PEA, MINT & FETA RISOTTO WITH ROASTED TOMATOES AND PARMESAN SCONES

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY...


Fall rain is somehow different from summer rain. June and July were unusually chilly, the days of bright sun alternating with dreary gray, intermittent with rain. We stayed crouched in front of the television, waiting impatiently to begin living the walks and outings, the promises of summer, as we usually do this time of year. And then, as quickly as it disappeared, the sun would make a return appearance and we would enjoy a few more days of lovely weather, as if the rain simply rushed through to cleanse and refresh. Then off I flew to the States where I was greeted by the scorching heat, heat seeping under my skin, clothing pressing to my body like unwanted hands holding tight, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps each time I stepped over the threshold. The heat in Oman was heavier on the skin, pressing, harassing, choking, all the more so for the long sleeves we wore. Short bursts outside followed necessarily by cooling breaks indoors or in the Gulf breeze, icy lemon mint drink in hand.

Gorgeous, welcoming days of autumn fluttered around me upon my return to France. Comforting, cajoling with the promise of long strolls followed by picnics, moods refreshed. Yet since this weekend we sit shivering in the damp chill of the apartment, Marty pacing back and forth between hallway and living room searching desperately for a much-needed and expected ray of sunlight splashing across the carpet, his usual spot for a snooze. To no avail. We scooch on an extra layer of sweaters, sauté onions to be slipped into simmering broth sweetened by warm, plump golden raisins and ladle the liquid gold over steaming couscous, cupping our hands around the toasty bowl as we breathe in the fragrant wisps of comfort. The rain of autumn is unrelenting in its harshness, its all-encompassing moodiness envelops us in dark thoughts, our limbs heavy, our brains soft. No glimmer of hope in a fall drizzle, no hint of sun waiting patiently in the wings. We stare out the window and think that it will never, ever end.


Today, as I glance out at the pewter sky, rooftops hazy in the thick, heavy gloom, I try and conjure up autumns past. Our trip to Italy looms on the horizon, and I am sorely praying for a truly Tuscan autumn. Leaves turning to gold and burnished red, flaming orange pumpkins, porcini and chestnuts in hues of chocolate snuggled side by side with deep purple figs in a festive embrace. Autumn’s colors are romantically deep and moody, the rustle of leaves and the breeze tickling our senses with mystery. Oh, we had rain in Italy, torrential rain, but I choose to remember the beauty that surrounded me on those special days of cool sunshine, impeccably dressed men and women hurrying down Corso Vercelli or heaps upon heaps of artichokes green, jade, violet threatening to tumble from market stalls; the heady scent of Parmesan in tremendous wheels, smoked scamorza and taleggio as Franco and Vittorio shout Buon Giorno! Come Stai? from the brightly lit area behind the chilly cases; as the tortellini and ravioli turn to pumpkin and mushroom and deep purple grapes hang in elegant bunches from the dark foliage spread across our terrace. Yes, the furs and quilted jackets come out, the sun is brilliant and the smell of chestnuts haunts us from every street corner. That is my autumn.

But as the weather turns unexpectedly in its precipitation, I wonder at the urgency, the need to skip entirely over gentle summer, an entire season. I long not for the searing, seething heat of New Orleans, Florida or Oman, but the quiet warmth of the ideal summer, of long days with windows flung open, feet up, our moods as relaxed and calm as the weather. I dream not of a torrid, aggressive, sweltering canicule as we have know so well in another life, but a temperate, peaceful turning towards autumn. Suitcases emptied of beachwear and shorts; sandals flung into the closet as sunglasses are tucked into etuis, I have been digging out thicker knits, shrugging on fleece and trying to squeeze into trousers not worn for a year. Happily, we drive down to Italy so I can stuff my biggest suitcase with a wide selection of summery, fall and cold weather outfits, shoes and coats galore, whatever I might possibly need. But I pray for a cold, crisp, bright autumn. And the food that goes with it.


But for now, until them, I hold onto summer in the kitchen. The bright reds, greens and brilliant white of the clean, fresh foods of a hot weather season bring cheer to the gloom, warmth to the icy bleakness and visions of Mediterranean islands. Slow roasted cherry tomatoes are fruity and smoky, peas sweet and tender, aromatic mint a breath of outdoors, feta adding saltiness and zing to salads, pizzas and pasta. I bring the three together in a dish to warm us up on a chilly day in a damp apartment and it works wonders! Risotto is soothing and comforting and I pop the traditional Risi e Bisi (Rice and Kisses), Pea Risotto, by adding lots of chopped fresh mint and crumbled feta to the mix instead of parsley and Parmesan and serve it with sweet, tangy roasted cherry tomatoes, an extra flavor boost. Served with fluffy scones rich with Parmesan cheese and a bottle of red wine and the meal is complete. And we sit back, warmed and satisfied and dream of Italy.


