I am working hard at the moment. I mean, harder than usual as I sit at my desk for long hours in the evenings, busy working on the edits of my cookbook manuscript. That invariably makes my eyes look puffy in the morning, and have me crave for long naps in the afternoon. I wish I could take those naps when Lulu takes hers, but the thing is that as she reaches almost 11 months of age, her naps become scarce–and so do mine malheureusement!

Naturally, this increased brain activity makes me even more hungry than usual for healthy homemade foods.

So to keep a semblance of life normalcy and keep my energy going–and my sanity–Lulu and I take walks to the park where she plays on the swings, never wanting to leave; we have afternoon excursions to local farms before the season is over; and I take her to see the animals, oh yes, we both enjoy that part: the sheep and chicken and Lizzie the cow.

And when we are back at the house, we cook and bake together.

While I stand in front of the stove, she sits on the floor with, in front of her, a large box in which she endlessly puts miscellaneous objects in and out. In and out again.

Lulu seems to like our partnership. How we work together. She laughs when she hears the sizzling sound of butter in the frying pan when I prepare crêpes; she stares at the pot on the stove when I lift the lid to check on a meat stew. She watches me attentively when I whisk and beat and dust and make a mess in the kitchen–I am a specialist of that craft! I hope that she notices the smells that diffuse in the house, of the many cakes that go in the oven, the tarts that cool on the counter top, and the tajines and vegetable stews that simmer on the stove. The fact is that, Dieu merci, there’s always something going on in the kitchen.

A lot of things cooking.

And since I am busy retesting, perfecting and eating all of these foods that will go in the cookbook, at least, despite the lack of sleep and free time, we keep our healthy eating habits. I know that no matter what, that’s simply never going to change.

This chocolate dessert, for example, was supposed to go inside the cookbook. But as I looked back at my recipe list that keeps growing and growing, I realized that I had to stop saying “this recipe has to go in the cookbook“. You know, not everything will, and can, go in the cookbook–and it’s a good thing. It’s all yours now.

I baked the dessert last year, I remember now, and have made it a number of times since then. I find that it’s an easy way to dress-up an honest chocolate cake. In fact, thinking about it, it’s a nice idea to keep handy should you suddenly need dessert brought on the table and you’re short of time but still want something that catches the eye.

I might just have to make it again.

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!

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.

“Why don’t you like them?” my friend S. asked. “Les figues ? Well, I don’t know, they’re just not citrusy enough!”

It’s true that it’s what I am typically after in a fruit. I want juice. I want to taste food with a bite. I am looking for a burst of flavor in my mouth after the first piece. So even if I sincerely find figs pretty and elegant, especially once they are cut open and reveal their vibrant deep purple color, they simply lack what I am personally looking for when I eat a piece of fruit.

But I never like to say ‘”jamais” (never). And I try. This tart, for example, is an excellent compromise. It’s the case of me, moi, trying to appreciate what figs have to offer.

To start, I needed dessert for dinner — so there was that. Secondly, I really wanted to photograph figs when I caught sight of pretty ones at my store. Lastly, I simply wanted to give figs another chance. After all, I might change my opinion. I wanted to.

It must have been my lucky day. Or the figs’ lucky day.

It turns out that the tart was really tasty. And so simple and fresh. To give the dessert a boost of flavor, I spiced the tart up with ginger and vanilla and I baked it without a custard, to make sure that the flavor of figs would be the first to be revealed.

In fact, I obtained such a delicious outcome that I decided to use figs in some of my savory food too. And so yesterday, as I was preparing a black rice salad to have for lunch with my friend E., I decided to add fresh figs to the salad — and I’ll have to tell you about that later. And then, since we needed a dessert too, I baked a few vanilla-flavored mascarpone flans with figs nested inside.

And it worked. Both the desserts and salad, in fact, managed to reconcile me with figs. Comme quoi, il n’y a que les idiots qui ne changent pas d’avis. (It’s a French expression that translates as “Only idiots never change their mind“.

But I am getting hungry again. So let’s go back to tart which is waiting, shall we?

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.

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?

I am a little behind in wishing you all, my dear readers, a happy 2009 new year, non ? But then, I’ve always been told that it was quite all right to give one best wishes until the end of January.

I, of course, will not be able to forget 2008. What an amazing year it’s been in our life! So rich and fulfilling!

