“It’s too late in the year,” Pamela said. “The cows will already be back in the barn.”

“Really?” I replied, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Yes, sorry. You’ll have to wait until the spring if you want to see them outside.”

Pamela, one of the owners of Robinson’s Farm, was just as friendly as I had imagined her after we spoke in November. At the time, I wanted to visit the farm with Delphine, for the Envoyé Spécial la suite TV program she was working on with me.

I felt sad that Delphine, Cyril and I never made it to visit the farm in November–although our lobster trip was *really* good and made up for it–so I made a mental note of what Pamela had said. J’irai au printemps (I’ll go in the spring), I told myself, determined not to give up. Je veux vraiment voir cette ferme (I really want to see this farm).

Because at Robinson’s farm, they make raw milk. And are starting to make cheese too. Both of which really piqued my curiosity.

But spring came and I was away. Then summer followed naturally and I wasn’t sure it would still be a good idea to go to the farm. Maybe it was going to be too hot then and the cows would have traveled to an exotic place where they’d be cooling off…who knows what cows have on their mind?

“No, no,” Pamela said, when I emailed her back in early July to ask whether I could come. “It’s a great time. Come over to visit!”

“Can I bring Lulu?” I went on.

“Sure! we’d love to meet Lulu.”

That was how it started. And that was how, two weeks ago, I finally made it to visit Robinson’s farm.

I didn’t go alone–and I was glad. I wanted that my Lulu could run around on the farm, and that she saw cows and calves, trees and vegetables, chicken and eggs. So not only did my beautiful princess come along (did I already tell you that we’ve not yet spent one day away from each other?), but a dear friend of mine decided to accompany us with her son. We packed a tasty picnic made of quinoa salad, sandwiches, watermelon and financiers I’d baked the night before, and after a two hour drive, we arrived at Pamela and Ray’s doorstep.

We had an amazing lunch. And a memorable day.

The Robinsons live in rural Hardwick, a small town west of Boston, and they have been farming since 1892. “Four generations,” Ray had said proudly when I’d asked how old the farm was.

I had not yet visited this part of the state and wasn’t really sure what to expect. As soon as I arrived, though, and caught sight of the large red barn with balls of hay and cows grazing in the fields nearby, I felt relaxed. Taking a deep breath in and closing my eyes for a minute, I could almost imagine that I’d been transported back home.

Presque.

This rural setting is suggestive of a slow pace of life. Yet, people on the farm work hard. Long hours. Whether it’s dry, humid or raining, hot or cold–no matter what the weather decides to be.

Pamela and Ray own a forty-cow pasture based herd comprised of primarily registered and grade Holsteins, with cross breeding practices which include New Zealand Holsteins, Jersey & Normande breeds. They’ve been making raw milk for five years now and like it this way. They believe that clean, fresh milk from grass fed cows provides all of the nourishment nature intended without destroying the enzymes and probiotics that assist with digestion. They are fully certified organic, which means that the pastures, hay, chickens, eggs, perennials, and herd found on the farm are organic. Every summer, they grow vegetables and flowers they sell at local farmer’s markets or at their farm stand, along with grass fed beef, “rose” veal and yogurt from Sidehill Farm (which is made with their milk). And this coming fall, they hope to sell their cheese too.

They told me that they’ve been making cheese for a while now and are keen to continue. If you visit the farm, you’ll be able to taste their practice cheese. We did. We had just settled for our picnic lunch at the back of the farm when Pamela brought a large platter of cheese for us to enjoy. I quickly noticed that every time she’d walk by the wooden table where we sat to eat, she’d nonchalantly grab a slice of cheese.

“I saw you!” I exclaimed jokingly, seeing she was putting cheese in her mouth. “You’re snacking on cheese all day long, aren’t you?” I added. She laughed.

Why wouldn’t she?

We sampled a few types of hard cheese: Robinson Family Swiss, Tekenink Tomme, Hardwick Stone (brick) and a Barndance (abondance). We could not stop eating. Lulu, ma petite gourmande, neither. The cheese was tasty. It was the perfect food to accompany our lunch.

After lunch, we also had a tour of the farm. We walked through Pamela’s large vegetable garden that gave me real vegetable envy; we saw where they make raw milk and cheese; we met the calves and cows who were smartly gathered in the shade of tall trees; and we visited the chicken.

“Lulu isn’t scared at all! Pamela exclaimed when we stepped inside the hen house to collect a basket of fresh eggs. “That’s right!” my friend E., who was holding Lulu by the hand, went on.

“Can we have some milk?” I asked.

“Of course,” Pamela replied. “I also have some cheese for you.”

Before leaving, we packed a gallon of raw milk, a large container of yogurt and three pieces of cheese each. We were happy. We’d spent a simple fulfilling day.

I was keen to taste the milk to find out whether it would taste like the one I’d grown up with. At my grandparents’ or my parents’ house, le lait cru (raw milk) was what we’d drink.