Don’t miss my latest article on Huffington Post Food in which I analyze The Disappearing Pause Déjeuner, a veritable family tradition in France.

And if you haven’t yet voted, there is still time. Life’s a Feast is up for a Blogger’s Choice Award in the category Best Food Blog. Every vote counts and I would greatly appreciate yours!


Last but certainly not least, visit our new From Plate to Page website. Keep up to date on our workshops and don’t miss one single guest post from our illustrious and talented guests, each a professional food writer, stylist or photographer, who have come to Plate to Page to generously share their story, experiences and views on the evolution of their profession.


PEA, MINT & FETA RISOTTO WITH ROASTED CHERRY TOMATOES


1 small onion, finely diced
3 Tbs (45 g) unsalted butter
1 Tbs olive oil
1 ½ - 2 cups young, tiny sweet peas, fresh or frozen
@ 5 cups (1 ½ litres) chicken or vegetable stock, warm
9 oz (250 g) round rice for risotto, Arborio, Vialone Nano or Carnaroli
Handful of chopped fresh mint
3.5 – 5 oz (100 – 150 g) chopped or crumbled Greek feta
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Firm cherry tomatoes, about 4 or 5 per person
2 Tbs olive oil
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
3 peeled and crushed (not chopped) garlic cloves
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Begin by roasting the cherry tomatoes:

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Place the individual quiche tins on a baking sheet.

Stir together 2 tablespoons olive oil with 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar in a glass baking dish or pie plate. Season with a little salt and pepper and add 2 peeled and crushed garlic cloves. Toss the cherry tomatoes into the flavored oil and roast for about 20 minutes or until the skins are split and shriveled and the tomatoes start to show signs of roasting (a bit golden). If you like, turn on the overhead grill for the last couple of minutes to color. Remove from the oven and allow to cool while preparing the rest.

Prepare the Risotto:

Heat half the butter and the olive oil in a large skillet. Add the chopped onion and, stirring, cook for a couple of minutes until softened and just starting to turn golden. Add the peas and a few tablespoons of the warm stock and cook for a few minutes to defrost the frozen peas or up to 10 minutes for fresh peas until tender.

Add the rice and toss with the shallots and peas until all the grains are coated in oil. Cook for a minute or two until the grains of rice become more translucent. Pour on two ladlefuls of broth and cook, stirring continuously and gently, until the liquid is almost completely absorbed. Continue cooking the risotto over medium heat, adding 2 ladlefuls of broth at a time, stirring constantly and allowing each addition of liquid to be almost absorbed before adding more broth. This should take between 20 and 25 minutes total cooking time from the moment the rice is added to the peas.

A few minutes before the rice is done, stir in a large handful of chopped fresh mint and the chopped or crumbled feta, more or less as you please. Taste and add a bit of salt only as needed – the stock and the feta are both salty so taste to see if any additional salt is necessary. Add pepper.

When the risotto is finished, the rice should be meltingly tender, the risotto creamy and smooth. Remove from the heat and stir in the remaining butter. Serve with the warm roasted cherry tomatoes and the Parmesan Scones.


PARMESAN SCONES
Adapted from the Sept-Oct 2011 French Saveurs magazine


10 ½ oz (300 g) flour
1 sachet (0.4 oz/11 g) baking powder
1 tsp salt
7/8 cup (200 ml) heavy cream
3 ½ oz (100 g) grated Parmesan
2 Tbs milk for brushing the tops of the scones

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Blend the flour, baking powder, salt and grated Parmesan cheese together in a mixing bowl and make a well in the center. Pour the cream into the well and, using a fork, stir together rapidly until the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough begins pulling together. Scrape out onto a floured surface and knead quickly until the dough is smooth and homogenous.

Roll out the dough to a thickness of about ¾ - 1 inch but no more (about 1 ½ - 2 cm) and use a biscuit cutter to cut rounds about 2 inches wide (about 5 cm). Place the rounds of dough on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet, gather the rest of the dough together, roll out again, and finish cutting into rounds.

