Sunday Mornings are always a little bit of musing about what’s happening outside my window. Listen and read my latest Newsletter now- https://katehillfrance.substack.com/p/sunday-songs-trees-and-sweet-hams. This is a free post, but you can subscribe and support, too!
Garonne River tobacco barn from “A Culinary Journey in Gascony”
Take a little Gascon Roadtrip and discover the key ingredient in a favorite at Camont; Honeymoon Soup- Garlic!
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Pour an aperitif, relax and join us as Judy Witts Francini and I have a conversation about Aperitivi & Apéritifs in Tuscany and Gascony: from Green Walnut Nocino and Vin de Noix to Aperol and Floc de Gascogne. For more recipes and live classes, you can sign up for our newsletters:
What’s more Summery than a jar of homemade cornichons?
When the doors open to Europe for travel in June, there are a few fun ways to cook along and share the good food of the Gascon Table with me.
Join me for a long weekend of Cooking at Camont June 10-13. (contact me for details)
Join me all summer as A Gascon Year Member with on demand and live classes.
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Looking back at past stories and recipes has been the inspiration for this year’s stories and recipes. And while I write new material this summer, I am conscious of where the seeds for an idea were first sown and how long it takes to reach that lightbulb moment of understanding why we cook or eat a certain food a certain way. This month, I look to the roots of my early education- Catholic School from early September to the end of May where the skills and love for reading were instilled followed by a free wheeling summer without camp or much oversight (both my parents worked in their restaurant) dedicated to play, crafts, and reading.
I am dubbing this l’école buissonnière French Hooky Summer School 2021- a place where we can create, play, read, and gather at our own pace: wear your nightgown until noon, dig in the dirt a little, cook some delicious Summer food, learn to make a fire and then learn to cook over it. Join me by subscribing here (for just $10 a month!) and let me fill your head with new ideas inspired by the slow life in Gascony.
Now to get started, grab some cucumbers and some vinegar…
Petal by petal, a fragile, nearly translucent, ephemeral Spring arrives. One minute it’s a warm and enticing seed planting seduction, the very next moment the winter-crushed soil is compacting again under heavy rain. A blast of frigid air drives me inside, a draft of warm arriving on birdsong draws me out. And it goes on like this all through the lengthening days.
Inside the kitchen is more forgiving. I inspect the inside of the stove with some trepidation. The other morning I found a dead female blackbird inside. Her camouflage brown feathers lay still in the ashes; females are not really black like the males with their bright yellow eyes. I assume she was trying to nest in the chimney and descending too far down the stove pipe, found herself trapped inside. I regret not having entered the kitchen for a few days. Her lonely death means one less trilling song from the overhanging trees. Now, I light a fire in the stove, faking out the March downdraft by first lighting a few pieces of paper to coax the smoke all the way up the chimney pipe and driving any maternal bird instincts away from the danger. Once it is safe, I build a little hashtag fire and marvel at the ease of near instant warm. That’s March in a nutshell. Up and down, sad then bright, tugging on her state of mind as Spring wrestles Winter to the ground.
Seeds and planting and garden work around the house compete with what I’m doing in the kitchen. Like my usual chaotic planting approach- too much, too soon, and too unprepared, I approached the online cooking classes. A new book, then an old one, then a monthly ‘magazine’ while filming, editing, uploading, added to a new teaching platform (Merci Thinkific.com) and I found myself barely getting through the winter energy slump. But like the wildly sowed seeds, and the uncleared weeds, I found the foundation fertile, the diversity stimulating, and a certain raw energy germinating with the sunnier days. So here we are. All that rambling metaphor to say- online teaching classes are here to stay at Camont!
Hear me talk more about what is happening at Camont with Chris Angelus, Portland Oregon’s Right at the Fork Podcast.
I love the new Le Lunch Break 30 minute Zoom classes! This quick little gathering at the kitchen table as I share one of my favorite fast school lunches is perfect le pickmeup for your end of the week- a celebration of a week well worked, a preview of the weekend ahead, or just a taste of someone else’s kitchen. Come sit with me as I cook a bit of lunch (or supper in my case) on most Fridays from now through the early summer. Here’s the perfect little Omelette aux Fines Herbes I made last week with a 100 friends. And a few photos of those who cooked along or after. Even my big brother was inspired to make an omelette for supper! Bravo everyone!
More Student Omelettes in Instagram Stories - Click on photograph
Omelette aux Fines Herbes à ma façon
For every serving you need:
2-3 very fresh eggs
2 tablespoons butter
salt
Pepper
a handful of mixed fresh herbs: parsley, tarragon, chervil, chives, cilantro, lovage or celery leaf. They must be soft and very fresh; think of them as little salad leaves.
some vinegar and nice oil
Chop a mixture of any of the above fresh herbs, place in a bowl, dress with a few drops of oil and vinegar. I like walnut oil and white wine vinegar for a change. Then place a heaping serving on each individual serving plate.
Place the butter in a pan and melt until just foamy.
Meanwhile beat the eggs gently with the salt and pepper and pour into the buttered pan. Reduce the heat.
Using a spatula or wooden spoon move the eggs into the center as they start to solidify.
When most of the liquid egg mixture is solid, tip the pan and fold in half or thirds.
Place the omelette over the chopped herbs on the plate. Sprinkle with coarse salt and let sit for one minute before serving. The herbs will be lightly steamed and fragrant.
I like to serve with warm pain au levain or sourdough toast and lots of melting butter.
More simple recipes and more evocative French stories, buy my monthly kitchen notebooks for A Gascon Year -Mars on Amazon in ebook or paperback editions.
These French days are shortening now. It’s barely light when I wake up at 7:30 and a light fog has settled in the pétanque park here at Camont. The hammocks have been stowed for the winter. A fat hedgehog blundered her way onto the terrace last night.
If October were a fruit, it would be a persimmon and after all these years, I finally have a tree with ripening fruit. Blackbirds stole the first few ripe kaki just pecking far enough into the tannic skin to spoil the flesh. After that I got clever, and plucked the small balls, barely as big as a tennis ball, and brought them indoors to ripen. Six of the them filled a soup plate and I watched them like a hawk for signs of rot or ruin. Some fruit needs extra time to fully ripen, bletting it’s called, and I left the plate of persimmons on the counter until I was ready to use them. They were heavy for their size; the skin, although still very orange, began to look translucent and felt heavy and soft like a water balloon. This is no science but an art as to when they were ready to eat.
Fretting about what to do with this small harvest, I first thought about a lemon/persimmon curd to use on a tart, or as a filling in a pastry. But when Steve C. was clearing the potager and reinforcing the raised beds, I decided to send him home with a treat to share with his family. These Covid days make us miss the simple pleasures of a tea party or such. A cake is easier to share than tarte; in fact I could make two and keep one for my own pleasure. The easiest cake to make without a recipe is a simple pound cake- made of 4 equal parts egg, sugar, flour ,and butter. I added a 5th part, the soft and sweet flesh of the persimmons and a splash of armagnac and vanilla flavoring that I make myself. I used two buttered cake tins, and baked them in the oven for as long as it took for the center to be done. the old clean knife trick is the key. The cakes were dense with a fruit custard center, but the sugar dusted crust and the moist crumb made for a sweet rival textures.
October will be gone before we know it. November will draw us closer to the hearth as the morning fog lasts throughout the day. These golden days are as ephemeral as the poplar leaves, yet to fall. I am nostalgic for French weekends devoted to cooking and sharing with friends. So I’ve begun to cook on Sundays, some simple dishes that you can follow on video or in photographs on Instagram and find the recipes here. Soon we’ll start a online video course that will take you from A-Z of all my favorite recipes and dishes we cook throughout the seasons here in Gascony. You can start to read some of these here in my new ebook- a 25th Anniversary edition of A Culinary Journey in Gascony. Order and download the book now here!
