It’s wonderful the things we do for the people we love.

Prepare food, for example.

With Lulu, it started when she was still cozily nestled inside my belly. I remember thinking, every time I was putting food into my mouth, how much she would benefit from those foods. Comté, sole, rice pudding, carrots, zucchini, gratin, sweet potatoes, sweet and savory tarts, kale, peach, watermelon, apple, pear, blueberries, granola, veal, beef and milk — Oh the foods that I ate and enjoyed!

Then when Lulu was born, I started to nurse her, and then, when she was interested and had teeth too — did I tell you she has 8? — came the time to prepare foods for her.

It was somewhat intimidating, at first, knowing what foods to prepare for my baby. Trying to guess what she would like. What she would dislike. How would I know that she would love peaches and doesn’t care too much for bananas? That she’d love sheep milk yogurt and turns her head away from a piece of tofu? It’s a process I’ve learned. A world that I continue to explore, every day. Something that keeps changing too, with her. A life that I truly enjoy.

And somehow, along the way, I started to improvise fabulous food associations, combining vegetables with meats or fish, herbs and spices. Making the food nutritious and taste delicious. In fact, my rule is simple: if I like what I’ve prepared and want it for my lunch, then Lulu will have it! And hopefully she’ll enjoy it as much as I do.

Lulu is almost 10 months now — does time fly by for you too? She’s been eating many things. She loves quinoa buttermilk pancakes and anything that tastes like sweet potato — especially the Japanese white ones — and winter and summer squashes, cauliflower, broccoli and fennel. Yesterday, for example, she ate sole with Japanese white sweet potato, cauliflower and zucchini flavored with thyme and olive oil while dancing in her high chair to the tune of Charlie Winston playing in the background. And tonight, she had red quinoa to start, then winter squash steamed with fennel, chicken, sage and cumin. Not a single spoonful was left on her plate.

That alone never fails to make me feel warm inside. Happy.

Moules marinières — mussels cooked in white wine, shallot and parsley — is a French classic. It’s also a dish that P. and I adore, especially if the dish is paired with thin oven baked fries on the side — our favorite are parsnips and carrots (these are yellow carrots!)

This is exactly the kind of dish I wanted to prepare for my most recent contribution to the Seasons column in the Boston Globe.

In fact, I made the recipe last week when my mother was visiting. She helped to clean the mussels — and I was glad since we bought three kilos — and gulp down the food. Because whenever there are mussels and fries for dinner, this is exactly what we end up doing! I am not sure how much each of us ate, but by looking at the pile of mussel shells on the table, I guess it was a lot. Then, I shelled the remaining mussels, kept the broth, and the next day, prepared a dish of spaghetti and sauteed julienned vegetables in which I added the reserved mussels and broth. Scrumptious!

In this mussel recipe, the flavor of the white wine-based broth is boosted with the addition of an earthy spice like saffron, orange bell pepper for a touch of color, and crème fraiche for smoothness. Make sure not to forget a loaf of crusty bread on the side, to sop up the broth.

It’s simple but delicious! The kind of honest food that tastes even better eaten with your fingers, making sure to lick them afterward.

“Let’s have a lobster weekend,” my friend R. said. “I’ll talk to my lobster guy.”

“Your lobster guy?”

“Yes. You’ll see. You’ll love to meet him.”

Quite frankly, I was excited. First, we really love to hang out with our friends R. and E. Secondly, they live in a beautiful house on the South Shore, with an amazing view on the ocean, a huge (me happy!) pool and jacuzzi. Then, my friend R loves to cook — and does it very well — and he grows a vegetable garden. He also speaks French, and that’s always something relaxing for my end-of-week tired brain.

“I’ll make dessert!”

“Parfait! he exclaimed joyfully.“And what do you think about a lobster salad with tarragon?”

What did I think about it? I loved the idea!

That’s how our conversation ended and how P., Lulu and I had a great plan to look forward to for the weekend.

I packed on Friday night, filling our bags with delicious foods I wanted to bring, and on Saturday morning, we drove down south.

