I should have known that when visiting Jamaica, I would love the island. I knew it when, for the first time, I saw Jamaicans’ faces. When I caught sight of their welcoming smiles. When I heard the way they spoke. I loved the melody of their accent, and the way the intonation marking their words made their voice go up at the end of each sentence. It sounded like a happy melody.

“I like how you pronounce the word “questions”“, I said one day to our local guide at Prospect Plantation in Ocho Rios. Thin and not looking his age, he liked to share deadpan jokes which were irresistibly funny.

Before October, I had never visited Jamaica, but I had always wanted to.

It started when, at the age of seventeen, I traveled to Canada with a teenager group, and we met Nikki.

Nikki’s mother was French, his father Jamaican, but Nikki lived in Toronto, which made him Canadian too. Nikki was tall and skinny, with long dark curly hair and glasses too wide for his face. He was funny too. He was also always hungry and eating, and at night, after we’d slip inside our sleeping bags under the tent, he loved to tell us stories about Jamaica. Which, despite the fact that I was still young, piqued my curiosity and made me promise that, one day, I’d visit the island.

I finally did when, two months ago, I was invited with a small group of food writers to participate to a culinary tour of Jamaica.

It was exotic. Colorful and inspiring.

I took me a fair amount of time to gather my thoughts and decide what stories I’d share with you. So much was packed within five days. There were so many picture opportunities.

Perhaps, I thought, I should start with the story that happened the day we traveled to the Blue Mountains and our bus got stuck in one of the many sharp curves on the road leading to a coffee farm. It was irresistibly funny! And scary too.

Or maybe instead, I should write about the magnificent house and gardens that Robin keeps at Belcour Preserves, and how I adored sitting on the porch of her house to taste delicate foods and drinks she had kindly prepared for us–all of this while watching with delight a heavy downpour surrounding us. No wonder, I thought, that the trees and flowers look so happy here!

I learned that Jamaica has a strong food culture that deserves to be seen and tasted. I learned that, unlike other Caribbean islands I’ve visited before, locals grow various types of fruit and vegetables.

Thankfully, two months later, I am now finally ready to share the highlights from my culinary trip.

It starts with:

–Traveling the winding road which revealed magnificent views of the Yallahs Valley and led to Clifton Mount Estate, located at an elevation of 4300 feet above sea level. From it, we embraced the majestic view of the Grand Ridge and Blue Mountain Peak at 7402 feet which, as is often the case, hid behind a layer of dense mountain mist. I could not help but love the different local scenes we witnessed on the way: school children wearing dark blue school uniforms; colorful tin-roofed grocery shacks; local bars; clouds hanging around the pointy steeple of a white church perched on the flank of the mountains; lush dark green vegetation which witnessed of the heavy downpours the area receives regularly.

Lawrence and Richard Sharp, the friendly owners of the coffee farm who welcomed us to morning coffee with homemade baked sweets–hello banana bread!–taught us that, because of its location, Clifton Mount Estate is a premium coffee growing territory. With its carefully maintained garden, a paradise to playful hummingbirds, the old house–one of the few remaining Jamaican Great Houses–looks beautiful, somehow reminiscent of another era.

I learned that Lawrence’s farm is 75 percent organic, which means that only a few crops are sprayed with pesticides. Because Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee is heavily regulated by the Coffee Industry Board of Jamaica –assuring the trademarked “Jamaica Blue Mountain” designation, much like the French Appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC)–Blue Mountain coffee is fairly expensive in comparison to other coffees grown elsewhere in the world.

–Sampling a humble and delicious lunch at EITS Café. EITS (short for Europe in the summer) is a charming open-air café located on the hillside town of Newcastle in the Blue Mountains. The eatery is run by the petite and lovely Robyn Fox and her father. Together, they operate the café, run Mount Edge guesthouse, and Food Basket, an enterprise selling to select supermarkets around Kingston (and by special order) herbs and vegetables they proudly grow on the farm.

There, I learned about French thyme (a variety I had never seen before), which Robin’s father was proud to have me taste. We also sampled Scotch bonnet pepper, an extremely spicy pepper that is traditionally used to season jerk chicken, giving the traditional Jamaican dish its unique flavor.

