through on the palate, the oldest of a month or more has a further thick and firm rind that will insure it to last a good long while; deep barnyard in the aftertaste. This latter one, which will hold up quite well to grating over fresh pasta, thinly sliced roasted pork loin, or the occasional tuna melt craving, is also perfect for travel, should a round "accidently" end up in a bag slated to return Stateside.

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

This Little Piggy...

 A quick shout out to those that helped make for another fine Pig Fest. The 4th once again found us high up in the Oakland hills on butcher/charcutier Chad Arnold's eucalyptus shaded half acre. Jon Smulewitz and many of his Dopo crew, some of whom camped over night on the ground's of River Dog Farm to get an early start at pig selection, showed their pork love in the form of the chicken-wire corseted beauty in the photo. Tables were heavy with  the "sides" that kept arriving with each guest, ranging from roasted beet salad with arugula and goat cheese, rice salad tossed with freshly mortared pesto, and zucchini paired with toasted pine nuts and currants, along with remarkable takes on the usual suspects: baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad, and deviled eggs. Angelo gets a Gold Star for waking much too early after a night spent stove side, getting some 300 soft and flaky rolls to oven so that the juicy meat would have a spot to land. Katie and Donna Collins knocked out a slew of pickles done liberally with garlic, herb, and chili. Crunchy roll stuffer's to keep the shreds of little piggy company.

 There were too many baked good's to do justice reciting here, and the wheel barrow of ice kept mystically reloading with whites, rosés, and "sparklers". Chad and his dear Francis deserve special love, as their day began long before sunrise, firing up the oak bed that brought the pig to table, continuing the hospitality well past midnight. Kids and dogs alike scurried about the property, the wood smoke a constant reminder of what was to come. Endearing were the images of the many talented Bay Area cooks assembled, glasses in hand, able to sit this one out, merely enjoying the sun, the stories, the food. Perhaps the most remarkable thing of all was that the fog abated, a true rarity for Summer here, and left the skies clear for the whistling arc of missiles, the resulting bangs, and the umbrellaed descent of color and fire. (Recipes on request.)

More Cherries... France (Spring Sessions... 2011)

 Cherries, cherries, cherries!  As Graham spoke of in the last post, when it's cherry time, it's cherry time, and I happily complied, eating my body weight in the red beauties. My attention soon turned, however, on how to save some of those juicy suckers well into the year. After thinking long and hard, and having a few chats with the ladies about Charmé, I decided to brandy them. Although coming across a couple of liters of eau de vie in our wine cave made by our dear Henri Jarjeval (now since passed nearly 6 years), signaled a slight change in plan. A remnant from making vin de noix from our walnuts, I would marry up the perfectly ripe fruit (stems on preferably) with the eau de vie, sugar, and water. I was off and running.

 First, it must be confirmed though that this was in fact eau de vie, as it was stored in old Coke bottles. (Everything is utilized in the countryside!) With the strong fumes, there was an outside chance it might have been lamp fuel or some such thing. So off I went across the way to Suzanne's, who upon being presented a bottle promptly uncorked, buried a finger, and sucked. Wiping away the tears, the fire running down her throat, she nodded conformation. Yes, eau de vie it was! Settling back in our kitchen, I went to work: mixed up the "liqueur" (sugar, water, etc.), sterilized lids and jars, placed in the cherries, and finally covered them with liquid.  Once done, it was into the cave for all, it being essential to keep the drunken lovelies out of direct sunlight for a good three weeks if not more.

 With very few ingredients, we were set for cherries long after those still on the branch would be memories. The Bing cherries could be used for both sweet (over vanilla ice cream or warm, freshly baked short bread) as well as savory (with seared off foie gras, some toasted brioche, and a pile of fluer de sel). Perhaps my favorite is with magret de canard. Score the breasts, sear skin side down, finish in the oven while warming the fruit and some of the liquid with butter. Slice them thin, napped in the sauce, a few of the cherries about the plate... Ah, just perfect! (Recipes on request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Birds, Cherries, and a Radio... France (Spring Sessions 2011)

 About the time that Suzanne's cherry tree was going off with deep red fruit, ours being still a few weeks away, a rhythm set in. As my morning's in Charmé tend to begin at daybreak, unable to stay in the sheets with birdsong and the distant echo of roosters signaling the possibilities, I'd find myself outside with a bowl of café au lait trying to gauge the day. At 6:00 straight up I'd hear the muffled clap of shutters opening from over at Suzanne's property, go to greet her, at which point she'd hand me the secret ally in her defense against hungry birds: a transistor radio.