“J’ai déjà commencé,” (I’ve started already) R. said when we walked into the kitchen. He seemed jolly, busy working along behind the stove. I caught sight of three pink lobsters on the counter and felt relieved. I’ve never liked the part that involves plunging the lobsters into a pot, and I was glad that he had done it for me. “I still have four more,” he added with a wide smile lighting his tanned face. Clearly, we were going to dine on a lobster feast.

We sat in the small wooden shelter nested by the pool, eager to chat and catch up — we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. We were treated with a lunch of homegrown juicy tomatoes and cucumber that we ate with Italian prosciutto and Tallegio cheese. And as expected, R. and I started to talk about our dinner plan.

“Demain, on ira voir Tommy Alioto,” he said. He was talking about his lobster guy, Tommy, who owns and runs the Cohasset Lobster Pound on picturesque Cohasset Harbor. “You’ll see, he is quite a character! He’s got a smile!”

We made a salad with local Heirloom tomatoes and the next day, I picked vegetables — squash, eggplant, pepper and fresh herbs — that filled a basket to bring home. We debated what best lobster salad recipe to follow for our meal and settled on one inspired by Jasper White.

R. cooked four small 1 1/4 pound lobsters and removed the meat for the lobster salad along with the meat from the 5 pound lobster we used to serve the salad. He made the tarragon mayonnaise and I assembled the lobster salad and baked raspberries almond mascarpone flans.

We chatted and ate our food and drank a Chassagne-Montrachet Premier Cru “Les Chaumées” 2002 — a perfect accompaniment to lobster. We enjoyed a fabulous dinner.

And the next morning, as planned, we went to see Tommy.

Tommy had quite a smile indeed! He gave us a generous welcome, we shook hands and he took us downstairs to see the lobsters.

“Here’s the beast!” he said after pulling a gigantic lobster from the tank which he held proudly in front of him. The lobster weighed twenty pounds and seemed enormous. “Wow, that’s a big one for sure!”

I could not help but think that that one was just as heavy as Lulu!

I learned that Tommy buys his lobsters from about thirty Cohasset lobster boats and arranges their sale. Up to 7000 pounds of lobster are stored live in his large seawater tank and many are shipped daily to Milan in Italy.

“What about a lobster bisque?” R. asked after we had finished our dinner. It was hard to believe we were already thinking about the next meal but it’s never a surprise, really. Quite a habit instead. “Let’s make one for lunch tomorrow,” he added.

So this is how he started to make lobster broth late at night while tidying the kitchen. He took a large stock pot out in which he dumped the lobsters carcasses from our feast. He covered with water and brought the food to a boil. Then, he added some white wine leftover and added an onion, a leek, a few tomatoes and carrots. He added a few celery branches and 1 tablespoon of tomato paste — you can also add saffron. He brought the broth to a boil, seasoned with salt and pepper and then reduce the heat to let it simmer for 1 hour and a half. We left the broth sit overnight so that the flavors develop even more, and the next morning, R. strained and reduced the broth on high heat. To serve the lobster bisque, we added a few pieces of lobster meat we had kept and thickened the bisque by adding 1 to 2 tablespoons of cornstarch. We finished with fresh tarragon, a generous dollop of heavy cream and a dash of sherry to round the taste. It was simply astonishingly delicious. Trust me, you’ll have to try it!

“Do you want to take some broth home?” R. asked.

It was hard for me to hide my excitement. Of course I wanted broth! I was so happy that I could have kissed him for even suggesting it. Well, I think I gave him an honest kiss on each cheek as French people like to do!

And so the next day, when we were back at home, I made my own lobster bisque for dinner. It was so good that both P. and I ate as slowly as we could, making sure not to leave a single drop in our bowls.

“Nothing goes to waste,” I remembered R. had added when preparing the broth.

I couldn’t agree more, especially when food tastes that good.

It’s been so hot since I’ve returned from France that the oven has remained unusually quiet. Almost untouched — beside the berry sabayon au gratin and coconut macaroons I made (and that’s because I was too bored, upset to feel stuck inside all day.) So I am patiently (and that’s saying a lot!) waiting for the cooler days to come. Counting them, one by one. Un, deux, trois, quatre….reloading the weather forecast page on my laptop every time I walk by, with the hope that it’s a mistake, that they‘ve made a mistake, that tomorrow, the temperatures will be bearable, and life will resume its course. Quietly.