First, there’s been a lot of fun and exciting trips that P. and I took, each different in style, each leaving us with memories of good times; there’s been rewarding work accomplishments, like continuing to contribute to the Boston Globe Food Section or working on the photography of a talented baker’s cookbook (not yet released, but I will let you know when that happens). And there is more to come.

In 2008, I’ve cooked a storm, I’ve taken and styled hundreds of pictures — anyone else having digital storage issues? I’ve bought way too many cups, bowls, cutlery and plates, as I am constantly reminded by my darling P., and I’ve enjoyed every piece of it all.

But in 2008, there’s been something larger and more challenging than anything I have ever done before, something no one can ever prepare you for, something much tastier and more enriching than all of the cooking, styling and photography combined, that regularly happens in my house.

Well, you know of it. It started with carrying our small treasured bébé in my belly during nine months in 2008. What a journey it’s been! So natural and common.

Yet, so unique.

I, for one, can vividly remember when P. and I found out that I was pregnant. It was the day in late April when we left for Italy. It’s funny to think about it today. We were somewhat panicked, overwhelmed and excited, I recall, about what was going to come next. And so, naturally, this piece of news changed entirely how the year unfolded for us. In such a rewarding way — we know that we are lucky.

During all these months, you’ve kept coming to visit my blog to say hello. You’ve always been here, to leave me encouraging notes, share stories, ask questions, and chat about food and life — the good stuff! I cannot thank you enough for that. While I do not have the time anymore to respond to every comment you leave individually, know that each matters, and makes me smile. So thank you, once again!

So to finish 2008 and start 2009, let me share a story and recipe with you. The story of this berry pavlova.

So special.

When I made this dessert, I had all the intentions to taste and enjoy it, but I never got to it. And let me tell you why.

On December 23rd, P. and I had made a plan to have a casual dinner with four other dear friends before the craziness of the holidays and the arrival of bébé. My friend L. was very pregnant too.

“Let’s keep it simple,” her husband J. suggested. “We should just do take-outs.”

“Sounds great,” I wrote in my email back. “I will prepare a dessert! Something quick.”

And so the day flew by. In the morning, I drove downtown to buy last minute Christmas presents — this is how unprepared I was this year. I baked cookies which I styled and took photographs of too, I made panna cotta and later in the day, I set myself to prepare my dessert. Of all things, I chose to bake a pavlova.

“I will pick you up at seven, after my massage,” I told P. when he called by late afternoon. “I can leave the dessert in the car, it will be cold enough.”

At five O’ clock, I was in the car driving to the next town, feeling happy at the thought of how good it would be to have my entire body relax. “Oh I cannot wait,” I kept repeating all day.

“When is the baby due?” A., the masseuse at Isis Maternity, asked as she settled me comfortably on the massage table. “Any area you would like me to work on? Any pain anywhere?”

“Nope, I feel pretty good, all things considered,” I said laughing, looking and touching my big belly with both hands. “I’m ready, even if bébé is arriving only in ten days.”

A. was never given the chance to finish the massage. Ten minutes after she started, my water broke and labor started soon after. Lulu could not wait; she was on her way to discover the world.

Before driving to the hospital, we stopped home to finish packing our bags, and have a bite to eat.

“I will bring you food,” J. told us on the phone when we called to tell that we would not be able to come for dinner.

“Oh good,” I told P., thinking about my desserts. “I will give him the pavlova.”

I was just relieved that it would not be wasted, and that our friends would enjoy it thinking about the new adventure ahead of us.

Lulu is four weeks today. Already.

Life has changed. Life tastes better, despite the tiredness and the puffy eyes. I am told it will get better. We are happy, overwhelmed with feelings I did not know before. Every day, I learn something new — and I am challenged. And every day, I continue to cook. Whatever it is, even if extremely basic.

“Stop cooking and rest,” my friend N. told me when I told her about the lamb tajine we ate for dinner last night. I laughed. Rest? Of course, she is right. But stop cooking? She does not know me well enough!

Lulu and I have already made cookies, soups, stews and salads together. I like to talk to her and tell her what I am preparing as she stays close to my chest, cozily nested in a sling. Of course, she sleeps through most of it, but I still wonder whether she notices already the smells and pot and pan noises in the kitchen.

So naturally, I want to dedicate the recipe for this pavlova to our little princess. One day, P. and I will tell her the story of how it happened. She might smile and find it as special as we do.

Happy New Year everyone! May you have a wonderful year. And thank you for being here.