Repas CG: The Aftermath... July 19

 It's a bad news-good news situation. The bad: The foie gras has all been eaten. The good: Octopus will soon hit an open fire. More about that later, for  now a few words on the pots-o-foie that followed us home form France. Not buyin' it? Yeah, probably the biggest reach since that puppy trailed my path homeward from a school carnival at 10 years old. (Sorry Mom and Dad.) However it came to being, plated with shallot jam and fresh apricots, the aforementioned duck(from Maison de Charente in neighboring Tusson)was... good. Really good. Throwing caution to the vascular wind, Katie included toast slathered with a creamy smear of rillette that she'd rendered all day in herbs. Answering the call of duty, a 1er cru Sauturnes from Bommes was called on. Rich, thick, and sweet meet fatty, luscious, and salty. Buddies from the go! (Disclaimer: This course was designated as "gift". No money changed hands in the consuming of this dish.)

 Crêpes of confit of hen legs and local grown shiitakes(too beautiful to pass up) kept pace, deep in flavor and texture, just a bit easier on the pump. Jumped into the red zone here with a mostly Grenache(a hint of Syrah) from the three sisters of Mas de Libian(Rhône). Very tender was the pork, white wine braised,  plump pieces set beside a gratin of sweet corn and summer squash, little roasted tomatoes of various shapes and types littered  about. (Kate has turned to this dish a couple of times lately, for good reason; the markets bursting with all elements.) Stayed in the Rhône for 100 year vine Grenache, with a splash of Syrah and Mourvedre. A great glass in of itself, each grape clear in its role, but even better when considering it comes from a reluctant vintner; only leaving his psychiatrist profession when the property fell to his wife in family succession. (We should all have this burden/good fortune!)
 Dessert was simple, rustic, and true: a plum tart, done with deep purple fruit with no added sugar. Didn't need it. Well, didn't need the whipped cream either, but that didn't stop me. Coffee and cognac had no sooner hit the table before talk turned to next week's meal, all seafood done in a friends backyard, wood fired oven. Always amazes me how full bellies allow for such conversation. But, on it went, and on it will be... To the fire, the octopus, roasted peaches...

Recipes and Wine Notes available on request.
Chez Gautier Cooking Scool: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Le 14 Juillet...

 Not sure why it is, but tend to find myself more geeked about somebody else's "party". Don't get me wrong, July 4th will always find me cold beer-ing, b-b-q wolfing, and spitting out the requisite ooooh's and ahhhh's as the sky is mapped out in explosive streaks and color. But stateside for yesterday's Bastille Day found us with two dozen assembled for the Sunday supper, an abundance of food and wines, along with the chance to raise a glass or two to a good guy celebrating a special birthday. The blowing out of the candle marked a fine feast, but also offered a bit of a symbolic salute several thousand miles east to a France more than likely already asleep.

Roasted wild salmon with a sweet corn and
summer squash gratin

 Funny thing is, our experience in the French countryside has been that of... Well, not indifference to the holiday, but not a fervent celebration either. There are no doubt observances, barbecues are fired up, tables line gardens, and people gather as you might expect. But, there's also a... calm. Perhaps the most notable fête marking independence we've experienced in our years in the Poitou-Charente was one thrown in our honor, the first year we took possession of the property. Neighbors invited us, served a menu relatively american in its flair: potato salad, merguez in place of hot dogs, fruit gallettte in place of pies, and, testing a shaky mind, I believe there were even deviled eggs as well.
 Might be as simple as having more interest in celebrating someone else's special day than your own. In the case of  hours spent with tables full, food and wine flowing, and French music in the air, we had the pleasure of raising glasses to a friend who was present, and those back in Charmé.