–Walking through the lush green gardens at Belcour Preserves where owners Robin Lumsden and her husband Michael treated us to homemade local foods and refreshments. Dating back to the 1700s, the lodge was originally a coffee farm. Today, Robin and Michael use it to grow tropical fruit and keep bees. The Lumsden’s 75 bee colonies produce Belcour’s Tropical Honey, a delicate, multiflora amber honey. They also make jams, relishes, condiments, and hot pepper sauce–all using the local produce available.

–Sampling street food–like pumpkin and crawfish soup, corn on the cob and freshly cut open exotic fruit–bought at street stalls found everywhere along the way. Hello avocado pear, guavas, guinep, June plum, jackfruit, papaya (Paw Paw), sorrel, sweetsop, soursop, and Jamaican mangoes, I loved you all. I am so thankful that you educated me to many varieties of fruit unknown to me before.

–Eating a lot of soups. Spicy soups. Pumpkin soups. I was surprised to learn that in Jamaica, pumpkin is common and eaten all year round. I was also delighted to find out that for Jamaicans, Saturday means Soup day. What’s not to love about a gathering of friends and family around a large pot of homemade soup?

–Visiting Irish Rover near Ochos Rios, the first authentic Irish Pub on the island. After working as a musician in Ireland for over 40 years, owner Winston Samuels decides to retire to his homeland where he eventually opens this surprising pub. Unique and well worth the visit.

–Watching how, at Scotchies (a rustic thatched-roof outdoors joint located in Coral Gardens near Montego Bay), the best jerk you can find on the island is made. In fact, I had never seen anything like this before: dozens of pimiento-seasoned chickens and slabs of pork grilling on open flames. I learned that it’s the smoke which gives the flavor to the meat. With jerk, we enjoyed sides like sliced, roasted breadfruit and yam; rice and peas (incidentally I learned that this translates as rice and beans) and festival (deep-fried cornmeal dumplings).

–Eating a piece of freshly cut-open coconut sprinkled with brown sugar. So simple. So good.

–Traveling to Ochos Rios to discover exquisite beaches and swim in crystal clear turquoise waters by late afternoon before heading out for dinner.

–Watching a beautiful rainbow from my room at Sandals resort in Ochos Rios.

–Enjoying a traditional Jamaican breakfast. Who knew I would enjoy eating ackee and salted fish (from ackee fruit and salt cod), with rice and Callaloo, and boiled green bananas so early in the morning? I really did!

–Meeting lots of goats along the way.

–Sampling rum. Bananas. Banana bread.

And, with the head filled with delicious memories (and the suitcase with local treats), return home inspired to prepare seasonal pumpkin soup. And bake my own banana bread.

To celebrate the foods I sampled, and prolong the many special moments I was lucky to spent amongst Jamaicans.

Invariably, that’s always what traveling to new places does to me.

To you too?

I know that I am lucky to live in New England. I am lucky because we have gorgeous distinct seasons, and most particularly, we have pretty colors during the fall.

“Regarde maman, cet arbre est tout rouge ! ” (Look maman, this tree is all red!) Lulu exclaimed one day as she and I were driving back from school. It was impossible not to notice. She noticed. I noticed. We were feeling excited and warm inside from just looking at the display of the cheerful colors lining up the road. It looked so happy! Secretly, I wanted for this everyday scene to last for weeks. Until Thanksgiving at least, I thought.

We are actually not far from it happening for real. Beside our unexpected snow storm, the weather in Boston has been mild and beautiful. The farmer’s markets have offered amazingly pretty and tasty fall produce: from winter squashes, radishes, apples, fresh ginger, cranberries, sprouts to colorful root vegetables.

It’s colorful.

It’s inspiring.

I’ve not grown up with the Thanksgiving tradition but I’ve learned to love it. For years, we’ve been invited to friends’ houses who cooked amazing meals. It’s during one of these dinners that I most likely ate my first pecan pie ever, wondering why I had never eaten one before.

This year, however, I am hosting the holiday with P.’s parents in the comfort of our own home. And I am really excited about what we will be cooking together.

Sharing and blending different food cultures.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

A month ago, an editor from Cooking Channel asked that, amongst a group of food writers, I shared my Thanksgiving ideas with a photo collage and a story. I liked the thought. So I said yes.

My Thanksgiving menu is not set in stone yet–still thinking and rethinking, something I’m rather skilled at–but I already know that there will be turkey. Perhaps traditional. And I will prepare a kabocha squash and apple soup, using a favorite recipe of mine that I’ve made over and over during the years.

This year, our soup will have aromas of ginger, lemongrass, mace and coriander, and I will round the taste with a dash of cream, freshly sliced apples and toasted hazelnuts. We tested it. We loved it.