Lightly brush the tops of each scone with milk and bake for 15 minutes until puffed up and the tops are golden. Remove from the oven and allow to cool just a bit before serving. With butter, of course.

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MUSHROOM & CARAMELIZED ONION QUICHE

ONE FOR THE BOY


I hadn’t baked in several days. Or has it been weeks? The chill that has hijacked summer along with the damp seeping into the apartment uninvited has sapped my energy and my baking mojo seems to have withered and died a slow, numbing death. But deprivation seems to have woken something animal in my son, the one who complains of too much cake being shoved down his throat, the one who implores day after day that I leave him and his friends alone, to stop coming into his bedroom while they work bearing plate upon plate of baked goods. The one who always has unannounced (to me) plans for dinner, leaving me with too much on my hands and Tupperware containers full of uneaten scraps. He and Valentin, who has moved in for the month of June, spend their days in the back bedrooms working on end-of-the-school-year projects and various work assignments. They occasionally wander out of the darkness and into our half of the apartment looking for something to eat, often finding the cupboard – and refrigerator - bare. JP and I finally strapped on our safety helmets and buckled on our humor jackets, grabbed the stack of baskets and bags and made our way to the grocery store, ready to forage, hunt and gather what to feed a small family up and down the savage, untamed aisles of our local hypermarché, hoping to stave off hunger and save the young. But apparently it was not enough for the young cub. The same old same old provisions piled up around him and tumbled out a refrigerator door opened much too quickly: packs of ravioli and tortellini, cured meats and ham, cheeses and yogurts just weren’t enough to soothe the savage beast. He was bored and indignant! And with teeth bared, he spit out his displeasure at always either having too much or not enough or simply not what he craved! I was indeed a bad mother!


As the sun threatened to break through the clouds and illuminate the steely skies, as the wind died down just briefly enough to give us hope, something stirred deep down inside of me that put me back in the mood to bake. Or maybe it was a mother’s base instinct to nourish her offspring. I don’t know. But whatever it was grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into Clem’s bedroom where I asked, “What would you like me to bake?” My baby boy, my darling son looked at me, eyes quickly darting back and forth on the lookout for imminent danger, glancing up at me then down in embarrassment. “Mom,” he asked, “can you make something savory?”

"Please, sir, I want some more." from Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

As the school year winds down and the students filter slowly out of town one by one, as the boys work diligently on their models and designs, they have indeed been eating dinner with us more and more often, actually getting a kick out of their evenings in. They have enjoyed both of JP’s lasagnas, engaging in and appreciating the lively conversation with the “old folks”, even doing the washing up when the meals were done. Well, almost. Scratching the old noggin, I searched my brain high and low for an idea, any idea, of what to make. A baker more than a cook, I scrolled through my usual repertoire of savory goodies, and a wonderful thought struck me! On our recent visit to an old friend of JP’s, his wife had prepared a fabulous rustic Mushroom Quiche, studded with smoked bacon, rich with cheese and browned to an invitingly golden crust. Her deep-dish quiche was succulent, flavorful and comforting; served with a crisp green salad, it made for the perfect meal eaten under the trees, in the waning sunlight in the cool of the garden. Clem always loved a good quiche, the gourmand in him reveling in the creamy cheesiness at once both homey and sumptuous. He has gobbled down my Zucchini Ricotta Feta Tart and adored my Clafoutis of Ratte Potatoes, Asparagus and Bleu d’Avergne. He loves a good old-fashioned Quiche Lorraine, which I make following my brother’s recipe. Tender, flakey crust, cheesy goodness (for the cheese fanatic that he is) thick with fresh cream and rich in eggs, a quiche is a wondrous thing, enough to sate a young cub yet served with a crisp garden salad a satisfying yet light meal for everyone. And I was determined to put this favorite back on the menu.

I decided to take the idea of a Mushroom Quiche yet replace the smoked bacon with golden caramelized onions and lots of them! Add to that a couple of healthy handfuls of nutty emmenthal or gruyère cheese and the whole dusted generously with freshly grated Parmesan. Needless to say, my Caramelized Onion-Mushroom Quiche was a hit with the guys who then happily heated up and enjoyed the last remaining slices for lunch the following day as well. Now what to make next….?



