Along with cookie and wow, “A table” (The French expression a cook uses to call the family to the table for lunch or dinner) are right now two of Lulu’s favorite words. It’s really too funny! She probably does not yet know exactly what the expression means, but she surely knows that it involves food–and no doubt that she likes this part very much.

Mind you, I am pretty sure that in the midst of it all, she always has the hope that there will be cookies on the table too.

But instead, today–and yesterday too–we had apricots at home.

If you are anything like me, you must be enjoying apricots at the moment. They are beautiful and tasty. This year, I am also happy to report that I remembered to freeze some, for the times when I crave apricots and cannot buy them in the store.

Some ended up inside a clafoutis (a combination of this one and that one) while others…well, that will be for another day.

A table !

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.

“Everyone is in for a hot chocolate?” I asked our friends M. and A. as we all sat around the table. It was early afternoon and despite the bright sun shining outside, it felt bitterly cold. We didn’t mention it but we felt glad to be sitting inside. Home to drink hot chocolate. And eat muffins.

“You don’t mind if my muffins have cocoa in them too, do you? I added, suddenly unsure that we should actually drink hot chocolate to go along with the muffins I’d baked.

A. was the first to look at me. His face lit up with a wide smile that made him look like a child excited to be standing in front of a piece of beautiful candy.

“Are you kidding?”

He was right. What was I thinking? It didn’t matter that we had them together because when it’s cold and snowy outside and the fireplace is going–and it feels so toasty warm that I could almost sleep inside it–I cannot help but think about Chocolate. Baking. Muffins.

These words sound so melodious when they are put side by side. Enchanting. They feel cozy.

Baking, to start, has a magic buzz. It carries this je-ne-sais-quoi that invariably makes me feel peaceful. Secure. When it happens spontaneously, I like that I don’t feel the need to be original. A list of ingredients naturally flows in my head and that’s enough to start the process. I’ve done the maths and tried the combination so often before that I am confident that nothing can go wrong. Nothing can get between me and my muffins.

And Chocolate, more precisely.

It’s something that I’ve noticed. The fact that I obviously enjoy making all kinds of dessert. From fruit tarts, clafoutis, petits pots de crème, oeufs à la neige, crumbles, charlottes. But that one way or the other, I invariably come back to anything that involves chocolate.

Chocolate. It’s a charming word that I just know oh too well will make my stomach smile in any occasion.

And these muffins were indeed just right. They used delicate unsweetened cocoa (Valrhona is a favorite), flours with character, and bananas that made them moist. The muffins felt light and nutritious.

“Anyone for a second?” I asked as we were engaged in a lively conversation.

“Of course!” A. was once again the first to respond. I watched him pick a second muffin and felt pleased. I’ve always liked that he has such an obvious enthusiasm for desserts.

I also told him to bring the muffins left home. I thought he might enjoy one on his flight back to Paris. But as I was clearing the table shortly after they’d left, I realized he’d simply forgotten.

“Ah well,” I thought. “Tant pis !” (bummer)

I didn’t tell him but in the end, I was glad that he had forgotten. I was thinking about the walk I’d have in the cold with Lulu the next day, and despite the fact that I’d have my feet frozen and my cheeks and nose turned pink red from too much wind, I’d feel quite happy to have yet another hot chocolate and muffin moment.

Deep inside, you know, I am really a winter kind of girl.

And I think that Lulu is learning to turn into one too.

Non?

She was holding the small apple tight between her delicate hands. It was colored with beautiful shades of red, orange and yellow blending harmoniously. It was also perfect in size for her. She was casually leaning against P.’s chest but didn’t even seem to notice as she was too engrossed in observing the apple — her new treasure. Right. Left. Up. Down. And again, turning the apple with her fingers.

Lulu seemed so happy, sitting on the grass between P.’s legs, that we simply wanted to stay quiet and watch, eager to prolong the moment. It was the first apple picked right from the tree that she was holding.