I will bake a potato, celeriac, apple and butternut squash gratin. Because a root vegetable gratin celebrates the fall like no other dish does.

We will eat chocolate, with individual ramekins filled with cardamom-flavored pear and chocolate clafoutis.

And we’ll eat salad. A fun colorful salad full of crunch. The first time I made it, I loved it even before trying it.

The thought for this salad came last week after I visited one of my local farmer’s markets where I found delicious-looking young heads of celeriac. I knew they had to go in a salad.

What about if I added red cabbage, radishes and apples? I thought while adding a few pieces of each to my basket.

I looked for a name to qualify my newly imagined salad, and because of its finely chopped texture, somehow the word taboulé (tabbouleh) came to my mind. So I dressed the salad with exactly what I would have for a taboulé: loads of aromatic fresh herbs, lemon juice, hazelnut oil and a rich fragrant extra virgin olive oil (I actually used one recently offered to me by California Olive Ranch which I’m enjoying a lot.)

“Yum!” P. said when we sat down at the table to eat lunch. “I love it!”

“Really? Enough to include it to our Thanksgiving dinner?” I asked.

“Sure. It’s really surprising and different.”

I looked at him and realized it was. And at the same time it wasn’t since the French often eat raw celeriac in a salad.

But what I understood was that my unusual tabbouleh would be a wonderful addition to our menu to celebrate gorgeous local fall produce, the Thanksgiving holiday, and my French roots.

Next week, we will feel American. French. Irish. Together.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! What will you be cooking, I wonder?

The snow melted within two days, leaving room to fall again. A gorgeously sunny one on top.

We were glad that we’d only had a tease of winter. We were not ready. I was not ready to leave some of my favorite vegetables and salads behind. In fact, despite the fact that we are between seasons and soon enough homegrown vegetables will become scarce, these days, I am really inspired to cook.

See? I’ve been really busy making things in the kitchen. Trying new things. Revisiting old ones. And loving every piece of it. Here are a few snapshots from what happened.

Today I even found Romanesco.

I could not help but let a few words of excitement escape from between my lips when I spotted them, gloriously bundled up inside a woven basket in a corner of the local farm stand. They looked so inviting that I wanted to pick one after the other until the basket was empty and I had them all.

I wanted to store them the way squirrels sneak in to put nuts aside. So that they’d stay and keep me company during the upcoming wintry months.

“Will you sell more Romanesco over the next weeks?” I asked the young girl at the cash register.

She looked surprised, with a I-don’t-know-why-do-you-ask expression on her face.

I didn’t wait for her answer. She didn’t know anyhow. And on my end, I knew I’d come back to the store to check regularly.

When I returned home, it was almost eleven thirty and I was feeling hungry. The radio was playing a Jane Birkin’s song while P. was working in the office.

“Are you hungry?” I asked him from the kitchen.

I wanted him to be, because I had a great lunch idea in my head.

I imagined a dish of pasta loaded with greens–something delicious and comfy to nourish our big appetite.

Linguine, I thought. Lulu will clap in her hands at the sight of pasta. I knew she would.

So it happened. I cooked linguine and then I blanched peas and baby lima beans and zucchini with my Romanesco florets. I sauteed scampi and prepared a light white sauce with a dash of Vermouth and lots of fresh herbs.

It was a lunch quick to fix. Loaded with flavor and contrasting textures. Inviting!

We loved it.

The next day, after a walk to the botanical garden in search of pretty leaves, I decided to experiment more and baked a Romanesco gratin–and a chocolate and pear clafoutis too (you’ll want to taste this one). Which made us equally happy. Hungry for more.

I was assured that I’d want to cook these dishes again this week. And hopefully the next.

As long as I can find Romanesco.

Fingers crossed, oui?

Ah fall, I really like your colors and flavors.

A lot.

Often, things in life seem to happen in a series. Don’t you agree? Good or bad. It’s part of the cycle of life, and it’s funny to observe how it works.

For me these days, it’s all about books. Great ones.

Like this beautiful crafts book, called Handmade Zakka and Craft by Tuesday. All in Japanese. In its looks. In its language.

It happened quickly and spontaneously.

In the same way Jo approached and asked me to contribute to her book, Tomo Togawa in Japan asked whether I’d be willing to contribute to the book that he and his wife Chiyo, a graphic designer, were going to write. They are known as Tuesday.