“Qu’est-ce que tu vas faire avec tout cela?” (What are you going to make with all of this?) E. asked when we were back in the car.

“Je ne sais pas encore,” (Don’t know yet) I said.

But it didn’t last for long. Back home, ideas started to come.

I was going to bake a herb-scented vegetable tart, a variant of this one that followed my inspiration. And small cute ones for Lulu too.

Prepare a melon and cucumber soup with yogurt and fresh herbs from the garden.

In the morning, drink milk with a batch of homemade granola.

And make a vanilla-flavored custard, and serve it in verrines with strawberries sauce and fresh strawberries–a dessert I frankly have a strong weakness for and could eat every day!

All of these foods tasted like summer, no exception.

Just like home.

Read the rest…

I have a garden. Finally. It’s still full of weeds and plants I don’t know the name of, but I don’t mind. For now, I feel blessed that we own a large space where Lulu, and P., the three of us, can play. It’s a garden with a tall mulberry tree under which we will sit late at night, if we feel like it, to reflect on the days that pass, and life. It’s where I will assuredly plant vegetables, fruit and herbs too, when the time is right. Next fall, oh! Come soon!

Since it’s too late in the season to plant vegetables, I’ve decided to arrange pots of fresh herbs until I find the perfect place for each one of them to grow strong and healthy.

Within the bunch, I’ve planted marjoram, la marjolaine, a favorite in my kitchen and cooking. Especially during the summer. There’s no reason. It’s just something I do. Something I like.

I hope that you’ve been lucky to cook with marjoram before, and if not, that you’ve at least eaten a dish infused with its delicious citrus-y aromas. The name of the herb comes from the Greek and means la joie de la montagne, (the joy of the mountains), which in my case translates as the joy in my plate. As such, it made dinner remarkable last night in our home.

Mind you, it was easy. I had come back from the farmer’s market the day before with a basket filled with fresh and colorful vegetables, including a variety of zucchini and squash of different shapes and colors, each one looking more beautiful and irresistible than the other.

So much so that they all ended up in my basket. At least I thought in view of the large number I eventually brought home.

“Regarde cette courgette Lulu, et oh…celle-là aussi!” (Look at this zucchini Lulu…and that one) I had exclaimed while pointing to show her the different zucchini on display at my favorite organic farmer. Lulu was sitting comfortably in her stroller with her feet resting on the security bar, not sure what to think about what she was seeing but otherwise undisturbed by the pouring rain and her agitated maman. I was trying to not speak too loud as to hide my excitement to other shoppers who, like us, were also finding shelter from the rain. “They’ll think I am funny weird to behave like this in front of a bunch of plain zucchini”.

The truth is that the sight of those zucchini was filling me with an indescribable enthusiasm. The yellow globe zucchini, in particular, with their elegant round shape and pretty color gradient. I was staring at them, imagining dinner: a marjoram-flavored vegetable stuffing inside each one of them, with delicious flavors of sautéed shallot, celery, sweet potato, lime zest and grated Comté cheese, and prosciutto for added taste. Because, really, anything with prosciutto ends up tasting better ninety nine percent of the time.

That was my plan and that’s what we ate. I am a girl with a determined mind. We enjoyed our stuffed zucchini with steamed Jasmine rice and a green salad on the side. By the end of dinner, we formed a family of three with happy bellies.

Repus. (Content with food)

Joyeux. (Joyful)

Read the rest…

It was easy to fall for them. They sparkled like ruby stones with their rich red color. Perhaps I am the only one noticing them, I thought. How could no one else seem to see them? Or want them? They suddenly brought memories of treasured moments spent in my mother’s small kitchen, when she and I made preserves and the house smelled sweet like a sugar mill.

We were canning sour cherries. Des cerises aigres. Those small bright red cherries that many people don’t care about because of their more emphasized acidic taste.

Nous?

We would never get enough of them. We’d pet the sour cherry tree in the back garden with love. And great care. Hungry, when summer came, for a taste of the delicate fruit in our mouths.

Frankly, I didn’t think that I would still be lucky enough to find sour cherries at this time in the season. But I did. And I indulged when I caught sight of a few boxes in the store. One box. Two boxes. Three. In my cart.

I wasn’t sure of what I would make with them but was nevertheless convinced that I’d find something tasty to render them justice. It was a necessity. And I’d have to work fast too since I knew the fruit would spoil quickly.

Then Saturday came and there was a spontaneous dinner invitation for friends to come for dinner. The kind we love. It was a hot summer night, and we enjoyed the breeze as we sat outside to eat on the patio. We were eating grilled fish, potato and radish salad with a melon cucumber soup to start.

And for dessert, I made a cherry soup infused with lemon thyme, and served it with a fresh strawberry sorbet and a dollop of mascarpone. It’s an idea that crossed my mind while not knowing really what I would eventually serve.

The dessert offered subtle flavors that worked wonderfully, leaving us light and refreshed after eating. The best during summer.