Suzanne and the prized branch.

 This I would place in a high saddle of limbs, set preferably with some music that included an accordion, then stand there gorging on cherries. With the directive clear, "If you don't eat them the birds will!", I would eat more than I thought I could. Probably, more than I should have. Inevitably another neighbor would happen by to join in, my favorite for style points was Antoine who'd climb from his tractor cab using the large tires to get the high branch's. Then it was time to continue on with the morning, and accept that the birds would have their turn. Whether it be a mole or rabbit in the kitchen garden, or birds in the fruit trees, the animals will always have their share. Plantings are made a bit larger with this in mind.
 Radios, old cd's dangling by fishing line, and the odd netting here and there are meant to merely slow them down a bit. Only seldom does an extreme technique enter into the fray, as when Suzanne had Katie climb up to remove one especially laden branch that she would save for her brother Jean Claude, not expected to arrive for a visit from Normandy for a few more days. He got his cherries, and we were to treated to clafoutis.

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Fog Free...

Sitting in our San Francisco place, the deep milk of fog having come back with a vengeance over night, we are smiling at having snuck over to Stinson Beach the last two hot and perfectly clear days. In a city prone to gray during Summer months, must grab them when able! Upon returning, Katie grilled up some rib eye's, set them on beet and turnip greens sautéed in garlic and lemon, roasted some small turnips in balsamic, and threw a minted chimichurri on top. With the heat still present, cheated with a rosé of pinot noir with enough dirt in it to work with the beef. (Recipes on request.)

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Oysters for "Second Breakfast"... France(Spring 2011)

 We headed out on a clean and clear morning, a hard rain during the night having been very welcome after a long stretch of dry days. Chased the evening before by a wall of black, the horizon thick in thunder clouds spitting stripes of lightning, we'd made it home just as large drops began to ping off roof tiles. Upon waking, bowls of coffee, a platter of just picked raspberries, and Katie's buttery croissant were ample breakfast as we had the Côte Sauvage in our sights, oysters in our near future. A "bird" stock of duck and pigeon bones was set on very low heat along with the usual suspects of carrot, onion, celery, and a bouquet garni, the base of a sauce for a light quail dinner upon our return.

Katie focused at Bruno's

 La Seudre, the river/estuary capped by Ile d'Orléon on the Atlantic, was our destination. There we would find les parcs des huîtres, the web of small huts and low pools along with the oysters that they housed. The smell of still warm baguettes we'd picked up coming out of Saint-Jean-d'Angély filled the car, as we eased over the rutted tracks that past for roads, heading out from the village of Chaillevette. It was mid-morning when we found that Madame Rataud, a favorite at the Saturday market in the village of Ruffec, had been called away for a delivery up the coast, north of Marennes. This was the perfect chance to stop in and visit Bruno Gass, whose hut rest's a shell's throw away. With a smile and a hand shake, he climbed up from the deck where he had been sorting the morning's oysters. We happily accepted an offer of #3's (similar to a small Miyagi) and short glasses of his brother-in-law's dry, dry white (grown on the rise we'd past when entering the village), the faint smell of residual wood smoke from the quieted stone hearth set against one wall cutting the sea air. The bread came in handy, the hour not yet 11:00.

Round 2 set on seaweed

 Leaving Bruno to his work, we cut up further along the water and through Arvert, on whose inlet we found the welcome of the Briant family. Having just unloaded their barge from the seeding place on the mud flats where the mouth of La Seudre meets the sea, they were cleaning and processing before lunch. Work came quickly to a halt, more oysters and white wine appeared. We never pass through the Friday Jarnac fish market without stopping for the conversation, and invariably a sack or two. All soon became aware why, as these oysters held just a bit more brine on tasting, washed away easily with a Côte de Blaye. Talk was of the season and how the warm weather had them placing the "seeds" in a little deeper water than usual to protect the development, reluctantly pulling ourselves away seeing it nearing noon, and lunchtime for all.

Low tide in La Tremblade

 We managed somehow to find room for some grilled bar sauvage (wild sea bass) and bowls of large crevettes along the banks of the river itself in La Tremblade. It was hot, the sky blue, with the unhindered sun gleaming off the mud of low tide. Despite the earlier oysters, we ate hungrily, again with a crisp Côte de Blaye white. Strong coffee added to our incentive to the ride back, a stop at the old Roman era church just the other side of Rouillac in our plans. A good day not yet done.