JP still threatens … tempts me with a weeklong bike trip up the historic and picturesque Nantes-Brest Canal. Purchases must be made: a bike for me, ponchos for the ever-possible downpour, saddlebags in which to pack our meager provisions and enough snacks to fill up at least one saddlebag (if he complains then none for him!). Preparations made while we wait for the return of pleasant, summery weather, if indeed our brief hint of summer has not already ceded her place to an early, overly ambitious autumn at the ready to muscle her way in and stay.


(Update: as you read this, I will be on the road! Nervous and excited but it should be a fun adventure! I hope to be keeping in touch via twitter, so make sure you are following @lifesafeast to hear all about what we are up to, what we are seeing, what we are eating and any exploits, happenings, encounters, ordeals and escapades we may have... and both young men have passed all their exams with flying colors!)

SAVORY CARAMELIZED ONION & MUSHROOM QUICHE

Short crust pastry for one 9- or 10-inch pie plate (recipe follows), prebaked

2 medium yellow onions, cut in half and thinly sliced
11 to 14 oz (300 to 400 g) white mushrooms, cleaned, trimmed and sliced
2 – 3 Tbs (30 – 45 g) butter for sautéing
Salt and freshly ground black pepper.
5 large eggs
1 ½ cups mixture of light or heavy cream and whole milk
¾ tsp salt
Generous grinding of black pepper
¼ tsp ground nutmeg
About ½ to 1 Tbs unsalted butter
About 1 cup grated gruyère, emmenthal or Swiss cheese (full-flavored & nutty)
2 – 3 Tbs freshly grated Parmesan

Prepare the Short Crust Pastry:

1 3/4 cups (245 g) flour
¾ tsp salt
½ tsp sugar
12 ½ Tbs (180 g) unsalted butter
6 Tbs cold water

Place the flour, salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl. Add the cubes of butter, tossing to coat with flour so they don’t stick together. Using the tips of your fingers and thumbs, rub the butter and flour together rapidly as if pushing the butter into the flour until the mixture is crumbly and it resembles damp sand. Do not overwork this mixture as the butter will melt and start to clump; it will be blended better later.

Add about 4 tablespoons of the cold water and blend vigorously with a fork. Add more water, as much as needed, onto the dry flour and continue to stir up from the bottom until all of the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough begins pulling together in a shaggy ball.

Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface. With the heel of one hand, rapidly smear and push the dough onto the surface and away from you, about a tablespoon of dough at a time, smearing it onto the work surface. This will complete the blending of the butter and the flour.

Scrape the dough up and gather it into a ball. Knead gently and briefly, just enough to make a smooth, homogenous ball of dough. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate until firm enough to roll out easily, about 15 minutes.

Lightly butter a quiche or tart pan (if using the smaller diameter, make sure the sides of the pan are higher/deeper). I used a 9-inch wide x 2-inch deep (23 x 5 cm) tart pan.

Roll out the dough on a well-floured work surface to fit the pie tin. Gently lift and fit into the pie tin, lifting and pressing the dough into the corners. Crimp the edges and trim. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for 30 minutes. Prick the bottom and sides with a fork before baking.

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C). Remove the plastic and place a square of parchment or oven paper in the shell and weigh down with dried beans or pastry weights. Bake for 8 or 9 minutes then remove from the oven. Carefully (so as not to burn yourself) lift out the parchment and beans and return the shell to the oven for an additional 5 to 8 minutes or until pale and light golden brown. Remove from the oven to a cooling rack or wooden cutting board.


Lower the oven temperature to 375°F (190°C).

Prepare the Quiche Filling:

Slice the onions thin and chop into large dice. Heat a skillet, melt about a tablespoon of butter and sauté the onions over medium-low to medium heat, stirring often, until golden and tender. If you like, add about half a teaspoon of sugar to the onions to help the caramelization process. Scrape the caramelized onions onto a plate or bowl and add another tablespoon butter to the skillet. When the butter is melted, add half the mushrooms, salt and pepper, then, stirring often, cook until sautéed and tender. Remove from the skillet and repeat with the rest of the butter and mushrooms.


Spread the caramelized onions in the prebaked shell then cover with the mushrooms. Cover evenly with the grated gruyère, emmenthal or Swiss cheese.


In a large mixing bowl, whisk the eggs until lightly beaten. Whisk in the cream and milk along with the salt, pepper and nutmeg until well combined. Pour this over the vegetables in the tart shell. Sprinkle with as much or as little of the grated Parmesan as you like, dot with small bits of butter then bake for about 40 minutes or until slightly puffed, a deep golden and set.