Interested in cooking your way around Gascony with me this winter? Then sign up for my newsletter and add your contact info for our special offers- behind the scenes, special recipes, videos and offers on all our programs- just click here!
Persimmon Pound Cake
Those days are long gone when I drove the big barge down the Canal de Garonne. Hopping off at a lock and grabbing a bicycle to pick up the daily croissants and baguettes, swooping down into the galley to whip up a delicious lunch before off in the van for wine tasting and shopping, then returning to the boat for aperitifs and a long leisurely dinner—that was for the guests, of course. The crew ate discreetly in the wheelhouse, or out on the back deck. These days, I move more deliberately through the day. I wake to a quiet cup of coffee as before, but I let the morning stretch at its own pace. Lunch breaks the day in a simpler way usually; School Lunch when there were students, but now, a solo sandwich or bowl of soup makes do. When Elaine Tin Nyo is in town and staying at Camont, we open La Cantine, and make a good solid lunch while working on the digital edition of my first book together. It’s great to share a meal with a old friend. As of late, these lunches have been the results from a morning of shooting food photography for the book.
Seasonality and some of my favorite recipes cohabit the same weeks in September; it is the last of Summer days with a whiff of Fall in the cooler night air. Soups and cooked dishes replace the hot summer’s salads. I think of September as the “Ratatouille Month” as a glut of tomatoes, courgettes (zucchini) and aubergines (eggplants) flood the weekly markets and look forward to making a few kilos to preserve in the pantry for a winter’s day. My own potager produces the close at hand and thin-skinned Coeur de Boeuf or Ox Heart tomato. I first saw these growing in canal side gardens by old men in big black berets- long lonely hearts dangling from scraggly vines. The image of a beret on a tomato has firmly stuck in my brain. This most favored of all recipes ‘tomato’, besides the summer standard Tomato Tart, is a quick-to-make taste of tomatoes, onion, egg, and crusty garlicky crouton—in a bowl.
Coeur de Boeuf home grown at Camont- harvested September 4 2020
Here is the recipe from the original edition of A Culinary Journey in Gascony. Not one thing has changed as the basket of simple ingredients are perfect and the soup can be made from start to finish in less than 30 minutes. A jar or two of good home-canned tomatoes can be substituted but make sure to adjust the salt and other seasonings as needed. I made this dish every week I cruised through the Long Village. Best of all were these September months when the tomatoes peel themselves and jump in the pot. Buy the best farm eggs you can as their rich deep yellow yolks embolden the soup. With just a handful of ingredients, it pays to seek out and buy the very best. Always my mantra as I learned to cook from the best cooks in the area.
Enjoy and if you want more great recipes like this and the stories that inspired them, pre-order the 25th anniversary ebook edition of a Culinary Journey in Gascony here on my site.
TOURIN DE BATELIER ~ SOUPE DES TOMATES
Called a Bargeman’s Soup, this tomato soup is made when the tomatoes are so ripe they unpeel themselves in your hands. Taught to me by a retired bargee, I still make this tureen every year as the garden tomatoes plop into my hands and the days cry out for soup.
4 lb (1.8 kilos) very ripe summer tomatoes, peeled and crushed
7 onions, coarsely chopped
1 handful garlic cloves (4 to 8, depending on your taste), peeled and crushed
salt and freshly ground pepper
2 eggs
chopped fresh basil and thyme, or herbed sea salt
4 to 6 thick slices country bread, one for each bowl
1 or 2 garlic cloves
1. Place the tomatoes into a big pot over medium heat. Add the onions and garlic.
2. Add water (only about the same volume as the tomatoes) and a generous amount of salt and pepper. Simmer for 15 minutes.
3. Beat the eggs then stir them into the hot soup. Turn the heat down immediately and add the herbs. The herbs will infuse the soup as the eggs cook and thicken this simple tourin.
4. Toast some slices of rustic bread, rub with garlic, and place in a tureen. Pour the soup over the bread. Or serve in bowls with a crusty loaf of bread, a salad, and a bottle of good red wine.
To pre-order the 25th anniversary edition of A Culinary Journey in Gascony: recipes and stories from my French canal boat click here. a bonus of the first series of cooking videos made at my Kitchen at Camont will be included.
Follow along at my Stories on Instagram if you want more mouthwatering recipes and photographs and videos.
This week when the grand Chef André Daguin passed away, my Gascon world lost a strong beacon of light that shone for many decades, in and out of the kitchen, on the precepts of Gascon cooking. I found myself sitting at my kitchen table, looking at the two cookbooks he wrote that I own, one in French, the other in English. I started to cook. It is the best way I know to work out a problem, sooth a confused mind, and in general get my world in order. Cooking is also the best way I know to pay homage to another cook.
André Daguin was a great chef- two Michelin stars, a destination restaurant far from the capital of French cuisine, a generous host and welcoming chef that ruled a large kitchen. His family were the planets that circled his sun- a charming and hospitable wife, Jo and three grown children, Arnaud, Anne and Ariane, each contributing to the global culinary world.
I realized as I opened his cookbooks and started to read, that I, too, had been influenced by his hand in my own Gascon kitchen at Camont. Yesterday, I started a couple recipes from his French language book- Le Nouveau Cuisinier Gascon published in 1981. Last night’s supper featured a few pieces of a mustard-coated farm chicken featured in this book- Le Petit Poulet Noir des Gers a la Moutarde. This morning I awoke to the fragrance of a long simmering stock- with duck and chicken bones (left over from the above recipe) and added the recommended ‘bottle of wine’ for another 2 hours of simmering before a rest and then a reduction. The Saturday morning kitchen smells like dinners at Vétou and Claude’s when we poured the deep red Malec wine from the Vendée into our hot poule au pot soup- faire le chabrot . I ladle out a coffee cup to sip on as I write this. The poultry and vegetables marry with the wine and I am transported to this other kitchen thirty years ago.
Even after he retired from the Hotel de France, André Daguin kept a sharp eye on the Gascon food ways, the local products, and the inherent value of good food prepared at home. Home cooks looked up to him as did rising chefs. Each memory of an extravagant tasting menu made with my gastronomic groups at his restaurant reinforces the small touches that I still do in my small kitchen and continue to teach in my cooking courses here at Camont. Next students in 2020 will see that I add a sixth and seventh reduction sauce featured in this vintage video- the two ways to prepare a duckling.
Here’s is a quick overview of his Le Jus de Volaille Réduit from Le Nouveau Cuisinier Gascon. A classic reduced stock used as a base for sauces and other recipes. I’ve amended it enough to reflect my own style of modest home cooking rather than a huge amount for restaurant fare, but left André’s words as close as I can translate.
Reduced Poultry Bouillon a la Gascon- André Daguin 1981
carcass of one duck and one chicken- including necks, gizzards, feet, etc chopped into large pieces
vegetables- 2 carrots, one onion, two branches celery, two turnips- peel and cut in chunks
3 cloves of garlic- peeled
2 cans of whole tomatoes- chopped
duck fat
2 branches of thyme
12 whole black peppercorns
1 bottle of red wine
While you roast the carcasses and poultry parts in a hot oven (450’F/215’C), place a couple tablespoons of duck fat in a large stock pot. Add the chopped up vegetables and brown as long as the meat is browning in the oven. This color will enrich the broth.
Add the meat to the stock pot and cover with water, to just double the height of your ingredients. Bring to a lively simmer without boiling, skimming off any scum for the first half hour, then go take a walk. You have 4-6 hours to wait. For me this means I place my pot on the wood burning stove in the kitchen and let it slowly simmer as I heat that part of the pigeonnier.
When you come back, verify the level of the liquid, skim as necessary, degrease, do not let boil and add one bottle of red wine. Go do some gardening or something. You have another two free hours.