Recipes and Wine Notes available on request.
Chez Gautier Cooking School: http://www.chez-gautier.com

Repas CG: The Aftermath... June 21

  We weren't sure what to expect from the first evening repas, but as we all tramped out to the yard, cognacs and coffees in hand to toast a "super moon" and the Summer Solstice, the answer was clear. Evening meals we've done, yet this was the first departure from what have become our regular Sunday afternoon gatherings. Except for the change in time and light, though, little else differed.

 Oh, the hour did allow Katie to go a bit deeper with flavors. The warm day had cooled just enough to welcome her choice to start, a soup of slow roasted heirloom tomatoes, topped with basil oil, and crème fraîche. Summer in a bowl. Chose a Mâcon-Charnay(100% Chardonnay) for this, which would be the sole white served. Normally even handed between whites and reds, this meal would lean more towards the latter. So it was that next poured was a Château Peyros from the Madiran of the southwest, a meeting of Cabernet and Tannat, an intense, hearty varietal. Roasted bone marrow was plated along with toasts, and caper-parsley salad. Variations of this dish have crossed my path a lot recently, from here to Paris and back. Not sure who's following who, but gratitude is in play at each serving. Moans and sighs carried the conversation for the next while, broken only by clinking of spoon to bone or plate.
 As Katie seared off thick cuts of tri-tip, the wine slid over to Bordeaux(Château Beaulieu). Paraphrasing advice once given about the region, "Find 'em young, or let 'em sit." With only a few years in the bottle, this Merlot, Cabernet, Cabernet Franc offered the fruit wanted for the ragoût of sweet peppers and the baked fromage frais that Katie had made that morning, while still holding soft tannins to match up with the beef; served thinly sliced and very, very pink. An initial thought of going with a deep Rhône was easily forgotten. In fact, stayed in the southwest for all three reds, dropping back down to Cahors for an eclectic blend of Cabernet Franc, Merlot, Gamay, and, of course, Malbec, for the cheese and salad. While the cows milk offering was firm and subtle, found my palate drawn to the Petit Gris goat from the Lorraine. Sharp and dense, it lingered, waiting for the wine.
 Although a gratin is normally thought of as a savory dish, Kate's raspberry version hit home. The fruit was blanketed by vanilla custard, then dusted in sugar, and set under the broiler for a light charring. Fresh, rich, and gorgeous. No sooner had coffee and cognac been served, when we were drawn outside by the moon. With the focus and aide of friend Righter, our digital telescope was put into play. Candles in large bell jars sat lit about the garden, although the moon needed no help. Glasses were topped off, turns taken viewing. It wasn't until the last guest left not long before midnight that the reality hit of a too early flight south to family and Newport Beach. So be it! The first night was a good night, one to be repeated.

Recipes and Wine Notes available on request.

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

Repas Road Trip... Nashville

 June promised to be a busy one, and hasn't disappointed. Meals and travel have been mixed with weddings and family celebrations, but it's time to slow down and send some love down south where a  short while back we spent the week doing a series of French country meals in Nashville. Not sure what to expect, either from markets, the burgeoning artisan producers, or the people, we came out very content for having made the trek from the west coast. The air was thick , the days heat increasing during our stay, yet always we found it welcoming, smiles offered easily in that gentle southern way.
 A challenge when going into a new town is the "where". As in where the hell do you buy anything around here? After arriving at 5:30 a.m. early in the week, we found ourselves in the central Nashville Farmers Market by about 7:30. While we would expand our scope around the city, the love and quality we found at Smiley's Farm, Barnes Produce, and the others made it easy to return daily. Warm crusty loaves of sour dough pulled each weekend morning from the wood fired oven, stacked along the counter at Bella Nashville, were an excellent find there as well. Normally known for their quality Napolitano pizza, the bread goes quickly. Emma was always kind to save enough for our needs.
 Fine craft was on display at Porter Road Butcher, where Jim and crew made it easy to find the quality and cuts we wanted. Doing it right with whole animals, and old school slow-it-down-and-listen service. The fact that the best cheese vendor in town(The Bloomy Rind) actually shares the same space made it a regular stop also. Kathleen patiently heard out our wants, and married us up to some pretty damn good local producers, of which there are many emerging from the area.
 Cooking for others has never stopped us from feeding ourselves, and strolling the neighborhood of our German Town digs provided some very good options, whether it was cocktails and coppa di testa under the strung lights on the terrace at Rolf and Daughters or tearing into wood fired gulf octopus bar side at City House. Yeah, barbecue figured prominently in the mix, from Edley's in the 12 South district to Martin's out in... Well, damn far out in the country, lets just say. Ate too much at both places, and don't feel bad about it at all! Perhaps the best "feed" we put on while there came via friend Hazem, who snagged us our first night in, taking us over to East Nashville and Lockland Table. In an otherwise quiet residential area of stately elegant homes sits this outpost, where we ate long and we ate well. From corn fritters, chicken paté and roasted bone marrow to trout and hanger steak frîtes, we had many reasons to not order the cheese plate nor the re-worked Bananas Foster. But... We did, all of which contributed to the "waddle" to our walk out to the car.

