This weekend, I wanted to prepare something fun for Lulu. She’s been sick with a cold. She’s rarely sick. But she’s been a real trooper. And so despite her fever and runny nose, she wanted to spend time in the kitchen with me.

“Je veux cuisiner avec toi maman,” (I want to cook with you mummy) she said when she watched me peel the small beets I had kept from one of our late farmer’s markets. I had meant to keep them as long as I could. I had fallen in love with the colors.

Amongst others, Lulu likes crunchy foods. I am not blaming her. I do too. I knew that a bowl of finely sliced beet chips would make her happy.

All of us, as a matter of fact.

So we cooked together. And we prepared beet chips. I can still see her eyes lighting with excitement when she noticed tiny bubbles form around the slices of beets inside the boiling oil.

“Regarde toutes ces couleurs maman !” (Look at all of these colors mummy) she added. She was right to notice. They looked really pretty!

“Tu veux ajouter le sel,” (Do you want to add the salt?) I asked.

I knew she would.

Simple things to cheer my Lulu up.

And help her feel better.

“I am completely mesmerized by the color of the grass,” I tell Dan who is sitting next to me in his red Chevrolet pickup. The road is fairly bumpy and dusty but I don’t pay any attention to it. My eyes are glued to the scenery that slowly unveils as we approach the ranch where he and his wife Jill live.

The closest connection to any country store is an hour away. “And this is the last place to get gas,” Dan adds while pointing at a small shabby-looking gas station along the endless interstate highway that connects us to Rapid City. I cannot help but smile. Even if I still have no idea of what is waiting for me ahead, I already know I am going to really like it.

“It’s my first time in South Dakota.”

“Good,” he says with a friendly smile.

I like the way he speaks. The pace of his words sounds peaceful and quiet. They mimic the appeasing feeling that runs through my body when my eyes catch sight of the yellow rolling hills which surround us as we drive along.

“I cannot believe the weather here either,“I add. “Everyone had told me it was going to be so cold!”

All of a sudden, the long gray winter jacket, the woolen hat and gloves I am wearing feel inappropriate and uncomfortable. I am dying to change into lighter mid-season clothes.

“It can change quickly though, so you never know. It’s good to be prepared.”

I realize that Dan is right when, a few days later, we wake up to 20 F, wind and a light veil of snow covering the plain.

But the light. Oh the light! that colors the Great Plains.

Every day.

Over and over again.

I’ve never stayed on a ranch before. I’ve never seen buffalo before either. But deep inside, I know one thing: the week I am going to spend in South Dakota to work with Dan and Jill O’ Brien will be amazing.

Jill and Dan O’ Brien are the force and talent behind Wild Idea Buffalo. I am only arrived on their ranch, getting to know them more, that I quickly understand that their vision is not just about selling buffalo meat. Their goal is about making sure that their animals are kept happy in the Great Plains, that they receive the best foods, and that the environment is preserved.

They believe in a sustainable eco-system.

They believe in a better place.

And it shows.

I’ve come to teach Jill food styling and photography. And so during the entire week, she and I cook, style, and photograph food.

Jill has a beautiful smile and a generous laughter.

I love working with her in the kitchen. I love hearing her story.

When she tells me that she grew up on a South Dakota dairy farm, and that she learned to cook because this was what you did when you came from a large family, I cannot help but think about my father, his upbringing on the farm, and the long communal table in my grand-mother’s kitchen where family and workers would always sit to refill on hearty dishes my grand-mother had prepared.

As I feel curious to know more about her family, I keep on asking: “Did your mother and grand-mother like to cook?”

By looking at her energy and strength in the kitchen, I can guess the answer.

“Oh yes!”

“No wonder you are such a generous cook!” I tell her as I watch her serving us bowls of steaming buffalo stew that reminds me of my mother’s boeuf bourguignon. The food is so delicious that I close my eyes with the attempt to slow the moment down. I want to keep the taste of it in my mouth longer.

Jill educates me to buffalo meat. And to my surprise, I even don’t mind eating more meat than I am accustomed to.