After this time, pass everything in the pot through a sieve, bring the ‘jus’ to a boil. If necessary to degrease more, leave overnight in the refrigerator and then remove the solid fat floating on the surface. You can use this broth now as a base of a soup or return the bouillon to the heat, boil briskly for another hour or so until reduced by half.
Now you will have a broth bound by reduction, rich in flavor and dark color that you can keep in a jar in your refrigerator for a long time. Use as base for any reduction sauces (as those in the video) or in other Gascon recipes. Merci, André Daguin for sharing these words and flavors with us.
The best recipes are often deceptively simple as is the case with so many nostalgic foods that we cook and share at this time of year. From American Thanksgiving pies or stuffings for a golden roast turkey to Christmas family favorites, we remember them best from the distance of a year and after many years. But be careful! Trying to recreate the taste of childhood is a slippery slope fraught with our adult expectations.
In my case, I have one such mythic recipe, from my first attempts to cook outside of my own family’s comfort zone. I was in my late twenties and had recently moved to California to live with my partner, an expat Englishman, who by way of his travels and birthplace brought a certain dashing roguish charm to my life. He also exposed me to a raft of culinary ideas I had not yet experienced, including the British notion of French food via the Cordon Bleu Cookbook series. The first and most memorable attempt came from one of these slim volumes.
It was a California Christmas, sunny, warm, and filled with nearby citrus, dates and seafood. But these Walnut and Roquefort Tartlets (was it Blue Cheese? Stilton? Roquefort? ) came straight from the Old World. I’m not even sure I had eaten blue cheese other than in a bottled salad dressing and certainly not real Stilton or real Roquefort. And while we lived on the edge of a walnut grove, I had little understanding of seasonal food. A nut was a nut all year round, right?
Over the years, these tartlets became infamous. I might have made them only once near Christmas that first romantic year but they were credited over a decade with nostalgic portent of memorable meals to come. Since then I preferred to let them simmer, alongside that relationship, in the nostalgic stew of “Remember when we … ?”
Today, I have freed these little French versions of Roquefort (real Roquefort) and Walnut tartlets from their past and together with an additional benediction of seasonal pears, I offer them as a great holiday treat- before or after a festive meal. They are not perfect yet, but I have now remade them a half dozen times in this run up to the Holidays. While each batch has been different and delicious, I have yet to find that Proustian moment of gastronomic memory. First, I realized that my proportions were off for both the pastry crust to filling and the amount of cream to cheese. I tried the first attempts as a large tart to share as seen in these pictures. While showy and delicious, my memory said "Too much filling!” I only wanted a couple bites; instead I had mouthful after mouthful.
A small tartlet has a special place in our repertoire. More fidgety than making one larger tart or pie, these small tartlets are meant to be eaten in one or two bites. That means two very important things. One- the amount of tender buttery crisp pastry to creamy, soft and melting filling is about one to one. Each bite is a perfect storm of texture and flavors- sweet to savory, and soft to crisp. And Two- a tartlet should be small enough that it is eaten in 2 or 3 delicate bites. Much more and the rich filling will dull the appetite for what comes next. In a fog of souvenirs, I remember eating these alongside some kind of creamed oyster dish, made with bottled oysters (who could find fresh oysters then in California’s Central Valley?) alongside a 1970’s California Cabernet. Those were the days…
On Roquefort. Time and distance change many things—memory, experiences, knowledge. Since those early blue cheese California days, I traveled widely and learned to cook with local ingredients at hand. Within a decade I had moved to Europe and learned to eat many different blue cheeses. While Stilton is nutty, Gorgonzola is creamy, and Bleu de Causse can be both. The very creamiest ewe’s milk cheese from nearby* Roquefort-sur-Soulzon has a rich mouthfeel that melts away in your mouth. The best of all of these are small artisan producers making cheese with their own milk in limited quantity. I usually buy Carles Roquefort, a small producer that still makes their own penicillium roqueforti on rye bread for the bleu mold. This creamy ivory and blue wedge is a sublime cheese that stands alone after a meal served with sweet butter and rye bread, grapes or pears. By adding the pear slices to the tartlets, this aperitif savory bite becomes a complex cheese course, worthy of serving on its own or as a precursor to a sweet dessert.
While Roquefort is the prime flavor component in the simple recipe, frankly each element must be the best and elevates the dish to beyond memorable. Why bother with mediocre ingredients? Buy the thickest cream, tangy rich crème fraîche, freshest farm eggs, this season’s walnuts, and of course, juicy ripe pears. If each ingredient is so good, and you combine them in a careful way, then the final results will be magical. That’s why this is a perfect Winter holiday recipe- each of these ingredients are at their peak now.
This is just the basic recipe. I’m not 100% finished but I had so many requests, I am offering what I have to date. I will continue to tweak it, changing the way I present it and playing with textures. I think the nuts should be added last perhaps so that they toast on the top, but then the temperature might need adjusting so they don’t burn. Maybe I’ll leave the pears off and just serve them along side bite for bite. Whatever way, the basics remain the same and you are free to play around with this memory in the making.
Whatever you do, don’t leave these out on the counter as they will disappear as fast as they are made!
*Although there is a small village called Roquefort just a few kilometers from Camont, the ‘real one’ is over three hours away. The famous blue cheese made from sheep’s milk is aged in caves along Soulzon River here.
Recipe for a Tarte aux Roquefort, Poire et Noix
Makes 2 dozen tartlets or one large tart
I used an amazing creamy Roquefort that wasn’t too salty. consider adding a drizzle of honey if your is too salty.
one pastry crust (ready made or follow my easy all butter Pâte Brisée here)
150 grams good Artisanal Roquefort cheese
150 ml crème frâiche
50 ml fresh cream
2 fresh eggs
2 ripe pears
120 g/4 oz shelled walnuts, halves or in pieces
A few tablespoons of raw or coarse brown or white sugar
Combine the cheese, crème frâiche, cream, and eggs; leave it lumpy. The Roquefort can remain in some chunks.
Next, pour into the pastry-lined tart pan (no need to blind bake). Slice the pears and arrange on top along with the walnuts. Sprinkle generously with coarse sugar.
Bake in a hot oven (200’C/ 400’F) for 25-30 minutes or more until the crust is completely cooked on the bottom and the egg/cheese/cream mixture is firm. For larger tarts, if I’m not sure about the bottom being done enough, place the tart pan on the bottom of the oven for an extra 10 minutes.
Serve room temperature or just slightly warm as a dessert or even as a starter with a glass of Floc or fruity Côte de Gascogne wine.
La Poule Verte- before cooking. photo by Jamie Beck
I began a new tradition this year. Can you really say that? We’ll see if it sticks down the road, but I have often longed for a November Holiday in France that did not revolve around the dead- Nov 1 is Toussaints or All Saints Day and Nov 11 (11th hour, 11th Day, 11th Month) Armistice Day or Remembrance Day. My Birthday falls later in the month and always seems muddied by the absent American Thanksgiving traditions. In my France, Thanksgiving falls by the wayside as a somber gloom, rain or fog, settles over Camont and the entire Garonne River Vally. It may be my Catholic school upbringing but November can seem like a punishment.
So this year, as I saw the eleventh month arrive, soggy, grey, gray, and griege, I remember those early first days sailing on canals bumping into unexperienced National holidays. Cemeteries and memorials seem to take over. Big family dinners didn’t translate. So this year, I realised the eleventh would be a perfect day to bring my friends together, introduce them to some new blood, and try out a few favored winter recipes for a new long table at Camont.
Some of my oldest friends, artists Franny Golden and Elaine Tin Nyo live here now as well as my extended Camont family- Maurine, Taff ,and Bill, students/clients who fell in love with Nerac and ended up living here. Newest friends Jamie Beck and Keven Burg with bébé Eloise came for a weekend in the country at Camont. Chica fell in love with Eloise! And journalist Sallie Lewis joined us since she was writing a story about me for the Washington Post’s The Lily—the oldest newspaper for and by women.
