Five Things I Must Eat and Five Blogs I Must Read

I am still very new to food blogging, but I was pleased that Christine of Christine Cooks invited me to participate in a meme. She has a lovely blog with dazzling photos and good recipes and along with several other bloggers has been a source of inspiration and encouragement.

I am humbled to be asked to participate. And a bit embarrassed at my ignorance. I hope I am doing this correctly.

The question is: What five things must you eat before you die?

Clotted Cream in Devon: One of my favorite mystery novels is Dorothy McArdle’s “The Uninvited,” which was made into a movie with Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey. In the book, they eat clotted cream. I want some, too.

Ratatouille in Provence: I want to eat my favorite comfort food prepared in a French kitchen in France. I did make some ratatouille on a recent visit to the Lot Valley, but I want someone else to make it for me, preferably somewhere along the coast.

A meal served with Scaggs’ Wine, somewhere in the Napa Valley: I am a huge fan of Boz Scaggs and his music and I have heard he is currently perfecting his own wine. If the wine is as good as the music and as charismatic as the man, the meal won’t matter.

Bread from Poilane, purchased on Rue du Cherche Midi in Paris: I inherited the French bread-eating gene, and cannot go a day without eating bread, preferably at breakfast. My choices are limited at home, but on my next trip to Paris, I will make a beeline for Poilane. Who can resist a bakery located on a street called “Seeking the Midday Sun?”

Lemons in Menton: This beautiful city on the Italian border is on my list of places to visit within the next two years. I love lemons anyway.

As Christine points out, such lists have a tendency to become travelogues, too. For many of us, I suspect food and travel are inextricably linked.

Blog Day 2006

I found out last night it was Blog Day 2006. In the interests of promoting blogging, showcasing the work of others, and sharing ideas and cultures, all bloggers are asked to spotlight five other blogs. Here is my list, in no particular order:

Frugal Cuisine is a no-nonsense blog out of Edmonton, Alberta. The blogger, known as Pepper, focuses on how to eat well for $2-3 a day. Among the recent features are peach and cantelope soup, chair and coconut-ginger macha ice cream and blueberry soup with polenta and chevre.

Another blog I read daily is Lucy’s Kitchen Notebook out of Lyon, France. The photographs are large and lovely. The writing is exquisite. I like that the blogger, Lucy, is an American living in France with her husband, seemingly following in the footsteps of M.F.K. Fisher and Julia Child. There are layers to this blog. Lucy has an eye and an ear and a nose for detail. It’s about food, to be sure, but it’s not just about food.

A blog that is not completely about food is Under a Blue Moon. It’s quirky and well written and the photography dazzles me and it’s just plain fun.

Food Prints is of recent vintage and features Asian food from an anonymous blogger based in Singapore. It’s just lovely to look at, and the writing and approach is sincere. I like that.

The other blog I read is Christine Cooks and I want to thank her for citing this blog on hers.

Also, thanks to Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, who did the same. I like her emphasis on lower glycemic eating.

Salade de Soleil

On my birthday last month I wanted to do what I wanted to do: Putter in the kitchen. Make a good meal of all the things I like. Experiment.

I made a wonderful chicken Provençal from a Georgeanne Brennan recipe and served it with roasted green beans and balsamic-vinegar-glazed purple onions.

We enjoyed it.

But the quickly thrown together, palate-cleansing salad resulted in raves. I’ve never seen my husband so ecstatic over one of my salads. The key ingredients — tomato and lemon basil — were growing right outside my door.

Salade de Soleil seemed like a good name for it because it truly tastes like sunshine. I did not use a recipe, only instinct, although I know there is nothing terribly original about it.

Salade de Soleil for Two

3-4 Roma tomatoes, sliced thin
One tablespoon chopped lemon basil
¼ cup cubed Provolone, Feta and Parmesan cheeses
Dash coarse sea salt
Dash herbes de Provence
One Tablespoon olive oil

Layer tomatoes on two small plates. Sprinkle basil and cheese on top. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and herbes. Serve immediately for a taste of sunny Provence.

A Very Cherry Dessert

Michigan, my home state, is the country’s largest producer of cherries.

Wisconsin is right up there, with the beautiful Door Peninsula still home to many ancient orchards lined with gnarled cherry trees.

Cherry country in this area of the Great Lakes is known for small villages filled, lamentably, with many tourist attractions but also with good wineries and comfortable inns. And of course, cherries, which are used in all manner of cakes, tea breads, muffins, pancakes, waffles, salads, dressings and scones.

