tomato_kumato

Accidental Hedonist Day!

I know, I know. I really need to stop with the apricot jam. But just bear with me once more… I have to show you these pictures: they’re just too adorable to keep to myself.

The house here in Paziols has room to sleep quite a few: we were 23 for the first session. However, we also have kids come from Monday-Friday, 9-5 for a centre aéré or day camp. The first day campers started coming a few days ago, and they immediately fell in love with their cooking atelier with Patricia. The first project? More jam.

The recipe here is a bit different: instead of Vitpris, the jam is made with equal parts (in weight) of fruit and special sugar for making jam. This way, the girls get to mix a lot more, as the fruit essentially needs to be macerated with the sugar before being cooked.

They copied down the recipe as the jam simmered on the stove top, making a drawing for each step so that they could recreate the French instructions later at home.

I think their favorite step was number 10: lécher la casserole (lick the pot).

Next up… watch the girls make croque monsieur!

(Yes… I’m finally done with the apricots. In any case, the season is almost over… and I think I’ve had my fill.)

It’s hard to believe that it was two years ago that I started this blog.

Two years ago, I had no idea that my life now would be based in France. I had never been to the apartment I now call my home.

I hadn’t even considered writing as a living, and now that’s all I think about.

Two years ago, I lived at home on Long Island, working at a restaurant for most of my life and sleeping off the working for the rest of it. My dinners were often made up of 7-11 slurpees, and when they weren’t, I was desperately trying to learn how to cook.

It’s strange how much more comfortable I am now. I look back to some of my first posts, like this one about cooking for my family, and I remember how scared I was that things wouldn’t turn out the way I wanted them to, that my cooking wouldn’t come out. I worry about that sometimes now, but not nearly as often or as much. Back then, I was worried about whether my salmon would cook through. Now I wonder if the seasonings I used this time will be better than last time.
I thought it appropriate to mark this occasion with something that isn’t necessarily cooking-related, but is food-related. Tomato-related, to be precise. How fitting.

This, and a hard-boiled egg topped with Tabasco pepper sauce (which is my favorite thing in the whole world next to red wine) were my lunch. Note to those of you, like me, who scoff at the idea that older eggs are better for boiling than newer eggs: it’s true. Old hard-boiled eggs don’t like to be peeled. I don’t have a picture of the carnage, but it wasn’t pretty. Half of the egg white came off with the shell, and I had to pick it off with my fingernails. By fingernails, I of course mean, ladylike with a spoon. Yes, of course.

Thank you to all of you out there who have been reading and commenting over the past two years, and even to those of you who have been reading and not commenting. I’m going to take a page out of Brilynn’s book and ask that for this, my second anniversary as a blogger, all of those of you who have been quietly reading and not commenting, choose today as your day to come out of the woodworks and say something, if only your name, so that we can all celebrate together. I know I’m excited for what the next two years (and hopefully more) this blog will bring, and I hope you are too!

When it’s berry season back at home, all that means is that we buy more berries. They are cheaper; we buy more. That’s all.

Not so for apricot season in France.

Apricot season here means that there are apricots sold by the crateful on the side of the road.

Apricot season here means that there is an apricot festival. (Read all about it here, at my travel blog.) ALERT: Shameless pimping of my own blog.

Apricot season in this house means apricot jam, and tons of it. The kids have all rotated in and out of the atelier de cuisine, where Patricia has been teaching them how to make apricot jam. Each kid gets a small pot to take home, and the rest, we dutifully eat every morning.

And sometimes in the evening, atop bowls of fromage frais.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself to remind myself that it isn’t a dream. I live in France, and here, everyone loves food just as much as I do.

As we like to say around here, it’s super-chouette.

Patricia’s Confiture aux Abricots (adapted from Vitpris)

1.4 kg apricots
1.8 kg sugar
20 cl water
one packet (37.6 g) Vitpris*

*Vitpris is a fruit-pectin based product that helps make jam set properly. It basically cuts down cooking time. If you can get your hands on some, it’s great.

Wash the apricots. Take out the apricot pits. Cook the fruit slowly over low heat with the water, covered, stirring gently every once in awhile with a wooden spoon, until the fruit has broken down.

Mix two tablespoons of the sugar with the packet of Vitpris. Sprinkle this mixture over the fruit. Bring to a boil for three minutes, and the add the rest of the sugar. Bring the mixture back up to a boil and boil for three minutes. At the end of cooking time, remove the foam from the top with a skimming spoon.

To eat immediately, simply ladle into clean jars, cover them and turn them upside down until they cool.

EDIT: I have been asked to inform you by Alex (also known as the guy in the picture below) to inform you that Bastille Day is a misnomer. The actual fête nationale in France is called Fête de la Féderation, or Federation Day. Bastille Day was judged as being too bloody a day to remember. Federation Day is a lot prettier. Please inform your friends. Thank you.

Yesterday was Bastille Day (EDIT: Federation Day) here in France, and so the night before (or the veille), we all went to the barbecue (grillade) in the center of the town of Paziols. The usually abandoned space near the pétanque courts was transformed, with the help of long folding tables and strings of twinkle lights, into a beautiful space for a fête.