“The flavor is really delicate. The meat has great character,” I tell her when, one night to celebrate Jilian’s birthday, she prepares a cut of buffalo tenderloin for dinner. The words “délicat et léger float in my head.

Each buffalo dish I eat leaves me feeling light.

To refill our energy and creative spirit, between photo shoots, Jill takes me to see the horses and chicken.

“I want to raise Araucana chicken!” I tell her, laughing, as she hands me a couple of warm blue and white eggs we’ve just fetched from the henhouse.

We take walks with the dogs. I particularly enjoy watching Henry-our French hunting dog as Jill enjoys reminding me–run freely through the fields and between the hills.

We observe antelopes and coyotes in the distance. We watch sun sets and moon rises.

Every day, I marvel at the sight of the blond grass. And of cotton trees set against bright blue skies.

“I really want to swim in it,” I tell Dan and Jill each time we walk or drive by a field–to which they laugh.

I cannot get enough of the oranges and yellows of the light that embraces the Great Plains every day at the same time, comes four O’ Clock. It has an intensity I’ve not seen before.

Dan takes me to see the buffalo herds by the majestic Cheyenne river near their ranch. I help him to feed the baby buffalos that he and Jill have rescued.

“These are only three months old,” he tells me as he points at small buffalo that are more red than the others. “You can tell by the color of their hair.”

“They are still frail but we are planning to let them join the older ones in a week.”

With Dan, I enjoy talking about writing too.

“I didn’t know that you were such an accomplished writer!” I tell him with admiration when he humbly acknowledges the numerous novels he’s written over the years.

As we chit-chat more, I soon find out that not only Dan is a talented writer, but that the French have also befriended him warmly. His ranch and admirable work with the wild buffalo have been featured in many French magazines, including Géo, my utter favorite when I was growing up!

I learn a ton over the course of my week.

I discover an American state with delightful landscapes that transport me to old cowboys movies once watched when I was young. Papa, tu adorerais !

I learn that life can be much simpler. Quieter. I learnt that when need be, you can always make do with what you have at hand.

I fall asleep while hearing the howling of coyotes.

I watch the moon rise. And the sun set.

I eat scrumptious country foods. I eat the best buffalo burger with homemade red potato chips. I dine from elegant dishes.

I make new friends.

And I return home with the recipe of a delicious Vietnamese Bison Salad.

Thank you Jill and Dan for welcoming me into your home. I cannot wait to come back to see the grass turn green. And to show P. and Lulu the buffalo, the Great plains, and have them watch a moon rise and fetch fresh eggs.

Lulu will love to meet you and pet the cats.

She will love to run freely on top of the hills.

I am convinced that she will really enjoy the taste of buffalo meat too.

Of course, when I returned, I could not help but recreate my own variant of Jill’s salad in my kitchen. Mine had zucchini and carrots, and I used veal instead of bison. It didn’t take long to become a real favorite.

They were P.’s words. I could not agree more.

I wanted to start the new year with delicious salads. Made with légumes secs (legumes), vegetables, and fruit. Offering zest and crunch. With mixed flavors of the earth and sea.

This verrine recipe has it all. It showcases black chickpeas, which I had never used before. I simply fell in love with its unusual color…

Yesterday, on the 1st of January, we had a picnic at the beach. I cannot begin to tell you how excited Lulu was at the idea! And how both P. and I were looking forward to it too!

“On va faire un pique-nique à la plage,” Lulu kept repeating to my mum on Skype while helping me to pack a picnic basket.

The truth is that we could not have dreamed of a more glorious day.

Oh the weather my dear readers! “What happened to winter?” we’ve been wondering….

It felt mild and calm outside. So sunny. So soft. Similar to a day in late summer or early fall.

After the holidays, Sunday was the first day when P., Lulu, and I were alone again. All family had returned home. The house felt too big. Too empty. I wanted that day at the beach. I knew it’d feel soothing to be outdoors.

