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

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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 Toulouse

1 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!

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

1. 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.

2. Then cut very good ripe tasty tomatoes into thick slices.

3. Lay the slices over the mustardy bottom fitting them tightly across the tart.

4. Drizzle with some olive oil and then sprinkle with fresh herbs (chives, thyme, basil, lovage, oregano, whatever). Salt and pepper to taste.

5. Bake in a hot oven 200’C or 400’F for 30-45 minutes, until the bottom of the pastry is well browned.

I have been talking about chickens and eggs a lot these days on Instagram, both on the Grid and in my Stories. My morning ritual begins when I open the henhouse doors just after sunrise; I begin talking to the girls as I get about 20 feet away. All is quiet then they begin to talk back to me. Or to each other. It is a musical soft chirping rather than cartoon clucking and the message I hear is “We’ve been waiting for you!”.

So letting the chickens out into the yard, making sure they have food then gathering their eggs all happens in a sweet state of slow wakefulness. At this time of year there are 4-6 eggs daily from the 7 hens each week; that’s about three dozen fresh free-range organic eggs a week. Spring hasn’t even hit yet.

Here’s an old favorite- a recipe that uses eggs in abundance. Serve it on a weekend breakfast or finish off a simple supper as dessert, but only make this if you have great eggs. Like all simple recipes, the basic ingredient must be fabulous—fresh eggs, good butter, homemade preserves. Think of this more rustic version instead of a classic bourgeois soufflé when you next have more eggs than you can use. Served with fruit preserves or any sweet sauce, this cloud of deeply golden eggs is easy enough to do for yourself or a large crowd. The recipe below serves about four; I count 1.5 to 2 eggs per person.

Les Oeufs Nuageux or Egg Clouds

• One Tablespoon sweet butter

• 6 Fresh Eggs

• 3 Tablespoons fine white sugar

Heat oven to 400’F or 200’C.  Place a tablespoon of butter in a pie pan or oven proof clay dish. Place in hot oven until the butter melts. In the meantime make your omelet.

Take 6 very fresh eggs. Separate whites from yolks into 2 clean bowls. Yes, those yolks are really that color! happy chickens.

1. Whisk 3 Tablespoons sugar into yolks. Whisk until sugar is dissolved and yolks are ribbony.

2. Whisk egg whites in copper bowl.

3. Whisk eggs until they form a strong peak.

4. Mix a large spoon full of whipped whites into the egg yolks; then pour yolks onto whites.

5. Fold the whites into the yolks. Gently. A few ribbons of white in the gold is fine.

Pour eggs into the hot pan or dish and return it to the hot oven. Bake for 20-30 minutes (depending on thickness) until just set. My finger-deep omelette took close to 30 minutes. A thinner one might take just 15 min. Keep an eye on the oven! I served this melt-in-your-mouth Sunday breakfast with some hot compote des pommes (applesauce) and marmalade covered toast. Perfect. Enjoy!

Soup. Souper. Supper. When the gray days linger too long and we are all getting a bit SAD, it’s either travel south or make soup. The Ultimate Winter Food.

Years ago a well-meaning friend dubbed this Gloomy Gascony, and although our weather is winter mild with sunny summers, gorgeous springs and gentle autumns- there is that dreaded three weeks of extreme gloom that settles into the Garonne River Valley about now. We are nearly through it, but it’s still taxes my spirit and even with a book to write, classes to teach and travel to plan, I feel myself succumbing to the lowering sky. This is when my magic soup pot comes to the rescue!

Recently, my soup making life got so much easier. No, I don’t have an Instant Pot but I do have a very wonderful and typically European modern pressure cooker. It steams, boils, and pressure cooks about everything. Although I love the slow and gentle heat of hours on the back of the stove in an old enameled cast iron pot, my cocotte-minute has transformed my soup making into a bright and happy forty-five minute kitchen dance. Put on some music and let's go! The best results are those done when I am multi-tasking- arranging spices, cleaning out drawers, polishing silver, posting on Instagram. I am partial to the Bee-gees. Whether it's Barry Gibbs or the pressure cooker, I have a lighter touch making soup. I use just a few key ingredients; I improvise more. My soups have jumped a big bright notch from overcooked to exquisite.