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Markets Of Six Items...

Spring garlic from our garden.

 We returned to find the markets of the Charente spring to be emerging, beginning each day with a stop in a nearby village's open air collection of growers/farmers, vendors, and artisans. The lone exception being Monday when all was quiet. True to a growing "calendar" understood, never written down, it was the time for a half dozen or so items: white asparagus, fava beans, young radish, early strawberries, spring garlic and onion. There was the hint of other items (small and tender lettuce, the first baby artichokes, even the occasional bunch of finger length carrots), yet the main focus was to relish things known to be available for so short a period.

  The challenge lay in there being primarily only a hand full of things with which to play. Oh, there was a vendor or two who sold things from outside the region (mature cauliflower, larger potatoes, etc.), but we went each day in search of the local producers; many of whom grew in their backyards. The radish were always a welcome sight as they tend to greet you at most tables this time of year along with butter, bread, and a mound of fleur de sel. On one occasion, Katie roasted a bunch, tops still on, tossed in olive oil and garlic to offset a rich white braise of pork shoulder. There was a day when as a starter Katie combined favas, spring garlic, duck sausage (out of the casing), ribbons of endive, and a bit of cream which she set on crostini. A week or so later, she altered this to include thin slices of lardon (pancetta), radish greens, lemon zest, and mint from the garden to go with the favas. (A light, bright red Burgundy worked well with both.)

 The latter dish was slid in as a course one perfectly lazy and unhurried Sunday lunch which drifted over several hours, in which Katie managed to do white asparagus a few different ways. She began with a velouté (a soup purée of the asparagus, spring onion, and butter) topped with a streak of créme fraîche. Next was a platter of asparagus poached (the white being much more firm than the green), surrounded by halves of boiled eggs, and freshly made mayonnaise to dress. The idea being to serve, dress, then grate the egg on top using your fork. Here came the crostini mentioned. She went on to add some tips to the end of a braise of whole hen legs (thigh and leg still attached), garlic, small onions, white wine, and fresh thyme.
 For dessert that day, as we had a group of our neighbors surrounding the table, Katie did something she very seldom (if ever) did: Made something very american. Gateau Fraise Court or... Strawberry Short Cake. Light and flaky rounds, spilling over in small berries macerated in lemon juice and sugar, with just enough whipped cream to ease it all together. By the speed, efficiency, and silence in which they were attacked, we judged them success. Recipes were promised as we sipped coffees. Cognac and pineau where poured, gifts made by those present whose lives evolve around the growing of the uni blanc varietal, essential to both. Normally, a weekend lunch can be counted on to stretch and linger, but we were all more than a bit surprised to find it nearly 4:30 when a clock was finally noticed. Meals with friends, may they be long. (Recipes on request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

The First Strawberry... France (Spring Sessions 2011)

 We arrived back in southwestern France after a long day of travel, made longer as it was the end of the Easter weekend. A dry spring had the skies blue, the air warm. The purr of our gravel driveway comforted the fatigue, and as is our habit we went straight across the way to see Suzanne, whose loving embrace confirmed we were home. With in minutes she had us out in her garden, already thriving in perfectly ordered sections of green shoots and small growths.
 She walked us directly to three rows of what we knew to be strawberry plants, low and yet already full in leafs. With a delicate hand she reached under the protective netting, the sole effort made to preserve as there is never any "drugs" on her plants, and cupped la premier fraise. A light tug, a rub on her apron, we were presented this small perfect gift of which we each ate half, the deep earthy smell hitting my nose before the tart-sweet met my palette. She will eat these raw, make confitures and tartes from now until the end of summer, because it is the time. And it began with this, the first one, as we stood in the late afternoon light.

 Retrieving our small bags from the car, Katie and I went about opening shutters and windows to let in the air and birdsong. In little time Katie had pots of lilac and lilies of the valley placed in nearly every corner of the house, a greeting in each room you entered. We went about our separate tasks (turning on the water, pulling off linen covers, making the bed, etc.) before meeting again with a pineau blanc on the terrace wall. It was good to be back.

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Just A Little Bitter...

 So my wife says a couple of months back, "I may hang out a bit longer after the Spring Sessions... Close up the house." Sounded good on the surface, but "a bit longer" turned into THREE WEEKS! A steady diet of envy has me looking a shade or two green. Her daily stories of market trips, lunches and dinners at the homes of friends, or daybreaks at a nearby goat farm where she's been helping to make cheese didn't help either.