It was one of those perfect days in late September in New England, when the sky is blue, the light has a warming yellow hue and the air is crisp, and we had decided to drive to an organic farm forty minutes outside of Boston, to go apple picking. We hadn’t gone yet this year, so we were especially looking forward to the day. We wanted it special for Lulu. I wanted to bring apples home to make compote, tarts and clafoutis.

There were still late summer raspberries and plenty of apples to pick and when we arrived, the place wasn’t too busy — I liked it that way. One family was eating a picnic under a tree with their one year old baby boy toddling hesitantly, which made Lulu very amused. We sat down on a large blanket next to them and ate our lunch. I had tossed together something quick but nourishing, a quinoa salad with cherry tomatoes, avocado and ricotta salata, and we finished with a piece of goat cheese, plain sheep milk yogurt — Lulu’s favorite — and oatmeal cookies.

I carried Lulu on my back while we picked the fruit and, once our baskets were full with raspberries and apples, we sat down again in the shade of an apple tree. It’ll be peaceful, I thought. But I was far from imagining how pleasant it would be.

“Tiens, prends la pomme,” (Take the apple) I told Lulu, holding a small red apple in front of her. She looked at it and then looked at me. Then she looked at P., as if to receive more reassurance. She paused and then smiled. Her eyes were lit with a spark that seemed to be smiling too. It was something special. She knew it. She reached for the apple and took it delicately between her hands and, while P. and I each ate an apple, she kept looking at hers, playing with it in her hands, bringing it to her mouth, feeling the texture of its soft skin against her lips, learning how to bite in it. It perhaps lasted for fifteen or twenty minutes. Surely more. She never let go of the apple. And later in the afternoon, when she fell asleep as we were driving home, she was still holding the apple tight in one hand.

Back at the house, I baked apple clafoutis. And the next day, I stewed apples with spices that made the house smell like fallen leaves in the forest and September in early fall.

Note that in French, a clafoutis aux pommes (apple clafoutis) is often called a flognarde.

After one single bite into the plump fruit, I fell in love.

I had not seen Rainier cherries before I moved to the US. Where I am from in France, we grow des cerises noires (black cherries) and des cerises aigres (sour cherries) , delicious and juicy, especially those I am able to pick and eat right from the cherry trees. But Rainier cherries have a je-ne-sais-quoi that takes any variety of cherries a step up. They are sweeter and with their yellow orange hue, seem to be smiling and beaming like the sunshine at sunset.

I remember that when my father and I talked over the phone one Sunday sometime in June, he had told me that their cherry trees were so heavy with fruit that every day during an entire week, he filled buckets with delicious overly ripe fruit, which incidentally made every neighbor and friend stopping by happy as he gave the buckets away. C’est une année à fruits (It’s a good year for fruit), he had carried on, explaining at length how they were going to use the fruit. My father likes to talk about those things too.

My parents worked as a team: while my father was busy with the picking, my mother made jams and filled bags for the freezer. Then, she used the leftovers in clafoutis and tarts.

“Il y aura encore des cerises et des groseilles quand on vient ?” (Will there still be cherries and red currants when we come?) I eagerly asked when, a few weeks later, we chit chatted about this and that as we were — are — getting ready for our upcoming stay with them.

“Ah non ma grande, ça malheureusement c’est déjà fini!” (Oh no, that’s unfortunately already over!)

They knew well that I was going to be disappointed to hear that. This time of year is so special!

So instead, I indulged in Rainier cherries and all the other pretty fruits rouges (red berries) that summer offers here too, and that I am such a fan of. And then fairly quickly, I forgot that I was jealous of my parents’ cerisiers (cherry trees) and cherries and red currants. I could have a taste too and c’est mieux que rien ! (It’s better than nothing!)

I’m sure you know that Rainier cherries come from Washington State, and are a cross between the Bing and Van varieties. Since these jewels have appeared in my local store, I never seem to have enough of them. In fact, every time I buy a bag, I have a plan to cook something cute and scrumptious with them, but they rarely seem to make it into a dish.