Here is an easy cherry dessert that is similar to dump cake, but which deserves a more elegant name.

The Dessert

Four cups frozen cherries or three cans of cherry pie filling
One package cake mix, any flavor
Two cups chopped walnuts or pecans
Two sticks of non-salted butter, melted.

Pre-heat oven to 350. Spread the cherries in a 13 x 9 inch rectangular pan. Next, add the dry cake mix, distributing evenly. Drizzle melted butter over cake mix, reserving some. Sprinkle with nuts and top with remaining melted butter. Bake for about 50 minutes until the top is golden brown. Serve with whip cream, ice cream or alone. A small piece is very satisfying.

Adam's (Marinated and Barbecued) Ribs

My husband has made it his life’s mission to create the perfect recipe for pork ribs.

For years, he tried and discarded numerous coatings, marinades and rubs. He experimented mostly with variations of tomato-steak-sauce-mustard combinations.

We ate all manner of ribs, usually dressed up with baked potatoes and a salad, and more or less enjoyed his experiments.

Finally, out of necessity, he took a sweeter approach, using an unusual combination of salad dressing, spices and condiments — whatever we had on hand that night. This time, he found a winner.

All summer long, we’ve been eating ribs marinated in raspberry and walnut salad dressing, soy sauce and Tuscan herbs.

The ribs are sweet and salty with no trace of bitterness, as we sometimes encountered with other marinades.

The first two ingredients are readily available at grocery stores everywhere. The Tuscan herbs are a mix.

Marinated Barbecued Ribs

Two pounds pork riblets
¼-cup soy sauce
½-cup raspberry & walnut salad dressing
1 Tablespoon Tuscan seasoning
1 Tablespoon minced onions

Place ribs in a shallow casserole, preferably one which can be covered. Add the soy sauce, then the dressing, seasoning and onions; distribute equally. Marinate the ribs for about one hour.

Meanwhile, prepare the grill. Place ribs directly on grill over high, indirect heat. Once the coals cool, cook the ribs over direct heat, says the chef, “to give them more of a barbecue color.”

Note: The salad dressing is Newman’s Own; the Tuscan Seasoning is from Victoria Gourmet and is made of red pepper, rosemary, garlic, scallions and lemon with sesame seeds.

Two pounds of ribs give us about two meals at a cost of about $1.50 per person for each meal. You could probably save money by mixing your own dressing and spices.

We usually eat our ribs with corn and roast vegetables, which when purchased at the farm market, adds about $1 to the total meal. Four dollars for two people is a small price to pay for a great weekend supper!

Strawberry-Stuffed Green Peppers?

While preparing green peppers for ratatouille last night, I sliced open a pepper to find what looked like a very fleshy tiger lily inside.

For a moment I was stunned. And fearful.

Then I remembered the August 15 "Alien Tomato" post at Becks & Posh which is all about a strawberry-like thing found growing inside a tomato. (In fact, a photo of the tomato-berry is part of the logo of the newly-revamped Becks & Posh food blog.)

I looked again. What at first glance looked like a tiger lily seemed to be a mutant strawberry that had burst open. But the flesh was drier and coarser than the inner white flesh of a strawberry.

I tasted it, finding it tart with a somewhat bitter after-taste. Not bad. Has potential.

What’s going on? Have mutant strawberries somehow invaded certain vegetables? Are scientists tampering too much with our food? Is it some sort of weird hybrid? Have I become too obsessed with food?

Has anyone else out there experienced this?

Zucchini Bread with Mascarpone-Honey Spread (and Cognac)

On a search through my recipe files, I found Aunt Jane’s recipe for zucchini bread. What perfect timing, as I have mounds of zucchini today, extras from the kind-hearted Hmong farmer from whom I buy the bulk of my vegetables.

The paper on which the recipe is written is stained and dog-eared and crumpled, for Jane made it every summer, more than once, I suspect. She gave loaves away to family and friends, of course, and we scarfed it down greedily.

Jane’s zucchini bread is rich and moist and really needs no other accompaniment but melting butter and a cold glass of milk. But I like to add a mascarpone spread to dress it up a bit.

The bread is spicy, too, like Jane herself, the spirited one in a family of demure Catholic girls. Though she was born on Bastille Day, Jane took after the Irish, not the French, side of her family. She managed to avoid parochial school, instead attending the public high school, where she had an awfully good time. She later dropped out of nursing school, eloping with a handsome theatre usher. The two bumped along together for decades, rearing two sons, until divorcing after 30 years of marriage. Finally, Jane scandalized her family by becoming a bartender in her 60s.

