When I traveled to France this summer, my family and I had lunch a few times at the restaurant l’écluse 16–only ten kilometers away from where my parents live. I really enjoy the place, not only because of its quiet, off-the-beaten-path location by a canal, à la campagne (in the countryside), but also because Leroux, the chef and talent in the kitchen, is a man who creates inventive eye-catching foods that showcase the best local ingredients. I wanted to write about the place. And so I did, in the Boston Globe food section last week.

If you are interested, especially if you plan a trip in this part of France, you can find the article here.

In the meantime, here are a few snapshots I took when we ate there in the summer. And oh, yes, if you wondered, we ate all the foods that you see. Vraiment délicieux ! and worth the détour.

I’d been thinking about spending a long weekend on Martha’s Vineyard island for a while. Ever since we’d returned from France in late August. I knew we would wait until the summer crowds were gone and the place would become tranquil, with the exception of the activities of the locals and occasional visitors, like us.

At first, I tried to reason myself, though, thinking ce n’est pas raisonnable Béa!, but the thought faded. Really vanished, in fact. And fairly quickly, I could hear the pleasing melody of an insisting voice whispering softly into my ear: Just do it, you’ll love it!.

And this is where the story started.

One morning, in early September, I told P. in an assertive tone: “We’re going to Martha’s Vineyard!” I remember him looking back at me without showing any sign of surprise. And then he smiled. “Ooh, je sais!” he said. “I know you well enough!”

And so this is how on Saturday of last week, with the car loaded with luggage, a loaf of chocolate cake , fresh produce and groceries, we hopped on the ferry that took us to the island.

And ooh how glad I am we made the trip!

To start, there was the lovely house where we stayed. Set in a secluded area near the gorgeous Long Pond Wildlife Refuge, it was full of charm and character. Because of its large open living area and perfectly equipped kitchen, we immediately felt cozy staying there.

“What a gem!” I exclaimed after I walked inside. My eyes were immediately drawn to the long farm dining table and tall silver milk jug sitting in the middle of it. I so much wanted it!

The house had inviting patios with colorful long chairs where we relaxed, enjoying an early morning cup of tea in the shade of the tall oak trees surrounding the place. The decor witnessed an obvious attention to detail. And naturally, Lulu made the place her home too, crawling into every corner she could find. Finding them all, in fact!

We had visited the island once before, but never in the fall. It was a real chance to be there at this time of year: the trees were magnificent, showcasing the first shades of red, orange and yellow which confirm that fall is winning over Nature; the beaches were empty.

We did easy things, clearly with the intention to catch up with life and spend quality time together. Just the three of us, as a family.

So we enjoyed long breakfasts, napped, played and read books with Lulu. We took walks to the beach and visited local farms where we bought apples. In the mornings, I also set time to work on my book, and then, in the midst of our daily activities, I cooked homey foods for us to enjoy.

Of course, how could I have done otherwise?

One night, I prepared a pot of winter squash soup that we ate with cheese, crusty bread, salad and fried eggs. One morning, I served lemon poppyseed pancakes at the breakfast table and the next day, we started with bowls of warm porridge topped with brown sugar, roasted nuts and blueberries.

On another evening, I stuffed eggplants and served them with sauteed quinoa and a tossed salad on the side.

Lunch was made of straightforward but nourishing foods: a mixed rice salad with cheese and leftovers from dinner the night before or plates of spicy tagliatelle cooked with lime and zucchini, and topped with generous amount of freshly grated parmesan cheese.

With dessert to finish our meals.

One evening, I baked apples in a light sweet sauce infused with vanilla, cinnamon and lemon and served the fruit with yogurt on the side. The juice the fruit released was so rich in taste that P. and I kept adding yogurt to our plates to prolong the taste in our mouth. Actually we were so eager for more that the next day, I baked another batch to repeat the experience over again.

And another night, we enjoyed coconut rice pudding with pomegranate seeds and cranberry sauce, scraping the pot to the last bit of rice.