Because this heat is severe and aggressive, and when I think about it, this is what I dislike about summer. When it’s too much of everything: too much noise, too much heat, too much AC — and an obvious lack of fresh clean air. I am trying not to miss the cherry trees in my parents’ garden too much, but frankly, it’s hard not to. They were so relaxing and soft, ces arbres. So quiet and tranquil.

It’s no surprise then that after I put Lulu to bed tonight, I felt exhausted. She was exhausted too. At first, I thought it was the jet lag still playing on us. But in fact, I know that it’s the heat that sucked the last bit of my energy.

I am not trying to complain. There are many worse things than reading 95 F on the thermometer. Sometimes I hate being so affected by this sacrée chaleur (damned heat). But I am looking forward to the early fall when I can use my oven again. When I feel like it.

No wonder that I felt like preparing a cold verrine for dinner. To start. Something simple to make, no fuss, a dish refreshing to eat on the porch with my feet dipped in Lulu’s pool, trying to feel better.

I started with grated cucumber sprinkled with salt to release some water. Then, I added local radishes, sticks of apple and plain yogurt. With a drizzle of lime juice and one of olive oil, more yogurt and slices of smoked salmon, I had food perfectly right to cool off. My dinner.

Still hoping for the cooler days to finally arrive, and for summer to go away with its luggage of unwelcomed heat.

I’ll just have, once again, to reload the weather page before going to bed. Hoping!

Note that this verrine also makes a lovely and pretty appetizer for a casual dinner with friends.

It’s a good thing that I am still able to make dishes like this for dinner these days. Even better when they go in the Boston Globe, and well, you can enjoy them too.

P. and I like Asian food. A lot. Anything cooked in a broth made of coconut milk, barely cooked vegetables like snap peas, lots of coriander and lime juice, and big fat shrimps to go with it. Served with rice on the side. Even better the next day, especially if you are tight for time and you are hungry for lunch — like me, every day!

Well, you can read the rest. The recipe is easy and tasty.

I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

The expression does not make sense when translated into English, but I love it: Poisson d’avril, which literally means April’s Fish.

Well, I guess I know what we are eating tonight. And that is no joke.

Or perhaps I just wanted to post a picture of a colorful fish since I cannot imagine hanging this one on anyone’s back — we really do those things en France.

Sérieusement. I cannot remember when was the last time I played an April fools’ day trick on anyone. Lulu will have to learn the tradition. She will love it. And the fish too.

Well, it’s April.

Wow. Incroyable !

And there’s so much activity in our house. A daughter who is growing like une mauvaise herbe (a weed), says le papa. She is happy and *so* curious about everything. About every single detail of life. That’s what babies do.

And there is my cookbook that requires so much of my energy. It will be another full month. Hopefully less fast. But as full.

Well, I hope that you are also starting April on the right foot.

Well fed. Happy and jolly.

I just needed to stop by, to wish you a happy April Fools’ Day. And share with you a simple fish recipe.

Take a whole fish of your liking, thyme and sea salt, add a splash of olive oil, a few steamed potatoes on the side, and a tossed salad, and turn dinner into a simple fare.

You’ve had something like this before, haven’t you?

“It’s next week, I tell you!” I told P. looking at the calendar hanging by the kitchen door.

“Incroyable !”

This is really the way we feel this year. Christmas next week? I don’t think we have been as little prepared for Christmas as we have this year. Preparing for bébé’s arrival has taken every bit of our energy and time — and thoughts. Take for example the following: I am unable to remember where I put things, sometimes even the point of a conversation, stopping myself in the middle of a sentence.

It’s funny, really!

With food, though, things seem to have stayed somewhat on track, at least consistent. I don’t forget to prepare food, and to eat — quite on the contrary. I did not think much about it at first, but I have even started to freeze some dishes to keep us going during the first days we will spend with bébé. Then, food ideas have kept flooding my mind too, making me wish I had more time, and ability to eat, the many things I really want to cook.

