If you recall, last year, I told you about the first cookbook I contributed to, styling and photographing the foods. Jennifer, the author, came to my house for a few days to work — we immediately became friends. Her cookbook was just published and I am so honored to have been able to work with her and the people at Chronicle Books.

It’s a book about Gingerbread and every goodie that comes with it. It’s funny to think about it. I was three months pregnant when I worked on this project last summer. It was so hot, I remember, and I was completely morning sick, but it was a marvelous experience to team with Jennifer. She’s funny and witty, and full of energy–we worked really well together.

Her book is now available in bookstores and amazon, if you are interested. And, since I baked all the recipes with pictures attached, I can tell you that they work fantastically! So if you like gingerbread, you know what to do next. It’s the season!

Note that the second picture (a gingerbread I baked from her recipes) in this post is not in Jennifer’s book, but I just liked it so wanted to put it here! Simple and tasty!

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.

I came with the intention to tell you about beautiful purple eggplants and how delicious they turned into dinner but instead, here I am, again, with the story of a cake.

It came as the priority — my eggplants will have to wait a little.

After spending ten days with us, my mother traveled back to France yesterday night, which left me with a sudden urge to bake at 10 pm. It was hard to see her go. “I should be used to it by now,” I thought. But it’s not becoming easier and I’ll never get used to it, in fact.

While I was nursing Lulu on the bed upstairs, I was thinking about P. driving my mother to the airport, and the two of them waiting in terminal B by the American Airlines gate with the sign Paris Charles de Gaulle.

I know well that I am going to miss our daily lunches and walks together — between her, Lulu and I. Every time it happens, that traveling-back-home and saying-goodbye-we-will-see-each-other-soon, you know, there is the same pinch to the heart, the same tightness in the stomach — and the same urge to bake.

And then, with my hands busy beating eggs and sugar, I kept thinking about how much my mother would have enjoyed making that special cake with me. It’s something that I didn’t learn from her, that cake. It’s something that belongs to the culture that I slipped into. Here. It’s about the recipe and culture of a cake that I am happy to share with her, something that she can bring back home. To France.

By 11:30 pm, as P. and I walked upstairs to slip into bed, the cake sat at one corner of the kitchen counter top, leaving a waft of sugar everywhere in the house. Making us dream about something soft and sweet. Delicious.

When I was little, my mother taught me what I needed to know about how to start to bake. Today, I like to think that I can also teach her something new and different about baking.

It’s something about the relationship between a mother and her daughter in the kitchen.

Bon et le gâteau alors !

This cake is deliciously dense. Add as much chocolate and nuts as you like — more than required cannot hurt. It’s a cake that isn’t too sweet, because I like cakes this way; it’s cake that keeps well for a few days, if you need to, but it rarely reaches the point when you need it to keep. It’s made quickly; it’s eaten just as fast.

I decided to walk to the farmer’s market with Lulu. It was going to take us a solid hour, which I was really looking forward to since it was one of these perfect sunny days of late summer, early fall. Lulu was chatty, making all sorts of ma ma ma da da sounds in my ear, and I was singing silly French songs that I was just making up as the words came out of my mouth.

” ♪ ♪ C’est ♪ ♪ jeudi ♪ et Luluuuuuu ♪ et mamannnnn ♪ ♪ vont au marché ♪ ♪ tra la la la”. Really silly! But it made her laugh so joyfully that I didn’t care — we formed a happy pair and that’s all that mattered on that sunny day.

I told her about the farmer’s market. And to start, about the beautiful eggs that we were going to buy.

“Tu verras, ce sont les plus beaux oeufs du monde!” I sang to her. (You’ll see, they are the most beautiful eggs in the world). I really meant it! The first time I saw them, I fell in love with their color — soft shades of blue, beige and green — and the deep orange yolk they reveal once they are cracked open. The taste is incomparable!

“What kind of chickens lay these eggs?” I had felt curious to ask the young pretty woman selling them. “They’re called Araucanas, ” she had responded. Her smile stretching her mouth wide open revealed perfectly aligned white teeth that contrasted with her tanned face and long dark curly hair. She’s got the healthy look of someone who spends a lot of time outside, I had thought watching her pack my eggs carefully. I liked it. It had me dream again of the life in the countryside.

Then I told Lulu about the tasty crab apples, the corn and eggplants, the Heirloom tomatoes and French beans, yellow zucchini and carrots that we would buy too.

When we arrived on the square, the place was already buzzing with activity even if the market had just opened. I imagined how pretty it would be to look at the place from above, and see this patchwork of bright colors and people busy like ants. We strolled around to look at the vegetables and fruit, comparing them from one stand to the next.