Our meals were made of humble, rustic foods that, in many ways, connected us even more to the tranquil slow time we had decided to have.

“It was too nice to be real,” I said to P. on the last morning while we were packing the car. I just didn’t feel like going home!

“Me neither,” he said. ”

It’s a simple idea to have a weekend like this one, doing uncomplicated things; it’s a down-to-earth episode in our life with, at its center, family, nature and food.

“Easy!” he added. “We’ll just have to come back.”

It was all I needed and wanted to hear.

My friend R. and I were chatting about food while cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner. Then, I told him: “Tu sais, ça fait des années que je veux voir la récolte des canneberges,” (You know, it’s been years since I wanted to see the harvest of cranberries).

“Ah bon ?” he exclaimed, surprised.

I looked at him. He became quiet. He’s thinking, I thought. I could see it. He’s cooking something!

“I think I can help,” he said, with a glorious smile lighting his face.

It’s one of the many nice things I like about R. The fact that he’s têtu comme une mule (stubborn like a mule), persistent — did I say before that he’s a medical doctor? — and that he’s always enthusiastic about anything that’s in relation with food. We’re friends because of that too.

A few days after we talked, he emailed me.

“C’est fait!” (Done!) he wrote.”You’re all set. Going to visit a cranberry bog.”

“How did you do it?” I wrote back.

“I know people,” he had casually added.

What he actually meant was that he had written to a friend working at Ocean Spray, and one thing leading to another, he managed to plan the visit to a cranberry farm for me.

He might not have known it, but that simple thing made me really happy!

On Thursday, we woke up to a bright sunny day. That’s really lucky! I thought. It had rained the entire day before.

“Lulu, on va voir des champs de canneberges** aujourd’hui,” (Lulu, we’ll see cranberry bogs today,) I told her as I was slipping a cozy jacket and a warm hat over her head. It might be windy on the bog, Jennifer, our guide, had warned me. Bring layers!

My friend E. was going to come with me. While waiting for her, I ate one bowl, or rather two, of warm spicy sweet potato and butternut squash soup to keep my energy up, and I packed a few hard-boiled eggs and an avocado comté sandwich along with Lulu’s lunch, cumin-flavored mashed vegetables and stewed peaches I had prepared for her. I knew it was going to be a beautiful day.

** Perhaps the right term is cannebergière, but I like the way words like “champs de canneberges” sound.

It’s hard to know where to start. During the few hours we spent with Jennifer, I learned so much. My eyes were taken by so much beauty as I watched beautiful shades of red coloring the ground generously. Like a happy painting.

It took us forty five minutes to drive south to Carver. As soon as we got out of the car, Lulu looked around swiftly, stared for ten seconds and then started to smile and laugh. I looked around too, and just realized that I wanted to do the same. I was so happy to finally see a cranberry bog in real life!

A tall man with a generous look on his face walked in our direction to greet us. He was Larry, the owner of the farm. With his brother, he started to tell us about the farm and how the harvest takes place. I was all ears. I had my questions ready too.

Cranberries are harvested in various states throughout the United States. Wisconsin is the biggest cranberry supplier, but Massachusetts, Maine, and neighboring states in Canada like Nova Scotia, Québec and New Brunswick have a fair amount of cranberry growers too. To do well, cranberries need an acidic soil to grow, and a climate that combines cold winters — even if they are sensitive to ice and snow — and warm summers, just like in New England.

It takes a year for a crop of cranberries to be ready. Ninety percent of the time, the bog remains dry. Then, by mi-September each year, when the cranberries are ripe, the bog is flooded, ready for harvesting. The harvest will then last until about the end of October. It’s a cycle that repeats every year, with crops better some years than others.

“Many of the farmers believe in Mother Nature,” Jennifer said. “If a crop is good one year, it’s partially because of the weather, of course, but it’s also due to what Nature keeps for us,” she told me her growers often report.