 Cooking on the road can be challenging, but the kitchen time was made better and our meals flowed more smoothly in large part to the hosts who accepted us into their homes. To all of you(Nancy, Mary, Paris, Kate, and, of course, the Bloomfields) our thanks, for the graciousness of your welcome, eagerness to the process, and good vibes. None of this would have happened, had it not been for the insistence of my sister Susan, who doggedly aligned the stars to make it happen. All without us choking each other, a test to the delicate balance that is family.
 Unveiling the French countryside for guests is our distinct pleasure. When back stateside, however, we're always willing to bring some of that magic with us to what ever local might want to share a table. Doing them in the San Francisco Bay Area is a given, and when we can spread the love to such places as Nashville, it just gets that much better.

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

Repas CG: The Aftermath... June 2

 Size does matter! At least when it comes to rabbits. In France, it's easy to become accustomed to the trade off to a smaller sized/more intensely flavored product. Chickens, pigs, even cuts of beef all are significantly smaller than what can be found in the States, but the quality is pretty damn good. One exception to this: rabbits.

 Katie mentioned this while prepping for yesterday's repas, which featured a rabbit roulade. While undeniably beautiful, the Devil's Gulch rabbits weren't what we had been eating in Charmé just a few weeks ago when she conceived of doing the dish for the first meal back by the bay. Be they from one of our neighbors or from the preferred butcher in Ruffec, they're just a bit bigger. So, she went ahead with the plan of stuffing them with bread crumbs, lemon zest, parmesan, toasted pine nuts, and various herbs, tied them up and seared them off, before a finish in the oven. For a little company, though, she browned the legs, then added white wine, thyme, Lucques olives, and lemon peel, braising them until tender. Tucking one beside the other, a mound of fresh sweet peas, and a few of the small carrots from our garden... A very nice plate, with some Beaujolais(Chénas) from 100 year old Gamay vines along for the ride.
 But, I've gotten ahead of myself... Before fully diving into summer, Katie wanted that classic taste of a French spring: morel mushrooms done in  white wine, butter, shallots, and thyme over her toasted brioche. Finished it with some crème fraîche, a glass of a Marsanne-Roussane blend on hand. With mushrooms meaty and firm, the brioche helped to cut the richness of the dish. From there it was on to a mound of frisée tossed in a whole grain mustard vinaigrette, a poached egg set on top, strips of crispy lardon over everything! Add a bunch of blanched asparagus beside it, and a glass of a firm rosé from the Minnervois... Mmmm.
 The cheese went from a mellow Boucheron to an intense Camembert, some arugula along with a Chinon(100% Cabernet Franc) joined in also. The "sweetie" was a cherry tart with toasted almond crust, a consolation for having to return from France before our Rainier tree could offer any ripe fruit. The cognac was notable in that it came from a female producer, Joan Brisson in Matha, a short drive from us. Solid producer, solid result, making for a good finish to the afternoon.