So this is what I decided to make- a whole confited duck to snip into salty caramelized pieces and eat with a giant wedge of stuffed cabbage with a piquant Tomato Caper sauce, a bright and light slaw that Bill made, Quince and cranberry chutney from Maurine, followed by two tarts, a Roquefort, pear, and walnut savoury/sweet one and a dense walnut and honey tart to serve with a scoop of Elaine’s freshly churned Creme Fraiche Ice cream.
I invite you to make this soulful recipe for your friends and family. I mentioned it here on these stories, but this is the first time I have written the recipe since I included it in my 1995 first book A Culinary Journey in Gascony. I’ve modified things this time (as you do) and instead of cooking the cabbage in a big soup, I baked it in the cassole in the oven. They are both good! Enjoy and be grateful for those wonderful friends, old and new, who show up in your life.
La Poule Verte- hot out of the oven. photo by Jamie Beck
Poule Verte or Chou Farci
One whole Savoy cabbage with outer green leaves intact. A giant Savoy cabbage is a thing of beauty. These are the best cabbages to use although I wouldn’t hesitate to try this with a long Napa Cabbage version, too.
1 cup chopped vegetables- onions, celery, fennel, shallots
2 tablespoon butter, duck fat, lard or other fat
½ glass of white wine or water
2 tablespoons mixed chopped fresh herbs: thyme, sage, parsley, lovage, etc
2 large handfuls of cornbread or stale bread
½ cup sausage meat or lardons (optional)
2 fresh eggs
Cabbage:
Trim the cabbage of any sad leaves, keeping as many dark green outer leaves as possible. Trim the bottom stem so it is clean and flat. Then place cabbage in a large pot with just enough salted water to cover the bottom part (the stem) of the cabbage, the rest will steam. Cover and bring to a boil. Let cook for 15 minutes then when slightly soft to the touch, turn off heat and let sit. In the meantime, make the stuffing.
Stuffing:
Crumble the bread into a mixing bowl. Tip-if using a crusty baguette, cut off most of the crust.
Cook the sausage or lardons in a saute pan. When brown and barely cooked through, remove with a slotted spoon and place with the bread keeping any remaining fat in the pan.
Add the butter or fat to the pan and saute the chopped vegetables until soft.
Add the wine and fresh herbs and cook 3-5 minutes more then toss onto the bread mixture.
Beat two eggs in a bowl and pour over the bread and vegetable mixture and mix well with your hands. The stuffing should start to make a ball in your hands; if too dry, add a little milk or water.
To Stuff the Cabbage:
Remove the cabbage from the pan and place in an ovenproof bowl just big enough to hold the cabbage and help keep its shape. I use a cassole, of course! Let cool enough to handle.
Start prying back the outer leaves carefully until the core of the cabbage is revealed, about the size of a softball or large grapefruit. With a small knife cut and twist it to remove this core.
Make a ball of stuffing the same size as the core you removed and place it in the center of the cabbage. Start to fold all the other leaves over this core, using up any excess stuffing in the pockets of the leaves. Fold over the last outer leaves and smooth the surface brushing some butter or fat over the leaves to keep them soft while cooking.
Bake:
Cover with foil or a tight lid of some kind and bake in a hot oven (around 400’F or 200’C) for 45 minutes.
Remove from the oven, let sit a few minutes and then serve by cutting thick wedges onto the dinner plates. Dress with my favorite Gascon Mother Sauce - Vetou’s Tomato Caper Sauce (see below).
La Poule Verte served with a thick Tomato Caper Sauce. Photo by Jamie Beck
Vetou’s Tomato Caper Sauce (one of the 5 Gascon Mother Sauces)
2 Shallots, peeled and minced
2 tablespoons duck fat or lard
1 small tin 4 oz tomato paste or larger tin of crushed tomatoes.
1 small jar of capers in their brine (about 4 oz jar)
Salt and pepper to taste
500 ml or 1/2 quart broth or stock from cabbage
Sauté the minced shallots in the fat until soft and translucent. Add the tomato paste and cook a few minutes. Add the capers and their brine and then add enough broth to loosen the mixture to the desired sauce consistency. Salt and pepper to taste. Let cook long enough- 20 minutes or so until the flavors marry nicely. Add more broth as necessary to keep the sauce loose. Serve on the cabbage wedges and pass extra sauce around the table.
Want to learn more about Cooking Classic Gascon Recipes? Check out my 2020 dates for classes and tours here!
The Forest at Camont November 2019
November wraps her foggy cloak around Camont like a felted room in which song birds still sing muffled by damp leaves and darker mornings. Chica and I take abbreviated walks to the hens to make sure the little automatic door (thank you Chicken Guards!) has adjusted to the time change. I am grateful for the extra hour of light in the morning. I regret the darker evenings.
I build the first fires in the jaunty kitchen stove. September and October were both so warm this is the first time we’ve needed to; more to remove the damp than raise the temperature. There are four stères ( a cubic meter) of dry oak wood waiting the first real cold, and the piles of old oak branches and trimmed acacia trees scattered around the park will be gathered and brought in for fueling a winter barbecue or two. Just like the pique-niques I wrote about in the latest Saveur website here, cooking outside can be a four season event. I use my small Portuguese beehive oven all year round when I want to make something smokey and spicy, or just perfectly cook a côte de boeuf.
I take stock of the late garden, knowing that the compost pile will benefit mostly from the last tomato plants and the straggling pumpkin vines. The September planted mâche and roquette are now filling out promising winter salads for the next few months; small upright fennel settle in for the slow growing season. Mâche has many names in English- Lamb’s Lettuce being the one I know but Valerianella locusta is the official name. It’s a fabulous bright, dark, and mild-tasting green that ruffles out a plate. Sometimes you just need a leaf or two.
So, of course, that leads us to Cassoulet. Right? All roads at Camont lead to Cassoulet at this time of year. But something that might go with all the rest of the seasonal goodness—pumpkins, winter greens, and especially cassoulet—is an easy solid recipe for Saucisse de Toulouse. Nothing is as easy or taste as delicious as these fat juicy porky sausages served with a creamy Purée de Pommes de Terre or nestled in a plate of slow-cooked haricots Tarbais. If you want more beany instruction, then my Cassoulet; A French Obsession cookbook is for you. Rancho Gordo will even send you a couple pounds of freshly harvested California Cassoulet beans (ie. Tarbais); if you live outside of the US the book is available via Amazon here.
I feature this recipe in the Cassoulet book but here’s a jump start from our latest Camp Charcuterie: France workshop. Five students from around the world gathered here at Camont for a week of Whole-Carcass Butchery and French Farmstead Charcuterie. One of the first things we make after learning to separate the shoulder and belly from the ham, is to make some fresh sausage or Saucisse de Toulouse. Want to know more about learning Butchery and Charcuterie in France? Check out our 2020 dates on the Camp Charcuterie page here.
Li, Carlos and Dominique making Saucisse de Toulouse at Camont
Saucisse de Toulouse
Fresh Pork Sausage
By French Law, a Saucisse de Toulouse has to follow a number of serious defining points to be able to be sold under the name. However, there is nothing stopping you from making these succulent fat fresh pork sausages at home. Of all the products we make during a Camp Charcuterie week, these are by far my favorite. It’s like eating a piece of the juiciest roasted pork with a built-in sauce of pan juices and gravy, all in a crusty brown casing. Remember, your sausage will only be as good as the pork that you buy. Go to the butchers, ask for some fresh shoulder meat and some unsalted belly, and see if they’ll sell you some 32-35mm casings as well. Otherwise, just make some thick patties and enjoy!
House-made Saucisse de Toulouse from Camp Charcuterie:France
Saucisse de Toulouse1 kilo Pork- 80% lean 20% fat ratio the easiest way is to by 800g lean shoulder meat and 200g belly
14 g Salt- or 1.4% Coarse sea salt works best
2 g Pepper- or .2% Make sure to grind it fresh!