I said Yes. Because I loved their style and approach to design. Because I love Japan. And names like Lotta Jansdotter, Yumiko Sekine, Marisa Shimamoto, and Tetsushi Inoue & Kristina Detwiller. All inspiring me.

Tomo’s idea was to incorporate snapshots of eight artists, with each one of us showcasing our craft, inside the book. In the same style Yumiko’s Around Fog Linen book–Tomo designed it–looked.

Tuesday‘s book is just lovely: Light, fresh and clean. Somehow looking to me like a blend of Japanese and Scandinavian styles.

Inside the book, you’ll find inspiring sources for all sorts of crafty design ideas: whether it’s using paper and fabrics to create cards, tree ornaments, clothes, pillow. Their book is really for anyone who likes to create beautiful things for the home. For adults and children alike.

My contribution to Tuesday’s book was my Millet with steamed spring greens and its lemon vinaigrette recipe, along with the following recipe for these Chocolate and Hazelnut Financiers.

I cannot help it. I love financiers. Of all flavors. Shaped like a muffin or a rectangular. Baked with chocolate; vanilla; almonds or hazelnuts.

Or even pistachios and aromas of cardamom, a recipe you’ll find inside my cookbook. I baked two batches of these over the course of the past two days. Every single one of them is gone–granted we had crowds at home.

But ahhhhh these chocolate financiers…with fragrant hazelnut and the earthy aroma of amaranth.

Yes.

Chocolate always makes us happy.

Chocolate always makes Lulu happy.

It’s a family matter. One that keeps us snug and cozy together. In chocolate haven.

“We are chocolate and financiers addicts!” we like to sing in chorus.

Perhaps you can become one of us too.

And join in.

Thank you Tomo for thinking about including snapshots of what I do inside your book. I am honored to be amongst such a great crowd of people.

Below is the list of the eight artists featured in Handmade Zakka and Craft:

Lotta Jansdotter : Surface Designer (Brooklyn, U.S.A.)
Jenny Hallengren : Photographer (Stockholm, Sweden)
Meiko Takechi Arquillos : Photographer (Los Angeles, U.S.A.)
Tetsushi Inoue & Kristina Detwiller : Furniture & Textile Designer (Oita, Japan)
Béatrice Peltre : Food Writer, Stylist and Photographer (Boston, U.S.A.)
Hello Sandwich : Designer, Artist, Crafter (Tokyo, Japan / Sydney, Australia)
Marisa Shimamoto : Photographer (Tokyo, Japan)
Yumiko Sekine : Shop Owner (Tokyo, Japan)

These were the first radishes I grew in my garden this year.

I loved how small and delicate they looked. How peppery they felt in the mouth. Crunchy and light.

I kept them for Lulu, knowing how much she’d enjoy les premiers radis du jardin.

It’s a small thing, and it might sound silly, but these radishes made me feel very excited. And happy. Because Lulu loved them. Because I grew them myself.

Once the crop started, they came in numbers. Every day. Most of the time, I used them in salads. But at other times, we preferred to eat them nature, or finely sliced and arranged on top of a piece of toasted bread. With butter and Fleur de sel.

I had meant to tell you about my radishes and vegetable garden all during June. And July too. Even August.

I wanted to show you my mesclun salads, tomatoes and cucumbers. The carrots and zucchini. Looking so healthy and strong and inspiring me to cook fresh summery dishes.

The taste of the various cherry tomatoes I grew made incredible salads. They made me fall in love with homegrown tomatoes all over again–as if I could have forgotten how much joy homegrown tomatoes bring to our foods.

I wanted to tell you about the delicious gazpacho I’ve prepared over and over this season. I’m sorry for not telling you about it before because I know you’d love it just as much as we do.

You know, it’s just that Summer, with its radishes and tomatoes and peas and zucchini and berries, all too pretty, seems to just be going faster than me.

Perhaps for many, Summer translates as a time of year when things slow down, the way I remember les grandes vacances when I was a kid. For me, summers have been just the right opposite over the past few years. They disappear before I notice.

I blame it on the weather. Seriously, it’s just too nice to stay inside! But it’s also largely the fault of the growing season, with its abundance of tempting pretty fruit and vegetables, and everything else that comes with it and that turn me into a busy bee–no pun intended. With my eyes always bigger than my stomach. With everything that needs to be used and eaten right at the same time. Tell me, have you ever been able to return from a farmer’s market without just what you had planned to buy? C’est tout simplement impossible…

The truth is that I love all of it: our farmers’ markets; the sound of the wind that feels warm and summery; dinner on the patio with a walk afterwards; cooking a ton; staying up late. I simply wished I had more time to share every snapshot of what makes me feel giddy about summer.