When the bog is flooded, while under water, the cranberries are still attached to the vine. Harvesters drive across the entire the bog on a machine — resembling a tall tractor — that detaches the cranberries from the vine. Once this done, the cranberries are gathered in one area to facilitate the harvest (called corralling). They are pumped, washed and then transferred to a truck.

The process is simple and beautiful to watch. Lulu enjoyed it as much as E. and I did.

“Do you want to taste a fresh cranberry?” Larry said, picking a berry between his big fingers.

“Can I?”

“Sure!” he said, laughing.

He took a knife out of his pocket, cut the berry he was holding open and held it to me. I bite in the fruit, not sure what to expect. “Wow!,” I said, making a face after I swallowed the fruit. It tasted tart. But I liked it. I had to try again. I popped another piece in my mouth. The taste was becoming addictive.

“It reminds me of a red currant,” I told Larry.

“Here!” he said, holding large bags of plump cranberries for me to bring home. For some odd reason, they looked much bigger than the ones I was used to seeing in the store.

“That’s a lot of cranberries,” I said, laughing. He responded something, I knew, but I was already lost in thoughts of what I was going to make with my precious freshly harvested fruit.

And once we were back home, later that night, the first thing I baked was a cranberry and apple crumble. And I made an upside down cranberry cake and cranberry sauce too, thinking that, somehow, the cranberries looked almost as pretty served on the table as they did when they were floating on their bed of water.

Almost!

You know that I like to travel and write about the experience of my trips. I’ve always been that way in the family.

Don’t ask me why but I’ve always been extremely attracted by les pays du Nord — Scandinavia in general. Over the years, P. and I traveled twice to Iceland and once to Denmark.

And we’ve been dreaming about Norway.

I’ve not yet been to Norway but it’s a destination high on my list. So when Hanne, a journalist working for the Norwegian magazine Maison Mat & Vin, emailed to ask if she could interview me for a feature in their magazine, I felt pretty excited. It had me dream of traveling to Norway and its colors and fjords and culture again. Lulu will love it as much as we will — I know.

The article Hanne wrote is about food bloggers and was just published in the September 2009 issue — the recipe of mine they featured is my upside down olive oil apple cake. I was really happy to see fellow food bloggers like Ilva, David and Cecilie. I don’t speak Norwegian but sometimes it doesn’t matter. Pictures speak for themselves. Maison Mat & Vin is one of those delicious-to-read food magazines that make you dream of food and travel.

Thanks Hanne!

“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.

Quinoa is, by far, one of my favorite grains*. I remember when we traveled to Peru a few years ago and we ate quinoa at almost every meal, in soups, salads, warm savory dishes and desserts. Quinoa was to Peruvians what rice is to Asians and pasta to Italians. I was already familiar with the grain before we arrived but our Peruvian trip inspired me to use the grain even more frequently than I did. I simply never grow tired of it. Quite on the contrary.

* Quinoa is, in fact, the seed of the Chenopodium (or Goosefoot) plant. It’s technically not really a grain, but considered like one as it’s cooked like many grains.

So we eat quinoa quite regularly, perhaps twice a week, and I also love to use the flour made from the grain in many of my baked goods and tarts (simply check the cake section).

I was excited, in fact, the first day I also decided to prepare quinoa for Lulu. *So* happy because I knew I was sharing with her one of my favorite foods, giving her a food full of nutrients and flavor. And delighted to watch her eat and enjoy it, as much as her maman — and papa.

To start, quinoa is extremely nutritious. It is full of protein, offers niacin, iron, phosphorus and potassium. Since it contains all eight essential amino acids, it is also considered a complete protein, very easy to digest. Quinoa is high in unsaturated fats and lower in carbohydrates than most grains.

Most of you know that white quinoa is the most common variety. But red and black are also available despite that they are somewhat more challenging to find. But, if you are like me, you’ll easily go out of your way to put your hand on a box.