Mix all of the above together before grinding on an 8mm hole size plate. Once ground, mix well together until there is some binding or stickiness develops. Stuff into natural hog casings 32-35mm size, if using lamb casings we call these chipolatas.
Do not link. Instead make a nice spiral that will fit in your pan. Let rest or temper over night int eh refrigerator uncovered or under a tea towel, you want the casings to be dry before cooking. Cook over a high enough heat to brown the casings, then turn and lower the heat, cooking until just down- a pale pink blush of medium pork in the center.
That’s it. No wine, no garlic, no spices. The idea is to show off the high quality well grown local pork- usually 10-12 months old at slaughter. In France, people still appreciate the meatiness of these sausages. Let me know what you think!
October honors a certain kitchen credo- harvest, prepare, preserve, and arrange. No, not the hoarding of liters of overcooked canned vegetables, or even the larders filled with baskets of multi-colored roots, but a different sort of harvest.—a harvest of ideas.
Not everyone lives on a farm, or has access to overflowing farmers markets. While I do have fruit dropping from the trees around me here at Camont, quince and apples at this time of year, I am also looking, hard, at how to gather in the more ephemeral experiences of the summer, the small jewels of kitchen work we enjoyed so much, and the special meals shared amongst visiting and local friends. Take a peek at what we made and ate this last month in Classic Gascony and Insider’s Roadtrips on my Instagram Stories.
Poule Verte or Stuffed Savoy Cabbage (as seen above)
Sauce Capers
Paté de Campagne
Confit de Canard
Rillettes de Canard
Soupe au Citrouille avec foie gras
Tarte aux Tomates
Croque-Monsieurs
Gratin de Celeri Rave
confiture de Prunes et Figues
Jambon-Beurre sandwich
Croustade aux pommes
Gateau Chocolat aux Coings
Garbure
Tarte aux prune, pomme, et peche
Omelette aux girolles
Cassoulet—of Course!
a slice of Poule Verte with it’s Tomato Caper Sauce.
The menu of regional dishes we prepare in the Kitchen at Camont spins on to tell the story of Autumn, of the waning garden- still savory and assuring, of chilly nights that start to beg for the duvet pulled up tight, and the thought of a fire to build in the morning. On the Insider’s RoadTrip:Gascony I stock up on Armagnac from my favorite producers- Delord, LaDevèse, and Dubordieu while visiting their cellars with guests. In tasting together, I get an better appreciation of what people respond to and how I might stretch their palate to include a few more quirky choices. Don’t like turnips? Never tried brouttes? How about taking a turn at breaking down a whole duck or chicken? And of course, we all learn to make my simple All Butter French Pastry for tarts, savory or sweet.
Cooking at Camont during any season is a delight as the market truly dictates are seasonal approach. It aligns our tastes buds for the way we cook, simply from the single pot with a short sauce on the side. Imagine buying a basket full of fresh Coco de Paimpol beans then sitting around the table together shelling them at 6:00 or so- the dried yellow pods heading for the compost, the beans needing only a quick rinse before covering them with cold water and starting to cook for a cassoulet for tonight’s dinner. That’s exactly what we did the last night of both our Classic Gascon Cooking week and the Insider’s Gascony week. Cassoulet has migrated to the west of Toulouse as I continue to teach and share my long experience on making France’s gastronomic obsession.
Of course, no menu is complete without something sweet. Here’s the very simple and dense chocolate cake created by Marie-Claude Gracia in her riverside restaurant La Belle Gasconne in Poudenas oh so many years ago. It remains a taste of one of my favorite souvenirs of those days discovering what Gascon cooking was all about. Here, I decorate with a simple sugared top studded with fruits of the season- Prunes d’Agen and Chassela de Moissac grapes and filled the layers with quince paste loosened with PX sherry. Want the recipes? The Poule Verte is from my Culinary Journey in Gascony Book and the Gateau Chocolat a la Belle Gasconne is below. Make it and enjoy!
Interested in coming to cook with me at Camont? sign up for one of my Classic Gascon cooking weeks or a light Country Weekend of Market fun at Camont.
Gateau Chocolat a la Belle Gasconne
320 g dark chocolate 65-70% ( broken into small pieces)
160 g sweet butter
10 g extra butter for the pan
160 g fine white sugar
5 fresh eggs
40 g pastry or cake flour
Mix the chocolate, butter, and sugar together in a pan over very low heat (or use a bain-marie); mix until all is melted and homogenous.While the chocolate cools some, separate the eggs. Beat in the egg yolks, one by one, into the warm but cooling chocolate mixture. Next, add the flour in by sifting over the surface with a sieve.Whip the egg whites until fairly stiff and then fold in delicately.
Here, I used two 8 inch cake pans, the layers were thin (about one inch) but perfect for sandwiching with a filling. Alternately, use one pan and fill it deeper to make a thicker cake. This will affect the baking times so watch your cakes and adjust the times as needed.
Butter the cake pans and then sugar the bottoms.
Add the cake mixture. Cook in a medium hot oven (180’ C or 350’F) for 30 min or so. Stop the cooking while the cake is still moist. Let cool completely before turning out of the pan.
Madame Gracia suggested serve with a Banyuls, Sauternes or PX sherry. Instead, I created a fragrant jammy filling with some deep ruby red quince paste loosened with some dark sweet Pedro Ximenez Sherry. the tangy sweet/tart filling set off the deep egg rich chocolate cake perfectly!
Pêche de Vigne
I’ve just been talking about the Tween Seasons, those transitional weeks as Winter packs up the frosts and gloomy skies and Spring arrives all flouncy and pink. Chica and I just went out for a pre-dawn snoop, and who did we meet at the top of the driveway? Orion—in all his starry corseted wonder. And like greeting an old friend, I was comforted by his arrival and the September shift of seasons, from Summer into Fall here in the French Hemisphere.
September is a giving month at Camont. The random fruit trees are at the point of dropping and the word windfall springs to mind. Although not unexpectedly, the big green apples dropping from the front door tree in heavy thuds are a real bonanza. Oh, all the apple tartes to come! The Harvest Jam is dark with figs and berries; some of these crisp tart apples to sweeten a Courgette Chutney; and if I have the time, a big pot of Compote de Pomme which always gets eaten with yogurt and muesli on winter mornings. Pears will adorn a buttery crust with pinenuts for a pique-nique lunch on one of my Classic Gascony Cooking Weeks.
ripe figs splitting in the heat
Then there are figs to pluck from the trees, two or three different cultivars produce all at the same time, of course! These giant green figs are destined for a true Confiture de Figues aux Noix* which will be saved for any number of Gateaux Camont like a Gateau Basque but with fig filling. Next, Fig Leaf Ice Cream and Caramel Sauce appears with a lacing of the jam stirred through at the last minute. The Figgy Barbecue Sauce I created was a complete accident the year I scorched the bottom of the vintage Le Creuset. In order to salvage the sticky sweet and definitely smokey fig jam (the casserole survived), I used it as the base for a tangy and spicy Smoky Figgy BBQ Sauce.
But the Queen of September are the Pêche de Vigne or Pêche Sanguine that drop with a satisfying plop into my cradling hand. They bruise so easily I never squeeze with my fingers, but give them a slight pressure and turn and if they release on their own into my palm, they are ripe. There are never enough to squander so I plan the basket or two I harvest carefully. My favorite way to celebrate their deep ruby flesh tasting of raspberries and white peaches at once is to make a Bellini Purée to have on hand for Champagne cocktails to celebrate some September Birthday or to spoon over a bit of icy lemon verbena sorbet. I always add some to the aforementioned Harvest Tarte for their color and peachy sweetness but best of all is just to eat a couple out of hand as you walk around the garden peeling the deep gray fuzzy skins off as you go.