But I understand that it’s not going to happen, and I hope you’ll be fine with it because I still have a chocolate cake recipe for you. A delicious one. It’s actually our favorite chocolate cake at the moment. Lulu’s, P.’s, and mine too. It’s a family opinion.

I’ve baked one today, just before we leave. And I realize that I need to tell you about that part too.

This week, we are traveling to Europe. We are going to London where I will teach a Food styling and photography workshop at Food Blogger Connect. Where I will be eating at Petersham Nurseries and Ottolenghi tables. Meet friends.

Then I will be in France where I hope to be able to find red currants and other goodies in my parents’ back garden. We will spend a week in Camargue. And then we will be in Lorraine.

I am so looking forward to rest, eat and soak in the culture. Enjoy the rest of our summer in its most simple but most beautiful form. With rain, sun, warmth and cold. Between England and France. With a lot of popsicles in the middle–my mother told me that after she knew Lulu loved them, she was planning to make some too. It’s cute!

The recipe for the cake is actually quite special. It’s coming right out of my upcoming cookbook.

Yes!

I know I have not talked a lot about my cookbook lately. It’s not that I don’t want to. I so much do! I have so much to say, in fact. But I am still working on some details before making a proper announcement, with everything you need to know. It will happen when I return.

In the meantime, I wish you all a wonderful end of summer. Enjoy. Cook and eat well. I might pop here and there to say hello. When I can. And if I can.

And, before I forget, bake this chocolate cake. It’s really light. A recipe perfect for summer, to pack for a picnic, inside a lunch box. Or, like for us, sneaked inside our travel bag on our way to Europe.

A bientôt !

Sunday looked promising. We didn’t have anything planned. It felt free. We knew that we’d wake up late, whenever we felt like it. A treat. We had decided to go with the flow then. La crème de la crème these days in our life…

A hearty breakfast made of fresh apple juice, fresh muesli and yogurt, toast , apricot jam and cheese started our day.

“What shall we do?” I asked P. while we were finishing our food.

“Not sure,” he said still looking asleep but yet with an expression that showed he was thinking.

Lulu kept looking at the two of us in turns with a smile. It was clear that she was guessing that something good indeed was going to happen.

She was right.

“Beach?” P. asked.

I looked at him. And smiled. Oh yes, please! It sounded so needed! It felt so right!

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Five past ten.”

Immediately, I thought about lunch. Close to noon, I knew, Lulu would be hungry. And we would too.

“Shall I bring lunch?”

I didn’t need to ask, really. And then, I was thankful for the leftovers of black quinoa and watercress sauce I had kept from our lunch the day before. And the madeleines I had baked too. Hard boiled eggs, apples and yogurts completed our meal.

Lulu was happy. So happy indeed.

We drove to Crane Beach, a favorite beach of ours , only a short hour north of Boston.

We like it there at this time of year. The crowds are away and the beach feels like it is all yours to enjoy. Lulu surely felt this way. It was nice to watch her. She kept staring at the water and gentle waves that moved rhythmically, and then she liked to pick shells and feel the sand between her fingers.

“Tu as faim ?” (Are you hungry?) I asked her. She was now busy running close to water line to throw the shells back in.

“Non !” she answered in an assertive tone.

“Tu es sûre ?” (Are you sure?) I went on. She had been playing for a while at that point. “Tu ne veux pas une madeleine ?” (Would you like a madeleine?)

That stopped her there. She lifted her face up to face me.

“Oui ! Madeleine !” she exclaimed.

We sat down and I handed a madeleine to Lulu while P. and I had one each too.

Then she ate another one.

“I wish it were like today every day of this week,” I said.

And the thought of the scene of the three of us there made me feel happy.

I knew that I would remember that day in early March.

La plage, Lulu et les madeleines.

“It’s a muffin packed with ingredients that will make you feel good,” P. said as he was happily nibbling on a muffin with a cup of tea.

Actually. I was the one thinking that.

These muffins?

Well, I baked them with that purpose in mind. They needed to taste good. Of course. Have a taste of chocolate. Always. And bananas. Moisture, you know? And use flavorful flours full of nutrients.

