Provencal Breakfasts to Savor

 Sunrise from my bedroom window

at La Mourrade

Cadenet, France  

It's fun to know someone 34 years and still make discoveries about them. I didn't know what an outstanding cook my Cottey College friend Robin was until this trip. 

Apricot and White Peach tart

One morning Robin asked me to make breakfast and suggested an apricot tart. "Just use the purchased puff pastry to make your crust, lay down some fromage blanc, the apricots, and voila!"  I don't think fromage blanc is sold in American grocery stores.  What a useful substance. It's a soft, creamy cheese with the consistency of sour cream. It was perfect "glue" for fresh Provencal fruit.

 Breakfast on the terrace

was such a lovely way to start the day

 Wow! Apricots warmed explode with flavor in your mouth.  Oh my, this was good.  And so simple!  We decided to keep the warmed fruit theme going.  Robin made a tart with fresh figs and fresh lavender sprinkled throughout.  The lavender was astonishing because it was such concentrated, intense flavor and then a bite of warm, yummy fig came next.  Both of these tarts were keepers! 

Fig and Lavender Tart

Apricot, white peach, and black currant tart

Another tart Robin made was with apricots, white peaches, and black currants.  The black currants had to be used judiciously because they must have had very low sugar.  But it's the warmth of those fruit flavors exploding that make these tarts so delicious.

 French omelet made with
truffle paste and ham
from the Loumarin market.

We didn't have tarts every single morning.  As someone who rarely gets pork in Istanbul, I appreciated this French omelet stuffed with ham from the market and truffle paste with a side of delicious bacon.

 

I learned on this trip that truffle paste is such an easy way to dress up everyday ingredients like potatoes and eggs and the result is laudable. Robin said many times during the week that Provencal cooking is "basically using wonderful ingredients and not screwing them up."

My First Provencal Market at Loumarin

If boutique farmers who sell their produce at farmer's markets in poly-cultural agricultural regions like Provence are rock stars, and the farmer's market ends up being like the rock concert where everyone comes to celebrate the farmer's productivity and applaud and purchase his or her work, it was only fitting then that our visit to a Provencal market began with a search for a parking place far from the market. My friend Robin had a long walk in to the main event as she parked our car - just like a rock concert!

We waited patiently

with fresh croissants in the cafe.

In Provence, every village has their market on a different day.  No matter what day it is you can find a small market or a big market to feed your body and soul.  The market at Loumarin seemed like the very lollapalooza of markets that I sampled.

 Shall we try the tomato tart?

Underneath the magnificent boulevard of plantain trees that past generations of French people had planted as gifts to their future citizens, the individual stalls were magnetic with smells, with visual aesthetics, with local traditional foods and products.

At each counter waiting to buy, there would be several glamourously-dressed French people who had done their part to complete the composed picture of beautiful landscape, beautiful weather, beautiful setting, beautiful products, and beautiful smells.

Mmmm, all my favorite flavors.

I bet that's goat cheese.

When a small village of less than 1,011 people can create a farmer's market that is admired throughout the world, you know it has to be spectacular.  Indeed so enticing were the products and people and smells that I was quickly overloaded with both hands full of packages within 15 minutes.  I think I probably only took in 25% of the actual market!

 Look at how beautifully they

wrap up our lemon tarts.

 Who doesn't come home from France

bubbling about the bread?
Robin would buy bread from this baker
and his daughter every week.

Nougat of Provence

a famous specialty made with

honey, sugar, egg whites, and almonds.

French macaroons!

 French cheese in all of its

spectacular variety

Thinly-sliced ham
to take home

Doesn't this make you want to find
an exotic recipe for each exotic spice?

 Remember when grocery stores
doubled their pepper offerings
by offering both white and black pepper?
Yes, you wouldn't be wrong
to think it would be awfully hard to choose
between 18 different peppers.

Tomato, fig, cherry, apricot
jams and marmalades.

Our biceps burned! There is so much more to this market I didn't get to photograph because how can you lift your camera when you're loaded down with goodies?  Were I to go back, I would love to buy every member of my family a Provencal tablecloth.  Their cheery designs are so specific to Provence and the prices are a wonderful value.

There were also olive and mushroom tappanades that would have been lovely to take home to Istanbul, beautiful handmade soaps, especially those made with redolent Provencal lavender, plus thousands of chi-chi straw "market" shopping bags.

I also didn't experience the fish counter because, well, that was an endurance test all in itself.  All of France goes on vacation simultaneously every August, they could have all been in line at that fish stall! And this wasn't even the weekend.