To clear our heads…

We packed simple foods: A thermos filled with African Roobois tea; slices of chocolate cake; clementines and sheep yogurt; and our black chickpea, crab and fennel salad. Next time, I might even add finely shaved jicama or red grapes in it.

It might sound like it was the perfect day.

It really was.

Quiet.

Calm.

Reflective and full of lightness.

We were lucky.

Hopefully, it is setting the tone for the year to come?

Happy New Year to you all! May this new one bring happiness and love and fulfillment in whatever area that is dear to you.

May you be inspired to cook! In one of my next posts, I will share more pictures reflective of the past year….

I’m holding this moment close to my heart. On Christmas day, we celebrated Lulu’s birthday.

She turned three. I am amazed we are already there.

It’s an amazing age of innocence and curiosity for every detail of life. The time when her world is filled with teddy bears, butterfly stickers, coloring pencils and markers, hot chocolate sipped with a straw, Charlie and Lola, kitties, puzzles, doudous, T’Choupi books and legos. Lots of openness and love. And what’s this, qu’est-ce que c’est, and what’s that questions about the world in which she is growing.

I’m in love with this age. I’m in love with her exponentially.

For the first time since Lulu’s birth, my parents were with us for this special time.

The perfect occasion to build together a lovely French Christmas celebration–I was really excited.

My mother and I spent a lot of time together in my kitchen. That was where she felt comfortable. It made me happy to watch her make it her creative space.

Most days, we cooked simple meals. Every day foods that I’ve learned to cook by my mother’s side. One day, it was an organic chicken flavored with garlic and a bouquet garni that she prepared with mashed sunchoke and potatoes. Another day, she treated us with braised fennel served with wild Alaskan salmon and short brown rice, and we also begged, Lulu included, that she cooked her petit salé, an old favorite.

Foods we were so glad to eat after taking walks to the farm and at the park.

On the day of Lulu’s birthday party held a week before the day, she even pulled together a large dish of paella to feed a crowd.

Next to her, I prepared custards and chocolate cakes and muffins and puddings.

“C’est toi qui t’occuperas de faire les desserts, (You’ll be in charge of making desserts) she told me on the first night after they’d arrived.

Because between the two of us, I’ve always been the one known to make desserts.

To have them taste some of our daily favorite dishes, I prepared lentil soups and spaghetti with vegetables and langoustines.

We ate lunch and dinner in the French manner with baguette, cheese and salade verte to seal our meals–my dad is so French about it.

I liked to watch my mother create our meals. They came effortless to her. In a beautiful sort of way.

And so quite naturally, we ended up giving our Christmas an obvious French flair.

I don’t know whether you know this, but for the French, le réveillon de Noël–the dinner eaten the day preceding Christmas–is as important as Christmas day. It’s when the festivities start late in the night with family members gathering around a table filled with out-of-the-ordinary delicacies.

I keep lovely memories of our réveillons: smoked salmon and snails and an array of colorful amuse-bouches were treats that we’d enjoy after going to midnight mass. On Christmas day, when my dad was busy opening oysters and a bottle of champagne, my mother would prepare scallops or foie gras with onion jam, chapon (capon), duck, pintade (guineafowl) or game meat which she’d serve with seasonal petits légumes and airelle relish. Invariably, my brother and I kept our eyes and interest largely riveted on the chocolate bûche de Noël that always finished our meal.

I wanted that our Christmas spent together had a little bit of it all.

Together, my mother and I imagined tradition in our menu. But as the words fresh, colorful, and earthy kept popping inside my head, I knew that our foods would have a bit of each. And, since neither my mother nor father had seen my book before, the idea to cook from it made sense as well.

It really felt right to make it happen in that way.

So we did it.

On the night of the réveillon, we ate delicious, plump and sweet oysters from Island Creek Oyster Farm. We enjoyed a mâche and scallop salad dish, from the same recipe I had imagined for the Christmas the year before. I loved that it was so easy to make, but so eye-catching too with its pretty finely sliced potato galettes arranged on top. And then I prepared a veal tajine with preserved lemons, Turkish dried apricots and millet, and a homemade raspberry sorbet for dessert.