Why?

Because I want them to be good for Lulu. And us too. And do you know what? This winter is my first filled with colds and runny noses. I am not used to it. I am told it’s what happens when a little one goes to daycare. It’s real. It is happening.

But thankfully, there’s always homemade foods in our home. To eat and feel well.

These foods always taste better.

Lulu, who helped to bake, was the first one to agree.

Oh how much I love my daughter girl! She cooks and bakes with me!

The French recipe will follow shortly…

We had five days to embrace it all.

I suppose that many would have thought that traveling to Ireland in early February was insane and crazy. At this point in time. And for such a short stay. Especially with, as it turned out, Lulu who happened to suffer a nasty cold as soon as we arrived.

Okay, maybe it was somehow a little crazy.

But then that was beautiful Ireland where we were going. Europe. With great family times; striking bold colors, mild weather, and this je-ne-sais-quoi outside that always speaks so clearly to my eyes, my camera. My heart.

A piece of home away.

Despite her cold and jet lag, Lulu soaked it all in. It’s not often that she is able to see her cousins– she had a lot of fun with them. To start, with Emily. An Irish one. Beautiful. Funny. Playful and cheeky. A wonderful friend to have.

We came to Ireland to attend a family reunion during which I found myself sitting at a table with thirty Irish relatives–some of whom I knew, some who were new. I was glad to meet Odette again, the other French woman part of the family.

“Ça fait du bien de parler français, non ?” (It feels good to speak French, right?) I told her as we stood in church after the ceremony. She smiled. Words were flowing more easily. “Oh, you’ve already found a French mate,” someone joked as he walked by us.

Of course, that day, in the true Irish tradition, we ate lamb and gravy and potatoes and salmon.

“What’s the soup?” I asked the waitress who was taking our orders and inquiring about appetizers first. “Vegetables!” she answered in a thick Irish accent I didn’t recognize.

“Vegetables!” I repeated in a low voice to myself, in the hope of understanding better what that was supposed to mean. P. was sitting near me and heard her too. He looked at me and laughed. “I’ll take the vegetable soup then“, I replied, smiling. The soup was simple and vegetabl-y, even if in the end, I never managed to tell what vegetables were in it.

The few days that followed were filled with an afternoon in Dublin, a walk in Powerscourt Gardens, playing with Charlotte and Penny the cats, and more family dinners that, I knew, were going to turn into good memories in the coming years.

We started with Dublin.

A lovely afternoon. A little drizzly but with pleasant spells of sun. I wanted to visit Fallon and Byrne for its choice of foods; Avoca for its selection of housewares and its café where we ended up enjoying a lunch of soup, ravioli and salads.

“I love all the colors of the buildings!” I told Kelley, P’s cousin, as we were walking the streets of Dublin. I noticed bold red and lime green painted doors; striking orange pavements and gray churches reminiscent of years of history; flowers and plants making the streets cheerful despite the light rain.

By late afternoon, we decided to stop at Butlers’ for hot chocolate.

The next day, we took a walk in the fabulous gardens of Powerscourt. In the Irish manner. The trees and flower arrangements looked stunning and our family stroll felt exotic and invigorating. Lulu and her cousin Cait strolled along happily, picking pebbles and playing in small puddles along the way.

“It reminds me of our walk from two years ago“, I told cousin Hugo.

It was just Irish and pretty.

During our stay, we ate brown bread; we had muesli and drank local apple juice in the morning; we enjoyed tasty cheddar and delectable yogurts–oh Irish yogurts, I already miss you so much! And, of course, we sipped many cups of tea while having random conversations about life–okay, I will admit that I still cannot drink tea the Irish way.

One night, when all the cousins came for dinner, we enjoyed a dinner of beef stewed with mushrooms and Guiness, Jasmine rice and salad on the side. The next night, it was a dish of pork roast, chestnuts, potato gratin, lemon tart and almond cake with raspberries that made our bellies happy.

All, always, delicious and homemade.

Five days was short and full; exciting and tiring too. I already miss Dublin and the Irish family. Lulu too, I know, especially the cats and Emily.

But I am thankful for the memories and stories we’ve built there during our short stay.

One of those, in fact, revolved around chocolate too.

“Tu y crois à cela ?” (Can you believe this?) I told my mother when I called to tell her we were safely home. It happened during one of our usual conversations following a trip overseas.

“Quoi ?” (What?) she asked, intrigued.