A light supper under the plum tree my last night.

 Good news is that we have only 90 days or so before returning in September for the Fall Sessions. Until then, with the jet lag now behind me, there are stories to tell of what was a really fine spring trip.

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Unsalted Reprieve...

 So Katie took one look at the pitiful tone of the last post and decided to quiet my concerns of butter withdrawal. By noon there were brownies in the house! Brownies with big chunks of bitter sweet chocolate! Watching her go at the large dark block, working deftly with the 8" chef's knife, was a thing of beauty. And as with any good brownie, these were drippin', down right oozing in butter. So moist.

Sea Salt Caramels!!!

Just a few of the well dressed brownies.

 She was just getting started, for what followed was an avalanche of caramels studded in sea salt. Firm at first bite, giving way to more soft as the heat of mouth take's on the chewy mass. The sweet of sugar and the richness of the butter kept in check by the occasional find of sea salt. Ah, I'm good. Very content. Now, if I can only come up with something else that my palate has been lacking... Perhaps, my loving wife will make it. Any suggestions?                       (Recipes on Request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

As Goes Rain So Goes Butter...

Buns of the Morning

 As the gray lid lifts to what has been a very wet Winter both in the San Francisco Bay Area as well as Southwestern France, it will sadly see an easing of my butter intake. Crazy talk I know, but as the season's change so does the "menu". Already the first of the slender young asparagus have surfaced, a true sign of the prime growing season to come. Tender local arugula and tiny young radish have also started to appear. Barbeques are being dusted off, and their smoke drifts over both boundary line and backyard fence.
 So, reluctantly, it may be time to tip the balance more towards the oils (olive, walnut, etc.) that are never far from reach anyway, but tend to give way to the creamy goodness of butter during time's of foul weather. It's not just the bubbling gratins, the hearty soups, or the odd soufflé that I lament. How about the seemingly endless jar of cookies, the morning buns, or croissant "just for the hell of it" that my wife has so generously produced at the first sign of a threatening sky?! Already Katie has begun the transition, the spicy air of ginger cookies in the oven hovering about.

Dried Cherry and Bitter Sweet Chocolate

  No, butter will not disappear from our table. That's just not possible, especially in the Poitou Charente, it's dairy products as good as any in France. Few evening meals begin without a plate of shaved radish, mound of salt, cube of butter, and some bread. Even in the warming months to come, the opportunity to enhance a dish with a knock of butter will exist in abundance. Tender young beets deserve a chunk stuffed into their foil pouch before roasting, fish en croute may just need a little butter as company before the sealing of parchment, and young, sweet corn... Yeah, absolutely! In fact with the promise of the Summer fruit to come, galletes are sure to follow.
 That easy and accessible bit of magic done with little more than flour and butter, gallete bridge the seasons, being as good in the Fall/Winter (with apples and pears) as they are in the Spring/Summer (apricots, peaches, berries, etc.). The one's pictured below are done with Fuji's with a bit of cognac, a couple of thyme sprigs, and a pinch of sea salt on top. Oh, and did I mention there's butter? Rest assured. As with any element of the kitchen/menu, butter is just one component. Get it fresh, purely produced, and use it thoughtfully. But... Definitely use it.
(Recipes on request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Of Eggs...

  It was on a quiet, still morning in Charmé, one spent following sweet neighbor Suzanne about her garden, aiding her with the daily chores, when she stepped away momentarily only to return reaching into the pocket of her apron handing me two small and perfect eggs. Still warm, she  encouraged me to go directly to Katie and have her prepare them. It was a scene played out many time's in our life in France, eggs of an electric yellow yoke and rich, deep flavor as reward.
 This came to mind recently when we were surprised by a generous gift from Douglas of Azalea Spring Farm near Calistoga. No better gift than one unexpected, the brown nuggets were said to be from his Heirloom Buckeye's. We went at them with little delay, Katie and I each offering the other a form of "special breakfast" (see Post: "Special Breakfast", 2.10.2011). Having had for day's a craving for dim-sum, my offering had a distinctly asian influence: Poaching and then setting them on coconut and ginger rice, with a few large shrimp, some dandelion greens sautéed quickly in chili's, garlic, and Meyer lemon. A bit of cilantro tossed about. Katie took a different route: Braising kale before folding in some Great Northern beans,