Remove from the oven, allow to cool briefly then serve with a garden salad and a loaf of bread.

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ZUCCHINI RICOTTA FETA TART

LITTLE ELVES IN THE NIGHT


Who doesn’t remember the lovely Grimm Brothers’ Christmas story about the poor shoemaker? “(He) worked very hard and was very honest: but still he could not earn enough to live upon; and at last all he had in the world was gone, save just leather enough to make one pair of shoes.” He carefully cut out the leather for one last pair of shoes and lovingly laid the pieces out on his workbench before retiring for the night. “His conscience was clear and his heart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed, left all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after he had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his great wonder, there stood the shoes all ready made, upon the table.”

Of course, one night he decides to wait up, hoping to surprise whoever was sneaking into his workshop and making the beautiful shoes in his place. And, lo and behold, he spies 2 little elves, merry as can be, rushing into the workshop, “stitching and rapping and tapping away at such a rate, that the shoemaker was all wonder, and could not take his eyes off them.” Until, just at the break of day, the shoes finished, off they bustle as quick as lightening.


Well, I have elves. They may not be naked (the shoemaker makes little clothes to thank his elves for their help), or at least I hope they are not if they are sitting on either my kitchen chairs or livingroom sofa, and they may not whip up a gorgeous pair of shoes or even a cake for me to discover the following morning, but elves they are, silent as the night, tiptoeing into the kitchen at the stroke of midnight (or later) and helping this housewife clean out her refrigerator. Yes, they devour great quantities of food, leftovers, macarons by the dozen, bowls of pasta and slices of cold pizza, even surreptitiously making bottles of wine disappear. I am sure that they feel that they are doing me a favor, and happy mother I am knowing that no little elves are going hungry, but darn if I’m not anxious to do as the poor shoemaker and his wife and stay up all night concealed behind the curtains hoping to catch our own little elves in the act of selfless gorging that they do so kindly on my behalf.

And last night was no different. I had carefully wrapped up the last slices of the delicious Zucchini Ricotta Feta Tart and placed them in the refrigerator before I took myself off to bed. This morning I awoke and straggled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, and put the water for coffee on to boil. Breakfast table laid, husband joined me and we began the breakfast dance, the ritual around the morning meal, the same foods, the same gestures, sharing the first words, the first smiles, the first laughter of the day. And that was when I noticed it: the tart pan sitting alone and empty on the countertop. Tonnerre de tonnerre! It happened again! Sapristi the elves have struck again!

"Good morning, darling, what would you like for breakfast today?"

2 young gentlemen, architecture students both, sometimes joined by a third, spending evenings sitting at desks side by side, working on projects of paper and cardboard and glue and scissors, or clicking and clacking away on their computers, images twisting and turning and floating on screen, far into the night and often into the wee hours of the morning. Like little elves, working best in the dark quiet of night away from parental prying eyes. Growing boys, needing energy to push those brains to work long hours, needing nourishment to keep their bodies going, young men singing along to the music echoing in the night feeling a hunger sneak up and rumble low in their tummies, a hunger growing, disturbing their thoughts. A sign passes between them, a look, a nod of the head, and off they go, tiptoeing silently from one end of the house to the other, past the dog (Pray that he does not wake and, anxious to join them for a midnight snack, begin to bark!) and they slip noiselessly into the kitchen. Foraging in the refrigerator, savory or sweet or even a little of both, making no noise with the cutlery or as they slide one ceramic plate off the shelf at a time, slicing the knife through a dense slice of chocolate cake or cutting off sliver after sliver of rich Zucchini Ricotta Tart, tangy with feta and cool with mint. Silent as the shadows, they eat to their hearts’ content and, tummies full, off they skip back to their little elves’ lair to finish their own important work or, if not, simply to close their books and put away their pencils and crawl off to bed.

Feeding all of the little architecture student elves of Nantes...

Now, if those little elves would only do the dishes!


Mother’s Day has once again come and gone and Son #1, whom I thought had forgotten the day, arrived in the afternoon arms filled with beautiful plants, a kitchen garden: mint and rosemary, basil and chives. Lovely, just lovely. Thank you, Clem.

I am sending this delicious tart to Ivonne of Creams Puffs in Venice for her Magazine Mondays!


