The Twists and Turns of Side Streets and Dark Alleys

I have never stayed on the main road for too long. The little side streets, the tangents of life are too intriguing.

In my career I sidetracked for a long time, which ultimately helped put me on the main road again with more horsepower and sharper vision.

But sometimes there are places I'd rather not explore. Some of those places are dark lanes in old Cahors, just feet from the lively and friendly market place, which teems with life and flavor and the more guttural accent of the Midi Pyrenees. (Some friends had a close call near here a few years back. We are vigilant.)

So I took photographs instead, and found this one intriguing with its rosy hues.

Not much time to cook just now.

Happy Anniversary to FKIA

My blogoversary quietly came and went while I was on the road.

I started this blog when I was teaching college freshmen and sophomores about newspaper reporting. Back in 2000, when I started teaching, our goal was to publish a campus newspaper. That was fine for 4-5 years, but then it was clear that (sadly) newspapers were being dragged kicking and screaming into another direction. To be sure, most newspapers had Web sites by the late 1990s. But few really took advantage of them, at least not the way they've had to in order to survive in the 21st century.

By 2005, I began to suspect that some dailies would become weeklies or Web-only papers. (That suspicion is now reality.) I thought blogging was an easy way to harness the power of the Internet and learn how to survive online. My first experience with blogging came in early 2002, when I played around with a site I called Blue Ginger. I ran out of things to say, and didn't stick with it. That was before I thought about sharing my passion for France and food. I was a much more reticent person seven years ago, I guess.

I've never run out of things to say here, although I have run out of time. Most of my posts in the past two years have not been recipe posts, but if you can bear it, I certainly can. I never intended for this blog to be a recipe blog, because I think food is more than ingredients and step-by-step instructions. I love recipe blogs, don't get me wrong. I just wanted my blog to be a conversation around a kitchen table that often involved food.

But not always.

During the past three years I have learned much from other bloggers. And I've made some friends.

That's the best part. As we say in Wisconsin, "You guys are the best."

To celebrate (albeit belatedly) my third anniversary as a blogger, I searched my iPhoto files for a photo that resonated with me this morning. The one I have chosen to share was taken on a misty September morning in the Lot Valley in the Quercy in the southwest of France. I hope you enjoy it.

Late Spring at the Farm Market

I am off to Madison, but not long enough to shop at the legendary Dane County Farmers' Market.

We are fortunate enough to have two smaller markets in our own community. Between the two of them, on opposite ends of town, there are opportunities for fresh produce on Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. How much better can it get?

My CSA box included rhubarb, kale, herbs, radishes and lettuce today, along with some lovely flowers. Having a large suitcase to pack and a million things to do, I didn't linger as long as I would like to have lingered. But the 30 minutes or so I spent downtown were magical. It's cool here, and the air smelled of woodsmoke and water, as the market is near the shore. There was a fishing derby and a heritage fair, complete with re-enactors in period garb.

Our small community is truly blessed to have such riches!

Of course, I forgot my camera, so I will have to make do with the photo above, taken at the Cahors market on our last visit to France.

Spring in the Door

I had forgotten how lovely it can be, this long narrow spit of rocks and orchards jutting out into water. Just now it is abloom with lilacs and cherry blossoms, playing out their season of color against weathered barns and stone fences and deep forests.

Door County. Even with the condos that have popped up in the past 15 years and the resorts that came in the decade or two before that, Door County still retains much of its rustic charm. Cheek by jowl with posh restaurants and dazzling water views are ancient farms and inviting country lanes.

You can eat a hamburger and fries in a down-home diner, or order something more exotic in an upscale restaurant; there will be more to come on this topic.

It's good to get away, even though part of the trip was related to business. There will be more travel in a week or so.

Meanwhile, it is high spring here in northern Wisconsin. The lilacs have peaked, and by this time in a week, the bridal wreath, always out by D-Day, will be glorious.

I hope your weekend was lovely.

Cherries and Berries and Strawberry Wine

I know. I know. I don't deserve any of you. I don't deserve to have anyone visit this place because I'm never around.

I'm sorry. I really am. The truth is, this may be my busiest time of year. I'm not complaining, but there were three 11-12 hours days this week. I am learning to relax a bit, and I am trying to make unwinding a priority. I'm Type O blood but I have a Type A approach to work. And I enjoy my job.

That's why we're taking off for a few days in the Door later this month.

The Door is Door County, Wisconsin's rocky arm of land jutting northeast into Lake Michigan. It is both peninsula and island and it is resplendent with cherry orchards and rock outcroppings and pristine villages of white and the aroma of woodsmoke and carpets of ladyslippers and trillium and oh, you must discover it for yourself.

Originally, it was more or less discovered by the French, who have a way of discovering stylish and tasteful things. Pierre-Esprit Radisson called it "a kingdom so delicious" and he wasn't talking about the legendary fish boils and cherry desserts.