Instead, we love to eat them nature.

I like to wash a few handfuls and keep them in a bowl on the kitchen island. I look at them and they make me smile. They are a favorite snack every time I walk by — and I’d walk around with pits in my mouth. At other times, P. and I enjoy them in a fruit plate after dinner, with a little cane sugar sprinkled on top, and a large bowl of sheep plain yogurt and homemade granola on the side.

It’s nice and simple but so rewarding. It makes us rejoice in summer, especially if we are able to eat sitting outside, with the grass brushing against our feet, and nothing to worry about but enjoy the moment — and the fruit.

But on some days, these summer fruit really inspire me to prepare a more elaborate dessert or a salad.

Like these two recipes.

My first idea was to bake a fruit crumble. P. and I really love crumbles! Do you too?

A crumble is one of many comforting everyday desserts so easy to make, one that always seems to welcome any seasonal fruit wonderfully. It does not matter whether the fruit isn’t the prettiest; it’s always going to be tasty in a crumble. In this recipe for example, I combined Rainier cherries and red and white currants and I tossed them in cane sugar and lime juice. Then, I topped the fruit with a mixture made with almond meal, quinoa flour, butter, brown sugar and a generous amount of nuts. With the sweetness of the cherries balancing the tarter taste of the currants, the dessert bursted with flavor. I think that like P. and I, you’ll fall in love with it!

Then on that same day, as I was about to prepare my lunch, I thought about adding Rainier cherries in a crunchy fennel and radish salad. I completed the dish with my favorite soft goat cheese and freshly chopped chives picked in the garden. It was delicious and refreshing, so much so that I made more to accompany our dinner the next day. A recipe that is a real keeper.

And when I was done with my bag of cherries and boxes of currants, I walked to the store to buy more.

I am sure that you’ve already noticed that I am just addicted. It shows and I cannot help it.

Be aware, it’s contagious.

Not long ago, P. asked me whether the verb clafoutir existed in French. I smiled. I found the question so sweet that just for a day, or two, I pretended that it did indeed.

It would have read like this:

“je clafoutis, tu clafoutis, il clafoutis, nous clafoutissons, vous clafoutissez , ils clafoutissent.”

Imagine that, so funny!

Wouldn’t it make sense, though? English as a language always seems to be much more flexible than stubborn old French? Words come and go so much more easily.

Anyway, I know what you’re going to say. Yet another clafoutis!

Well, I’ll have to apologize. But then, it’s really all we’re having for dessert at the moment. It serves the purpose just fine. And we are quite all right with it. In fact, it’s pretty good this way. In view of our life right now, that we’re still able to enjoy a dessert that brings the sweet touch, you know, what we want after dinner, what we need after dinner after too many hours hunched over the computer, busy finishing up the cookbook. I am getting there!

I made this clafoutis a few times over the last few weeks, varying the fruit. In this one, I liked to combine fresh strawberries and rhubarb stewed with orange zest. It’s seasonal, and always a winning association. Then, I mixed eggs with sugar, milk and coconut milk, almond flour and cornstarch. Baked for 25 minutes and ate them lukewarm dusted with confectioner’s sugar.

A lovely every day dessert, simple and straightforward.

Lulu will have to love clafoutis as much as her papa and her maman. Sinon! (or else) But right now, she’s only all about carrots and sweet potatoes. It has to start somewhere!

On another note, I’ll be speaking this coming Sunday, at the Food Styling and Photography Conference happening at Boston University. I hope that I’ll be able to meet some of you, and that I’ll be all right! Oh boy! Wish me luck!

What can I say? Your words have been amazingly touching and good to read, overwhelming us with joy. Thank you are two words rather weak to describe how we feel about what you said.

Really, merci.

