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.)

http://www.chez-gautier.com

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.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

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.)