She had a talent for making people laugh, and for baking rather whimsical treats, like some delicious candy-like goodies called “Goofballs.”

When I think of zucchini bread, I think of Jane, fondly. When paired with my Mascarpone-Honey Spread, her zucchini bread rises to new heights.

Zucchini Bread with Mascarpone-Honey Spread

3 eggs
One-cup oil
2 cups sugar
2 cups shredded zucchini
½ cup raisins soaked in cognac
3 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
¼ tsp baking powder
Pinch powdered cloves
1 Tbs. cinnamon

Blend eggs, oil, sugar and shredded zucchini in a large bowl. Drain the raisins, reserving the cognac, and add those to the bowl. Sift the dry ingredients into another large bowl. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredient bowl, stirring until well mixed. Transfer to two greased loaf pans. Bake at 40-45 minutes in 350-degree oven.

Spread

One 8-ounce carton Mascarpone cheese
One Tablespoon orange-flavored honey
One-teaspoon cognac
Pinch orange zest
Pinch cinnamon
Pinch of sugar, if needed

Blend ingredients and spread on bread. Top with chopped walnuts and raisins, if you like.

Let the Chips Fall

On my second attempt to make olive-flavored potato chips, I experimented with red potatoes. Not a good idea. Red potatoes are a bit bland. I recommend using Yukon Gold - they are much sweeter and they soak up the liquid from the olive jar.

After peeling the potatoes, I sliced them a bit thinner than last time and actually marinated them in olive liquid and olive oil for several hours. I used garlic-infused oil this time, and added a pinch of herbes de Provence.

Bake for 10 minutes in a 400-degree oven until golden brown and crisp around the edges. Times will vary from oven to oven. Allow to dry on a paper towel. No salt needed — the olive juice is salty enough!

I Am the Egg Man (Eggs . . . Part Two)

Grandma Annie always bought her eggs from someone she called "the egg man," a farmer who made the rounds of established customers, selling eggs and produce from a battered Ford pickup truck.

On Tuesday mornings, around 9 a.m., Annie would stick a dollar bill inside the apron she always wore over her housedress and open the side door, a kind of service entrance, and wait for the egg man’s noisy truck to putter up Bellevue Avenue in the heart of Frenchtown.

The egg man was a kindly German farmer who often sold beans or peas along with the eggs. Annie and the egg man would complete the purchase; talk about the weather or this year’s crops, and then off he’d go, putt putting away to the next stop on his route.

My local farm market no longer sells eggs, and the egg man, like the milkman who got up at dawn, is a thing of the past.

Eggs endure. Martha Stewart calls them comfort food and she is correct. There is something wholesome about an egg, even though current health standards recommend that we limit consumption.

At our house, our favorite snack is my version of deviled eggs, made with aioli and coarse-grained mustard from France.

Deviled Eggs Provençal

12 large eggs
½-cup mayonnaise
2 teasoons coarse-grain mustard
2 teaspoons aioli
1/8 cup chopped green olives
1/8 cup chopped black olives
Dash herbes de Provence

Boil eggs completely covered in cold water in a 4- to 5-quart pot. Allow them to come to a gentle boil, cover them partially, allowing some steam to escape, for about 8-10 minutes, depending upon size of eggs. Reduce heat to low and cook eggs for about another half minute.

Remove from heat and allow eggs to stand, with cover still in place for another 12-15 minutes. Remove eggs, rinse under cold running water.

Carefully peel eggs and slice lengthwise. Gently remove yolks and mash in a bowl with a fork. Add mayonnaise, mustard, aioli and olives. Combine well, adding salt and pepper to taste, and spooning into egg whites. Garnish with sliced olives or fresh herbes de Provence.

Olive-Flavored Potato Chips (sort of)

Still obsessing about olive-flavored potato chips, I tried to make my own, with not-too-terrible results.

I washed and peeled six new potatoes, some yellow, some white. I tried to slice them as evenly as I could, about a quarter-inch thick. I soaked them for a bit in juice from a jar of stuffed green olives and then coated them in olive oil. I spread them out one layer deep in a glass pan that was also coated in olive oil.

I baked them for 20 minutes in a 450-oven, pre-heated of course, turning them over about halfway through baking. Some stuck to the pan, most did not.

The results were. . . acceptable. They tasted faintly of olive; sprinkling them with sea salt helped.