Recipes and Wine Notes available on request.

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

Spring Rains and Mushrooms...

 Suffering through a "tester" of white wine braised morels over toasted brioche(The things I do because I care! ), the first of what will hit the table for this Sunday's rabbit repas, took me right back to France.  Spring showers came and went almost daily in Charmé, demanding an extra log or two for the fire,  a splash more wine in the glass, and the chance to finish a book or two(or three). Each day though, rain would ease, clouds lift, and the sun would make it essential to get going. Into the garden that is, rubber boots in tow.
 The damp seemed to make everything more green, the flowers and blossoming fruit trees exploded, and there was no shortage of snails. Sorry to those without the taste for them, but we seldom miss the opportunity to add to Suzanne's collection cage, an old garde manger where the mass of shells go from shelf to shelf in ghost-like fashion, dusted in the flower that will help to purge. For those that know, and I don't claim to be one of them, there are also mushrooms. Never fails to amaze how they can be found in both quality and quantity within reach. Back here in the Bay Area, when the time is right, there are porcini in the Oakland hills, chanterelles up the coast, and even the afore mentioned morels in the southern Sierra.
 In our region of southwest France, there are chantrelles to be found, but cèpes(porcini) are the real find. Thick and meaty, beautiful cooked or shaved raw, cèpes are generously shared even if their locations tend to be kept... quiet. In the recent Brin d'Aillet, our village repas of a hundred or so friends and neighbors where spring garlic reigned supreme, stalks literally tossed  about the tables, one course acted as perfect statement for the season: omelets of contributed wild mushrooms, spring garlic, and herbs. With remarkable mushroom grower Bertarand Fradin in the village, the barn-based entity a short walk away, his shiitake and oyster varieties were used as well. An afternoon well spent, as we're looking forward to also this Sunday. Morels...

In Defense of Dirt...

 Dirt is good for you. A little dirt anyway. Took us more than a decade to see the ill affects of "cleansing" the nations youth(and adults) with anti-bacterial soap, thus rethinking that practice. The chemicals and additives that are allowed to be put into consumable products in this country are a bit spooky, all while eating live culture dairy products are strictly forbidden. A disclaimer: Just back in from France, and having saturated ourselves in the abundance of live culture dairy, we're now going through a bit of withdrawal. Who am I kidding... Climbing the walls for a piece of piece of stinky goodness(a... reblochon?!) that literally pops in my mouth on contact.
 Comme d'habitude, we buy and eat way too much dairy when we're back in Charmé, cheese of course, but also milk, yogurt, and even butter. Yes, the butter is alive! It does help to have a remarkable dairy farmer, Didier Moreau, so close his barn roof can be seen from the rear of our back field. Twice a day, morning and evening, he assembles the "girls" for milking. When we happened by one day's end to pick up a couple of liters, along with a kilo of his Dad's prized white asparagus, the milk funneled into waiting bottles was still warm from the cows. The smell was rich and sweet in the kitchen as two pots boiled on the stove with milk for the house. Katie passed on this, opting instead to head directly home to rennet, her cheese baskets, and the making of fromage frais.  (Interesting note: The rennet can only be purchased through a pharmacy, where precise care instructions are verbally given by the staff.)
 Good and good for you, all that bacteria doing the hard work to keep our bellies sound. When we came upon "live"butter at the Marché d'Aigre one morning, produced from a farm just outside of the nearby village of Villefagnan, we didn't hesitate to have a big chunk lopped off. Having the same rich silky texture we've come to expect in Poitou-Charente butter, there was also the added "medicinal" benefit. Even in France there's the need to be vigilant in securing a sound product, as seen recently by the rumblings out of Normandy(or more likely Paris) about discontinuing live culture camembert. So, clean up those farms that have become less exacting in their standards, tighten up inspections, but never let those gooey rounds fall prey solely to pasteurization. Otherwise... "To the baricades!"