So yes, life has been good over the past two weeks. Tremendously changed too, as anticipated. Our little L. made it happen this way. We’ve created a home nest that’s brought incredible joys, fun, play times, laughter — and lack of sleep too. These puffy ones? These are mine! My dear parent friends, I understand what you were talking about…

We truly can spend hours staring at L., observing her facial expressions when she naps, eats or gets changed — my favorite ones are when she smiles with her eyes closed or when she purses her lips. Irresistible.

Our friends? They’ve also been wonderful. They’ve brought us food on many occasions, like delicious spiced meat balls, homemade applesauce, fennel salad, soup and duck. We’ve also eaten some of the dishes I had cleverly frozen prior to L.’s arrival: last night we relished on a dish of comfy pumpkin lasagna. And I must say, food has not tasted that good in a long time; we enjoy eating much more slowly, appreciating every single bite we put in our mouth.

I thought I was not going to cook at the beginning after L’s birth. I had been told that like many, I would find it hard to. But despite the general tiredness, it made me really feel good to do so: the call in me was just stronger.

So I cooked, because my body is craving nutritious foods even more so; because we new parents need to, and because I want L. to grow strong and healthy.

I made a few dishes of slow cooked tajines, nutritious salads, simple vegetables soups, sweet apple clafoutis — and I baked cookies, granola and many types of muffins too. Snacks during pregnancy were a must — they are even more so during breastfeeding times. I enjoy them during the day, and at night, when the house is filled with silence and P. and I are taking care of L.’s needs.

Yesterday’s morning, as we lay in bed for a family nap, we kept wondering whether this was really all happening. We kept staring at the little one cozily nested between us, and we felt overwhelmed and warm inside. The house sounded particularly quiet, perhaps because of the snow that had kept piling outside. As the sun was generously out, I was looking forward to taking a short walk to the park, to feel the cold wind brushing against my skin awaken my senses. The park was like a magnificent white playground: it felt good to be there.

Upon my return, I was filled with a rush to bake.

Don’t ask.

Between feeds, I decided to make hazelnut carrot cupcakes.

I did not really know where the recipe was going to take me. I simply let it happen, naturally. I used carrots, nutritious flours like hazelnut, quinoa and amaranth, Muscovado sugar, eggs, olive oil, spices like cinnamon and nutmeg, and plain yogurt to add moistness to the baked goods.

Sometimes, I simply know that some ingredients will work together, that they will be right when combined.

We loved the end result. These cupcakes are lovely to enjoy as a snack, or eaten for breakfast.

Et moi ? I was happy to have a new healthy snack to feed the many hungry times I have during the day. The icing was for the visual fun, for those of you with a sweeter tooth — I personally prefer them plain.

Let’s talk about the quiches, shall we? After all, I am from Lorraine where quiche lorraine originates from.

But that’s not the reason why I want to chat about quiches with you.

In fact, let me confide that I’ve never been a huge fan of quiche lorraine. Oh yes, really not. When I was a kid, I always found the dish too rich, too egg-y and creamy, lacking the taste of scrumptious delicate vegetables that I can never get enough of. Of course, you won’t be surprised since a quiche lorraine does not have vegetables as a component. And if it did, we would not call it a quiche lorraine.

But then, I love the concept of a quiche. Everything about it.

Think a flaky pastry crust that supports a deliciously nourishing topping where you can find fish, vegetables, herbs, cheese, and always eggs and cream (or milk); a dish that makes a meal in itself when it is served with a salad. Really, it’s pretty much my idea of a successful lunch, or a light dinner, especially these days, with fall and its gorgeous days settling amongst us slowly.

Over the years, I have developed a lot of recipes for quiches. Sometimes, I make a large quiche to feed a crowd, and at other times, I prefer to make individual quiches — because they are cuter too — or even bite-sized ones, perfect for a party buffet. Quiches are also somewhat different from savory tarts because they use a higher ratio of eggs and cream and/or milk, and are baked in deeper molds. They are wonderful eaten on the day when they are cooked, but also develop extra flavor when they are reheated the next day. I typically prefer to precook the pastry, but not always either. Some people like to eat their quiches cold — perhaps you — although I must say, I am more of a warm quiche kind of eater. Quiches really inspire me, and always make P. and I happy when they are the center piece of our dining table — quite often a reality.