Until recently, I had only cooked with the white and red varieties. Black quinoa was something new but really exciting. I loved its deep rich color, especially after the grain was cooked, and I was curious to find out whether I would notice any difference in taste.

I truly loved it. It was full of flavor, nutty and light. It paired wonderfully with seasonal ingredients I had purchased, lovely colorful baby beets and cherry and green zebra tomatoes. In fact, I liked it so much that I was inspired to try different types of salads.

I wanted salads boosted with vitamins. I wanted contrast of flavors, with sweet ingredients balancing savory ones. I wanted to taste the smoothness of an avocado next to something zesty and juicy like grapefruit and grapes. In one salad, I used pieces of crumbled French feta cheese and in the other, ricotta salata. I added fragrant herbs and made a vinaigrette with body, using honey-flavored French mustard, garlic and flavorful oils and vinegars. It was really fun to try different variants on the same idea. One salad had thin blanched haricots verts and sweet juicy cherry and zebra tomatoes, and in the other, I preferred to add baby beets and smoked salmon.

I learned that combinations are endless and experimenting with the grain always inspiring.

So you’ll see why it’s not difficult to make quinoa a favorite, especially when you’ll hear that it cooks extremely quickly (between 12 to 15 minutes, covered in boiling water, depending on the variety + allow 5 minutes to rest).

Use it in its most natural state to accompany roasted vegetables, fish or meat, or serve it with a simmered sauce. Saute it as you would rice, and add fresh herbs and spices (my next thing in line!) Or, just like here, prepare fun colorful salads to keep you happy and healthy, whether you eat in, at work or out on a picnic (lucky you!) at the beach. You’ll understand that quinoa is a great grain to keep handy for any type of dinner or lunch occasions.

Are you as hungry as I am?

“Vous avez dû attendre pendant longtemps ?” (Did you have to wait for long?) my parents asked. We were standing at one end of terminal E in Roissy Charles de Gaulle airport, hugging and kissing. My parents were as eager to see us as we were to see them. But I knew that, in fact, they were even happier to greet and hold their little grand daughter. Lulu was snuggled cozily against my stomach in her ergo. We could only see the top of her head and hair and eyes which she had wide open. She was smiling and flapping her bare legs against mine, turning her head to the right, then to the left, not to miss anything that was happening around us. We were all tired but so happy to be home in France.

The thought of traveling back home had filled me with feelings of excitement even if I had worried about our journey to Europe. It was Lulu’s first transatlantic flight. How would she handle it? Would she be fine with the many plane rides, between Boston, Paris, Dublin and Paris again? How would she do with the jet lag? But our little Lulu didn’t mind at all any of it. In fact, she adjusted extremely quickly, much faster than P. and I did.

Summer in rural eastern France, where my parents and brother live, has left me wonderful memories. I realized that it had been years since I had traveled there during summer.

It’s the soft morning light cast on the countryside early in the morning, the colorful wild flowers illuminating the fields, the rich smell of freshly cut grass, the butterflies dancing from flower to flower and the clacking sound of the crickets late at night that I love. It’s the time of year when, I remember, as a young girl, we used to harvest hay at my grandparents’. Sometimes, I was allowed to drive the tractor back from the fields, and proudly did so. Later in the afternoon, my brother and cousins would sneak in the barn to play, jumping on bales of hay neatly stacked high.

Days in the countryside are spent at a slower pace even if summer means it’s a busy time for many who live there. In my family, we like to pick all sorts of fruit to make jams and preserves and bake tarts; we preserve French beans and beets, and make ratatouille. We walk in the grass bare foot and nap under the cherry trees, if we feel like it. We did that very well, I must say, the day after we arrived, then the next, and the day after the next too — and we never seemed to find the activity boring. Would you?