For those of us who love the Door, a trip there is a pilgrimage of sorts, anticipated like a trip to Paris. The misty mornings, the sunny afternoons, the chilly nights. The quiet havens and the busy harbors. The plethora of restaurants from gastropub to fine dining to classic supper club. The galleries, tucked away in the woods, or in whitewashed cabins near beaches or docks. The potters, the jewelers, the weavers.

Meanwhile, we're getting ready for our first season as CSA customers. L, the coordinator promises rhubarb and herbs the first week. The gooseberries above are from L's garden, circa 2007.

And we are down to one bottle of wine, a potent bottle of strawberry elixir I fear will put hair on my chest. Must buy wine, or wake up very hirsute.

What are you up to?

Spring Chickens and Signs that Life is Good

Every season has moments of enchantment that occur at when you least expect them.

Last night, I had to present an award at a spring banquet. While I knew I would be in good company, it was Friday and I was tired and I wasn't especially looking forward to a long night in a chair at a dinner table.

Fortunately for me, the dinner took place at an attractive venue with a view of sea grass and bay on one side and gently rolling hills on the other. My chair faced the bay and while I waited for my turn at the podium, I watched a pair of fishing boats trawl the bay in the sunset. The rays of the setting sun fired the boats and I was able to see that the fishermen were dragging nets. Somehow this fired my imagination, too. My body was inside but my spirit was out on the cool bay, feeling the wind in my hair.

When I finally got to the podium, I looked up in the other direction to see a perfect ball-of-orange sun setting in a deep-teal-and-indigo sky. I could barely concentrate on my lines, so brilliant was the sun.

I sat down at my table again. Now the boats were lighted by torches of some sort. I watched them drift out of sight when it grew dark and the event ended. I stepped outside to my car, surrounded by the welcome spring chorus of tree frogs and even loons and made the 11-mile trip into town.

Sometimes these small things make for a magical evening. It has happened time and time again in my life, and it always grounds me and gentles me after a period of stress.

On the way home, I notice more people on bicycles than I have in the past, something I suspect is spurred by the economy. I like that. We are embracing simpler things, out of necessity, perhaps, but perhaps we will carry these new habits forward into better times. A few weeks ago, amidst an April shower, I saw a man on a bike carrying a bouquet of spring flowers. I can only imagine the utter devotion that might inspire an older man to ride a bike to a flower shop or grocery store in the rain. Someone is very much loved, I hope.

We continue to find much to celebrate in this crazy world.

On Sunday I will roast chicken, rubbing it with herbs de Provence and surrounding it with whatever strikes my fancy. Usually it is onions, carrots and new potatoes coat in olive oil. The herb-y aroma will pervade my house.

The weekend. Life is good.

What about you? What signs have you read lately?

Le Brie En Rose: The Good Life in My Kitchen and Baked Brie with Cherries and Pecans

I was attracted to this idea (a recipe contest using Brie cheese) because of my paternal grandmother's maiden name, La Brie. I thought I could come up with some cute approach.

But the truth is, if someone along the St. Lawrence River, circa 1700, had not begun calling a guy named Migneault by the name LaBrie, she might have been Laura Migneault. I suppose the moniker was a reflection of the Migneault's roots in Melun, a cheesemaking city south of Paris - an ancient version of Cheesehead (as we Badgers are often called). "Dit" names, as they are known to every genealogist with a French Canadian heritage, can also reflect an occupation. Perhaps I am descended from cheesemakers.

I was running out of cute when I realized I had to turn in my recipe and photo by tomorrow.

My first couple of ideas flopped. I was desperate. But not out of ideas. A few years ago, my husband and I caught Emeril Lagasse's baked brie show on the Food Network. We've been enjoying that treat ever since, usually around the holidays.

What about baked dip? I scrounged around the cupboard and found dried cherries, a staple, and a bag of pecans. Here's what I came up with:

Baked Brie Dip with Dried Cherries and Pecans

1 package Ile de France Brie Cheese, trimmed and cubed
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon brown sugar
dash fleur de sel
1/3 cup chopped pecans
2 teaspoons dried cherries

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Melt butter in small saucepan over low heat. Add chunks of brie and stir until melted and blended. Stir in brown sugar and fleur de sel, gradually adding pecans and cherries. Place in a small ramekin and bake for 20-30 minutes. Remove from the oven and allow to cool for about 10 minutes.

The result is a slightly sweet cheesy spread for crackers with the merest hint of salt. I tried it with Triscuits and French bread, and preferred the crackers, although my husband thought a less salty cracker would be best.

I'm tasting this on thin slices of whole wheat beer bread, slightly toasted.

NoteIn the interests of transparency, I must disclose that I was invited to join this contest. The cheese was provided by Ile de France. I have no hopes of winning, but it was fun!