I made these amuse-bouches for example, for one of the videos kindly shot by the people at How2Heroes. Ah..oh…yes, please, be indulgent, it’s my first cooking video experience — with, on top, a pregnant woman’s brain.

These potato nests are filled with flavors. They are light and refreshing, wonderful before starting a festive meal. In only one mouthful, you can taste crispy potatoes with a finish made of fried leeks, sweet and juicy apple and pomegranate, silky crème fraiche, and refreshing crab. The bonus? All the steps can be made ahead of time, and assembled at the last minute.

They will be on the menu for our Christmas, should we be home that day – unless bébé decides to arrive then, and feast with us.

Well, we shall see about that. In the meantime, I ate these treats this afternoon. Excellent as a snack for a gourmande pregnant woman!

I promise!

So once again, a big thank you to all of you. You are the best.

I woke up because the tip of my nose was cold. P.’s back was turned to me; his heavy breathing made me realized that he was still deep asleep. I sat up in bed and scanned around the room still filled with complete darkness. Could we have forgotten to close a window in the bedroom?

We had, indeed.

But in fact, it did not make a difference. It was only reinforcing the fact that colder temperatures had hit us overnight. I smiled. That meant that the leaves on the trees would change color even faster, something I had secretly been waiting for — fall is definitely a wonderful season around here.

The day was perfect to go out for a walk, especially since our friends Akiko and Pierre were visiting from Paris. (Akiko Ida and Pierre Javelle are amazingly talented food photographers. Do you remember seeing fun food pictures with little characters on them, the very ones that tell wonderful stories, such as firemen on a crème brûlée? These are all their creations.)

“On vous emmène au cimetière Mount Auburn,” I told Akiko after she and I returned from our morning yoga class. “Tu verras, les arbres là-bas sont vraiment très beaux.” (We are taking you to Mount Auburn Cemetery. You will see, trees there are amazingly beautiful.)

Especially at this time of year, when they create a patchwork of vibrant colors so pleasing to the eye.

Mount Auburn Cemetery was founded in 1831 as America’s first landscaped or garden cemetery. The place comprises 175 acres of hills, dells, ponds, woodlands and clearings, with an impressive collection of over 5,000 trees. It feels extremely quiet to walk there, and from the top of Washington tower, you get a panoramic view of the vastness stretching in the distance, with the city as a backdrop.

Despite the chilly air, the sun felt warm as it brushed softly the tip of the trees with its generous light. When we arrived at the top of the tower, it was fairly windy; we knew we would not stay long. But we could not help but admire the explosion of colors spreading in front of our eyes. In a few weeks, I knew it would be even better.

“It’s like following the blossoms during Spring in Japan,” I told A. “Many people come in New England to follow the leaves as they turn color.”

We enjoyed a relaxed walk. We chatted away. We laughed, doing all the nice things friends do together. I was already imagining the hot chocolate we would have once we returned home.

A. and P. could not stay too long in Boston, not leaving much time for me to cook for them, especially since we went out for dinner. Yet I still managed to bake a hazelnut marbled cake which we tasted at breakfast.

“I want the recipe,” A. said after she swallowed the last piece on her plate. “What gives it this color?” she went on.

“C’est la farine de noisettes,” (it’s the hazelnut flour) I said with a smile. I was thrilled she liked it.

The cake felt moist and light, even after we ate a few slices each.

“Il est bien moelleux à cause de la compote de pommes que j’ai ajoutée,” I added. (It’s moist because of the apple stew I put in). Heirloom apples also give it a distinctive taste — the best.”

The weekend was conducive to hearty foods.

I was glad to have prepared a warm dish of mushroom and eggplant lasagna that we enjoyed at lunch, and a nourishing soup which we ate for dinner — both dishes matched the mood of the weekend perfectly.

“Clams in the soup?” P. said once he saw the steaming pot of rich vegetable broth brought to the table. “That’s pretty unusual.”

“Yes. Right. Well, I just felt like eating a hearty soup like this one. I also used curry and added cooked red lentils.”

Toasted tartines of baguette, flavored with olive oil, thyme and melted Manchego cheese accompanied our dish.