“Avec les cookies du père Noël !” Lulu had exclaimed excitedly as she was pulling a plate filled with the cookies that she and I had prepared in the afternoon for Santa Claus.

Then, on Christmas day, we used recipes from my book: Endives leaves with roquefort, grapes, radishes dressed in a pistachio vinaigrette served as an amuse-bouche; dressed-up crab and avocado appetizer (I used a fresh leg of cooked crab to replace fresh salmon in the recipe). Then, my mother cooked cailles aux raisins (quails with grapes) and a potato gratin dauphinois, two French classics. And I made a raspberry charlotte which brought oh and ah to the table when Lulu caught sight of the three small candles lit on top of it.

“Souffle fort !” (Blow !) we encouraged her while singing “Joyeeeuuuux aannniversaaaiiire, joyeux anniiivvveerrsaaiire Lulu” (Happy Birthday) in French.

She was beaming. She looked touchingly shy. But so happy with all of us gathered around her.

She is a Christmas baby.

She had just turned three.

And she looked beautiful.

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas celebration. And will have a wonderful night to enter into the new year. Can you believe that we are so close to 2012 already? My last post of 2011.

Bonne année ! I will talk to you next in 2012!

It’s the story of a soup that connected us to a place and a moment. Between earth and sea.

About a month ago, Lulu, P. and his parents and I traveled to Block Island. We’d decided of the trip quickly, choosing the small island off the coast of Rhode Island as the place to meet. Together, we wanted to spend a short week to celebrate the end of summer.

We rented a lovely house on the west side of the island. On top of a hill. Overlooking the ocean. Which, as it may read, sounds like we’d found the perfect getaway.

We had. It was perfect in every meaning of the word. It was délicieusement doux et sucré.

Our days were slow in the manner time passes on a small island. Refreshing in just the right amount.

When we spent time inside, we cooked and played with Lulu. Once outside, we wandered the winding roads, admiring meadows and ponds, before eventually finding one of the many gorgeous beaches of the island where we built stone piles and drew our names in the sand with wooden sticks. Lulu liked to imagine she was Ladybug Girl at the Beach.

I really love Block Island.

We had a terrific family time and ate lovely homey dishes.

Somehow, soup was at the center of this. Somehow, these trips always inspire me to prepare soup.

This carrot soup happened there. Or at least I started thinking about it after my mother-in-law and I bought clams one night for dinner.

I remembered the curried squash and red lentil soup I had prepared with clams when our friends Pierre and Akiko visited. I wanted something just like that. But something new too. I wanted that the soup celebrated the connection I felt on the island. Between earth and sea. With the transition into the new season.

“Carrots!”

“What?”

“Carrots. It’s a carrot soup,” I told P. on the first night when I brought the soup to the table.

“It’s amazing!” he said after he tasted it. “So elegant and surprising. Yet so down-to-earth too.” I liked that he had found the words to describe what I couldn’t.

I had prepared the soup with carrots, orange and sweet potato, with aromas of ginger and coriander.

“What’s this?” Lulu asked when she saw me drizzle truffle-flavored oil on top of the steaming soup.

“Do you want some?”

“Oui s’il te plait.”

I smiled. I liked that she asked for it.

“Do you like truffle oil? I said as I watched her dip a piece of toasted baguette in the soup.

“Oui,” she said as she dipped more bread in.

Who wouldn’t like it? I am a fan of finishing my soups (like this sunchoke soup), with a drizzle of truffle oil.

Right then, I understood that this soup was becoming a favorite.

The memories I keep from Camargue are faint, I kept thinking as P., Lulu and I were silently driving on the highway that connects Marseilles to Arles. I found the air blowing through the window hot when it eventually landed on my skin. After getting up before the crack of dawn that morning for our cross-Channel flight from London, we were feeling tired too.

“Et en plus, c’est dimanche!” (furthermore, it’s Sunday!) I suddenly exclaimed, thinking about food. “Et demain c’est aussi férié !” (And tomorrow is a holiday too!) Which meant that every supermarket would be closed and we wouldn’t find much to buy for groceries.