It’s easy to miss the boat of this abundant short season. If it rains, the figs will rot on the trees; if you leave for a last hurrah at the beach (which I am doing in a week- See the Insider’s Roadtrip: Catalunya here); you might sacrifice the blackberries to the birds and other small critters. But here’s a little truc— you don’t have to do it all! Just mark the season with one special harvest and create a few jars of September to place in your pantry for some winter morning, when Orion is still standing guard over your house.
wild blackberries by the chicken yard
Figgy BBQ Sauce Camont Style
I usually make this with water ever is at hand and what needs to be used up like the bottom of some jar of red pepper paste, the last tablespoon of molasses, etc.
1 kilo of very ripe figs, split one are just fine. Cut into quarters or slices
600 grams of sugar (any kind will do here-white, brown, raw, etc)
2 lemons, remove the zest and squeeze the juice; add both to the fruit mexiture
one large onion or several shallots cut into small dice
a few garlic cloves sliced or smashed
4-6 fresh or dried bay leaves
300-500 ml of good vinegar- red wine, cider, ect.
Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, or any spicy paste to taste
salt to taste
black pepper to taste
add other spices which might included: cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, mustard seeds, coriander, etc
Instructions
Combine all the ingredients in a large pan and bring to a rapid boil. Let boil for 15-20 minutes until the sugar is melted and the fruit is thoroughly cooked.
Reduce the heat and continue to cook until the sauce starts to reduce, about 30 minutes. stirring often and watch for scorching. Use a diffuser under the pot if necessary.
When reduced to your desired thickness turn off the heat and let cool. At this point you can pass the mixture through a food mill for a smoother sauce, leave it chunky, or continue to reduce until you have a thick paste.
I usually bottle this in jam jars and keep in the refrigerator; you can can and process the sauce as per your favorite method.
*I use the excellent book Mes Confitures by Jam Queen Christian Ferber for all things confiture.
In my perfectly seasonal mind, Summer is 3 months long- beginning June 1 and ending on August 31. This means over the last 30 years living at Camont, I have had 2700 days of Summer… or nearly 7 and a half years of long days, warm nights, sunshine and summer storms, garden tomatoes, and flip flops for shoes. It also means I have baked dozens of tomato tartes, cooked kilos of fig barbecue sauce, and eaten enough fresh fruit from our own trees—white, yellow, and red peaches, summer pears, and yellow cherries—to satisfy a sultan.
Summer Food at Camont is the celebration of sharing an explosive bounty like a heavy basket of ripe tomatoes on my kitchen counter. We move outdoors for lunch and dinner, dodging the Golfe de Gascogne squalls as laundry moves on and off the line like mad clockwork with the summer storms. I think food taste differently outside, even when just a few steps from the kitchen. Wine and apéritifs flow like water from terra cotta carafes and the kitchen is a hive as friends join students and we cook together. Of course, I am the queen bee.
The surprise first heat of June is over and the mad July festival mania has climaxed. Now “August descends like a nap…” and Camont slows down a notch to savor the last 30 days of early sunrises, late sunsets, leaves plucked from the garden for dinner salads-a mix of roquette, laitue, amaranth, basil, mustard and scallions flourish under soft rain waterings. When students come in Summer, we don’t make confit de canard, we eat it; we don’t eat plum jam, we make it; peaches become clafoutis and are immortalized forever as summer at Camont; visiting friends bake cakes for friends as we share summer birthdays. Bakers, bake, artists paint, and musicians play Summer.
Summer Food is what is growing right now, outside your door, along a country road, at a village market. The goat’s cheese from Marie de Moncrabeau begs for ripening figs wrapped in a slice of home-cured ham; tomatoes jump into a pot for tourain de tomates; and golden eggs scramble themselves into a pan of duck fat for a breakfast-supper. This is not the time to fret over food, but create the meals you’ll dream about the last 2700 days of Winter. Some summer tomatoes in a jar opened in January will be a good reminder of why we live on the 45th parallel—perfectly four season living.
Le Club Camont—here’s a sweet and simple recipe that embodies the Summer Food ethos. A simple Club-ish sandwich made with what was at hand as we took a break in getting things down to discuss some new projects like a podcast that’s about french cooking with me. Kate Hill. Enjoy!
We’ve all eaten Club Sandwiches our whole lives- soggy bread, mushy tomatoes, bad bacon… So I took a look in the fridge and created a simple structure of something on the inside and something on the outside. Tomatoes are at their peak so they are the stars of the show; one slice inside, once slice on top. Ham, good ham, instead of the bacon; emmenthal cheese on both layers to help bind everything; and rich egg mayonnaise and good dijon mustard on each layer of bread. I served these small halves with some homemade bread and butter pickles. Just enough with a bottle of beer to serve for a quick working lunch.
toast the bread under the grill
put mayo on the bottom slice
a slice of ham folded to fit the bread
a slice of perfect tomato next
slab some hot mustard on the tomato
salt and pepper the tomato
a slice of emmenthal cheese
now the top piece of bread
some mayo on the top
another slice of tomato, slat & pepper
the last slice of cheese
back under the grill until perfect.
Sometimes done is better than perfect! These happened to be both.
lemon Verbena stars in the Summer Potager
Summer heat comes in sheer waves across the French land and the siesta curtains are kept drawn late into the early evening here at Camont. After a week of doggedly following the weather patterns, it’s clear that the canicule returns to the Southwest. Canicule refers to those hottest days of the season, originally when the brightest star Sirius rose in the mid-Summer sky, announcing extreme heat, thunderstorms and other exciting weather. This searing bright beacon sits on the tip of Canis Major’s nose and chases Lepus, the Hare, across the sky.
As these hot days hit again, my pup Chica is more likely to be chasing Terra the cat across the garden while I take my first coffee in the cool early morning, before the heat has time to accumulate. The garden needs water and just in time the new pump for the garden well decided to work. I am here on my computer writing about summer days and food, reminiscing over other summers and looking for inspiration. Cooking seems unnecessary while eating doesn’t. Last night I settled for a bag of mediocre tortilla chips and a beer. I know that won’t last. I crave real food and will hit the kitchen as soon as these words are posted.
Summer food means something foraged from the kitchen garden, literally short steps from the door. A couple bright yellow summer squash, some thinning beet greens, a few pinches of cilantro going to seed in the shade of the vigorous tomato plants. It doesn’t take much, a few eggs scrambled into an omelette or a Spanish potato tortilla. I’ll also cook a Gascon burger on the grill when friends come over or we’ll wrap some fish (sardines, mackerel, tuna) in fig leaves.
The sides are easy- some potato salad of some sort, some greens with a sharp mustardy vinaigrette, and and a platter of thick sliced red coeur de boeuf tomato slices swimming in vinegar and oil, salted and peppered. Baguettes are passed and torn for dipping in the tomato juice vinaigrette.
Summer food can also mean cold—a perfectly ripe melon turned into soup and garnished with a generous drizzle of fruity olive oil, orange zest and salt; tomatoey gazpacho brightened with lime and hot peppers; and ice cream, of course! I’ve been lax on my ice cream making skills and will remedy that as the days get hotter; the Teaching Kitchen studio is the only place with air conditioning now. I am thinking about those fragrant fig leaves, some dark chocolate, toasting some almonds I brought back from Spain. Fig leaf, chocolate shards, and salted almonds ice cream anyone?
See how easy that is? I hope this gives you a bit of inspiration and way of thinking about cooking in the Summer. Treat it lightly and enjoy these dog days. There’ll be time enough to make Cassoulet when Orion come across. In the meantime, here’s a little Melon and Lemon Verbena Soup to keep you cool. These fabulous melons are grown on the fertile clay fields surrounding Nerac and the local producer’s markets are full of them. Learn to pick a ripe one by looking at the stem. It should just be pulling away from the crown of the melon. Make this soup to take on a picnic. Drink it from little antique crystal glasses you buy at a flea market. Keep it cold in a thermos for a road trip.