Later that night:

Beef steak recommended by the Cadenet butcher

as his own personal favorite cut,

slathered in mushrooms and onions,

with hericots verts (thinner French green beans)

& mashed potatoes laced with truffle paste.

Rendevous at La Maison Rouge

 La Maison Rouge

 My friend Robin and Jim have had a home in the South of France for over 14 years.  They haven't always lived at La Mouradde.  Before that, they owned a home in the village proper of Cadenet, France, called La Maison Rouge.

Seeing this pretty little home, in person, really for the first time, made me realize that there were many years when Robin and I were just too busy to properly communicate.  I don't think I had ever even seen a picture of this exquisite gem.  How could it be that she lived here and I never came to visit?

Years of active parenting tend to block all other activities out. Seeing this house was a reminder of the importance of grabbing time with friends when you can, because you never know when you can't. One of the pleasures of an empty nest is the time available to enjoy and renew old friendships.

This door knocker

could inspire the beginning of a novel,

don't you think?

The dramatic properties of La Maison Rouge must appeal to Hollywood too, since they came a'calling to film exteriors for a Demi Moore movie called "Passions of the Mind" while Robin and Jim owned the property.

If you haven't heard of the movie, don't be surprised, as it grossed less than $1,000,000. Robin said there's about 18 seconds of her old house on the screen.

 

"Meet Me in the Cafe"

Immediately to the right of La Maison Rouge as you looked at the front of the house, was a little public square.  On one side, was the much appreciated village butcher, on the other a little cafe, and in the middle, a public fountain. What a cozy village existence!

The bartender was surprised to hear

an American order pastis.
Americans often don't respond well
to this French drink tasting of black licorice.

It felt so good to just have

long, unhurried conversations

with my friend.

Is there a friend you miss

you should hold fast?

Don't take them for granted.

Provence Inspires Me to Make My First Tart

 Creating a Leek and Dried Morel Tart

 My college friend Robin said, "People ask, what do you do in Provence? I always answer not much: go to the Provencal markets, bring home food, cook, do it again the next day." 

There is something about Provence, because it is a poly-culture agricultural environment, that brings out the cooking creativity, passion, and endless enthusiasm for cooking in everyone who lives there, regardless of nationality.

What is a poly-culture agriculture environment? The example I know best and have lived personally is Madison, Wisconsin. It has endless small family boutique food producers making small volumes of amazing specialty items.  These local farmers are rock stars in the community and the farmer's market is equivalent to a concert where everyone comes and applauds.

On the other hand, a mono-culture farm environment is like my home state of Iowa with lots of corporate farms producing one crop.  It doesn't create the same enthusiasm to take everything home and cook it up. You can't anyway, because they're raising grain for livestock.

To aid her in her cooking quests, my college friend Robin has collected cookbooks from all over the world in multiple languages while she was working all over the world.  I could pour over cookbooks for hours, couldn't you? So many of her books were new to me. One that she particularly used a lot was by Stephanie Alexander named "A Cook's Companion: The Complete Book of Ingredients and Recipes for the Australian Kitchen."  Robin specifically enjoyed that all the recipes were organized around their main ingredient.

I found myself responding to the daydream-inspiring cookbook "The Food and Flavors of Haute Provence" by Georgeann Brennan.  What a gorgeous, easy-to-use book!

 The smells! Oh, the smells!

 Leek and Dried Morel Tart

Right out of the Oven

On one of my first nights there, Robin and Jim invited over lovely friends for a dinner party al fresco.  While Robin prepared a magnificent veal roast, with beautiful potatoes and roasted fennel, I had picked out a recipe based on a single ingredient Jim and Robin had in abundance.  They had a friend in Malaysia who happened to be the world's largest exporter of morel mushrooms.  He had given them 4.5 kilos of dried morels for their own cooking.  As you can imagine, a dried morel mushroom does not weigh very much so the supply of this tasty mushroom was unusually large and just waiting for me to cook with it!

I've had veal, but can't say I've had a veal roast before this. It had been prepared with care by her local Cadenet butcher. Have you tried roasted fennel? This was something new to me too. It was delicious, so easy (she just sliced it in half, spiced it, and stuck it in the oven).  Plus, it's so healthy and pretty on the plate!