“Lulu a appris à dire le mot chocolat en Irlande !” (Lulu learned how to say the word chocolate in Ireland!)

She did.

“Elle dit cola!!” (She says cola) I went on.

At first, I didn’t know what Lulu meant when she used the word.

” Cola?” I asked one morning when we were in the kitchen, ready to have breakfast. “What is cola?”

I walked to the counter top and then, suddenly, she proudly pointed at the bar of dark chocolate I had left on the counter top the night before. “Ohhhh chocolat!” I said.

Since then, she’s been asking for chocolate at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I think she likes to say the word. She likes that she understands and knows it.

It’s irresistible.

And I am afraid that every time she will use it, I will have a hard time saying “no”.

How could I really say Non to chocolate?

Hence this was how these chocolate petits pots de crème ended up on our table. For her. For us.

Lulu ate hers plain. I topped ours with tiny pieces of apples sautéed in butter, sugar and vanilla.

Bliss!

You might not believe me if I told you how quickly six jars disappeared in our household.

I blame Ireland for it.

But I like it this way.

Certain likings for foods, it seems, run in the family. I don’t care so much for fresh bananas. Lulu does not like them. I really love nuts and chocolate. So does she.

I didn’t teach her. It happened this way. Or perhaps it is something that, as I like to imagine, I passed to her while she was nesting inside my belly and during the year I breastfed her. I like to imagine that I communicated with her in that way.

With chocolate, cumin, risotto, custard, tarts, yogurt, pretzels, pecans, apples, soups–and granola.

Chocolate granola, more precisely.

I’d been willing to create a recipe like this one for a while. But for weeks–perhaps even months now that I think about it–I never got to it.

Once it was the oats that went missing. Another time I ended up using the chocolate inside a cake.

Last week, though, I had everything. Neatly arranged on the kitchen island. Lined up. Ready. Leaving me feeling victorious.

Finally, I’d be able to bake chocolate granola.

There was this snack, mind you, that P. bought every time he went grocery shopping.

“J’ai acheté du granola au chocolat !“‘ (I bought chocolate granola!) he’d tell me cheerfully as he entered the kitchen with bags filled with produce. Lulu was already in bed, which left only him and me to putter around in the kitchen. Somehow, his words sounded like he’d won something important.

The granola was good. “Healthy snack”, the words on the box read. I think that was what they were. I am not a hundred percent sure anymore. The granola never lasted long. The three of us would invariably sit around the kitchen island. Munching granola away.

Needless to say that, when we tasted my recipe and we both liked it more, that made me feel proud. We wouldn’t need to pay $5 a small box of granola which, we knew, was too expensive. But the granola tasted nice so we indulged in the purchase every time anyway.

Until a few days ago, when I baked a batch of chocolate granola myself.

I could not stop eating it. And I wasn’t alone.

Lulu, P. and I enjoyed pinching a bit of granola while he and I were doing the dishes and she was reading books. It was still warm but none of us minded. Then the next day, we ate some for breakfast with yogurt and milk. And later, I found myself eating some more as a mid-morning snack while cooking a butternut squash soup for lunch.

“Too good!” we agreed.

We loved its crunch. The fact that it was not too sweet. And the fact that it used our favorite dark chocolate.

“It’s got character,” P. added.

I am not sure how it happened but suddenly, this granola recipe inspired many more.

With the chocolate left, I decided to bake a chocolate cake. It happened the day it snowed so much that everything outside and inside stopped. Winter was taking it course and we were watching.

We ate fennel salad, lentil soup, osso bucco, riz pilaf with saffron, financiers.

And each time I stood by the stove cooking, I munched away on more granola.

“To keep going,” I thought.

To face snowy days in winter.

Tuesday afternoon.

Le 4 janvier 2011.

I am sitting at my desk, keen to catch up with unanswered emails and piles of work that were left behind.

The last two weeks have been really busy. Not unusual, is it?

December was filled with time spent with family and friends, the first winter snow storm that kept us cozily inside for a few days, Lulu discovering the joy of sledding–and lots of long lunches and dinners. In fact, this afternoon is really the first quiet one in a while, without food on the stove or shots to be taken. It feels sweet and gentle. And at last, I am able to realize that we are in 2011 indeed. I never thought I would be too busy to see 2011 arrive. So fast. Almost unexpectedly.

But here we are.

I wanted to gather my thoughts and reflect on the past year. Lulu’s second year. Amazing.