Let’s make soup while I get the kitchen in order for this weekend’s Charcuterie Foundation classes. There might even be a new recipe developed as I take stock of what’s in the vegetable baskets: 4 turnips, celery leaf, cabbage, leeks. Sounds like a good start for a hot and sour warming broth with a bit of charcuterie for flavor. Perfect to pair with a melting Mont d’Or cheese and those crispy fresh pickles we like. And all that goes well with a Cote de Gascogne white wine. Ok, that’s wasn’t so hard.

This is what I put in my Winter Soup pot. 

• 2 liters of cold water
• 4 large turnips, peeled and cubed
• a large handful of chopped celery leaves
• a small cabbage (I used a Savoy but a Napa would be nice) cored and cut into wedges
• 1 large leek sliced and well washed
• 1 carrot, peeled and sliced 
• a chunk of ventreche or pancetta
• a delicious roasted ham hock and all of its juices
• 4 bay leaves
• 1 tablespoon of salt
• several black peppercorns
• 6 whole cloves
• the juice of one whole lemon
• a ladle of homemade red wine vinegar

Everything went into the pot starting with the water. Then I added things as I chopped them into the pot. By the time I was finished, and added the lemon juice and vinegar, it was steaming hot. I clamped the lid on and let it continue to cook for about 20 minutes more under pressure. a total of about 40 minutes. After letting it cool enough to open the lid, I tasted and adjusted the seasoning-a bit more salt and lashing of walnut oil on serving. Hot, sour, and cabbage sweet. Just right on this not so gloomy now day at Camont. No go forth and make soup!

We talked a lot about the pantry over the holidays; how it was begging to be plundered and used to its French fullest. This is how the simple foods for Christmas Day started with a dozen Le Parfait jars, a flurry of forgotten freezer treats, and a hanging ham from the charcuterie closet. We ate, drank, and made merry while I reduced the creative culinary clutter by ...a little. My friend Elaine declared it a Vide Pantry- like a flea market but more delicious.

Normally my pantry fluctuates through the abundant seasons-too many summer confitures, too little foie gras-but there is always a shelf of Spanish tins, mostly seafood-squid ink, anchovies, razor clams, mussel pateéé, and anchovy stuffed olives. This is souvenir booty from my Spanish Hooky days when I hit the supermarket at the border on the way home.

Another shelf features goods from the Basquelandia Road Trips-a supply of Pyrenean smoked trout, piment d’Espelette, finely ground cornmeal for taloak, and my favorite boudin from Banka. The cave gains a bottle of Grassa clementine eau-de-vie and a case or two of bright cider to share.

Last summer’s garden at Camont produced just enough tomatoes to squeak through this month with a tomato rich duck ragu that I made with the carcasses of the last foie gras classes, a few jars of asparagus to velouté into a winter soup, and shavings of ham to float on a classic bean and cabbage garbure. The pork paté shelf is still full and there are enough black-peppered noix de jambon to last through the next Camp Charcuterie course.

I dip into my under the staircase pantry and out comes… a tobacco brown Virginia-style ham I made three years ago. It is a classic American recipe cured with sugar and salt, pepper and heavily smoked. I let it cure and dry over that year. Now was the right time to soak it, boil it, bake it, and share with friends. Little ham sliders were a hit as slivers of salty goodness on some homemade biscuits that Maurine brought to the Christmas feast from her own freezer pantry.  

I managed to reduce my stock of dried fruit: sour cherries, cranberries (Thanks Donna and Bob!), figs, candied mandarins, and prunes as well as chocolate from Chiapas, pine nuts and hazelnuts. All thanks to an easy and delicious panforte recipe from my Italian sister- Judy over at DivinaCucina.com.

