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.

http://www.chez-gautier.com

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.)

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)