“You really like winter squash, don’t you?” P. said after he had his first spoonful.

“Did you notice too?” I answered, laughing heartily.

During the last two weeks, we had been eating all sorts of dishes made with potimarron (red kuri squash), my favorite, and acorn and butternut squashes too. When the season is at its peak, I cannot resist the vivid orange color of these vegetables, and feel inspired to no end.

Don’t you?

They really know how to make food look happier.

Never a bad thing.

Did you remember too? It’s officially fall. And oh oh, how excited I am! I mean, I could feel sorry that we say good bye to the longest sunny days of the year; there will no longer be any seasonal strawberries or red currants; I will have to wait until next year to find my favorite round zucchinis to stuff and rhubarb to stew. But no.

I do not feel sorry because I love seasons, with the passage of one to another. I love the fall!

The fall and its wonderful fresh produce. There is something magical about it, don’t you think?

With the fall, I want to think about winter squash — like potimarron (Hokkaido squash), by far one of my favorites — root vegetables like céleri rave (celeriac) and beets, a walk in the forest to hear colorful fallen leaves rustle under my footsteps, starting the day with a veil of fog in the countryside or by the seaside, buying tasty mushrooms to boost my cooking creativity, baking when it feels somewhat a little chilly outside, sipping a cup of steaming hot chocolate by the fireplace, generous gratins to share with loved ones — and soups. Oh lovely comforting soups to warm us up. These are all things to love, really.

So I made a soup.

My mum is the one who taught me that shellfish (les fruits de la mer, literally the fruit of the sea), like mussels or oysters, should be eaten during les mois en “r” (the months in “r”). September, October, November, December would be the best months indeed. She reminded me of this when I saw her last week, and since I had a craving for mussels, I decided to make a soup that is a favorite amongst us for its simple generous taste.

This mussel soup uses white wine like in the preparation of moules marinières, coconut milk for smoothness, saffron and turmeric for taste and color. It’s easy to prepare and flexible: if you are short of time, it can be made a few hours ahead, and reheated at the last minute. A nice thing to keep in mind. In fact, the only piece of work is perhaps cleaning the mussels, but that again is no rocket science either.

And the rest, of course, follows naturally. It does not require any recipe.

P. and I ate one large bowl each last night, with roasted potatoes and a lovely loaf of rustic bread.

We were pleased to be where we were, at this time of year. Because Indian summers in New England are quite special.

The best transition to the fall.

“You will smell olive trees and oregano when you land,” my French friend E. tells me when I tell her about our upcoming trip. Her parents are Greek, but they moved to France when they were still young adults. Talking about Crete with her makes the thought of traveling to the Greek island become real.

By 10 am, it’s already quite hot when we arrive at the small airport of Chania in Crete. I am glad it’s windy too! The road to Maleme, the village where we are staying, is not particularly attractive, and we are far from imagining the lovely spot we find when we finally reach the house we’ve rented for a week.

“Are you sure about the directions?” P. asks, starting to feel a little impatient after we’ve driven for a while as we look for two pink pillars leading to the property. The truth is that breakfast is only now a faint memory: we are getting hungry, beside being eager to refresh with a dip in the pool.

“How would I know? Why don’t we call to check?” I answer, feeling a bit deflated. It’s getting hot in the car too.

But luck is on our side. Just as we are about to give up, we finally discern two pink pillars indeed on the way out of the village. Behind them stands the house, with its lush flowered gardens, and the pool that sparkles like an inviting gem.

Our rental house is a comfortable and spacious stone villa — once a building where people made wine — with a great pool surrounded by olive trees, a paradise for us who have come to rest. When I first see it, I am beaming with excitement. As I’ve also come with the desire to cook and discover Greek local produce, I am not disappointed either: the kitchen is decorated with taste, meticulously equipped with everything a cook needs. As is in fact the rest of the house.

Our days follow an agreeable routine which we think me might quickly tire of.

But we don’t. Far from it.