Lulu, too, made the place her own. She and I loved the daily routine we established. There were the usual morning and afternoon naps, the walks to the village to buy baguettes for lunch, and the many hours spent playing on a large blanket spread under the trees, in my parents’ garden. It was delightful to see her enjoy herself so much. She was fascinated by trees and loved to watch the wind move their leaves. She played with the flickering shadows created by the rays of sun filtering through the branches.

I told her about where our food comes from. When I took her to the village, I showed her the cows and sheep and chicken and rooster and rabbits. I pointed at eggs nested at one corner of the hen house. I made her smell red currants and apples and strawberries and plums that my parents grow.

She ate the vegetables — carrots, beans, zucchini, beets and tomatoes — we prepared from my mother’s and brother’s gardens. Every day, it seemed that she was learning something new — her new discovery is to clap her hands (she does that so joyfully, really, it’s cute!) while blowing raspberries at the same time. It’s amazing, actually, how quickly she has changed over the course of these last three weeks away.

Our life is so much richer with her at the center of it.

“Tu veux que je la prenne ? “(Do you want me to take her?) my mum asked me one morning after I had just finished to nurse Lulu. She was wide awake, laughing, talking and kicking her legs above her head. It was also 6 am, the time of day when my mother gets up — it’s brave! I didn’t need to answer. She knew. I felt relieved. Si tu veux! (Sure!)

While falling asleep, I could hear them *converse* with each other in the kitchen at the breakfast table — Lulu sitting in her high chair while my mother was eating her bowl of muesli and yogurt.

It didn’t matter that we did not travel long distances or do much. We did what we had been craving for weeks: we rested.

The food was gorgeous, and I ate a ton. I even wonder where I put it all! Between the fresh vegetables and fruit from the garden, I also indulged in dairy products hungrily, eating yogurts, petits-suisses and fromage blanc as if I was discovering them for the first time again. I devoured cheese greedily, at all times of the day. Oh yes! Everything felt more tasteful and flavorful. My mother cooked — isn’t this the nicest? — and I helped, baking and making fruit tarts.

Every day, Lulu came with me to the garden where I picked more berries and seasonal fruit, carrots, salad and tomatoes for lunch. The mirabelles, prunes de cochon and quetsches were so ripe that we stewed them and made tarts.

One day, my mum and I took Lulu to the local market.

In my brother’s garden, I collected fresh herbs, different types of basil, sage, thyme, chervil, livèche (lovage) — my sister-in-law’s favorite — and mint to make a herb risotto. I’ll have to tell you about it. We enjoyed it so much that I cooked it twice.

We had family lunches and dinners at home that we ate outside and a few times, we drove the scenic winding road, just a few kilometers away, to l’Ecluse 16 — a lovely restaurant nested in the Bonne Fontaine forest, by the canal de la Sarre — where we ate scrumptious modern food.

I thought I wouldn’t find red currants, as suggested by my dad, but I was excited to discover that the bush in my parents’ back garden was still heavy with bright red berries, fully ripe. Every day, my mum used them in fruit salads while I baked them in muffins.

I also made a red currant and almond tart.

Red currants are a delicacy in the US, which always surprises me when they are so abundant and easily found where I am from in France. In the city of Bar-le-Duc near by, locals use the fruit to make a special jam. The tradition consists in removing the seeds with a goose feather and dates back to 1344. The jam is extremely delicate.

If you’ve eaten the berries before, you know that the fruit is rather acidic, and has small seeds inside. The berries are delicious in tarts when they are prepared with a sugary almond batter, which balances the tartness of the fruit.

“I told you it would be worth it,” I told my dad, with a victorious look on my face, when we all sat down at the table again to have dessert. He had jokingly asked that I stopped stealing the last red currants on the tree. It was hard to! One of his favorite thing is to pick and snack on the fruit while working outside.

“Oui, elle est très bonne ta tarte,” (Your tart is really good) he said, helping himself to a second slice.

What I didn’t tell him is that, a few days later, I grabbed another handful of the red berries to bake muffins. I just couldn’t resist.

