“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?

The day started in the kitchen with aromas of finely sliced apples sautéed in butter and brown sugar; warm oatmeal and toasted almonds; and quinoa waffles dusted with a cloud of confectioner’s sugar. There were pots of green and Roibos teas on the table, and Taken by Trees was playing on our stereo. Lulu was sitting in her high chair at the head of the table with one of us on either side, looking happy–who wouldn’t, really, after sleeping for a solid twelve hours? Breakfast to start the new year.

It looked promising.

I am not sure whether I’ve yet realized the good things that 2009 gave us. The most overwhelming one being a healthy happy daughter that is bringing an incomparable joy, allowing us to look at details of life that we wouldn’t see otherwise, were she not here. Of course, it’s been crazy and messy and challenging at times; in the early months of 2009, we missed sleep. Some days, I even cried when I felt too exhausted–especially missing to have our families living nearby. There were moments when we felt excited and slap happy. One friend once said when he spoke about this early time when a baby enters a couple’s life that “it’s as if you are divorced from reality.”

Oh yes!

I know we are extremely lucky, though. We’ve come out of the first year of Lulu’s life feeling stronger and happier.

Closer.

In 2009, one of my biggest challenges, too, was to balance raising our baby and writing my cookbook. Despite days that always seemed too short, naps that were too scarce, I don’t know how I managed but I’ve never lost my appetite to cook. I’ve never stopped to want to cook. I don’t think there was a single day passing without something being made in the kitchen. Without my hands touching and preparing food. Whether it being a hard boiled egg, a grilled sandwich — P. who is mastering the art beautifully taught me how — or a more time-involved meal with Osso Buco and Milanese risotto. Always baking a cake. Or having friends coming over for dinner. Despite the house looking untidy. And baskets of laundry waiting in the corner of the bedroom.

Life’s been full. Rewarding. Without any doubt, 2009 has been the most intense and fulfilling year of my life. Turning forty has felt enriching. I feel blessed to be able to continue to feed my passion to create foods that I believe in–that we love.

Like these rose-shaped teacakes.

I made them yesterday after we returned from an early walk to the park, to enjoy the freshly fallen snow. They made the house smell delicious and sweet. Homey. They were moist with a subtle taste of almond, quinoa and vanilla combined, enhanced with delicate Fleur de sel. We ate them while sitting on the wooden floor to build tall Lego towers with Lulu–who joyfully and swiftly knocked them down as soon as they were up–, hoping to continue the journey we’ve now started.

Better and fuller.

Healthy and happy.

A toast to all of you for a wonderful New Year ahead, with delicious foods!

I never want to forget that life is beautiful.

Bonne année!

On Sundays, we like to find a nice spot for a walk. A special one that allows us to appreciate the beauty of the season that is passing. Yesterday, this is where it took us. We saw cows and sheep and goats and chicken and pigs, and when we returned home, I baked and made a salmon poached in olive oil dinner while Lulu took a long nap.

And while Perry Blake was playing on the stereo, I peeled and diced a butternut squash to yet make another large pot of steaming wintry soup.

For lunch today. And probably the next.

That’s one of the many reasons why I love the fall. You too?

And by the way, a few days ago, exactly on November 26th, this blog turned 4. Isn’t it also ironical that my very first post talked about food photography? I had no idea….It’s been four amazing and fulfilling years, with so many joys–the best thing I’ve ever *baked*–and foods cooked, styled and photographed. Needless to say that I am very thankful for you, my dear readers, to be coming back to say hello. This place would obviously be very different without you.

Encore merci!

“You’ll make a dessert, ok?” my friend R. asked. We were talking about the Thanksgiving dinner that he was hosting, once again.

“Sure.”

“Can you make something with apple?”

I liked the idea. Especially since I’ve been storing the last seasonal Heirloom apples I could find! Leaving the store, I felt like a squirrel storing her nuts. This is how much I am going to miss local apples.

So I baked a cake. An apple and red kuri squash upside down cake, to me more precise. And this is what I will bring tomorrow to our Thanksgiving dinner.

We’ll enjoy wonderful food and wine, and like most of you I hope, have a fun time with our friends. They are the family we do not have close by.

“What about the sunchokes?” I added.

“What about them?”

“Can I dig some out?”

My friend R. told me he had plenty of Jerusalem artichokes in his back garden — one of my favorite root vegetables. I made him promise that I would be able to bring some home. I am already thinking about gratins and soups and salad!

That was the condition on the apple cake.

Of course.

Have a lovely time everyone!

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.