When we are not swimming, playing volley-ball in the pool, or taking long naps lying under the olive trees in one of the many long chairs found in the generously sun-filled garden, we read or chat away, looking at the ocean in the distance. Then, when we do not feel lazy, we take off for a drive to visit the nearby villages, traveling on narrow, winding roads surrounded by majestic mountains, before eventually finishing with a swim that cools us off, when we stop at one of the numerous beaches on the west coast. We prefer to travel short distances because for once, we simply feel this way.

As the biggest of over six thousands Greek islands, Crete stands out as an island full of contrasts. Located at the southern edge of the Aegean Sea, it only takes a thirty-minute flight from Athens before we arrive in this 260 km long island. There, we discover one part largely touched by tourism, with unappealing resorts and hotels, crowds and tourist shops — which we quickly avoid — next to untouched rural areas where life follows a much different pace, slow as one would expect in this part of the world, much closer to what it used to be before tourism left its marks.

The drives we take through the countryside offer splendid views of rugged ranges of mountains where sheep and goats graze and run freely. Before our eyes unfold mountains which appear dry and arid or, by contrast, richly covered with trees.

And everywhere, there are olive, orange and lemon trees arranged in straight lines growing in the valleys and villages.

“Look, these are pomegranates,” P. exclaims when we pass one of the villages on our way to Elafonisi island.

I secretly wish I could have a taste of everything. When I go out for walks, I enjoy taking a peak at people’s gardens to see what they grow. Of course, on an island like Crete, zucchinis, eggplants, peppers and tomatoes are vegetables commonly grown. They seem so happy in this environment.

Stefanos, the proprietor of the villa, is a tall friendly man with impeccable English; when we meet him the first time, he welcomes us with a solid hand shake and a genuine smile. To our delight, he likes to tell us stories about the village and his country, and even agrees to take us to the olive oil coop in the village, where he explains the olive oil-making process.

“Everyone in the village has a little bit of land to grow olive trees. Olive oil is a second income for many,” he tells me when I ask if the activity remains widely spread in the village.

The harvest of olive oil starts in November and can last until February. After the olive oil coop tour Stefanos gives us, to explain the machinery used and the system they follow to produce the oil, he drives us aboard his 4×4 outside the village to show us the olive trees, and the irrigation system they use.

“Oh, these black hoses are for water!” both P. and I exclaim, laughing. We are embarrassed to acknowledge that we’ve taken them for electricity cables the first time we notice them.

“How much oil does a household consume a year?” I ask, curious. He tells me that this is the main source of fat they use to cook.

“Probably a hundred liters for a family of four.”

We learn about the different grades of olive oil, from the first press to the following ones. His olive oil is made organically, and has a rich green color pleasing to the eyes. It’s spicy and peppery, giving a wonderful touch to the many salads and the Tzatziki I prepare daily.

Most of the olive oil produced at the village coop is sold to Italian companies, and we are surprised to hear that the buyers are not required to indicate the origin of the oil once they’ve purchased it. I cannot help but then wonder whether the olive oil I regularly buy as Italian is in fact Cretan.

In the mornings, while I set up the breakfast table outside on the patio, P. walks to the nearby bakery to buy a fresh loaf of bread for us.

“This one is called the village bread,” the lady with a tanned face sitting behind the counter tells me on our first visit. She looks surprised when I ask if I can take a few pictures.

“Pictures of the bread?” she exclaims with a puzzled expression. “Sure!”

The bread is rustic, both dense and light; at breakfast, we enjoy it with apricot jam and Greek yogurt drizzled with local honey. Then, later in the day, we have it as a satisfying snack, dipped in olive oil, or feta cheese and tapenade.

Every day, the weather looks identical: you wake up with the sun, and you go to bed with it!

“Oh, it can be like this until November,” Stefanos tells me, laughing, when I joke about the weather pattern.

The Saturday open market of Chania (now located by the courthouse) is a favorite time to connect with Cretan local produce. When we arrive at around 11 am, it’s already quite hot and busy on the square. Olives, zucchinis, eggplants, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers are by far the vegetables that the farmers sell the most, but we also find various types of cheese, juicy-looking peaches and grapes, stacks of lavender, a man selling fresh rabbit, displays of whole pieces of fish, and eggs. I am also attracted by the interesting greens I see, quite different from what I know, and the fresh pistachios which I am learning about.

