“Betty ?” I heard a deep male voice over the phone. It sounded like my father. Who else, outside my family and people from my home village in France, would call me Betty? I remained quiet for a few seconds until realizing that in fact, it was indeed my father.

“Vous êtes déjà arrivés ?” (Did you already arrive?) I asked, surprised.

I looked at my watch, and then at Lulu who was staring at my hand holding the phone. Then she looked at me, waiting for a push to get the swing moving. We had walked to the park, thinking we’d have time before my parents arrived. “P. est en route pour l’aéroport,” (P. is on his way to the airport) I went on. “Désolée, on ne savait pas que votre avion était en avance.” (Sorry, we didn’t know your plane was early.)

Perhaps my parents’ plane landed early because they felt impatient. It showed right away as they walked into the house to hug and kiss Lulu. Once. Twice. I quickly stopped counting. And instead I watched, and smiled, feeling so happy and thankful for that sweet moment between Lulu and her grandparents. The last time they had seen her was when we visited during the summer. Five months ago. I knew she would look like a different baby. And that she’d be a lucky one to have two fully dedicated playmates with her for two weeks. My parents are so good at it that it has me wonder whether they’ve taken a special class…just teasing. It’s a delight.

So this is what’s been happening in our home. The visit of my parents, as a start, which I’d very much been looking forward to. And me? Working long hours to revise the manuscript of my cookbook. Yes, it’s still going on and I have a new deadline! So add this to that, and this explains why there have not been many recipes and stories in this favorite space of mine. I cannot keep up at the moment.

I’m cooking a ton, mind you. So many foods, in fact. Having my mother in the kitchen by my side is precious. She likes to joke that she is my prep chef. I wish she were here all the time. She’s helping a ton, cooking homey foods for us–dishes I know so well. And miss.

On the night when they arrived, because they were tired from a long journey, I had prepared a light dinner. I made a soup. One that will be for the cookbook.

“Vous n’allez manger que des plats qui seront dans mon livre,” (You”ll only eat dishes that will be in my cookbook) I added, laughing, as I ladled steaming red lentil soup in our plates.
“Tant mieux!” (Good!) my mother answered.

I could see she was enjoying these simple foods. We had baguette, a wide selection of cheese–cannot have my father over without them–roasted beets and a green salad on the table too.

“Et ça aussi ca ira dans le livre ?” (Will this go in the cookbook too?) my father asked when, after we were finished, I brought dessert. I was holding a dish filled with warm pears baked with ginger, lemongrass and vanilla in one hand, and a bowl with plain yogurt in the other.

“Ah non, pas ça. Ça, c’est juste pour nous. C’est tout simple!” (Not this. This is just for us. Very simple.)

Within minutes, we cleaned the dish to the last bite.

I had forgotten how nice it actually is to have them over. We really love food in my family.

And it shows.

Thank you for your patience!

“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!

I know. I am not writing a lot in this space these days, but I promise that there’s a lot of food prepared in my kitchen. I sometimes wonder how comes it disappears so quickly!

Anyway, while I am trying to find time to write something that will sound cohesive — yes, well, let’s just add that I sent my book manuscript to my editor last week, so I am feeling deflated for words — at least I can show you what we enjoyed today for dessert.

Our Sunday treat.

It’s the sweetest thing: I woke up thinking chocolate! I wanted a chocolate dessert.

The dessert was going to have a dark chocolate with character, coconut milk, and lightly sweetened meringues baked on top. I had already made chocolate creams last week and thought to bake another batch, adding a meringue on top — a lovely idea that I was inspired to try from a recipe found in a recent copy of the French food magazine Saveurs.

Swoon.

The creams were delicate and deliciously smooth. They tasted like December and snow and winter and I-want-to-make-a nest-inside. That alone made me suddenly realize that Christmas is just at the corner.

It made me think about that exact same day last year, when our beautiful bébé Lulu was born. Can it be one year ago already?

Somehow, the memory of that magical, powerful and incredible time of our life came back, leaving us emotional. I remember the pavlova I baked the day we left quietly for the hospital, and the cakes I had baked one day before.

My head is filled with those vivid images. They make us feel cozy.

Ready to enjoy this upcoming family time. In our small nest.

With chocolate.

For Lulu’s birthday.

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!

“You’ll do well! ” P. said in a soft voice that sounded reassuring. He was looking at me straight in the eyes. Intensely as if to convince me even more.

I knew that it would be fine. That I would fine. But I was still feeling rather nervous — thrilled and excited! In fact, I couldn’t fall easily asleep at night, tossing again and again, thinking about Thursday, Friday and then Saturday, and about the French TV journalist and cameraman who were flying from Paris to meet me.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday happened. It’s been magical — and I can sleep again! They walked into our home and for two full busy days, they filmed and interviewed me, in my small kitchen. I am sure you can imagine the scene of me, P. and Lulu behind the camera — oh how much she liked it — and the kind of adrenaline I’ve been on! I think I still don’t realize that it happened.

But I am lucky: they were extremely friendly and made me feel at ease — we had a lot of fun. I’ll tell you more about it, I promise: details about the program and when it airs; about what we saw, what I cooked and what we ate.

Meanwhile, an overwhelming chocolate craving took me over. A few days ago, we started the day with a pile of chocolate crêpes on the breakfast table — Lulu enjoyed her first one too — then I made chocolate mousse, and the next day, I had a chocolate snow eggs for dessert at lunch. One full serving* just* by myself! Juste pour moi!

It tasted rich and chocolaty, leaving wonderful aromas in my mouth.

It filled me with so much happy energy that after I licked my fingers and the spoon clean, Lulu and I went for a long walk in one of your favorite nature reserves close to the house.

It was still somewhat mild for the season so I decided to lay a blanket on the grass where she and I sat. She looked at me, surprised, and then smiled, clapping her hands and moving her legs and feet swiftly. She was a happy baby, with her hands full of the grass she grabbed.

And me a happy maman to be sitting there with her under the apple tree, with a stomach full of scrumptious chocolate custard.

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!

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.