shallot, a few drops of aged balsamic, and roasted garlic. Adding ricotta cheese she'd made the day before, a crack of pepper, bit of olive oil, and some tartine finished it off nicely. We ate her dish in what has become a pattern this wet Winter, sitting warm and dry in our living room, looking out at a hard rain pounding the rooftops and Golden Gate Park beyond.
 It was several year's back when Katie, wrapped in a serious case of missing her family, talked me into an extended visit to her native Minnesota. A food writer caught wind of her cooking private dinner's, and asked if she had any thoughts on eggs. Reflective of the Charmé scene above, Katie said back then, "...my neighbor comes over with fresh, fresh eggs with the most yellow yolks you have ever seen." She went on to describe a love of  "shirring" (oeufs en cocotte) with créme fraîche and gruyére, a form of baking them rendering them luscious, creamy, and decadent. (http://www.midwesthomemag.com/media/Midwest-Home/April-2006/The-Good-Egg/)

 Funny little things are eggs. So simple, so welcome, so good.
(Recipes on request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Bottling Up Winter...

 Jarring up Winter would perhaps be more accurate. We have lived very well these past several months with many a taste of Summer coming at us by way of the extensive "canning" Katie did at the end of the growing season. As the sun softened and Autumn approached, she jarred some 65-70 pounds of heirloom tomatoes, both in whole and pureed form. Add to that the various jams, preserved whole fruits such as figs, along with more savory fair like chutneys, pickles, green beans, baby eggplants, and a variety of chili's, all making for a big dose of sunshine packed in our pantry these past gray months.


 Not one to play favorite's, Katie is doing the same in an effort to hold on to a bit of the good things that come our way during Winter. Meyer lemons, those small, bright smelling reminders of my childhood (Had a tree in our backyard when growing up.) are nearing the end of their peak, thus Katie recently put some of those away for later use with fish or roast chicken. Cara Cara oranges, juicy and sweet, were done in a marmalade with some of the Calabrian chili's that still hang in dried bunches about the kitchen. Lastly, she did grapefruit marmalade with Ruby Red's and shaved ginger. Didn't take long for us to tear open one of these, as Katie had spent the day making fresh ricotta cheese with the Dopo gang (The East Bay neighborhood mecca for hand crafted Italian food.). Toasted some baguette, spread the moist, lightly salted ricotta, added a healthy smear of the grapefruit marmalade... With a short black coffee, a damn fine breakfast.          

It's easy, especially here in California, to rely on the benefit of year round markets, not to mention World markets via ship and plane. The rub being, however, that the produce must be picked before their peak in order to travel long distance, muting the essence of fully ripened flavor. More do able than you might think this canning thing, and well worth the effort.
(Recipes on request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Cherry Blossoms... France (Spring 2011)

 Okay, maybe wishful thinking has me a bit ahead of things as Spring is still a few day's away, but when our very old Rainier cherry tree blooms the change of seasons is near. There is a clear understanding among our neighbors that if we are not present at any time during the peak of one of the several fruits that grow on the property they are to help themselves. What has happened is abundance of confitures and preserved fruit given to a us in return. Jams of apricot, blackberry, raspberry, and quince, not to mention preserved plum and cherry or chutney made with the cassis are among the bounty.
 As we make preparations for our return to France for the Spring Sessions, I look forward to those first signs of change: blossoms bursting on tree limbs, fields with the faint green fuzz of young shoots, the air  fresh and expectant in the morning. Always seemingly the first tree to mark the change is the cherry tree that sits snugly in the corner of our rose garden. Best guess has it being planted over some 40 years ago, and it still gives love in the form of it's red and yellow marbled fruit each year. Last year we missed the peak of these gifts, so our good friend and neighbor Suzanne was the beneficiary, making jam out of much of it, preserving the rest whole.
 It was this past Autumn, with a serious taste for magret de canard that the cherries found their way back to us. Having picked up some skate wing earlier in the day during a visit to the market in Cognac, we stopped by the charming artist village of Tusson on the way home at a small producer of all things duck. Remarkable is their foie gras, but with skate wing (and it's requisite butter) already planned, we kept our focus on the duck breasts. Relatively small and slender, they were butchered as we waited.
 With a fire coming to life in our large kitchen chimney, a dish of olives and nuts to ease our growing hunger, we sipped cocktails of young cognac, tonic and lemon (a regional necessity). Katie did the skate in a hot pan with some shallot and a citrus buerre blanc. By then we'd moved onto to a crisp and dry Bordeaux white (Chateau Carbonnieux '05 Blanc), eating the rich, delicate fish perhaps too quickly, using baguette to clean our plates.