Everyone commented on how delicious the muffins were.

And the missing red currants went unnoticed.

It’s wonderful how that works.

I think you know where I am…

After one single bite into the plump fruit, I fell in love.

I had not seen Rainier cherries before I moved to the US. Where I am from in France, we grow des cerises noires (black cherries) and des cerises aigres (sour cherries) , delicious and juicy, especially those I am able to pick and eat right from the cherry trees. But Rainier cherries have a je-ne-sais-quoi that takes any variety of cherries a step up. They are sweeter and with their yellow orange hue, seem to be smiling and beaming like the sunshine at sunset.

I remember that when my father and I talked over the phone one Sunday sometime in June, he had told me that their cherry trees were so heavy with fruit that every day during an entire week, he filled buckets with delicious overly ripe fruit, which incidentally made every neighbor and friend stopping by happy as he gave the buckets away. C’est une année à fruits (It’s a good year for fruit), he had carried on, explaining at length how they were going to use the fruit. My father likes to talk about those things too.

My parents worked as a team: while my father was busy with the picking, my mother made jams and filled bags for the freezer. Then, she used the leftovers in clafoutis and tarts.

“Il y aura encore des cerises et des groseilles quand on vient ?” (Will there still be cherries and red currants when we come?) I eagerly asked when, a few weeks later, we chit chatted about this and that as we were — are — getting ready for our upcoming stay with them.

“Ah non ma grande, ça malheureusement c’est déjà fini!” (Oh no, that’s unfortunately already over!)

They knew well that I was going to be disappointed to hear that. This time of year is so special!

So instead, I indulged in Rainier cherries and all the other pretty fruits rouges (red berries) that summer offers here too, and that I am such a fan of. And then fairly quickly, I forgot that I was jealous of my parents’ cerisiers (cherry trees) and cherries and red currants. I could have a taste too and c’est mieux que rien ! (It’s better than nothing!)

I’m sure you know that Rainier cherries come from Washington State, and are a cross between the Bing and Van varieties. Since these jewels have appeared in my local store, I never seem to have enough of them. In fact, every time I buy a bag, I have a plan to cook something cute and scrumptious with them, but they rarely seem to make it into a dish.

Instead, we love to eat them nature.

I like to wash a few handfuls and keep them in a bowl on the kitchen island. I look at them and they make me smile. They are a favorite snack every time I walk by — and I’d walk around with pits in my mouth. At other times, P. and I enjoy them in a fruit plate after dinner, with a little cane sugar sprinkled on top, and a large bowl of sheep plain yogurt and homemade granola on the side.

It’s nice and simple but so rewarding. It makes us rejoice in summer, especially if we are able to eat sitting outside, with the grass brushing against our feet, and nothing to worry about but enjoy the moment — and the fruit.

But on some days, these summer fruit really inspire me to prepare a more elaborate dessert or a salad.

Like these two recipes.

My first idea was to bake a fruit crumble. P. and I really love crumbles! Do you too?

A crumble is one of many comforting everyday desserts so easy to make, one that always seems to welcome any seasonal fruit wonderfully. It does not matter whether the fruit isn’t the prettiest; it’s always going to be tasty in a crumble. In this recipe for example, I combined Rainier cherries and red and white currants and I tossed them in cane sugar and lime juice. Then, I topped the fruit with a mixture made with almond meal, quinoa flour, butter, brown sugar and a generous amount of nuts. With the sweetness of the cherries balancing the tarter taste of the currants, the dessert bursted with flavor. I think that like P. and I, you’ll fall in love with it!

Then on that same day, as I was about to prepare my lunch, I thought about adding Rainier cherries in a crunchy fennel and radish salad. I completed the dish with my favorite soft goat cheese and freshly chopped chives picked in the garden. It was delicious and refreshing, so much so that I made more to accompany our dinner the next day. A recipe that is a real keeper.