I felt silly for having forgotten that part when I booked our trip across France.

But an hour later, when we finally arrived at our rental house nested between overripe peach orchards, it didn’t matter anymore. The area where the house was located was perhaps not the most beautiful or quietest we’d visited, but the house had an inviting pool and garden–and we were keen to have a swim.

So we had one. And another one. And when we’d had enough, we realized that we were starving and decided to take a short ten-minute drive to Arles for lunch.

Arles, of course, is an amazing city. Its beautiful medieval monuments and strong Roman heritage enchanted me as it brought back scenes seen before in my middle-school history book. We could not help but notice the slower pace people followed as we walked the city’s numerous narrow cobblestone streets. “It must be the heat,” I thought. “Anyone would slow down.”

Once Lulu got a taste of what it felt like to be on a merry-go round arlésien, she would not stop.

We arrived around 2:30PM, which seemed early enough. Yet, it took us a while before we eventually found a bistro still serving food. We lunched on salades composées, carpaccio and fries, with ice cream and berry panna cotta to finish. The food was helping us to relax into our vacation even more.

“Where am I going to buy groceries now?” I asked P.

“Wasn’t there a deli by the car park?”

He was right. I remembered now.

Held by a short and slim North-African man with a generous smile, the store was stacked up with spices, dry foods, a small selection of vegetables and fruit, cheese and a few cuts of meat. Enough for us to get by until Tuesday. I bought a bag of rice with zucchini and carrots, which I intended to cook à la pilaf in an improvised Moroccan style, with olive oil and spices. We’d have salad, eggs, cheese, bread and fruit too.

I visited Camargue for the first time when I was nineteen. My parents had decided that we’d take a short vacation during les vacances de la Toussaint in November. I was not sure I wanted to go then but in the end I went, and loved all of it.

I remember us taking long walks to visit local markets where we invariably bought fresh soft cheese, saucissons de taureau–for which my parents have a weakness–and summer fruit and vegetables. We sampled Muscat du pays and ate bouillabaisse sur le port (by the harbour). I’ve always loved that about French cities by the sea: the fact that they offer cozy cafés, bistros and restaurants to stop at for tasty local food. We also looked for wild horses and flamingos.

This vacation, I knew, would be somewhat similar. Yet different too. We’d be quieter and less ambitious. To fit Lulu’s schedule. To fit our desire to rest too. But with my parents again as they drove from Lorraine to meet us there.

One day, we visited the immense Espiguette beach, stopping at Aigues-Mortes on the way. Despite the fact that it was summer, we didn’t feel the crowd.

Between mornings spent by the pool and naps, my mum and I cooked lunch. And dinner. We ate risotto, mixed salads and stuffed vegetables. We barbecued fresh rougets bought at the market and I even baked a berry gratin and a cake. Fresh, summery and simple.

Another day, we invited my parents for lunch at L’Atelier de Jean-Luc Rabanel in Arles.

“C’est bon mais un peu trop compliqué pour moi,” (It’s good but a bit too complicated for me) my dad said. I laughed. I could see what he meant.

Rabanel received two stars in the 2009 Michelin guide, and was awarded Best 2008 Chef in the Gault et Millau guide. We chose an eight-course tasting menu with paired wines. Around the Vegetal theme.

From seeing each plate brought to our table, I could understand that Rabanel’s goal was to combine cooking techniques and surprise with the flavors offered by each dish. I could also see why my father found our meal complicated.

I don’t remember every detail from the numerous dishes we ate–maybe it’s because of the wine. But I yet remember we started with paper-thin dark red beetroot chips, which Lulu decided were all hers. A tartine with its crunchy vegetables followed. Then we ate crunchy Camargue red rice with its garlic-flavored ice cream; a tuna and bean ceviche; a cut of veal served with rosemary-flavored jus and cooked-to-perfection rosemary-flavored fingerling potatoes; a surprising oyster-scented leaf (the leaf is real and literally tasted like an oyster). And we finished with a red berry soup with its almond milk emulsion (absolutely divine); a brioche cooked as pain perdu and served as a raspberry tartlet; and a panna cotta with fruit and preserved oignons perles. With tarragon-flavored ice cream in the middle.