 Next it was time for the magret, hitting the well heated cast iron skillet with a hiss of fatty skin. The kitchen already held the rich air of a leek and potato gratin, bubbling in cream and butter. With the skins crisp and deeply caramel in color, Katie seared the other sides before finishing the duck breasts in the oven. A bit of time to rest once out, and they were sliced (perfectly pink), and plated with the gratin. All that was left was the touch of cherries, having been warmed in a sauce fashioned from reduced pigeon stock (Call it "squab" if it sounds better!), then scattered about the plate. Went with a Volnay '05 which did not disappoint. Enough fruit to ease the richness of the duck, but with a welcome dry finish to balance Suzanne's preserved cherries. A bit embarrassed to admit we managed to tear into some gâteau chocolat, a further offering of our caring and thoughtful neighbor. Then another log on the fire... a short coffee... a cognac...
(Recipes on request.)

A Fine Meal...

 Under a tangerine sky, the last of the day slipping into the Pacific below, Katie and I recently stepped into Chez Panisse, the venerable Berkeley restaurant. We left very happy.

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

"Rock Soup"...

 For those familiar with the culinary fable "Rock Soup", a story that speaks of how a weary, hungry traveler is able to convince the inhabitants of a small village to contribute what they can spare to his offering of water and a stone, the making of soup can be easy. Little more than an onion, a bit of butter (or olive oil), and some of whatever vegetable is in season are all that's needed to create a satisfying warm pot. You can dress it up in numerous ways, but the base itself need not be complicated.

 San Francisco and the rest of the West Coast have had it relative easy this Winter compared to those further east, even going so far as to inspire firing up the grills only a couple of weeks ago. This all changed severely this past week as extensive rain swept through the Bay Area, giving way at times to hail and even some snow. A perfect time for a hardy soup or two. I couldn't resist a simple favorite of pureed cauliflower topped with a little mound of roasted golden beets. Just softened an onion in a cube of butter over medium heat, added the head of cauliflower (broken into small segments), covered with some  parchment paper, and let it "sweat"; slowly extracting the moisture of the vegetable, densifying the flavor, and making all more tender. Once soft to a pairing knife, added cool water to cover (using a chicken or vegetable stock would also work well), and simmered until the liquid came to temperature, then pureed with a hand mixer. Roasted the beets in a little butter, olive oil, salt, and pepper, while saving the green tops which were then sauteed in garlic and olive oil. When chopped and combined, the two made a nice topping for the silky white soup. A drizzle of olive oil over all, and... done.
 Soup can be made with nearly ANYTHING. Zucchini, broccoli, mushrooms, cardoons, celery root... Think it, and you can make it. Once set, a recipe can be played with by endless variations... some white wine or dry vermouth; slowly roast the vegetables first to further reduce the natural liquid, and thus intensifying the flavor; or come up with a topping to beak up the routine, etc. As to this last thought, Katie's pureed fennel soup with a crostini topped in Dungenous crab meat tossed in olive oil, lemon juice, and diced chive. In the midst of a great crab season, we use it whenever possible. (Often time's just covering the coffee table in newspaper, and tearing into the beauties!)

 A couple of day's into the storm, with hail bouncing off the roof tops that form part of our city view, Katie went all in: A hardy split pea soup with ham hock.  The result was rich and thick, chopped carrot and onion hidden about the peas, chunks of the smokey pork a treat when found. Little else to do but crack open a bottle of stout, and slice up a dry white cheddar. Soup... It is a good thing. (Recipes on request.)

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

Of Protests and Lunch... France (Fall Sessions 2010)

 

Time for lunch! 