We bought eggs and apples, different varieties of zucchini, raspberries and peaches, and I packed up a few beautiful purple eggplants, tomatoes, fingerling potatoes, French beans and carrots as well. The gorgeous produce inspired me so much that thoughts of menu ideas filled my head, making me seriously forget that I would have to carry everything home — and would just as donkeys do. It’s funny how, whenever I go to the market, I always end up coming back with much more than I plan to buy. Do you too?

“C’est tout!” (that’s all!) I told Lulu. “Y’a plus de place!” (there’s no more room!)

But that’s when I saw them. Those lovely plums neatly arranged on a display in the middle of the market.

You see, those plums were just calling my name with their attractive subtle shades of pink and fushia. They were too cute to walk by and go unnoticed. So, of course, quite predictably, I stopped. I leaned towards Lulu and drawing my face close to hers, I whispered as if I were telling her an important secret: Regarde ces jolies prunes! (Look at those pretty plums!) Ce soir, je te préparerai de la compote de pommes et de prunes avec de la cannelle et de la vanille.” (Tonight, I’ll prepare stewed apples and plums with vanilla and cinnamon).

She smiled. But of course, it’s most likely the buzz of the market that she found funny.

But as promised, when we were back home, I stewed the plums for her. I really wanted Lulu to be the first one to taste our plums.

The fruit wasn’t too sweet, perhaps still in need of maturation under more sun, but at the speed by which Lulu ate it, she obviously didn’t seem to find it too tart. In fact, she kept opening her mouth like a bird, asking for more.

“C’est si bon que cela?” (Is it that good?) I asked her, laughing while giving her the last spoonful left.

It was really nice to watch.

And then, it’s really what made the story of these plum cakes. And how making natural foods for Lulu inspired me to bake.

I felt like baking simple plum cakes that I would be able to eat when they are still warm from the oven. Still to this day, my mother keeps telling moi-at-forty-years-of-age that doing such a thing is silly and a bad idea and that it will hurt my stomach. But I don’t believe it. Or I don’t want to hear it. And I am sure that Lulu won’t want to hear that from me either when she is older.

Anyway, these cakes.

I used buckwheat flour (because it’s one of my new favorite flours to bake with) and quinoa flour, roasted ground walnuts, stewed plums, a couple of my favorite eggs and a few other things.

And do you know what? Eating the cake out of the oven was exactly the right thing to do.

Actually, I ate two, dreaming about what Lulu and I would find at the market the following week.

I could hear the rain pat against the window pane. I was sitting at my desk, finishing an article I had been working on, and then I looked at the clock. 5:45. Déjà!I thought. Not much time before I feed and put Lulu to bed and start to think about dinner.

Patricia, my mother-in-law, was playing with her downstairs. I could hear them laugh; they were obviously having fun. Probably much more than moi and my article upstairs. I smiled, thinking about Lulu playing hide and seek with her grand-ma.

Well, June has just been a crazy month. But Patricia has been a doll with me. She’s come to stay with us for a few weeks, to help so that I could write and, yes, hear it, it’s happening, finish my manuscript. I am handing it to my editor on Wednesday and then I’ll wait for feedback. Oh I just cannot wait for this to happen.

I was starting to feel tired. Maybe hungry.

I need a nibble! I thought.

I walked downstairs to get a bowl of pecan nuts and a glass of water. When she saw me, Lulu’s face lit up with a smile so wide that I could see her bottom teeth; they are the cutest thing! She dropped the white bunny she was holding in one hand and started to flap her arms. “She is in good form,” I told Patricia.

We laughed.

“Do you mind making dinner?” I went on . “I have a pound of veal for stew in the fridge.”

“Of course!”

It’s been a treat to have her in my kitchen, playing with my foods and testing some of my recipes too. On my end, I’ve enjoyed having her taste recipes I cooked for the book, and others randomly made. Like these muffins.

They happened quite by accident, as a matter of fact. The truth is that I had a bunch of organic bananas that were so ripe that they needed to find a home.

“I have to bake something with these bananas,” I said to Patricia, holding a bunch of dark-looking ones. “I’d hate to toss them.” It happens, you know, when I am too busy and leave them, unattended. Am I alone to do that?

So I thought about muffins. In fact, I was in the mood for something combining coconut with bananas.

I didn’t have a recipe, but let my imagination lead me. And this is how these muffins arrived on our table.

They use quinoa, hazelnut and buckwheat flours; eggs; coconut oil; coconut milk, bananas and brown sugar. They bake in 25 minutes, are really simple to prepare and completely irresistible. And I don’t mean to be bragging. They might not be the cutest muffins you’ve seen but they are extremely moist, not too sweet, and have the texture I love in a muffin.

“Do you like them?” I asked Patricia when I handed her a plate with a muffin still warm from the oven. We were finished with dinner and were having a cup of tea, watching the Michael Jackson news on TV.