ZUCCHINI RICOTTA TART with feta and mint
From June 2010 Saveurs magazine (Tarte aux Courgettes, Feta et Ricotta)

Short crust pastry for one 8- or 9-inch pie plate (recipe follows), chilled
2 medium zucchini
7 oz (200 g) ricotta (I used fresh ewe’s milk ricotta)
7 oz (200 g) feta cheese
2 large eggs
A few branches of mint (about 2 Tbs or so chopped leaves)
Olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper


Make the short crust pastry and wrap in plastic and place in the refrigerator to chill so it will be easier to roll out.

Before preparing the filling, roll the pastry out to fit in your buttered pie tin, press it into the tin, trim and poke all over with a fork. Place back in the refrigerator while you prepare the filling.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Wash and trim the zucchini. Slice into ¼-inch coins. Sauté the zucchini, one layer at a time, in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil. Lightly brown each batch on one side, flip the slices, salt and pepper and continue cooking for a few minutes until lightly browned on the bottom and the zucchini is tender. Continue until all of the zucchini is golden and tender. Allow to drain on paper towels.

In a large mixing bowl, beat the ricotta using a whisk or a wooden spoon until smooth. Add the eggs and continue whisking or beating until well blended and smooth. Chop the feta until small cubes and add to the bowl, beating in until part of the feta has dissolved into the mixture and is creamy and part are left in small chunks. Finely chop or scissor cut the mint in a glass. Add to the cheese mixture with salt and pepper to taste.


Remove the pie shell from the refrigerator. Line the bottom of the shell with about half or a bit less of the zucchini slices. Pour the ricotta, feta, mint mixture in the shell and spread evenly. Place the rest of the zucchini slices all over the top of the cheese mixture, slightly overlapping.

Bake in the preheated oven for 35 – 40 minutes. The filling should be slightly puffed up and firm to the touch (like a quiche) and golden around the edges. Remove from the oven and allow to cool slightly, allowing the tart to settle.

Serve with a mixed green salad or fresh, ripe, sweet tomatoes with a tart vinaigrette. And a glass of wine.


SHORT CRUST PASTRY perfect for savory tarts and quiches
From Mastering the Art of French Cooking (by you know who, of course)

5 oz (150 g) flour
Scant ½ tsp salt
Big pinch of sugar
4 oz (120 g) unsalted butter, cubed
4 – 4 ½ Tbs cold water

Place the flour, salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl. Add the cubes of butter, tossing to coat with flour so they don’t stick together. Using the tips of your fingers and thumbs, rub the butter and flour together rapidly as if pushing the butter into the flour until the mixture is crumbly and it resembles oatmeal. Do not overwork this mixture as the butter will melt and start to clump; it will be blended better later.

Add about 3 tablespoons of the cold water and blend very quickly with a fork. Add more water, as much as needed, onto the dry flour and continue to stir up from the bottom until all of the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough begins pulling together.

Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface. With the heel of one hand, rapidly smear and push the dough onto the surface and away from you, about a tablespoon of dough at a time, smearing it onto the work surface. This will complete the blending of the butter and the flour.

Scrape the dough up and gather it into a ball. Knead gently and briefly just enough to make a smooth, homogenous ball of dough. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate until firm enough to roll out easily.

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QUINOA RISOTTI WITH ASPARAGUS and Parmesan Tuiles

DAY 1: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE…

Quinoa Risotto with Asparagus and Parmesan Tuiles

He’ll do whatever it takes, pay any price, to be able to savor the sight of me lacing up hiking boots, sliding into my padded, taupe-colored coat and have me tromp along beside him out in the country, in the fresh air, wind whipping my hair, bringing color to my cheeks. He has sacrificed many pleasures at the alter of his love for me, abandoned days at the beach, splashing through the waves, hikes up mountainsides in the chill summer air, camping along rivers’ edges, an ice cold dip in the sparkling waters before starting his day. This city boy born and bred who fell in love with Mother Nature, who revels in her wild beauty, has given up his first love to one raised a mere stone’s throw from the beach, one whose childhood was spent running barefoot in the hot, hot sun under clear blue skies untarnished by the glare of city buildings, a view all the way to the ocean from her back windows yet one who prefers city to country, bustling streets to tranquil Edens, one who loathes camping and water, one who failed miserably as a Girl Scout.