The gingerbread cookies elaine made helped to empty the old from the pantry, but because I hadn’t taken a good inventory before we went shopping, we accidently bought more molasses and powdered sugar- enough for next year. But we did use the old first. Even the butter hoarded in the freezer when we all thought there was going to be crise de beurre here went into Stresscake’s Christmas basic butter cookie.

Of all the other great things we ate and shared with friends, my favorite this year might be the simple beef bouillon I served after we brunched all around the kitchen table; after we sat in the little piggery salon and rested while reading a Child’s Christmas in Wales to each other; and when we decided it was time to sit at the dining table and eat just a little bit more of something hot and nourishing and along with some fresh green and bright tasting summer rolls that This Piglet made with the packages of rice wrappers found on a bottom shelf of the pantry. The Bouillon was made when I cooked the beef tongue and oxtail for the Christmas Eve tamales two days before. I squirreled away a couple liters and then just heated it up, added salt and served with slice of baguette and some grated emmental cheese. A sort of French onion soup without the onions. You can make it with any bits of beef and bone you might want to cook for another meal, just reserve some broth and set aside. This is how I made my Christmas bouillon.

Recipe: Beef Bouillon for a Simple Winter Supper

Because I was cooking a beef tongue, I decided to also add an oxtail to enrich the broth with the bones, cartilage and collagen rich meat. I knew this would add another dimension to my broth and the byproduct would be a beefy warming broth. In France, these cuts are considered abats or offal and are sold only at triperies or butchers specializing in tripe and other fifth quarter bits like the stall at the Nerac farmer market.

I used one beef tongue and one oxtail cut into pieces by the butcher. Place the meat and bones into a stock pot just big enough to hold them, some vegetables, and enough water for the soup- 4 liters of finished broth or about 16 cups of soup is enough for 8 people.  So a 8 liter or quart stock pot is just right. Add enough cold water to cover the meat, about 5 liters or so. Then bring to a boil without adding anything else. Salt and seasonings come later.  Skim off the foam that is produce and discard. this will keep the broth clear.

Now add the vegetables that will give flavor and more nutrients to the bouillion. I used two peeled whole carrots, one peeled whole onion studded with 4 cloves, and one large leek, washed and cut into half. Then I took some fresh herbs to make a bouquet garni: 4 bay leaves, celery leaf, parsley, and thyme, tied them with the string, and added it to the pot. I use fresh herbs mostly because my garden at Camont doesn't freeze over and there is always something aromatic growing.

Finish by seasoning- a tablespoon of coarse salt and some black peppercorns is enough to bring up the beefy flavor. Don't over add spices, let the meat and vegetables produce the dominant flavor. Once everything is added, you can cover, turn down the heat, and let simmer for a couple of hours. I used my pressure cooker and let it cook for 45 minutes- the tongue was tender, the meat falling off the bones, and the flavors of the vegetables and herbs were well infused in the stock. 

Remove the meat and vegetables fo other use and then strain the broth through a fine sieve decanting into a few large jars. Refrigerate. When ready to eat, reheat and adjust seasoning tasting for more salt or pepper. Serve in warm bowls with a toasted piece of bread and a handful of grated Emmental cheese on top. 

My motto could be “Opportunistic Living Rules.” It’s a curse and a gift to seize the adventures that pop up on a regular basis, if you keep your eyes open. Opportunistic cooking in the kitchen at Camont is an easy game to play. This is what you can do with one grapefruit.

A grapefruit. Neither local nor cheap. But definitely in season as the imported citrus from Texas or Florida or Israel start to show up in French local supermarkets. I chose two hefty pink grapefruits for morning treats and some fat lemons and two bergamots. After breakfast on Friday where we split one, I told my sister, “don’t throw away the grapefruit rind!”