This recipe was actually spontaneous. You know, the type of recipe that happens when you look into the fridge as you are about to make dinner with yet no clue about what you will make.

Since I had leftovers of a few things, Danish blue cheese — used before in a soup and another vegetable tart — pastry crust, organic leeks, eggs and Zebra tomatoes bought at the market a few days before, the recipe happened naturally. With an arugula salad dressed in an argan oil vinaigrette, I knew that these quiches would be simple and lovely.

And they truly were.

With no leftovers this time.

All I could think of was the word chocolate.

“I want to eat something chocolaty,” I told P. when he asked me what I wanted for dessert. We’d dined simply, enjoying mini leek and blue cheese quiches I had made in the morning, roasted squash and a tossed green salad.

In most cases, I could have been quite happy nibbling on a piece of dark chocolate, or two. That’s easy: I always keep a wide reserve of different kinds of dark chocolate for us. Since I had just brought more Michel Cluizel and Varlhona bars from France, our favorites, the idea sounded even more attractive. But then, I really felt like something else. Something a little custardy too. And fruity.

“And what if I made a chocolate clafoutis, with fruit?” I went on.

“What fruit?”

“Apples? With raspberries too.”

He was sold on the idea.

First, it would not take long to prepare them, and then, it would combine many of the components I love in a dessert: chocolate and fruit, a clafoutis-like texture and a dessert not too sweet.

The chocolate clafoutis were made quickly indeed, especially as I chose to prepare small portions, ideal if you are interested in only a small taste of dessert — really, do we sometimes feel this way?

The recipe was straightforward too, with not many ingredients and a lot of time required.

You need quality dark chocolate — I prefer to work with dark chocolate that has a minimum of 64% to 70 % cocoa — tasty apples like Heirloom varieties, the best by far, raspberries even if their season comes to an end, and basic ingredients which I am sure you always keep handy in the fridge or your pantry.

A waft of chocolate came through the air out of the kitchen.

“Are they ready?” P. asked, feeling as intoxicating by the smell as I was. He was sitting on the sofa, listening to new music streaming through our Squeezebox.

“I think so. But we need to wait, they are too hot!”

“Vraiment ? (really?)”

We looked at each other, and laughed.

“Five minutes, no more.”

The clafoutis were still quite warm to the touch when we ate them — the best way to enjoy them, really.

“Great idea that you had,” I told P, with my mouth full.

He did not speak back. His mouth was full too, and his eyes seemed to smile out of content.

Call me addicted. I think I really am. Another clafoutis? Well, yes it is indeed. It’s been the clafoutis summer. My clafoutis summer. My friends must grow tired of them.

But I don’t. And P. neither. A good thing, and why not?

Well think about it. In my dessert répertoire, clafoutis ranks amongst the easiest desserts to make; it’s natural to me, like making cupcakes or macarons is for others. In a clafoutis, you can use all sorts of seasonal fruit, and accommodate your clafoutis according to your mood, and fancy.

And it is so comforting!

La cerise sur le gâteau ? (the cherry on top of the cake?) It brings me back to my lovely beloved country, la France.

That, really, cannot be beaten.

In this clafoutis, I experimented with adding a touch of Matcha tea to the batter, and used coconut milk instead of milk or cream. Then, I mixed gorgeously ripe red currants and small apricots — I am loving the little ones I buy that have a red pigmentation, and which are so juicy and flavorful — et puis, ben voilà ! I also used tiny molds because that made for minuscule cute portions.

A lovely way to finish a meal. Of course, the Matcha tea can totally be omitted. I was just curious to find out about this association of flavors.

Cooking is all about experimenting, non ?