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

Repas CG: The Aftermath... April 21

 A talented and passionate chef we know has long stated that he eats lamb only once a year. It is done in the spring,  when lamb is young and tender, and eaten in abundance; the memory there to remain for the full calendar cycle. So beautiful a thought, it has been one easily adopted. This past Sunday's repas was our occasion to embrace spring lamb, in this case in the form of delicate little chops. Tending to the fire we'd use for grilling later, allowed for catching guests as they entered the gate. Clustering in the garden has become a sort of welcoming ritual, greetings to the old and introductions to the new, Honey sliding in and out between legs seeking a hand to lick. There was some back in forth about what we'd managed to get in the ground before our upcoming return to France, as the early plantings(raddish, spinach, chard, etc.) give way to tomatoes: Black Krims, Striped Williams, Early Girls, and Jaune Flammes.

 Settling in, we had the benefit of extra hands in the form of talented young cook Laine(Italian trained in Piedmonte), along with our nephew Jordan, whose 12 hour surgical rotations probably looked pretty good after we had him in the role of serving and clearing. True to the season, Katie had radish, butter, salt, and bread waiting on the table, soon followed by plates of slender young asparagus, her fresh fromage fraiche, and Meyer lemon oil. Simple as it gets, and primed for a cold, bright white found in a Minervois blend of Grenche Blanc, Viogner, Muscat, and Marsanne. Pork soon hit the air, as the "cakes" of pig trotters that had been poached earlier in herbs, bay leaves, coriander seeds, and black peppercorns hit hot skillets. Even with a little cubed potato added, the richness of the dish made welcome the dressed water cress and fava beans. Old vine Grenache from Vaqueyras was poured, as is the habit accompanied by a bit of Syrah and Mourvedre for depth.
 In a flurry of smoke and tongs, lamb chops had their brief time atop the grill, care taken to ensure deep pink centers. Potatoes roasted in sea salt and cracked black pepper joined the plate, and fresh mint, thyme, parsley, and lemon zest set in olive oil was liberally spooned about. Unable to pass up delicate pea tendrils found at the morning's market, they too were grilled quickly, then tossed in a vinaigrette before joining the plate; smokey and warm, but still holding a nice crunchy bite. A Saint Joseph, 100% Syrah, provided the firm hand to handle the meat. So much so that I was reluctant to move on to a cru Beaujolais chosen for the cheese, yet...

 Turns out the wine most asked about was in fact the last. Never doubt the power of a good beaujolais. Great vintage('09), fine region(Morgon), and a talented producer made for wine with a lot going on. Some triple cream here, a wedge of goat there, both oozing from being brought to room temp... Had to be reminded to put the coffee on. While up, opened a bottle of Park Borderies, a "single vineyard" cognac I've really come to enjoy. That said, our upcoming time in France will allow for me to replenish, as the long winter has found my cupboard wanting. Time to visit some cherished neighbors. But, not before strawberry and rhubarb compote was to be eaten, crème anglais pooling about the top, sugar topped butter cookies at the ready for dredging. As we fell into chairs out in the cool of afternoon shade, thought I heard Katie say something about wanting to do rabbit for the next go round. Somehow sounded good, full belly and all.

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

Headin' Back...

Ahi Poke

 Got sidetracked from a place long special to me. Never a good thing. Mostly the blame was simply to making too many right hand turns. (To France, that is.) Well, a good and very determined buddy finally helped me pull my head out of my... distractions, resulting in a sound left en route back to Hawaii. My family having lived there in the 1950's, we'd visit often until my eventual moving to the "windward side" of Oahu in a previous life. Good years were spent on Kailua Bay, the white powder of Lanikai Beach, pouring drinks over the Pali in Honolulu to keep it all going. When a few weeks kicking around Europe turned into a year, the way back got blurred. If living in Hawaii was magical, merely visiting became torture. Departure days arrived like a gut ache. The bread crumbs eventually got lost, more time was spent instead in Paris, Milan, etc.