First, there was the food, which is what you are all here for, I suppose.

There was an apératif of the local muscat (we’re right near Rivesaltes, famous for its sweet white wine.) There was red and white table wine served, without ceremony, in picnic-style pitchers. There were meters of white baguette.

There was an entrée of melon and jambon cru (prosciutto), served with even more muscat poured into the vacant space in the melon for the adults amongst us.

There were pork chops and mustard.

There were also sausages, wedges of Camembert, ice cream and peaches, and though I grabbed a peach at some point during the night, by the time the sausages had come out, we had other things on our minds.

There was dancing.

And more dancing.

And more dancing.

Our time here in Paziols is usually broken up into very specific time slots. We have two different “ateliers” or workshops every day, plus an afternoon and evening activity, and three meals. The first activity starts at 10:00, which means that breakfast starts around 8:00.

Breakfast during the week, as it is in most houses, is a rotating affair, where people sit down to bread, Nutella, jam, tea and coffee in between their other morning activities. At the breakfast table, there are only eight chairs for twenty-three people, but we sit, eat and move with such facility that there is no problem with the lack of seats. There is no exception to this rule, except for Sunday.

Sunday, we have “grasse matinée,” literally translated as “fat morning.” On Sunday mornings, people are allowed to sleep in, and at around 11:00 A.M., when everyone is showered and ready, we all sit down, together, at the table outside that is usually reserved for lunch and dinner.

We order viennoiseries and specialty breads from Tuchan, and so Sunday morning breakfast is croissants, pains au chocolat, brioche, croissants aux amandes, anise bread, la couronne (white bread baked in the shape of a crown), chaussons aux pommes… and whatever else looks good in the morning.

All of it is sliced and placed on platters, and milk and water are heated for chocolat chaud, tea and coffee. Finally, after the table is set and everything is prepared, we all sit along the long table, speaking French and sharing a (stereo)typical French breakfast.

The Canadian loves paella. Check it out at the Accidental Hedonist!

I am back in France. It’s strange and nice at the same time… on the one hand, I’m bored so easily and happy to visit new places, but on the other hand, there’s something about France that brings me back every time.

I’m in Paziols again… and it’s amazing to be back. The pattern of life is really different this year. Firstly, we have more kids. Twelve more, to be exact, and the little ones from last year are the big kids this summer. Secondly, we have Patricia, Anne-Marie’s sister, here as a full-time cook. Which is nice, when you’re cooking for twenty people. Cooking for twenty people scares me.

But my first night here, I did it. I made spaghetti Carbonara (never done that before) for twenty people (also never done that before). And it was good. Really good. I’m not too sure how that happened, but I loved it.

But it’s different from making regular Carbonara.

It takes fourteen eggs.

It takes a kilo of bacon.

Which makes more than a cup of bacon grease.

It takes two kilos of spaghetti.

And it takes two American sous-chefs, of course.

Spaghetti Carbonara for Dix

Boil a massive pot of salted water. Cook two kilos of spaghetti. Meanwhile, cook 1 kilo of bacon, chopped. Drain the grease, and, in two reserved tablespoons, cook two onions, chopped. Add the bacon back to the skillet and keep hot. Whisk fourteen eggs together with salt and black pepper. Add 1 heaping tablespoon of crème fraîche. Add the hot spaghetti and hot onions and bacon to the bowl of eggs, stirring to toss and cook the eggs. Serve with grated cheese on the side.

Leftovers are great placed into a baking dish, topped with 1 cup of grated emmental cheese, and baked in a 350 degree oven until the cheese is melted.

I am very excited to announce that, as of today, I am the new Saturday blogger at Accidental Hedonist!

This is very exciting for me… ever since I started food blogging almost two years ago, I have been reading Kate’s blog. It’s always been so informative and fun, and I feel so privileged to be part of such a great group of writers.

If you want a Tomato Kumato post today (and from now on, on Saturdays), click the link above. I’m so excited for this, and I hope you all are too!

Happy 4th of July!

The other day, I made these pancakes. They were incredible. I put chocolate in them and splurged on real Canadian maples syrup and ate and ate until I wanted to burst.

And I didn’t take any pictures.

I’m sorry, I really am, but the thing is, it was nice, for once in a very long time, to just make something and enjoy it. I stood at the frying pan and scooped pancakes onto the Canadian’s plate (with a fried egg on top, of course), while eating my own right at the counter. I enjoyed them piping hot, not even taking a moment between when they landed, warm and oozing chocolate onto my plate, and picking up my fork for the first bite, to even consider taking a picture.

I made them again a few days later, and this time I actively decided not to take pictures. It’s nice to love cooking just because sometimes, so I know that this means that you out there can’t see the fruits of my labors, but just rest assured that they are just as good as Lis says and that they come highly recommended from me.

And you obsessive food bloggers out there? (Guilty.) Please take a moment to make something, anything, and just enjoy it with whomever you’re eating with. No pictures required.