 The veal roast ready for carving

Robin's husband Jim

carves the roast

while Mark, a local winemaker, looks on

Leek and Morel Mushroom Tart

Page 113, "The Food and Flavors of Haute Provence"

Although puff pastry, leeks, and dried morel mushrooms are the components of the tart, this is a versatile dish in which many substitutes are possible.  In France, supermarkets, even the small ones in the rural areas, have fesh or frozen puff pastry, which is also available in the United States, but not as readily.  Pizza dough is an alternative to the puff pastry.  Unlike puff pastry, it is easily made even by the most unskilled hands.

  
The delectable topping, with its undertone of sweetness from the leeks' natural sugar, is made of thin slices of leeks that have been simmered in a little butter, then combined with fresh goat cheese and rehydrated morels and seasoned with thyme.  one can substitute onions, which also have natural sugar, for the leeks, and dried cepes or shiitakes might be used in place of the morels, as might fresh mushrooms.

Although the tart makes a fine first course, I find that accompanied with a green salad and red wine it makes an excellent meal in itself.

25 dried morels, about 1/2 ounce

3 cups warm water

6 large leeks, carefully rinsed

2 Tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon unsalted butter

1 Tablespoon fresh thyme leaves

2 fresh bay leaves, or 1 dried

1/4 sour cream

1/4 cup crumbled fresh goat cheese

3/4 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper

2 Tablespoon white wine

1/4 cup chicken broth

1 sheet prepared puff pastry, 10 x 12 inches and 1/4 inch thick, thawed if frozen

1) Put the dried mushrooms in 2 cups of the warm water to rehydrate them.  This will take about 15 minutes.  Finely slice the white parts of the leeks plus 1 inch of the pale green.

2) Meanwhile, melt 2 Tablespoons of the butter in a skillet or saucepan over medium heat.  When it is foamy, add the leeks and saute until translucent, about five minutes.  Add the thyme, bay leaves, and the remaining 1 cup warm water.  Cover and simmer until the leeks are nearly tender, about 15 minutes.  Remove the cover and continue to cook until virtually all of the liquid has evaporated, about 15 minutes longer.  Remove and discard the bay leaves.  Stir in  the sour cream and goat cheese, and add the salt and pepper.  the sauce should be creamy and thick.  Preheat an oven to 400 degrees F.

3) Drain the morels and cut them in half lengthwise.  melt the remaining teaspoon of butter in a small skillet over medium heat.  When it is foamy, add the morels and saute for 5 or 6 minutes.  Add the white wine and chicken broth and continue to cook until all but approximately 1 Tablespoon of the juices has evaporated.  Remove from the heat and set aside.

4) On a lightly foured work surface, roll the puff pastry into a rectangle 1/4 inch thick and approximately 12 by 18 inches.  Place it on a floured baking surface to within 1 inch of the edges.  The paste will be almost 1/2 inch thick.  fold the edges over the leek mixutre, crimping them to make a free-form tart.  Place in the oven and bake until the crust has puffed and the leeks are golden, 12 to 15 minutes.  Add the morels and bake another 5 minutes.  Serve hot, cut into rectangles or wedges.

It tasted so creamy and good

from the warm sour cream

and goat cheese underneath!

Afterwards, I wrote in Robin's cookbook on the leek tart recipe page, the date and whom we had served.  Over a lifetime, I find these little notes create such an evocative list of memories of good times and good companionship.

The Start of a Week in Provence

My college friend of 35 years, Robin, called me from her home in Provence, France and said, "when are you coming to visit? Don't you have the time now? You simply must come." I begged off because I was hard at work learning Turkish and working on other projects. What is a girl to do, though, when your friend tries to call you three times in one day and says, "come!"  I had no choice. So off I went.

 I help out a representation of "The Kitchen Maid"

a famous Dutch masterpiece by

Johannes Vermeer (painted 1658)

There isn't a very direct way to get from Provence from Istanbul.  I flew first to Amsterdam, where I was able to experience an hours worth of my Dutch heritage.  In the very nice Amsterdam airport, there is a small gallery of paintings from the Rijksmuseum, the famous Dutch Art Museum full of Van Goghs.

Isn't that a fabulous idea - to have an art gallery in an airport? To share the very best of one's culture with people who are stuck in an building with no place to go?  I'm surprised there aren't similar art galleries in airports all over the world. Good job, Dutch people, you made me proud. And you made me want to come back.

From Amsterdam, I then flew to Marseilles.  It was an utterly gorgeous day without a cloud in the sky.  Southern France has the soft, balmy Southern California-type weather only without the pollution.  When the plane flew out over the Mediterranean and the Southern France coastline of majestic rocky fjords, it was simply breathtaking to take in the coastline, the sea, the sailboats and yachts, and the sun-washed city of Marseilles. I had no idea there was such a pretty, craggy coastline to Southern France.