 That was until a few months ago. Katie and I began on west Maui, my sister Dede's place set outside of Lahaina. Yeah, there were a few too many golf courses and the resorts of Kaanapali seemed to stretch forever, but with Molokai and Lanai just off shore it didn't seem to matter. When restless we'd escape up to Napili Bay, the sight of family holidays back in the day, seemingly unchanged were the simple bungalows and shuffleboard pads laid out long ago. After a day with Molokai at our feet, sea turtles creeping along and dolphins playing just off shore, we'd head to Fish Market Maui down in a line of shops on "the low road" in Honokowai. Strip mall spartan, the fish was none the less pristine, pulled whole , packed on ice from the beds of arriving pickup trucks. One day we strayed to the kalua pig, the smokey shredded meat the focus of the day's "plate lunch". Served with the requisite white rice, but slaw with strips of fresh pineapple replacing the traditional "mac" salad. Having secured fish for the grill, we'd stroll down to an organic market tucked behind the single room, wood slat Lahuiokalani Church(circa 1850). The market was pungent, no frill, and perfect, (Think Berkeley... Santa Cruz... 1970's.), fresh, ripe local produce easily found. Later with dark rum and lime in hand, we'd grill the fish as the sun slid between the two neighboring islands. If the hunger was too strong, we'd ease it with some poke: whatever fish that was on hand-ahi, ono, octopus-tossed raw with nori, green onion, and citrus or soy. So the days went. Not really the lazy, butts-in-sand types, we did a pretty good job of faking it. Neither could remember the last time we blobbed out, and yet we did just that. Oh, we met each sunrise in the water, and spent a good amount of time in it, but... food, beer, and naps all got their fair time as well. Holding tight to the "less is more"credo, we saved Hana, Haleakala, and the rest for the next trip.

Chicken break... Haleiwa

 Eventually the time came for the real Hawaii, an early flight to Oahu and friends. Doesn't matter where you go in the world, local is better. Mark, Robin, and Vaughna(Robin's Mom) made sure from the landing that we were welcome, leis and hugs in abundance. Any initial shock for Katie on decent seeing the industry and clamor of this island was quickly washed away as Mark sped us from the "town" side through a valley deep and dense in growth. Once spat out to the other side, the North Shore visible in the far distance, he skirted the emerald "ribs" of the Koolau range on past Kaneohe to Kailua and eventually to the sliver that is Lanikai. Settling into their "compound",  a discreet balance of Robin's Bali-leaning style and Mark's craftsmen gifts(30+ years a GC), we paid respects to the Mokolua Islands by way of a quick dip. Before long it was on to Buzz's, the thatched hut beacon sitting canal side as it has for... seemingly ever. Margaritas rimmed in li hing mui(Tart, sweet, and salty!) got us started, and seemed to arrive a little to easily. An ample breeze flowed, the sun bleached ocean stretched out across the way, while a steady flow of friends stopped to check in. Mid-day tequila lingered  as we mounted the "beach cruisers", the scented air welcome, as was a sound nap. We woke to the news of of a b-b-q invite, everyone bringing what they had a want for: teriyaki chicken, lomi lomi salmon, roast pig, etc. Mmmmmmm damn! There amidst some three dozen people that treated her like an old friend, my wife got that beautiful taste of Hawaii: warm, welcoming, and real.