The yellow potatoes baked faster and were sweeter and crisper, so I will use all yellow next time.

Next time, I will also soak them in olive juice a while longer and use some sort of gadget to slice them a bit more evenly. This was a fun and quick experiment and I will improve the next batch.

Potato chips are something I enjoy in very limited quantities, so these were a treat.

Autumn (or August) Apple Crisp

Fall is slowly making its way into Northern Wisconsin, a few weeks ahead of time, as it often does.

The aroma of wood smoke is in the air and at dusk I hear the honking of Canada geese, restless now because they know they’ll be heading south soon. Birds are flocking together on utility wires. Sweet peppers have made an appearance at the farm market.

Apples, too, are appearing at the market. The other day I bought a dollar’s worth of rather coarse, tart apples. Not good for eating raw but perfect for apple crisp.

I gleaned the recipe from a staff member at the small Catholic college where I did graduate work during a wonderful year of writing and study. The school focused on wellness, and this recipe is healthy — even healthier the way I make it.

Autumn Apple Crisp

Six firm tart apples (Granny Smith, Macoun), peeled
One tablespoon lemon juice
¾ - 1 cup sugar
1-teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/3-cup raisins
¾ cup flour
¾ cup oatmeal
½ cup chopped walnuts
½ cup brown sugar
½ stick unsalted butter, chilled

Slice apples and layer in 8x8 glass baking pan or a pie plate. Drizzle with lemon juice and vanilla. Sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon. Add raisins. Set aside.

Combine flour, oatmeal, walnuts and brown sugar. Cut in butter and mix as you would a pastry crust. The result should be a granola-like topping. Spread evenly over the apples and bake at 350 for about an hour, until the topping turns a golden brown.

Serve warm with yogurt or cold with cheddar cheese.

I usually use fructose and a butter-substitute like Benecol or Smart Balance. My flour is usually a mix of oat, graham and soy. I have tossed in dried cranberries or blueberries. There are endless variations.

It’s simple, inexpensive to make and satisfies the urge for something sweet. Besides, it tastes like autumn. You cannot fail with this dessert!

Olive Dip for Chips

The food stores and supermarchés in France are filled with products that are downright impossible to find in the United States, certainly not in small towns like mine.

Many products — like oils, honeys, mustards, aoili, jams, sauces and spreads — are available from a variety of online sources.

I have had no luck, however, finding olive-flavored potato chips, which we fell in love with on our last visit to France. Chips made with olive oil, yes, but none that taste of olives and potatoes and sea salt, a distinctly Mediterranean flavor.

A few months back, my husband said, “Why don’t you try making an olive dip?”

And so I did.

Olive Dip for Chips and Crackers

One eight-ounce container cream cheese, softened
1/3 cup chopped green olives and pimentos
¼ cup chopped black olives
Two teaspoons liquid from green olives
One teaspoon minced onion
¼ teaspoon minced garlic
sea salt to taste

Blend. Chill to allow the flavors to marry. Allow dip to warm to room temperature before serving. Best served with something bland like potato chips, but also good with many crackers, including Triscuits' Rosemary & Olive Oil flavor.

Rah, Rah Ratatouille

I love this stuff. For me, it is comfort food.

And more than that, it transports me to the south of France, even in the middle of a Wisconsin winter. Of course, it’s better in the summer, when you can buy fresh vegetables at the farm market.

Over time, I have learned that the best ratatouilles are made slowly. The vegetables are cut or sliced or chopped uniformly and sautéed separately before the tomatoes and herbs are added. (When I first began making this dish, I was too inexperienced to realize that. My skills have — thankfully — improved over time.)

I use whatever zucchini or yellow summer squash I can find along with multicolored peppers. Sometimes, I let the eggplant slices soak in a mix of herbes de Provence and sea salt for hours, with no harm (once I forgot about them and let them sit for three days in the refrigerator).

I’ve served ratatouille over spaghetti, on top of pizza and over couscous. But by far, my favorite way to eat ratatouille is with rice. In France, I found Uncle Ben’s quick rice with tomatoes, something I have not found here (yes, I know that’s the lazy way, but when in France there are so many other things to do and see!)

Rice from the Camargue is ideal. Of course, this cannot be purchased locally. No matter. It's the zucchini, pepper and eggplant that count, along with the tomatoes.