I found our lunch exquisite and light. Delicate and floral. Rabanel’s food had undeniably inspired my cooking chord.

One day, when we hit the market in town, I found cocos rouges beans. I could not get over their popping light fushia color. They were staring at me.

“Ils sont magnifiques vos légumes,” (Your vegetables are beautiful,) I told the young good-looking man standing behind a beautifully arranged display of provençal vegetables.

He smiled.

I took a bag and started to fill it with cocos rouges. I was so engrossed with the task that I almost didn’t notice an older man with a cane and light summer hat standing by my side. His upper lip was hidden behind a silver-looking mustache that shone under the sun. He was talking to me.

“Ah, les cocos,” he said. “Ils sont beaux, n’est-ce pas? Moi, j’aime les cuire avec des pommes de terre.” (They are beautiful, aren’t they? I like to cook them with potatoes)

“Ils mettent combien de temps à cuire ?” (How long do you cook them for?) I asked, gulping down every word he was saying.

“Ils sont très frais, alors pas trop longtemps. Vingt minutes peut-être. Pas besoin de les faire tremper.” (They are super fresh, so not for too long. Maybe twenty minutes. No need to soak them.)

The man behind the counter was looking at us. Amused.

I was about to pay when I heard the old man again whispering something to my ear. “Pardon ?” I said as I stretched my ear to hear better.

“J’aime aussi y ajouter une saucisse,” (I like to add a sausage in it) he added with a gentle smile. His eyes grew hungry for the food he was describing to me. I closed my eyes and imagined how the flavors could mingle. It also made me suddenly hungry.

Lulu, P. and my parents were waiting for me at a café with a drink when I met them.

“Where were you?” P. asked.

“I was talking to an old man about cocos rouges,” I said. He looked at me puzzled. I didn’t bother explaining then.

“I know what what we are having for dinner tonight,” I went on.

I was still thinking about the friendly face of the old man with his cane and mustache. And while walking to meet my family, I had improvised in my head the recipe for a potato and coco rouge salad with fennel, cherry tomatoes, mesclun greens and radishes bought at the market too. Except that instead of sausage as suggested by my old friend, we’d cook sardines on the grill. And have pêches des vignes with mascarpone cheese and honey for dessert.

And I knew that everything would taste like summer. The south of France and Provence.

A lovely time away.

And that it would leave me with the memory of my new old friend met at the market that morning.

The recipe will follow…

A few weeks ago, Esther who works for Martha Stewart magazines sent me an email, asking whether I’d like to receive a complementary copy of the special Everyday Food summer issue.

I’d be happy to, I said.

I love summer.

It almost went without asking. Especially since, I later found out, recipes from fellow bloggers Heidi, Aran, and Ree, were featured inside the magazine. With more goodies from New York food writer Mindy Fox.

I promised to give my feedback.

Don’t be surprised when I tell you that I wasn’t actually familiar with the magazine at all. I know.

In a way, it was probably good. I didn’t have any expectations.

The magazine arrived and I found myself enjoying what I read and saw.

The cover was pretty. The magazine was filled with beautiful pictures of mouthwatering dishes. With a strong enchanting summer feel. There was even a delightful feature of Aran and dishes she made to celebrate a summer pool party with friends.

All charming.

Obviously, many dishes caught my attention–like a zucchini frittata and Mindy‘s roast chicken. But because of the way my life goes at the moment, I knew I wouldn’t have the time to cook my way through the magazine right away.

I have the rest of summer to do just that.

Yet, I started with a few selected dishes.

Like the gorgeous corn soup that Aran made and styled. It was a dish we loved.

I adapted the recipe, experimenting each time I cooked it.

The soup is served chilled with chopped pepper and scallions, and coriander flowers. I was glad to find coriander flowers in my garden that I gladly used for the garnish as well. We found the soup superb to start a meal on a hot day.