I knew Robin would not be there right away to pick me up, having never once arrived on time to get me at any airport in the world. There is a comfort in knowing someone so well. I knew eventually she would show up and I would no longer have to loiter around the lobby, sneaking peaks at the amazing weather outside.

Robin and her husband live in Singapore now full-time where Robin has started a new job as a Senior International Government Affairs Advisor for a large oil company.  She has her hands full between her new executive position, two daughters, and her husband's health care. Robin's husband has been recovering the last couple years from the surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy involved with having a brain tumor.

While my friend Robin employs a terrific Filipino man to help her physically care for her 6'4" husband, I wanted to give my dear friend lots of love and appreciation and make sure someone was taking care of her. We had last seen each other in Prague when she came to visit for some serious girlfriend time and I dragged her to the Museum of Communism rather than letting her see the art she wanted to see (hey, she worked for the State Department then, I was doing my duty as an American citizen).

La Mourrade

Eventually, my beloved friend came to the airport and we packed ourselves off for the trip to Provence and her fairy wonderland home "La Mourrade."  Robin and Jim rent their home out much of the summer, when they do get to spend time there, they practically cry leaving the place, life is so beautiful there.

 My bedroom window

Overlooking the terrace, the Lubéron,

and the spectacular mountain painted by Cézanne,

Mt. Sainte-Victoire

Along with their spectacularly-sited La Mourrade provencal home, this is the beautiful lunch Robin had prepared that greeted me upon arrival:

 Oysters on the Half Shell

Al Fresco

A fresh, healthy Provençal salad

 Grilled Sardines Stuffed With Lemon

A life-long friend

is a blessing.

I am truly grateful for

my friend Robin.

Lemon sorbet

with Black Currants

and Cassis

and a sprig of homegrown mint

A beautiful cappuccino to end the meal

Later that night, while enjoying champagne poolside, Robin asked, "Now aren't you glad you came to Provence?" Yes, I was.  It was the start of an amazing week.

 

Poolside at La Mourrade

"You're My Al Bell!"

Recently I reconnected with an old business competitor and dear friend from my hometown of Ames, Iowa named Rich Weiss. He made a comment about my writing from overseas, saying, "You’ve become my personal Al Bell and I find your insights quite interesting."

When I asked, "who is Al Bell?" he replied with this:

 “What do you mean "who is Al Bell?”  Didn't you grow up in Iowa?

Oh!  I get it!  This is your way of pointing out that I am much older than you.

 

Al Bell and his wife traveled around Iowa, visiting elementary schools, giving “assemblies” to the students on trips they had taken to exotic locations around the world.  They would take a new trip each year and then spend three seasons going around, showing native items they had brought home and showing us a film about their trip.  This was big stuff to Richie Weiss in Miss Frederik’s 2^nd grade class in 1962.

 

Here are links to items about Al Bell.  I found the first one about 4-years ago when my son was living in Hong Kong and I told my daughter-in-law that she was my Al Bell.  I hadn’t thought of him for 35-years and did a Google search.  The other links here are to an assortment of stories about him from bloggers or area newspapers.  He was a very colorful man who was known by virtually all small-town kids in Iowa in the 1960’s.

Did You Know Al Bell? (The comments are the best part of this one.  We all remembered the same things.  Mine is on page 1)

Al Bell Brought the World to Rural Iowa

Assembly Program comes to Goldfield, Iowa (column 2)

Lecturer Al Bell Bitten by Mad Dog in Alaska (bottom of the page)

Al Bell ~ An Iowa Legend

If you’ve read the links, you now understand why you’ve become Al Bell in my eyes.  Your words take me to all these wondrous, mysterious locations.  You let me see the sights, smell the bread, taste the coffee, meet the people and feel like I’ve been there myself.  Thank you."

Wow, what a compliment to be mentioned in such august company as this distinguished gentleman who shared his travels with rural Iowa farm kids. Just reading the comments on link one, it shows the journey communication has taken in one lifetime. While the ease with which we find out information about points unknown has changed, what hasn't changed, is our own awe and wonder at the diversity of the world and our love of seeing beyond what we know to places unknown.

Readers, did you experience an Al Bell or someone like him? Who made you wonder about parts unknown as a child? Who makes you wonder about parts unknown as an adult?