I cut the fruit into quarters and, not bothering to remove the leftover pulp or membrane, I placed the pieces in a small saucepan, and buried them with a cup of sugar. The next morning, the sugar had melted and I added a cup of water to the pan (1 cup sugar to 1 cup water is a simple syrup) and placed it over a low flame to cook while I made café au lait. Once the juices had bubbled and boiled and started to thicken, I turned off the heat and left the pan to sit all day.

This morning, the peels had absorb most of the syrup, and I removed the softened interior membrane with a spoon before cutting the quarters into strips. After squeezing the pulp with a juicer or press back into the saucepan, add a 1/4 cup of orange blossom honey from Catalunya that was languishing in the bottom of a big jar. I refuse to throw these small bits away, instead I popped the jar into a pan of hot water until it liquefied. Then return this new syrup to the fire, bring to a boil, and reduce slightly.

Now drop the peel strips back into the syrup and let them cool. I was going to just chop up these bits for some fruitcake or other treats but have decided to make some chocolate covered candied peels, too. Pamplemoussettes! But first the candied peels must dry so they are in the oven with the light bulb and fan turning- no heat.

It's not all whole carcass or giant vats of confit around Camont, all the time. Like making a micro-batch of confiture, or a half a recipe of scones, some small fooling around in the kitchen is often enough to keep your creative spirits soaring while other opportunities knock on the kitchen door.

Special little gatherings pepper these winter months and, like freshly ground black pepper, liven our appetite for sharing life with our friends. Take a cue from my own Birthday dinner this week- a table with three delicious plates, doused with a glass of wine and shared with friends and family. My favorite was a most simple presentation of a favored cheese, studded with garlic, dampened with wine, baked, and served warm with toasted bread. We all fell under it's magical spell at our neighborhood gathering spot, Gueuleton in Nerac-Mont d’Or or Vacherin du Haut-Doubs. It's no coincidence that the owner, Benjamin Munoz's father is an expert affineur and cheese monger.

This is the simplest of winter dishes-not even a recipe really-when you are too lazy to cook but crave a warming, rich and satisfying supper.  Mais fais gaffe! This is one of those deceptively easy recipes. ‘Easy’ because there is only one really ingredient- the cheese. ‘Deceptive’ because you must buy a VERY good cheese. Here that means a Mont d’Or or Vacherin du Haut-Doubs- a French raw milk cheese which is near impossible to find outside of France. The Swiss-version Vacherin is made from heat-treated milk on the other side of the border and is exported to speciality shops. Vacherins from both sides of the border are made from winter milk only, with cows fed on hay and before they are turned out to summer Alpine pastures. Sold only between September and May the heyday for a Baked Mont d’Or is these chilly winter evenings when a hot runny cheese, a crispy baguette and a glass of good wine is enough to satisfy even the most demanding gourmand. It made total sense why I love these cheeses when  I realised that in summer they make Comte and Gruyere, respectively, from these same cow’s grass enriched milk. But since there are great local and regional cheeses being made all over the world now, why not find the best local version you can and give this simple winter treat a try. Then when you are in France on some cold winter vacation, you can try the original version.

Baked Mont d’Or

Serves 4

Time 30 minutes total; hot oven at 200’C or 425’F

Ingredients:

• One 350gr Mont d’Or or Vacherin cheese
• One or two cloves of garlic, peeled and split in half
• One half glass of white wine
• Freshly ground black pepper
• One baguette, sliced and toasted

1. Place the Mont d’Or in it’s wooden box on a piece of parchment on a baking tin or in a clay gratin dish.
2. Remove the lid and pierce the top several times with a knife. Push the garlic pieces into some of the holes.
3. Pour the wine over the cheese and let it absorb into the holes.
4. Place the pan in the hot oven at 200’C or 425’F for 20-25 minutes.
5. Remove and place the cheese in its box onto a serving dish.
6. Serve while very hot with the toasted bread.