In one of my interpretations of the dish, the recipe I am including here, I liked to add leek and fresh herbs, because I have lots of them in the garden that speak summer flavors. I also garnished the soup with fresh pieces of crab that offered a welcoming contrast of texture and flavors, a bit like a cross between Earth and Water. Try these if you happen to have the ingredients handy. And I served the soup lukewarm. In the end, I really enjoyed the original recipe and the variants I tried. It was fun to make the soup again and again and see what happens each time we ate it.

Then came the popsicles. Beautiful refreshing bâtonnets de glace à eau, as we call them in French, with colors that popped out of the pages. So inspiring, I thought. Perfect for the season.

I knew I had to try a few.

I had mangoes at home, juicy peaches and raspberries bought at the market, and my favorite apple juice. Inspiration with a new recipe idea in my head.

That was just the way the mango and peach popsicle recipe that follows was born.

I kept it simple. Without any sugar added. I wanted to taste the aromas of the fruit. I wanted that Lulu enjoyed them just like that too. I wanted color. So I decided to sneak a few raspberries inside each popsicle. And nothing else.

We ate them when my father-in-law and P.’s sister, who both live in Chicago, paid us a surprise visit for lunch. It was a perfect summer day, I remember. Not too warm. So comfortable. I had prepared a carrot soup flavored with lemon thyme that we enjoyed with crusty millet bread, slices of prosciutto, and cucumber from the garden that I sliced finely and dressed in a yogurt, mint, lemon juice and olive oil sauce.

The popsicles sealed our meal beautifully. They were gone within seconds.

So I made more. With red currants and raspberries that time.

“Red ones!” Lulu exclaimed when she opened the freezer and found them, ready to be eaten.

She ate one. And then she was off running again.

Ah the flavors of summer…

Did I like the magazine?

I did.

I also told Esther that I wished that the future issues would stay in a large format, like the summer issue (the current Everyday food issues are printed in pocket size).

Photographs need to be big, I added.

They really do.

N’est-ce pas ?

When we woke up early on Friday with Lulu cuddled between us, the sun was already filtering through the bedroom blinds. A few robins were chirruping in the trees near our window and instantly, we knew that the day would be gorgeous. P. had the day off so we decided to go to the beach. And have a picnic.

Since our plan was rather spontaneous, I was thankful for my visit to the first farmer’s market the afternoon before.

I had come home with pretty colorful radishes, strawberries, purple spring onions and beautiful mesclun salad in my market basket. Enough to imagine a radish salad that would accompany a dish of warm black quinoa with asparagus sauce that takes only minutes to prepare.

“On va à la plage,” we told Lulu while we were having a plate of vanilla-flavored millet waffles at the breakfast table. Her face immediately lit with a large smile.

“Vacances !” she shouted out loud.

We laughed. Of course. Our small excursion sounded like a vacation indeed.

And so with the help from my Lulu, I prepared our picnic lunch.

It was a beautiful and easy day.

The bushes lining the sand dunes displayed pretty flowers that looked like colorful pieces of candy. I could smell the vibes of summer without the crowds and the August heat.

As expected, Lulu had a lot of fun. Seeing her run and skip on the beach, laughing heartily, was the best gift we could have hoped for that day.

“Tu as faim ?” (Are you hungry?) I asked her shortly after her first dip in the water.

“Oui,” she replied instantly.

The three of us sat on the edge of the blanket with our feet dug into the sand. And we started to eat. Quietly. Undisturbed by the seagulls curious about our food.

The way Lulu was letting me feed her quinoa showed that indeed, she must have been hungry.

P. and I enjoyed the balance of texture and spicy taste the radish salad brought to our meal. I had also packed a strawberry salad and apricots, and was glad to find rhubarb muffins in the freezer that I wrapped and tossed in our picnic bag too.

By three o’clock, we decided to leave because, on the way back, we wanted to make a stop at a farm nearby to pick strawberries.