 Late one morning during the October trip, we made our way down to Angoulême to pick up our niece Kara, a warm addition to mark the close of another fine visit in the countryside. It was her first time in France, and we were anxious to show as much as her limited time would allow. Thus, we were taken a bit back when she called saying her train had been halted on the tracks, just outside a small town I knew to not be very far away. It soon became apparent that there were people laying on the rails, an off shoot of the labor strife that France had been dealing with across the country for several weeks. We'd been relatively untouched, only one day having had to search longer than usual for a functioning gas station. As we rolled into Angoulême's tiny regional gare that day we were more amused than shocked to find not only protesters, but also helmeted, shield carrying riot police, most of whom appeared much younger than they probably were, and not happy at all to be in the present situation.
 Always firmly on the side of any people's right to freely express themselves, we did, however, have a large interest in getting Kara safely in our presence. This seemed in doubt, as an older contingent of police in plain clothes (as much as "acid washed" jeans can be called plain clothes) had shuttered the station to prevent further bodies ending up on the rails. As the stand off stretched into the second hour, a bit of cultural magic took place: lunch! The manager of the café de la gare arrived with boxes of baguettes, cheese, saucisson, wine, and water, telling all who would listen that it was after noon, and as such clearly past time for lunch. On cue, all signs and placards were put down, hands quickly filled with food. The shutters rattled up, allowing for us to slide into the station where four TGV arrived in rapid succession, bodies flowing out as seldom seen in the small space. Somehow we spotted Kara, before bumping and winding our way through the crowd to the car park. It was not lost on us that each of the police seemed to also have lengths of baguettes stuffed full with meat and cheese, evidently an offering made evenly to both sides.
 That was enough to inspire us, as we took to the old, walled part of the medieval city for sandwiches of thick sliced ham and gooey Camembert, cold draft Kronenbourg's within reach. Warmed by a shaft of Autumn sun, we sat on the cobbled side walk before the grand market structure whose glass and iron work reflect the signature of the building's designer, Gustave Eiffel (He of the "Tower" fame.). We had a good laugh over the "drama", and decided on another beer before heading off, choosing to take the "long way" home. Once free of the city, the landscape had a quieting affect, a portrait of the season: Fields being turned by farmers appeared like ground coffee in various hues, broken at intervals by "islands" of woods vibrant in leaves of turning color, all washed in a  warm light. A good thing to share.

(http://www.chez-gautier.com)

"Special Breakfast"... France (Fall Sessions 2010)

 Not sure about that old "most important meal of the day" thing, but I do enjoy a good breakfast. In France, much like in the States, we keep it fairly simple: rich dark roast coffee with a bit of warm milk, whatever fresh fruits are in season, grains like a muesli or steel cut oats, and some yogurt (preferably "live culture"). Oh, there's always room for exceptions if confronted by a warm, buttery pain au chocolate, flaky chausson au pomme, or some other equally difficult to pass up boulangerie offering. Depending on where we are in the world, a steaming basket of dim-sum, a hot bowl of noodles, or maybe (considering what went on the night before) it's a large batch of menudo that's needed.

 One cold morning at the end of October, Katie surprised me with a "special breakfast", so named for a tradition by our sister-in-law Sarah signifying a change from the norm for her brood of three little one's. In this case it was to mark another year of my life, and thus I was treated to veal sausage with morrel mushrooms we'd bought the day before from a very good charcutier in Cognac set upon a bed of braised escarole, the last of our dear neighbor Suzanne's grape tomatoes which Kate had roasted, all topped with a poached egg (kindly contributed from Suzanne's chickens). Some tartine to soak up the bright golden, runny yolk, and I was set. Sitting by a popping fire, there was little else needed to make me happier.

 By mid-morning the sun had well warmed the yard, and it was time to get busy pruning the roses,  cleaning flower beds, and cropping down the lavender. The sound of a tractor making it's way up from the village gave me reason to pause, as it's customary to give a wave to any friend/neighbor who passes. The sight of Monsieur Ives, a remorque brimming in log cut oak, was a welcome sight. With unseasonably cold weather expected for the coming week along with guest arrivals, we'd made a request of the village's go to guy for firewood. Charming and vibrant at 70-something, he'd suggested a "step" (about a cord) of old wood for the Fall, and a couple more of younger to cure for next Spring. He and I made short work of it, stacking the lengths at a fevered pace, me determined to not to be outdone by Ives who worked comme vingt ans (as if still twenty!); a country phrase that never fails to make me smile. The only regret was that it was no where near the noon church bells, and thus difficult to justify a pre-lunch Ricard. He announced one more delivery promised before the mid-day break, and straddled the purring '64 tractor, offering me an approving nod to it's American make. With that he was gone, and I reached for the shears. (Recipes on request.)

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Rainy Sunday...