2010 was the year when she learned to walk; swim and make bubbles; run; eat risotto; laugh loudly and heartily; stretch into down dog pose; sing while reading Llama Llama Red Pajama over ten times on the sofa; feel the soft sound of snow pressed under her feet; dance and jump high while listening to the beat of Nothing Lost by The Cry on the stereo. I could never have imagined that two would be the age when she’d run to grab our hands and reach the stereo, repeating “Danse ! Danse !” with her eyes lit with excitement.

It’s the cutest thing.

2010 felt full.

It presented itself with wonderful things. Thank you, thank you! But it also brought sadness and difficult times. Intense at all levels. Physical. Emotional. Going hand in hand. I was not prepared. We never are. But in the end, 2010 showed us, me, that we have incredible resources inside when we need them the most. It also taught me how lucky I am to have Lulu, family and friends around.

With a high dose of love, and food inspiration.

Snapshots.

In January, P. sold his company and started a new work adventure, which kept us home for the first months of the year. I continued to work on my cookbook–I promise, it will happen!– and other cooking and photographic projects.

In February, my parents visited us and in March, Lulu learned to walk.

A new world started right there. For her to explore. For us too.

At the end of March, we traveled to the island of Tortola in the Caribbeans where we indulged in a relaxing vacation.

There was a lot of work involved too: the delightful collaboration to Fog Linen; writing for the Boston Globe; and shooting for Boston Magazine and The Improper Bostonian.

In March, too, La Tartine Gourmande was featured in the French TV documentary Envoyé Spécial la suite. I am still in awe that it happened for real.

In April, we started to think seriously about moving and finding a new house. We packed and sold ours. When we eventually found a new house to buy, we were scared and excited. It had a space for a potentially new kitchen and a large garden in the back.

In May, we traveled to France where we had a wonderful reunion with family and friends to celebrate Lulu’s christening. There, Lulu ate her first cherries picked right from my father’s cerisiers. My mother introduced her to the world of croissants, pains aux raisins, radishes, salade de carottes râpées, venison and rabbit.

The early summer was spent in our new house and France, between the beautiful island of Belle-Ile en mer in Brittany:

And my parents’ house in Lorraine:

When September came, we moved out of our house once again, this time to start the long renovation of the kitchen. I traveled to New Hampshire to teach a food styling and photography class at Squam.

October was spent working on the final revisions of my cookbook manuscript while Lulu started to go to daycare a few days a week. I was relieved to see she loved meeting new faces. And was good at it.

Then, by the end of November, we finally moved back to our house, which left December for unpacking boxes, family visits and celebrating Lulu’s second birthday. And amongst other food projects, I was able to work with super talented Francine Zaslow and Jo Packam.

I really thought that, in the midst of 2010′s craziness, this could well have translated into less time for me to spend cooking in the kitchen. I dreaded that it might happen, in fact.

But it didn’t. Thankfully.

There was always an incredible amount of dishes and food prepared out of the kitchens I visited. Whether it was in the spacious house we rented in Belle-Ile en mer; in my mother’s or sister’s-in law kitchens; in the small apartment where we temporarily lived for three months–and eventually in my new cooking space. Oh, it’s such a happy space!

Creating food kept me together. Pushed me forward.

So there we are. Bonjour 2011 !.

I am still not sure what 2011 keeps for me this year. And frankly, I don’t want to either know too much or make big plans. But instead, I want to live in the moment. Now. Enjoy Lulu’s new discoveries of life. 2011 will be the year when she goes to la maternelle. It will be the year when we also hope to travel with her even more, to show her more of the world we love.

I am blessed to have a loving husband, an adorable girl in love with life, a great family, my work, my blog. And all of you who have stayed and come back patiently despite a year busier than I had anticipated.

I wish you all a fantastic new year. I hope it’s filled with a lot of incredible things. Laughter. Food. Everything you hope for.

We finished 2010 with a tiramisu. I wanted to start 2011 with another one. Because that’s a very good recipe in my opinion! But also because I’ve just discovered that Lulu really loves when I bake ladyfingers.

On Sunday, after we returned from the Children’s museum and a lunch made of soup, salad and crusty bread at Flour’s, she stood quietly on her tiptoes by the kitchen island to grab a few ladyfingers I had left to cool. When P. and I eventually took notice as she walked by us with one cookie in her mouth, she was smiling with pride.

As to us, we could not help but burst into laughter.

To a good start.