“We start tomorrow,” the tall solidly-built young girl standing at the cashier said when I asked her whether we could pick the fruit.

“But you can buy strawberries we’ve already picked, if you want. And you can go and see the animals at the back of the farm.”

So I bought two large containers of strawberries. One for us to enjoy. The other to go inside a dessert I was planning to make and bring to a friends’ garden party the next day.

And then we walked outside to see chicken and geese; ducks and goats; sheep and ponys.

“On reviendra la semaine prochaine,” (We will come back next week) I told Lulu as we were walking back to the car. She was holding her papa by one hand, with a warm doughnut I bought for her at the farm stand in the other.

“These are good!” P. exclaimed after biting into one too. “So nice that I think I want a second one!”

I looked at them and smiled. Munching each on a doughnut, they really made a happy-looking pair.

“I am sure she is going to sleep in the car after all of this, ” I laughed.

It didn’t fail. Back inside the car, within minutes on the road, Lulu was fast asleep, assuring us that she liked the beach, when we asked her if she had had fun.

*I made a gluten free version of the cake

I don’t often do book reviews. It’s not that I don’t like it. Quite the contrary. I love cookbooks. As you’ll probably have guessed….

Whenever I walk inside a bookstore, the travel and food sections are the ones where I spend long stretches of time. Typically, I find a spot in a corner where I sit on the floor and make myself comfortable. In front of me, there’s a pile of cookbooks. With travel books. I flip through the pages in search of beautiful photographs of food and places to visit. I wish for inspiration. Most of the time, I find it. And I leave refreshed and energized with new ideas.

And dreams.

So happy!

So yes. To my regret, I don’t talk a lot about the cookbooks I enjoy reading. Only because I am always short of time. Lulu, work–and life generally speaking–keep me too busy. Like all of us.

But after I received a week ago my copy of Heidi’s new cookbook, Super Natural Every Day, I decided that I’d take the opportunity to change this fact. The truth is that talking more about cookbooks has been on my to-do-list for a while. With this new beautiful book of hers, the timing was right. So I grabbed it.

Have you seen Heidi’s book too? Read it? Cooked from it? Of course, right away, the photographs were what drew me in. Authentic. Real. They had me dream of traveling to the west coast. They had me dream of someone else’s healthy food.

It’s a nice feeling to experience, really.

Over the last two weeks, I have not had yet much time to explore the book in depth. But I know I will. Heidi’s book–vegetarian–is full of many of the every day foods I love to prepare and eat: Quinoa, vegetables, whole grains, nuts and fruit are cleverly used into healthy nourishing dishes.

So far, I’ve cooked Heidi’s quinoa patties–something I myself cook often as all of us in the family, Lulu including, love quinoa under any form. I adapted the recipe slightly with what I had handy and the patties turned out delicious.

Next, I baked a gluten-free version of her plum and buttermilk cake. Because I loved the picture that illustrated the recipe. And I am a lover of the cheerful color and taste of plums. All of them.

That day, delicious food followed by a walk to with Lulu made our day. There was real Spring magic outside. And we filled our senses with every bit of it.

Thank you Heidi for just the right amount of inspiration! Your book is truly beautiful.

Recipes in Heidi’s Super Natural Every Day book, reprinted here with the permission of Ten Speed Press.

Easter is around the corner. Oui ?

I have chocolate cravings.

Cravings of eggs too.

I wrote this Baked Eggs recipe for the Boston Globe, which was featured this past Wednesday, in preparation for Easter.

Enjoy, if you happen to make it.

I also wanted to let you know about the Second Food Blog Awards that Saveur Magazine is organizing.

When I bought my May 2011 print issue, I was excited to find my blog name (and a picture of one my desserts) in it–along Cez from Café Fernando, Deb from Smitten Kitchen and Lisa from Homesick Texan–as the four of us won an award in the 2010 Food Blog Awards last year.

The page announces the 2011 Food Blog Awards. And Saveur accepted nominations until April 22d. The voting to select your favorite blogs will start shortly after.

Bonnes fêtes de Pâques ! Happy Easter !