Original Recipe from A Culinary Journey in Gascony Kate Hill. This is an updated non-cook version 2019.
French Melon and Lemon Verbena Cold Soup
French melon (these are called Cavaillion, de Letoure, Neracaise, etc depending where they are grown). One very ripe, peeled, seeded and cubed.
cucumber- one medium sized, peeled, seeded if needed, and chopped
onion- fresh white raw onion peeled and chopped
lemon verbena- one sprig with several leaves of fresh or a few dried leaves
cold water- about 500 ml or 2 cups or water glasses
Olive oil- a few tablespoons or use other fresh and fragrant cold pressed oils (sunflower, safflower, pumpkin seed)
salt and pepper- to taste
Place the cubed melon, cucumber and onion in a blender. add enough cold water to make one liter or one quart. Liquify the mixture until all is smooth. Add the olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. pour into a jar and add the lemon verbena. Let steep a few hours or overnight; then remove leaves before serving, Adjust the seasoning and garnish with fresh lemon verbena leaves. Serve very cold.
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No Summer arrives without the bonfire madness, the distant drumming from another century, and the making of a year’s worth of foraged aperitifs. When i first moved here we drank Vin de Noix to start all our meals. gradually the habit of a slightly sweet, slightly bitter aperitif has disappeared. The days of aperitifs made with bitter branches and fruit leaves seems to have been eclipsed by Aperol and Campari spritzes, gin cocktails served with floral tonics, and gallons of cheap rosé.
Home made aperitifs are infused with the feast of St. John follies. Pick those green walnuts and create a little magic. Think mid-summer madness minus the fairies and Shakespeare; add sugar, spices and moonshine to the unripened walnuts. ‘Unripened’ means that under the thick green outer husk, the nut meat and shell are still unformed, a juicy white tannic miracle growing on heavy laden branches.
For me, noix verts herald the long days of looking at Camont’s fruit and nut trees, gardens and potagers as a living larder. White peaches for ice cream, summer pears for jam, blackberries and raspberries for liqueurs. But it is this very first recipe I learned to make at the hands of Claude and Vetou Pompele some 25 years ago that reminds me of my most important job here at the Gascon Kitchen– hands-on teacher of artisan culinary traditions. So I am resuming my role this year as Chief Aperitif Influencer.
The walnut tree has been growing for over the 30 years I have lived at Camont. It was a leggy 12-foot sapling when I first spared its life. Now it reaches up over 40 feet and spreads a deep shade for the lambs, chickens and us. More squirrel-planted trees have sprouted and have added to the bounty. I once used the bottle of eau de vie made by old man Dupuy over 40 years ago. A gift from his daughter, Monique, I had tucked it away in the back of the boat cellar a few years back. Antique moonshine. Now I look for small batch eau de vie when at country markets, but a bottle of any clear alcohol will work as well.
This recipe was taught to me by Claude Pompele. I published it in “A Culinary Journey in Gascony”. There is a new story somewhere but for now this has been a story in the making for a long time.
Vin de Noix
Traditionally made on June 24, the Feast of St. Jean
24 green walnuts plus a handful of walnut leaves.
24 sugar cubes
750ml eau de vie
3 liters of inexpensive rosé wine
a handful of lemon rinds
Nutmeg shards, cloves and cardamon to taste
Smash the green walnuts with a rock. Work outside on an old board. Wear aprons and gloves.
Place all the ingredients in an earthen ware crock, glass jar, or stainless steel bucket.
Cover with an old plate. It will turn very dark from the tannins in the green husks.
Let sit 24 days.
Filter, bottle and drink at your leisure in the cold short winter days. Aging the aperitif longer results in a more dense and flavorful apertif.
Serve in small glasses as guests arrive. Don’t ask them. Just serve it. They will find it strange and scary. Insist they take small sips and think of Mid-summer in France. Maybe play a little medieval music in the background. Let a walnut tree grow. Take some time to think about the seasons. I make this for my Summer born friends- Elaine, Bill, Julie, Woody, Randy, and all the other Cancers in my Sagittarius life.
Kate’s famous Tomato Tart means Summer season has started!
This is my very simple, everyday, anyonecanmakethis Pâte Brisée or a Short Crust- my go to All-Butter Pastry. I teach this to all students who come through Camont’s kitchen doors. It breaks the usual prissy pastry rules about chilling flour, butter and water. It is a forgiving sort of crust, a classic French pâte brisée perfect for everything from summery fruit tarts to the savory tarte a la tomates that we shared with good friend David Lebovitz.
It’s easy. Be not afraid of pastry. It will be delicious and your friends will love you and your French tartes.
Kate’s Easy Tart Pastry
200 g or 1 1/2 cups all purpose or pastry flour
100 g or 4 ounces unsalted butter straight from the refrigerator. Cut into cubes
a pinch of salt
1 large egg
2-3 tablespoons cold water as needed.
Preheat the oven to 200ºC or 400ºF . The oven should be very hot to seize the pastry to hold its shape.
1. Make the dough by mixing the flour and salt in a bowl. Add the butter cubes and use your hands to break in the butter by smashing the butter with your fingers into the flour. Continue until the mixture has a crumbly, cornmeal-like texture. This can be very uneven; leave some bits of butter still visible.
2. Make a well in the center of the flour/butter mix and break the whole egg into the center. Add 1 tablespoon of the water. Beaten the egg and water a bit in the well then mix all together stirring the mixture until the dough holds together. If it’s not coming together easily, add additional water.
3. Gather the dough into a ball and roll the dough on a generously floured surface, adding additional flour only as necessary to keep the dough from sticking to the counter. This is a soft dough, so handle lightly.
4. Roll out. Once the dough is large enough so that it will cover the bottom of the pan and go up the sides, roll the dough around the rolling pin then unroll it over the tart pan. Prick the bottom of the pastry with your fingertips a few times, pressing in to make indentations. Who needs a fork?
You can then brush the pastry base with an egg if you like, sprinkle with sugar or just fill and bake. How long? Depending on the filling about 25-35 minutes.
Tomato Tart Filling
Tomatoes enough to fill your tart pan
one egg
Dijon mustard
olive oil
fresh herbs chopped finely
salt & pepper
After rolling out the pastry, brush it with a beaten egg mixed with mustard and set aside to dry. This is a little secret to avoid a soggy bottom.
Then cut very good ripe tasty tomatoes into thick slices.
Lay the slices over the mustardy bottom fitting them tightly across the tart.
Drizzle with some olive oil and then sprinkle with fresh herbs (chives, thyme, basil, lovage, oregano, whatever). Salt and pepper to taste.
Bake in a hot oven 200’C or 400’F for 30-45 minutes, until the bottom of the pastry is well browned.
The days are long. Longer now. And each step toward midsummer, that June Solstice date, is measured in sunsets and early mornings. This is when the words of French writer, Jean Giono (1914-1970?) ring in my ears again—the days are round not long.
It starts with the sun rising early, just after 6:00, on the other side of the canal. It circles south and high across the early summer sky. It’s still raining and cool this year but the light tells me it is fully summer. The sun will set at 9:40 after it crosses the canal again, making a beacon of late light mirrored in a ribbon stretch of still water.
“Days begin and end in the dead of night. They are not shaped long, in the manner of things which lead to ends - arrow, road, man’s life on earth. They are shaped round, in the manner of things eternal and stable - sun, world, God.”
At Camont that means that I am planting vegetables to eat through the late summer when friends appear, when cooking students arrive. Again. The potager is a grid of raised beds that circle through the seasons with some perennial herbs like lovage, sage, rosemary, and mint; some overgrown weeds that by May give way to some seeds and plants; repeated flowering of borage and nigella to scatter a bit of blue across the gravel drifts; and berry canes finally giving enough fruit to harvest to add to a pot or two of jam. The grid helps me keep track. I can count on these stragglers to come around each summer. Round again.