L'Auberge des Montagnes, Pailherols, France

So he’ll promise me romantic country inns, elegantly rustic, woo me with gourmet meals, meals set out on pristine white tablecloths, candlelight flickering in crystal wine glasses. He’ll hint of luxurious desserts, sumptuous chocolate treats under a froth of Chantilly or the satin shimmer of the perfect crème brulée hidden under her crispy, fragile, pale gold wrapping. He’ll whisper of quiet strolls over meadows hand in hand, picnics rustled up in village markets, delicious spreads of local delicacies eaten among the flowers. He’ll find the perfect spot and lure me with glossy photos and romance in his eyes. And I’m taken in.

Leaving the impersonal barrenness of the highway, we wind our way up through towns once busy, passing now-crumbling hotels and boarded up bistros once offering the pre-autoroute traveler respite from the long, snowy journey, our road growing ever narrower, spotting cows here and there whenever the shady coolness and wild beauty open up to clear green pastures, cows chewing contentedly in the sunshine and warmth, and we find ourselves in a picture-postcard village boasting artisan cheeses and promising a luxurious, peaceful haven. Our hotel offers us a quiet welcome, all warm chocolate browns and cozy country atmosphere right out of the pages of a women’s magazine, “charming” and “quaint” fluttering through my brain. We settle into a room of rough-hewn wood and blood red calico, heart-shaped throw pillows edged in lace soon tossed off the bed, abandoned. The window is flung open and we breathe in the lusty mountain air.


We wake each morning to bright sunshine and clear skies and, after breakfast, lace up those hiking boots, slide into the padded coats, grab camera and notebook and step outside. Step outside to the sun on our upturned faces, soft blue skies and that heady, sour smell of cows. Breathe in and welcome it though it may bite, sting just a bit, but don’t you know that those cows produce the wonderful Salers and Cantal cheeses of the region, and when you look out over the paysage, the countryside, over the rocky terrain and the grass in muted shades of browns and greens you see how the sharp, nutty, wild taste of these cheeses is born of this, the flavors reflecting both the scents and the wildness of what you are staring at and you understand how nature works. And up we walk, pausing occasionally to take in the beauty or wander under barbed wire to visit one or another ancient, rickety buron, the sheds built in the middle of cow pastures, shelters for both cows and farmers during the cold, snowy winters of this mountainous region, a place where the cows could be milked and that milk turned into cheese. All are empty in this beautiful spring season and some seem abandoned, all rotting wood and crumbling stone. The lush grass and the dirt paths are dotted with the first signs of the coming summer, tiny crocuses in white and mauve pushing their heads up through the ground drawn to the sun and warmth and we try to tiptoe around them, fearful of crushing even one. And we walk up and up, nearly to the snow, the last spots of snow loathe to let go of winter.


And down again. Mr. Nature leads me weaving through fields and pastures, over hills and tiny rivulets running clear and cold, as he rambles on, telling tales of his time working in this region, recounting the history of the region, and we chatter on about life and travels, politics and family. We peep through cracks in the old wooden doors of the burons, stop whenever we hear a bird, and, now tired and hungry we try and wend our way back. And notice that we’ve wandered a bit off course as we shade our eyes and peer off into the distance to villages on some distant horizon. We soon stumble upon a small group of houses and see a man and a woman rebuilding a stone wall edging their property. “What’s the quickest way to get back to the village?” “Oh circle around behind the farmhouse and just walk straight across the fields. It’s all right! Go ahead! Tout droit!” So we do. Down, down, down and then we come face to face with barbed wire, a line of trees and brambles and a river. No friendly, quaint little rivulet but a river. Ok, maybe just a few yards wide but a river nonetheless. Once, twice, three times we try. Under barbed wire, over barbed wire, pushing aside brambles and breaking off branches and hopping from stone to stone yet realizing too late each time that this path will get us nowhere. Once, twice, three times and Jamie is getting hungrier and grouchier and grumbling rude remarks under her breath as she tries to put on a brave face and remain calm. Finally after one, two, three failed expeditions to cross the river, she finally blows her top, gathers herself together and decides that it is time to take charge. Her inner Girl Scouts kicks in and she, shoes sticky with mud and cow pie, she stomps back through the field and along the river, husband trailing after her, until she finds what looks to her the best solution. Pushing the barbed wire out of her way, tossing her backpack across the water ahead of her, grabbing a branch, she hurtles herself over the water and onto the other side. Sliding under another barbed fence she calls “Here! Over here! And don’t argue just follow me, dammit!” And we are over! Only one more field, one barb-wired-edged stone wall to face and we are homeward bound. Calm again, as calm as the breeze.


A quick stop at the local bar for sandwiches of thick slices of local Cantal nestling in a soft, chewy baguette, we are back at the hotel and pulling off boots and sliding into bed for an afternoon nap.