“What is this?” I ask the stocky man with a gray curly mustache standing behind a counter where a high stack of pink-looking beans are loosely arranged. He looks back at me and smiles. It’s obvious that I won’t understand his Greek, and him my English. So to explain, he picks a bean between his fingers, removes the outer soft shell skilfully with only one hand, and holds the pistachio in its hard shell back to me.

“Here!” he tells me, convinced that I can now guess what it is.

“It tastes just like a walnut when it is open fresh,” I whisper into P.’s ear after I take a small bite.

We return home with a large bag full of fresh vegetables and fruit, and two pieces of whole fish that I am planning to grill in the evening. P. chooses the pieces. The young woman at the fish counter cleans them skilfully, without even looking at what her hands are doing.

We are excited to have found fresh fish because on the island, we soon find out that paradoxically, a lot of restaurants and tavernas serve mostly frozen fish. The mystery as to why remains.

The beaches in Crete are all different in style. We decide to visit only a few — the pool is quite convenient, and tranquil, I must say: from Stavros located on a peninsula east of Chania (a beautiful little bay with the Zorba mountain as a backdrop, the setting used in the movie Zorba the Greek), to Falassarna and Elafonisi, on the west coast.

During our stay, when we dine or have lunch out, we eat in tavernas where the food is down-to-earth and unpretentious, and always extremely fresh. Amongst the dishes we enjoy, there are tasteful olives of all flavors, the unmissable Greek salad, moussaka, stuffed vegetables, stuffed wine leaves, grilled sardines and octopus, Saganaki (fried Graviera cheese), fried zucchinis, shrimp slouvaki, plain yogurt and honey, and to finish, always a slice of complimentary watermelon or melon coming with the bill. Every vegetable tastes like it’s been basked in the sun for hours, giving the best summer has to offer in your plate.

Venetian Harbor in Chania

One morning, we decide to drive to Chania to stroll along its picturesque Venetian Harbor Port. The place is busy with tourists, tavernas and cafés, but it manages to keep an authentic charm with its historic buildings.

“In fact, it’s perhaps what the island used to look like years ago, minus the restaurants,” Stefanos tells us when we ask him about the port. We soon find out that like in Athens, Cretans do not seem to mind building modern in the middle of more ancient. So keeping a place like this harbor is a must. That day, we enjoy a tasty lunch made of simple, honest food, as we sit at the table of one of the many tavernas by the water.

It’s unusual of us to plonk ourselves in one place for an entire week. Instead, we typically long to cover distances to see as much as we can. But this time feels different. This time, we need to slow down too.

And we are happy.

We have a relaxing and quiet vacation. Perhaps because the house is so comfortable, perhaps because we enjoy many of the pleasures of life we are fond of, like swimming, observing Nature, reading, strolling and cooking. Simply taking the time to do nothing and follow a slow pace.

So when we eventually leave Crete, we have a load of fantastic memories in our luggage, with the desire to come back to see much more, including hike the gorges of Samaria.

A last visit to a local produce store allows me to buy two kilos of olive oil flavored Graviera cheese (made of a blend of sheep and goat milk, like all cheeses made on the island) that I bring to my parents and my brother B.; a decorative deep blue plate from a local potter; and a few bottles of organic extra virgin olive oil.

And in my head, I have plenty of recipes enjoyed during our vacation, that I am keen to reproduce at home, as soon as I find my kitchen back.

“Qu’est-ce tu fais à manger ce soir ? (What are you cooking tonight?) ” I ask my mum when she and I are at the supermarket. I’ve been in France for almost a week, but still have a strong taste for summer vegetables. I am craving sun-filled tomatoes, zucchinis and eggplants.

“Je n’sais pas encore. T’as des idées ? (Not sure yet. Any suggestions?) ”

“Et si je faisais de la moussaka, comme celle que P. et moi on a mangée en Crète ? (Shall I make a moussaka like the one P. and I had in Crete?)”

“Bonne idée !” she exclaims. We will use the tomatoes, onions, oregano and eggplants from her garden, the best.

I am thrilled.

To cook it, and share a taste of our sunny vacation with my family.