So the next day, between a walk to the playground to explore our new neighborhood, I made it again. This time, using Rainier cherries to compare, curious to see whether I would like it just as much.

The color of the Rainier cherry soup was pretty but Les cerises aigres stood out.

Making the sour cherry soup is easy. Prepare a light syrup and add spices that you like. I flavored mine with lemon-thyme , lime juice, vanilla and cane blond sugar. Then, simmer the cherries in the syrup until they soften. The cooking time will depend on how ripe the fruit is and how you like it. Then, serve the soup chilled with mascarpone cheese and a scoop of homemade made berry sorbet. I made mine using delicious fragrant organic strawberries, confectioner’s sugar–that I made with blond cane sugar–lime juice and a few tablespoons of apple juice.

Together, it was an explosion of some of the best aromas of summer fruit in the mouth.

Fresh and bright.

Read the rest…

Lulu looked at me, then she opened her mouth, keen to take the spoonful of gazpacho I was holding in front of her. I was watching her carefully, curious to find out what would happen next. Her face stretched into a grin and a funny-sounding laughter escaped through her lips, one that seemed to tell me “Tu plaisantes maman?” (Are you joking mummy?)

“Oh oh, de la gaspacho, ma Lulu!” I exclaimed. “Essaie !” (Try)! “Tu n’aimes pas?” (Don’t you like it?)

She was eating the soup for the first time, so I didn’t worry if she didn’t seem to like it. I knew that one day, when feeling ready, she’d come back to it. And enjoy the flavors of the soup that rhyme so magically well with summer. Suffice to look at all this eye-catching red!

She pointed at the bowl of radishes on the table instead.

“Tu préfères un radis ?” (Do you prefer a radish?) I asked, holding a pink radish to her. She took it from my hand without hesitation, murmuring a Thank you in her own words, and then she bit into the radish. Happy now, it was obvious.

I grabbed one too and we both sat at the dining room table by the back garden, busy eating our radishes with contentment, appreciating the crunchiness and peppery taste that the food released on our tongues.

Lightly seared salmon and a pot of warm brown rice cooked with marjoram, cumin, cream, peas and watercress were following–foods she never says no to either.

Just like the fresh raspberry and custard tart I had baked in the morning.

As to P. and I, we were thankful for the pot of gazpacho I had prepared. A large pot with colorful toppings to give more body to the soup.

“Miam, c’est super bon,” P. said after a taste. (Yum, it’s delicious!) I had found beautiful organic tomatoes that had the name gazpacho written all over them. So gazpacho there was. Plenty of it, in fact, in the week that followed.

The first time I prepared the soup, I used leftovers of brioche previously soaked in water. The next time–this recipe–I decided to skip the brioche, and served the soup with toppings that included fresh corn and diced avocado. We had enough for two days, which is always a bonus with a food like gazpacho as flavors will have had the time to develop.

I am still not sure which recipe I preferred. They were different but similar at the same time–I am sure you have your own variant too, non? Both were a refreshing way to start our meal. Ideal for the warm temperatures of the day. Summer.

Of course, the best tomatoes make the best gazpacho. Which means that gazpacho is really at ist best when prepared during summer. En été.

I remember that when I was still living with my parents, my mother never bought out of season produce. I remember that she always made a point about it even more at times when I’d beg for strawberries during winter. In the French countryside where I grew up, it was hard to find them anyway. So we ate seasonal food. In summer, vegetables that grew in the garden, like peas, salad, haricots verts, carrots, beets, zucchini, radish.

And tomatoes. Des tomates.

Oh homegrown tomatoes!

They simply stand out, don’t they?

Make a large pot and serve it as an appetizer or a main course for a light meal. Or serve the soup in shot glasses, as an amuse-bouche to start a meal. I’ve done this many times, and it’s always something our friends enjoy.

We all do.

Read the rest…

That’s what I like: enjoy the aromas of a pot of ratatouille simmering slowly on the stove, leaving me excited for the dinner, or lunch, we’ll enjoy later. That’s so French. That’s so much what we used to eat during summer in my parents’ house.

It has not changed. I am continuing the tradition. With my Lulu. And my hubby. Bringing a slice of my French countryside in my American home.

And since the three of us also have a weakness for clafoutis, I’ve decided to make a savory variant of the traditional French dessert. It uses vegetables instead of fruit. It’s made with a savory flan. So here you are with a clafoutis de ratatouille for dinner, or a picnic, using leftovers of ratatouille when you prepare a large pot.

I’ve written about it for the Boston Globe today, in the Sunday Supper section. I hope you’ll enjoy the recipes. The ratatouille recipe is here. The clafoutis de ratatouille here.

Happy Bastille Day! Tonight, we’ll reflect on everything that’s been happening in our lives recently.

We’ll be sad. We’ll be happy. We’ll be looking forward to life. Family. Home.

And to more beautiful foods.