And the afternoon slides lazily into evening and another meal of local specialties like Pounti aux pruneaux and Cromesqui de cantal followed by a cloud of fromage frais under a tomato coulis served with smoked salmon, perfectly cooked fish, veal or beef and a delicious dessert. A clink of wine glasses and the calm and tranquility of our day roll over us. And off we tumble to bed happy and looking forward to the following day.


QUINOA RISOTTO WITH ASPARAGUS, Parmesan Tuiles and grilled Coppa
From mai 2010 issue of Saveurs. Translated and adapted by Jamie

A recipe to lighten the load and cleanse body and soul after a wonderful, food-filled vacation. I am sending this to Ivonne of Cream Puffs in Venice for Magazine Monday.

9 oz (250 g) quinoa
2 Tbs olive oil
1 onion, diced
½ cup (125 ml) dry white wine
4 cups (1 litre) chicken stock or bouillon
7 oz (200 g) asparagus tips or @17 oz (500 g) thin green asparagus *
2 – 4 Tbs (30 – 60 g) unsalted butter
¼ - ½ cup (20 – 40 g) freshly grated Parmesan or to taste, a bit extra to serve
Salt and freshly ground black pepper


1 thin slice coppa or speck person (3 or 4)
½ cup (40 g) or more freshly grated Parmesan for Tuiles


* I cooked the 500 g of asparagus, used the tips in the risotto and added the tender stalks cut into 1-inch (2 cm) pieces to a salad the following day.

Prepare the bouillon or stock and keep it warm. Pour one wineglass of wine for the risotto and one for you to sip as you cook. Peel and dice the onion.

Trim the asparagus if you have whole stalks: break off the hard bottom inch or two then, using a paring knife or vegetable peeler very carefully just trim off the tough outer skin on the bottom of the remaining stalk. Bring a large pot filled with a few inches of water to the boil, add salt and boil the asparagus for 3 minutes. Drain and rinse with cool water.

Prepare the Parmesan Tuiles:
Heat a large non-stick pan or crêpe pan over medium/medium-high heat. While it is heating up, place piles – a tablespoon or two depending on the desired diameter of the Tuiles – of grated Parmesan cheese on the pan surface leaving space between the piles for them to spread. Using the back of a soup spoon, simply press the grated cheese out into a circle keeping the cheese a little thickly layered so it doesn’t burn. Heat for just a few minutes: the cheese will melt and bubble joyously. As soon as the edges begin to brown, turn off the heat and allow the Tuiles to sit and cool in the pan. Do not allow them to turn brown or cook too long or the cheese will become bitter. The Tuiles will firm up as they cool. Once cooled and firm, very gently lift them up with a thin metal cake spatula and remove them to a plate.


Prepare the Grilled Coppa or Speck:
Simply heat up the non-stick pan or crêpe pan (wipe it down with a paper towel if you have made the Parmesan Tuiles first) and grill the coppa or slices of speck for a few minutes on each side. They should change color and show spots of golden brown where they touch the pan. Remove to a plate (they should also firm up once left to cool).

Prepare the Quinoa Risotto:

Rinse the quinoa under cold running water until the water runs clear. Allow to drain completely.


In a large skillet, heat the olive oil then add the diced onion and sautée for 5 minutes until soft and translucent and beginning to turn golden around the edges. Add the quinoa and stir until coated with the oil and the onions are blended in. Add the glass of white wine and stir. Allow to come to a low boil and simmer until the wine has all but been absorbed.

Begin adding the chicken stock, 2 ladles at a time, stirring to keep the quinoa from sticking. Allow the quinoa to absorb the stock and then add a couple more ladles. Continue cooking and adding stock until the quinoa is cooked through, tender though with a little bite to it, and the stock is absorbed. This should take between 20 – 25 minutes. When the quinoa is just about but not quite cooked, after about 20 minutes of cooking, slip in the asparagus points pushing them gently under the surface of the risotto, add a generous grinding of black pepper and just a dash of salt (depending on how salty your stock is).

When the quinoa is cooked through, gently stir in the butter and grated Parmesan to taste (you don’t want to overpower the delicate flavor of the asparagus). Check and adjust the seasonings.

Serve the risotto hot with one Parmesan Tuile and one slice of grilled coppa per person.


This dish easily serves 2 hungry eaters as a main course or 4 as a starter or a side dish.

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