“They are divine!” she exclaimed.

I was happy.

I ate one for my mid-morning snack, one for breakfast, Philip took one to work. Then a friend stopped by and we ate a few with him, and I gave more to Patricia when she left yesterday. So in the end, ours are gone. Partis ! Pouf ! Disparus !

In only a matter of one day.

So I had to share the recipe with you. Hopefully, you’ll like them just as much as we did.

Lulu’s mamie left tonight. We are all sad.

Lulu and I decided to bake a carrot and hazelnut cake for her, one that she could easily pack and take with her on the plane.

Tomorrow, she will be back in France.

We are already missing her, everywhere in the house.

And in the kitchen — spotless for two weeks thanks to her tidy-everything hands.

We have to love our mums!

“Areuuu… areuuuu*…aaaaaa…ooooooo….” Lulu was repeating happily.

She’s becoming so vocal these days, talking to herself when she lies in her bed, or when she plays with her hands that she holds tight together, her arms stretched out above her eyes. Each sound, in fact, is more charming than the other; they all make me melt. Things change so quickly!

“Regarde ce que maman fait (look at what mummy is making),” I told her as she stared at the wooden spoon I was holding in my right hand. She was obviously intrigued by the steady circular movement of the spoon inside the chocolate bowl. The rich smell of melted chocolate and butter diffused throughout the kitchen, despite the window I had cracked open to let the lovely spring air filter through. That put me in an even better mood for the upcoming activities of the day.

“Un jour, you will be like papa et maman,” I added as I squeezed her tighter in her sling by my right hip. “Tu seras fan de chocolat noir. (you’ll be fan of dark chocolate.)”

We surely hope so.

I was preparing for an early afternoon work meeting and felt happy that between Lulu’s naps and play times, I was able to pull together a small treat we would enjoy while working.

“What did you bake today?” S., my editor, asked a few minutes after she walked into the kitchen. Lulu gave S. an open frank smile when she picked her up from her yellow play mat, to hold her close. I sensed that she was in fact more interested in Lulu than what I had baked, and I was not blaming her.

“Something with chocolate. You’ll tell me what you think. I want you to guess what’s in it.”

“That should get her gourmande attention,” I thought deep inside, smiling.

I call the cakes muffins but I am actually not sure that they are muffins, technically speaking. But muffins or cakes, whatever the name, these chocolate treats were really simple to prepare.

“Do you like chocolate?” I asked H., the art director, also present. I loved the wide smile that lit her pretty face. And her response.

“Of course, I am normal!”

“Right! How can someone not like chocolate, n’est ce pas ?”

Ok, I know that it happens. And this is totally fine. In fact, you might well be one of the people who does not care at all about chocolate. Like my brother B., for example.

But if you like chocolate, like David for example, you might easily fall for this recipe: it uses buckwheat and hazelnut flours — making the recipe gluten free, if that matters to you — good quality dark chocolate, blond cane sugar, fresh eggs and lightly salted butter. Straightforward, simple and genuine.

“Approved?” I asked S. and H. as they were getting ready to leave.

“YES!”

A recipe that I am glad to share with you just in time for Easter, non?

Because I don’t know about your family, but in mine, chocolate is always on the menu for Easter, no matter what.

So, if you celebrate this holiday, I hope you have a wonderful time. And hopefully the weather will be nice so that we will all be able to go out for a walk, and feel the wonders of Spring.

I cannot wait.

Ok. I am a few days behind. It seems to be happening a lot lately. But better late than not at all. I still have an email to send to all of you who kindly offered to help with the testing of my recipes. I have not forgotten.

In the meantime, since it is fairly quick, I meant to let you know about a fun recipe that I wrote for the Boston Globe Seasons Column last week. Now, I am perhaps not an expert of Spanish cuisine, but I surely enjoy cooking it. Then, who can really resist potatoes, olive oil, eggs — and my addition of spinach and cumin. A Spanish tortilla anyone?

That makes a perfect breakfast, light dinner or lunch idea, and a great picnic for the summer. Oh, I cannot wait to get the picnic basket and blanket out!

The recipe can be found here.

I have five minutes this morning. Just five short minutes to share only a photo with you, between baking a soufflé for the book — oh boy they fall fast — and playing with Lulu. This one has become my favorite chocolate cake.

Every day, I keep hoping that I will have the time to come here to chat with you. I wait until the evening. But I’ve come to realize that it’s simply a bad idea. Because do you know what happens at night? I am wrecked. Crevée ! And believe me, you do no want me to start to speak English when I am exhausted. Ask P., he will tell you what it pretty much sounds like.

So I thought to pop here quickly to at least post a photo.

Better than nothing.

And to say hi! I cannot believe it is March, already!

Can you?

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.