The longer days do circle back to other years, too. When there was jumping into the canal on a hot day with a plastic float of Cuba Libras attached to the barge( 1997); when the Midsummer fete meant a bright bonfire and a large group of friends for a lamb roast and armagnac late into the night (2004); and further back when this house was just a stone and brick shell and I talked about how it was going to look- fixed up and with a garden gate(1989). Seems like yesterday. But thirty years blink by. And now the gate supports a tangle of climbing roses- a bouffant pink and white Pierre Ronsard and an old cream-colored scented rose whose name I have lost.
Round days happen in my kitchen, too. It’s time to pluck a few squash blossoms and add them to an omelette made with courgettes, a way of acknowledging the flower and the fruit together. I put the straw hats and flowers in the hearth in an offhand homage to Roy Andrie de Groot and that far away Auberge of the Flower Hearth which remains an inspiration of French cookbooks. I cook once a day, either for lunch or dinner, letting us graze on les rests so that distractions from work are a pleasure. The tomato tarts make their appearance one by one, then in a flurry for a cooking class where everyone learns to make the simplest of my French butter pastry. Radishes pop up overnight and their greens are a peppery substitute for watercress in a cold or hot soup (see below). Then the June making of Vin de Noix is celebrated with whomever is visiting that week of the Solstice and the Fête de la Musique. We’ll make that soon, so stay tuned!
So I leave you with these few June dishes to make. Want to come to France and cook with me? Shop at the market? Sit at the table and talk stories? There’s a lot of ways to do that. Sign up for the newsletter here at the bottom of this page and then join me every week and on your favorite social media habits—Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube. I’ll post a recipe on Instagram stories soon, too. Radish Pannacotta, anyone?
This recipe is from my first book- A Culinary Journey in Gascony (1995 copyright)
Radish Leaf Soup
1 bunch firm radishes with the fresh bright greens attached
1 tablespoon sweet butter
1 onion chopped finely
2 cloves garlic minced or crushed
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
A bit of fresh grated nutmeg
2 whole potatoes, peeled and diced
Separate the radishes from the greens and set aside.
Wash the greens well. Don’t bother draining.
Melt the butter in a medium saucepan.
Add the chopped onion and garlic then cook over a low heat until they are soft and translucent.
Add the whole wet radish leaves to the pan and let wilt.
Add the chopped potatoes and salt then cover with 1 liter of water.
Increase the heat and bring to a boil.
Cook for 20 minutes or so, until the potatoes are very soft and start to fall apart.
Remove from heat. Puree with a hand mixer or pass through a food mill.
Adjust seasoning with more salt and pepper as desired.
Serve hot with tartines of sweet butter and sliced radishes
Or chill and serve cold with a dollop of crème fraîche.
That night image of Camont, stars hanging overhead and a warm golden glow from an empty bedroom, lacks one thing. Scent. I needed a perfume atomizer to send to each viewer. One filled with a soft sweet smell of Acacia trees heavy with white blossoms swaying in the night breeze like so many small silver thuribles diffusing their May incense.
The old custom of making a sweet blossom fritter dredged in sugar or drizzled with acacia honey is yet another way of creating a living calendar. Eating flowers in May is the festive beginning of the Deep Spring Season. Acacias and elderflowers appear at the same time; roses are next, and the violas and pansies that nod little heads are delicate colored memories of winter.
I dreamt of the first time I witnessed my old acacia trees abuzz with a floating hive and Vétou taught me to make her ultra-light batter first. And then which bunches of tightly closed blossoms to gather—those that still contained their nectar still hidden from the bees. These are golden fried bunches of flowers eaten off the stems like grapes; a rustic celebration of something special before the fruit arrives.
Now, after a week of French pastry at Camont with Molly Wilkinson, I jumped to a new version of this classic country treat— a small cloud-like fritter made with an eggy batter that would bind a handful of blossoms and allow us to fill it with some floral scented chantilly or slightly sweetened whipped cream. Like a classic Pet de Nonne, these became floral puffs made with a pâte à choux recipe from Molly Wilkinson’s Art of French Pastry workshops at Camont. This batch makes a fat dozen small but delicious bites.
Acacia Blossom Fritters
65 ml water
65 ml milk
50 gr butter
5 gr sugar
1 gr salt
75 g all purpose flour (T55)
100-125 g whole eggs (2-3 eggs)
handful of edible acacia blossoms- stems removed
frying oil- 1-2 inch deep
some acacia honey
powdered sugar
In a saucepan, add the water, milk, butter, sugar and salt. Measure the flour. Heat the liquid ingredients over a low heat until just simmering and the butter melts.
Take off the heat and add all the flour at once. stir with a wooden spoon until the dough pulls together. Put back on heat and stir continuously for 1-2 minutes until the dough pulls away from the side. transfer to a mixing bowl. mix until the dough starts to cool- and is no longer steaming.
Add the eggs, one at a time, fully incorporating each one before adding the next. When ready, check the dough by seeing how it falls from the spoon. It should be silky smooth and fall in a point. Stir in a handful of closed acacia blossoms; the nectar is still inside the flower.
Heat the oil in a wok or a deep pan to 170-180’C. Drop batter in the hot oil by a tablespoon and cook until golden brown and cooked through. Don’t rush them. The inside will be soft and airy. Drain on a paper towel and then drizzle with acacia honey and powdered sugar.
Serve warm and with a glass of elderflower soda. Another Spring treat!
Peppery Green Radish tops are perfect in a salad
Spring remains elusive in so many parts of North America, but here in France, especially in the Southwest, it has arrived like the TGV fast train in the Gare d’Agen- at full speed and then slamming on the brakes. One day it is cold enough to huddle by the wood stove; the next I am outside in a t-shirt arranging the garden. Now after three solid weeks of luxurious sunny and warm days, the dreaded Giboulées de Mars have arrived.
The Giboulées are the Lion in the old adage—“March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb”. High winds upended the sturdy bistro chairs in the garden; heavy rains battered the skylight above my bed too early this morning; hail comes knock the fragile blossoms off the plum trees; umbrellas and market stalls are sent sailing across the market squares. That’s March for you. Waiting for the Lamb to take over, means weathering change in my kitchen, too.
Fresh Spring Garlic Shoots- Aillets
This unpredictable weather engenders another sort of upheaval. I begin to liberate myself from slow winter cooking—my beloved braised meats and slow-roasted vegetables. I crave the first peppery greens like the new root radishes we eat with creamy spring butter. I want a Spring Soup—not long simmering but quick and fresh and full of life and sprinkled with a crunch of seeded croutons. And most of all I am craving spring duck, those thick red meat steaks called magrets grilled on the stove top, then served under a verdant blanket of fresh green onions, tender aillets (those first green garlic shoots), pickled guindilla peppers, and the first new mint leaves from my sleeping garden. It takes just minutes to cook, and chopping the greens happens at the same time. Put it all on a thick toasted slab of pain de campagne with crisp slices from a head of Sucrine lettuce drizzled with some walnut vinegar and sunflower oil.
Here, I used the same combination of spring onions, green garlic, guindillas along with some roquette leaves and white beans, a drizzle of oil, coarse salt and freshly ground pepper. It couldn’t be simpler and so deliciously Spring!
Spring Greens and White Bean salad
Cooking like this reflects the seasons-the global turning of the days, but also my own personal season of renewal, a time to reassess my direction-both in the kitchen and out. I am busy on projects, finishing old one, starting new ones. I cook to reflect the Spring frenzy of ideas that pushing out of a quiet restful winter. I eat with gusto and savor the new tastes—sharper, lighter, fresher.
One big Spring idea is to start teaching more online, using new resources to share the good food of Gascony with you. Cooking classes, shopping advice, travel tips all wrapped up in a personal package of videos, ebooks, and in person gatherings. If you are interested in being part of a pilot project, make sure to sign up for here.