I have also baked ratatouille. I place about a ½ cup of rice in a casserole and pour a can or two of stewed or diced tomatoes over the rice, reserving some of the liquid. My lightly sautéed vegetables come next. A layer of onions, the remainder of the tomato juice and Mozzarella, Asiago, Parmesan cheese comes next. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes or so, uncovered. You’ll know it’s done when the cheese begins to turn golden brown.

Baked ratatouille is an ideal dish for menus that require last-minute putzing with other things. You do the bulk of the work early on — even earlier in the day — and your oven does the rest.

Farewell to the French Bakery

There was a time four years ago that I thought I was in heaven.

For two years, I had patronized a tiny French bakery in a nearby city. The tiny storefront building, tucked between a bookstore and a travel agency, had a white interior with black tile floor. Three bistro-style tables were of black wrought iron. A few striking black-and-white photographs of Paris adorned the walls.

You could buy baguettes, croissants, pain au chocolat and other delights while you listened to French café music (or the type of music one has come to associate with French cafés). Soup and sandwiches were offered for lunch. The staff was friendly and accommodating.

When the bakery closed and moved to a new location in the city where I live, I was pleased, very pleased. This time, the owner rented a corner shop front in an old downtown building. There was ample room for outdoor seating, but it was the interior that won me over. It was painted yellow, the mustard-y yellow of Provence. This time, the wall hangings were wine and travel posters. To step inside was like a quick trip to the Midi.

My friends and I took to lunching there at least once a week, sampling every sandwich and crepe on the menu. The chef patronized local farm markets to buy only the freshest ingredients. My penchant for ratatouille is long standing: His was the best I’ve tasted.

Everyone else we knew went there, too, and one lunch hour I realized that friends of mine were seated at every table. I was at home. I could eat there alone and not feel awkward.

The chef, who was from Bordeaux, told me I looked like his grandmother when she was young. My mother’s family roots are in the west of France – who knows?

For a time, the bakery thrived. It was packed over the lunch hour. It sold wine and was open until 6 p.m., which meant I could pop in on my way home from work for a crusty loaf of bread or a bottle of Bordeaux. It was a mere block from my office.

Then came the French response to Iraq. Suddenly, everything French was being shunned. Remember “freedom fries?”

Business dwindled. The bakery limped along for a time, finally closing its doors in the fall of 2004.

Now, if you want pain au chocolat in my little town, you must make it yourself. The same goes for crepes. A local grocery store still offers baguettes and a nearby wine shop sells a smattering of French wines. But that's all. C’est dommage.

If you want a trip to the Midi, you must buy a ticket.

Food in a Small Town

I received an e-mail from someone wondering why I was so excited about golden beets. Not exactly exotic, said my e-mailer.

No, I replied, they may not be. Not if you live in a larger city. I do not.

I spent much of my adult life living in urban areas where I could find sole, sun-dried tomato rolls, pain au chocolat, thin-sliced white bread for toasting, white aspargus and other edibles I cannot find today.

I now live in small town a fairly remote area. The grocery store rarely stocks anything that doesn't sell to the masses. I had a difficult time finding pine nuts for tonight's pesto.

True, there is a gourmet section where I can buy a variety of olives, olive oils, bread spreads, chestnut or chocolate pasta and a few other items I deem necessities. But the items aren't always available and they sit on the shelves for a while, sometimes well past expiration dates.

Same thing in produce sections. That is why I am growing eggplant this year. The eggplant in local produce sections is old, brown, seedy and bitter. I know what fresh eggplant tastes like. Lukily, I can buy it at the farm market. And I have five — count 'em — five baby eggplants coming along nicely in my little garden.

It's frustrating for my husband and me to find a place to have dinner here. The food is either (a) artery-clogging (b) boring (c) poorly cooked or (d) served in a smoky atmosphere. (Yes, I know there is plenty of smoking in France. But usually, you can dine outdoors.)

When I began this blog, I figured there were other people like me who enjoyed good food and interesting products, but had a hard time finding them locally and affordably. I hope some of those people will eventually take to this blog and write me.

Meanwhile, I still salivate over the memory of the olive-flavored potato chips my husband and I bought in France. Anyone know where we can find them in the U.S.?

Beets Me

One of the pleasures of open-air markets is finding the unexpected.

I have chanced upon new (to me) varieties of beans, squash, apples, asparagus and eggplant. And tried them all.

Today, I found golden beets.

What a wonderful discovery, at least from an aesthetic standpoint! They are a lovely dusty orange shade, the color of sugar maple trees in mid-October.

I hate no idea what I’ll do with them yet. Since I’ve also got deep red beets on hand I’m thinking beet medley. On the other hand I want to try them alone and savor their taste.