The "Moks"

 Island life tends to begin early and finish the same. With the water just down the way, we'd get wet in the morning, then succumb happily to one of the only "house rules": coffees come with Bailey's. Not normally one to drink my sugar(Preferring to eat it.), it quickly became an addictive morning staple.  Add some fruit, maybe a slice of toast, and off you go. Go we did... Hiking up to the WWII "pill boxes" over looking... well, damn near everything; Kayak out to the twin islands; Up to the North Shore before daylight, grabbing hard boiled eggs and great coffee at the old Kalapawai Market(since 1932), filling in what room was left in our bellies with sushi as it was being made in a shop just opening up on the "Kam" Highway near Pupukea. (It was 7:30.) Later that day, browned, tired, and left hungry from the salt water, we tore into chickens roasted whole in a dirt lot in Haleiwa; paper-bagging cold beers. It's not complicated this place, neither the life nor the food. Fish is easy to find, sure, but be it in "country" or outer islands farmers and ranchers are putting out everything from produce to chickens to beef. You want to short cut it, try something like The Habachi in Kailua, a tiny(400 sq. ft.?) spot producing most anything you might want to toss on a grill: fish, marinated meats, kabobs. Pained that my beloved Andy's Drive-In(est. 1957) had closed, the plate lunches we found at Fat Boy's didn't disappoint. (Garlic chicken!) The restaurants over in Honolulu didn't figure in to our plans, and how could they with Mark's daughter Alycia, a very talented local cook is spoiling us (On her day off!!!) with dinner on the lanai. Even after humbling myself paddle boarding at the Kaneohe Bay Yacht Club, the reward of ahi sandwiches and Heinekens seemed a just reward. Sun kissed, well fed, and somehow fit(despite having eaten my body weight in rice), it still hurts to leave this place. But, at least now, I'm sure of the way back.

"Teri" Plate!

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

Repas CG: The Aftermath... March 3

 Had a great meal Sunday! From an early a.m. hunt for blossomed branches to the last bit of "backyard lemon" tart, all fell very well into place. (Not just saying that because both entailed some neighborhood... "foraging".) The only thing to stray off line was the weather which burned off nicely from an early damp chill to a warm Spring afternoon; kept the fire I'd built from getting a match until long after guests had made their way home. Having offered an amuse to guests of the last repas, Katie once again slid in a surprise: black dates filled with fresh, young goat cheese, wrapped in lardon. Love the comment by one guest who stated matter-of-factly, "Doesn't everything taste better wrapped in bacon?!" Yes, yes it does! Short a wine because of this, I fished out an Alsatian pinot blanc from the cupboard, it's light fruit and acid filled in nicely.
 From there, plates of artichoke were passed out, each with their own little "pot" of aioli. (True to one of Katie's mottos, "You can't have enough mayonnaise!") The Meyer lemon used to steam was subtle, as was the mustcadet sur lie that was chosen.  Missing our Suzanne in Charmé, Katie used her as muse to inspire a savory crêpe of braised leeks and escarole with slices of blood orange and toasted hazelnuts. To be fair, Suzanne seldom fusses; a tall stack of crêpes dressed in butter and granulated sugar would suffice. Still, she was in mind and conversation as we tore into these, a 100% roussane from Domaine Alary(11th generation) in the glass. Tamed by a long "bath" of hearty red, the thick and tender short ribs were then stacked atop mounds of fork-mashed parsnips and celery root, whose earthy finish rose from the butter and cream. Chose a Cahors for this, wanting a real chewy, stain-your-teeth Malbec. Dirt, licorice, dark berries! No Argentinian elegance here. Bold and blue went the cheese(St. Agur), along with an... adolescent goat from the Loire. Rounded out just a bit for this with the usual Rhône Valley quartet, led mightily by Grenache. The weather still playing tricks meant tender hearts of romaine instead of the increasingly elusive little gems. (Katie just laughs, "They're in the market when there good and ready.")
 Having shouldered through several versions of the tart during the week(The burden!), must say Sunday's was just right. So fresh were the lemons, the resulting juice was really pronounced. Thus, Katie ended up cutting it a bit with a fold of whipped cream, easing the sharp hit below the ears without taking away from the fruit. Walking out later with guests, the late afternoon sun mocking my fire preparations, saw the first sprouts of green reaching from the rows of radish and carrots planted a few days before. With spinach and chard already well on their way, guess it's about that time. Not long before tables will line the garden.


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