 Few things are better than waking to the smell of bread baking. There was a heavy rain hammering the old industrial sky light atop our place in San Francisco when I pushed out of the sheets Sunday to find Katie in full baking mode. The kitchen table was covered in chewy Ginger Squares, and she was just pulling out three loaves of baggette rustique. Not normally one to follow recipes (a must in baking), she doesn't bake often. But, with rain meant to last the day, out came the ideas along with the flour. The bread still hot, confiture d'abricot (made from our little apricot tree in Charmé), butter, and a steaming bowl of coffee with milk... Ah. Happy Sunday!
 A close second to oven fresh bread: tartine. A long length of bread dotted in butter, broiled golden, then put together with... Well, with whatever you like. In my case this Monday a.m., it was a creamy St André and some of Kate's preserved fig which she'd "put up" at the end of August for just this reason. A taste of Summer on a cold, foggy Winter's morning.

 P.S
  Those wax paper packages under glass are some of the Ginger Squares, tied up for "delivery" to friends. (Recipes on request.)

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://.www.chez-gautier.com

One Big Cat... France (Fall Sessions 2010)

 The morning began early, as we found ourselves at the Saturday market in the small rural town of Ruffec just past day break. It was cold for mid October, a frost visible over the fields as we drove in. The real push of buyers wouldn't come for another hour or two, leaving us free to visit with the farmers and producers whose stalls were laid out both inside the high ceilinged, wrought iron market structure as well as the outlaying space normally used for parking. Katie peeled away to our fish guy (A gal, actually.) while I made a direct line to my favorite butcher. We'd be away to Cognac for the day's lunch, and wanted something "light" and easy to prepare for our return that evening. With that in mind, my search was for bones to roast for the marrow. Do that up with a bit of parsley and caper salad, some small toasts along with whatever Katie found interesting, and we'd be set for a nibble by the fire.

 Approaching le camion pictured above, I was stopped by the sight of the enormous cat sitting in line as if patiently waiting his turn. As the image may not do justice, this unassuming gray Tabby dwarfed most of the dogs being led about the market, especially one foolishly curious Cocker Spaniel who lacked the girth and "fire" to challenge, being dismissed with a firm swipe of paw before the cat resumed his place beside the glass cases. Such a presence in line, I felt compelled to defer to him when the butcher greeted me with a warm "Salut!". Didn't want to step on any "toes". Perhaps sensing this,  the butcher's wife and he laughed, explaining his "l'ami de marché" status. He'd be getting his later.

 With a big Sunday meal set for the next day, I was happy to find a large pork shoulder to braise, and had to have some of the fresh goose rillette that was already going fast, even at this early hour. Now, it was on to the bones, and great discussion was had between us as to which kind of bones were preferred. Clarifying them not to be for for braising (i.e. lamb bones for Osso Bucco), but instead for roasting, beef was the call. By now, a line had formed mostly of housewives who asked  how we would cook it, and what was the accompaniment. One very small woman a few spots down the line, clutching her housecoat to the morning's chill, asked eagerly if there was more, as she'd be making pot au feu, adding that the marrow would be stirred in to finish. He assured her by producing one for each of us, along with a large hack saw, then went to work. (Most trucks are without the luxury of an electric meat saw, and for this reason he'd be offering me only the large bone as opposed to neat little servings.) He did provide the logical step of cracking it with a mallet, making it easier to pry open once done roasting.
 All was done in quick fashion, the dialogue popping, the market pace increasing. They worked well together, the butcher and his wife,  he handling the product and she the wrapping and the "bank". When I mentioned that she hadn't charge for the "bones", they both stopped, smiling broadly, and echoed quite simply, "You don't charge for bones." This began a ripple through the line, "Never charge for bones."; "You can't charge for bones."; "No, no, no charge for bones." Humbled by the gift, my face a smiling wash of pink, I thanked them both, turning to bid the ladies a "Bonne journée".

 Caught Katie beside the rickety table of an organic farmer whose produce we prize, as he was sheepishly saying how his wares had lost their beauty with the coming of Autumn. She'd bought some lettuce and some of what would be the last of the season's tomatoes. Hearing of the pork shoulder, she added root vegetables (turnips, carrots, etc.), some small potatoes, and a large batch of brussel sprouts.
 It was no surprise to hear that she'd picked up some oyster's (Selecting some that were small and plump, reminding me of Chelsea Gem's from coastal Oregon.), but La Madame had also insisted she take a few handfuls of something... like a clam, but... Well, not. Known as Petoncles, they were firm like a  clam, but with a clean briny finish; a good balance to the creamy oysters as we would find out later at dusk. With that we ducked into Le Centrale for a café creme, croissant, and some warmth before heading back out into the coming day. (Recipes on request.)

Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com