I’ll report back.

Eggs . . . Part One

More often than not, my grandmother started the day with eggs, usually soft boiled and served with bacon and buttered toast with strawberry jam.

Her eggs were soft-boiled and served in eggcups. I never enjoyed eggs this way, but years after her death I still yearn for one of those breakfasts.

More often than not, my breakfast is peanut butter on whole wheat or tomatoes and cheese on a small roll.

On the rare occasions when I do have an egg breakfast, I am sated for hours. Good to go until evening.

I prefer omelets and have never met one I did not like. Like chickens themselves, omelets are extremely versatile and can be filled with everything from sorrels to cheese to potatoes.

My belief is that one must master the basic omelet before attempting to add anything more exotic than herbs. Call me a purist.

Classic Omelet for Two

2 eggs
1 tablespoon cream
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon butter

Combine eggs, cream and salt in bowl, beating gently. Set aside. Melt butter in a cast-iron skillet over medium heat until butter starts to bubble and brown slightly. Pour egg mixture into skillet and stir once or twice, briskly. Allow egg mixture to become firm. When it is no longer runny, gently shake the pan over the burner. Remove skillet from stove and gently fold into thirds. Slide out of the pan onto a plate and serve.

No frills. Just perfection.

On Reinventing Myself as a Food Blogger

Thank goodness for my younger coworkers and acquaintances! They don’t give me strange looks when I tell them I have started a food blog.

I am not sure my older friends grasp it yet. It’s some Internet thing that baffles them. They don’t understand it and they aren’t sure they want to understand it.

I started my first blog four years or so ago. At that time, I did not yet know exactly what it was I wanted to say; I had not found a voice. (But it was fun choosing a name and a template.)

About that time, I finally began to work toward my goal of spending more time in the kitchen. Coincidentially, I began writing a weekly food feature for my newspaper. Vocation and avocation were pleasantly intertwined. Now blogging seems like a natural thing to do, another way of talking to others about one of life’s pleasures.

What makes me think I can write about food? Well, I eat it, don’t I? And I eat it with gusto. I am ecstatic over good food. You know that restaurant scene in “When Harry Met Sally?”

I’ve been around food all my life. My father was a chef who understood the relationship between food and learning. When my brother and I were small, before the family grew and life got more hectic, my parents would create theme meals: French night, Italian night, and New England night. Maybe they’d fix spaghetti and garlic bread and we’d talk about Italy and it’s culture. One winter weekend, we spread a red-and-white checked cloth on the living room floor and ate hot dogs, beans and potato salad — bona fide Wisconsin picnic fare. I knew of no other families who did that sort of thing.

Then there were my grandmothers. By the time I came along, Memere, my great-grandmother, was too frail to do much cooking. But her daughter, Grandma Annie, excelled at everything and loved food. To be offered food by Annie was to know her love. My father’s mother, Grandma Laura, also French, smoked and wisecracked and made heavenly bread, which she always shared.

I grow herbs and use them daily. It is sheer delight to step outside on a cool summer morning to gather chives for my omelet or dill for an egg salad — one of those simple actions that enhance daily living.

I know enough about food to be dangerous. So give me a computer and a digital camera and off I go, blogging. Do I know what I am doing?

I am not a sophisticated foodie with vast experience. Food preparation is still trial and error, just as this blog is an experiment. I hope I am writing for readers who like food, like to buy it and work with it and eat it, but also for those who understand the connection between food and love and family and roots and a sense of place and a sense of pleasure.

Ordinary people.

You need not travel to France frequently to keep a French kitchen. But you must enjoy food and the process of creating it. Please join me and share the journey.

Pépere’s Radishes

My great-grandfather Narcisse was a devoted gardener who grew all manner of vegetables. A hard-working and practical man, he made coldframes from old storm windows and trellises from scrap lumber. His ancient shed, which smelled of dusty old wood and oil and vaguely of apples, was filled with weathered rakes and hoes and a stash of ancient, mossy pots. It was a place of mystery for me as a child. I was sure rabbits lived there. Perhaps they did.

Early on mid-summer mornings, Pépere would pick handfuls of radishes for his grand-daughters to eat with their toast.

Today, I almost always buy radishes at the farm market. I take simple pleasure cleaning and slicing them into thin disks. And always, I think of Pépere.

Sauté new radishes with a bit of pepper and add coarse sea salt when they are ready to eat. Pair with buttered toast.