You might enjoy these other posts about Iowa:

Talking About "My People," Iowans, to the Travel Junkies

Enjoying Hometown Friends in Istanbul

Dvorak Embraced Spillville, Iowa; Spillville, Iowa Embraced Dvorak

UNESCO Names Iowa City, Iowa a 'City of Literature'



 'Empty Nest Expat' is on Facebook. You're invited to "like" my page.

Grateful to Miss Out on America's Media Obsessions

 Washington working on the Debt Deal

Recently, friends were visiting Istanbul from Palo Alto, California and I asked them, "what's everyone talking about in Palo Alto?" Being political junkies, like me, they cited the inability of Washington to come to a debt deal. Now this was something I have an opinion on!

Even though I'm overseas, I'm still an American citizen and care passionately about the health of my nation. It's easy to follow the twists and turns of the debate because all of that journalism is easily accessible to expats.

 Casey Anthony

Not all of America's journalism is so accessible to expats.  For that, I'm grateful.  It causes the occasional occurrence, where all of a sudden, my friends back home are discussing something and I have no idea what they're talking about.  Their Facebook feeds light up with outrage at a story, and I"m left with "huh, what?" Such was the case with the Casey Anthony story and a lady named Nancy Grace. Apparently, using a lot of understatement, America does not like either of them.

 Nancy Grace

Casey Anthony is a young mother whose child died. She waited a month to report it. She was prosecuted for murder and was not convicted because the jury was not convinced that a murder happened, thinking it could just as likely have been a bad accident that the family did not have the courage to report. Nancy Grace is the America reporter whose anger at this young mother has captured the notice of numerous chroniclers as completely over-the-top.

Reading enough about the story to get the gist, I'm glad I missed it.  Following it closely would not been a good use of my time and given how angry the people are who DID follow it closely, I can't say it would have been good for my soul.  I don't love to be outraged, although I recognize there are plenty of people who do, and this Nancy Grace lady seems to play to that. And what could I have done to improve the situation? Nothing.

 Tony Blair

Facebook makes it very easy to see the media's influence on folks because all of sudden, numerous people will all break out discussing the same issues, often with the same take.

In conversation, I notice this most often with British people who all use the same word to describe Tony Blair.  To a person, Brits call him George Bush's "poodle." Now if they were all thinking that idea on their own, without help from the media, wouldn't there be some variety in the language used?  'Poodle' is not the most common pejorative.

This week's news story about the extent of privacy invasion in Britain all in an effort to bring readers the "dirt" on celebrities has caused me to reflect.  How, have I, as a reader contributed to this sad practice? Do I need to read about celebrities? Do I want to know stuff that's not my business?

 These dresses! I love them!

I don't care about Hollywood celebrities' private lives, but I do enjoy seeing their dresses. That doesn't involve invading their privacy. Whew!

On reflection, however, there is a particular story I'm ashamed of reading.

I followed the ins and outs of the DSK scandal in New York City. I had never heard of DSK before he made the news for being arrested and have nothing against him personally. Being a feminist, my heart did go out to that poor immigrant single mother.

When the case collapsed, I was sad for her, because I just couldn't believe nothing had happened. I'm sure others following the story believed the same thing which made us want to know how the prosecutors and police said one thing and then changed their mind about going forward with the case.

The New York Times (ironically, not a Murdoch publication) published a story with her confidential hospital report and I read that story. It had been provided to the prosecutor's office for evidence. I am 100% sure the reason they did this is because that's what their readers wanted to know.  The journalists follow the market. I am part of that market. In light of the stories about large corporations using people's misery to sell newspapers, I am now not proud to have done this. I take responsibility. May that lady find peace and be left alone in dignity. I resolve to do better as a reader.

One of my very favorite things about CNN International is that it does not focus on celebrity news.  I've even heard their anchors make fun of CNN domestic for the network's need to run celebrity news (Nancy Grace's ratings were through the roof) because that is what America wants and is voting for with its attention.

I couldn't help but contrast CNN's deeply admirable "Freedom Project" on human trafficking with all of the current headlines about hacking footballer's phone calls. I bet that took real executive courage to put on that series of news reports because it doesn't appeal to the lowest common denominator and asks a lot of us citizens to just view, taking in the very real and gritty story of powerless people.

Can we do better as readers and viewers? Do you have a story you've followed that in hindsight either wasn't appropriately sourced or the best use of your time? Can we help empower executives to focus on stories that really do make a difference like the "Freedom Project" rather than on celebrity news?