And when I was done with my bag of cherries and boxes of currants, I walked to the store to buy more.

I am sure that you’ve already noticed that I am just addicted. It shows and I cannot help it.

Be aware, it’s contagious.

“Slow down! And breathe,” P. whispered when he noticed that I was starting to feel agitated. As if I had to do something. Or make something.

It’s funny but it works and I hate to admit it, especially to P. At times, he reminds me to breathe, respirer !

I am still unsure that I know how I feel. How I should feel.

Sometimes, I imagine that the realization of the last six months is going to hit me. Suddenly and unexpectedly. And when it does, it’ll hit me hard on the head. Bang!

Somehow, it started four days ago, after I handed my manuscript to my editor. When my friend S. and I talked about it, she told me that the minute after she had turned in a book manuscript, she had driven home and cried. I didn’t, I told her. But one day later, I was crying too.

I wasn’t sad, mind you. I was simply starting to really relax. And breathe again. And that can be a process that requires time. I was — am — realizing the events of the last few months, one after the other.

These past six months have been a hike, to say the least. There’s been giving birth to our precious baby, winter in Boston with its snow storms, long days and evenings spent behind the stove cooking, and styling and photographing; writing while breastfeeding and changing diapers — and trying to sleep too, whenever I could. There has been styling and photography projects on the side, an inspiring conference where I was lucky to speak, the visits of my parents and P.’s — and the biggest of all, learning to become a mother.

I loved every moment even if it wasn’t always easy. There’s been laughter and tears; joy and discouragement. But when I look back and see the beautiful smiling face of our happy Lulu, what seemed unbearable and difficult vanishes. Pouf ! It’s magical how it works, really.

So yes, I am still amazed to realize that I met my deadline, handing in my manuscript on time last Wednesday. I am not sure how I managed. It’s perhaps a high dose of adrenaline that helped when I needed it, at the right time.

Of course, that does not mean that everything is done with my book. There is still plenty of work ahead for me, with revisions, corrections and testing — I know that! But the book is brought to life, slowly, and I am excited. And while this is happening, I am now officially on vacation. Oh yes! How nice does the word sound when I repeat it out loud a few times, vacances, vacances, vacances, just to make sure that it won’t go away without me.

Amazing!

We are taking Lulu to Europe this summer. She’s going to visit Ireland and France for the first time — we are so proud to be lucky enough to give her this opportunity. I am so eager for her to meet her Irish great-grandmother and cousins; meet more of my relatives in France; play with her grandparents; spend time in my brother’s garden; see the cows, goats and sheep. I’ll show her salads and apple trees and strawberries. She won’t care but that will make me feel warm inside anyhow. We’ll be having picnics by the river, eat lunch under the cherry trees, and walk through the fields. I’ll show her the details of the life that made me a happy young girl growing up in rural France. It might sound cheesy to say, but she is really the best thing I’ve ever done — and that’s coming from a woman who was never sure whether she wanted to have children. I love to rediscover the world through her eyes — like the day when she found out she could make noise by gently running her fingers on the strings of a guitar.

Nature makes wonders.

But with this said, let me share the recipe of this verrine with you, before the rhubarb and strawberry season comes to an end, and you might have to wait until next year again.

I wrote it last year, for the Cuisine Light magazine. It’s a lovely dessert that works perfectly to conclude a dinner with friends. It’s refreshing and sure to please the eye. I thought you might simply enjoy it too.

It’s a dessert to keep handy for a meal during les vacances — or not — if that’s where you are right now.

Note that it uses biscuits roses de Reims which you might find a little difficult to find. If that’s the case, use Champagne biscuits instead, or finely crumbled shortbread or why not, biscotti. Also, I like to work with gelatin sheets because it’s more what I am used to. If you prefer, substitute with gelatin powder. Note that in general, 1/2 teaspoon gelatin powder = 1 gelatin sheet.

Last June, I was pleased to see that Loukoum had enjoyed preparing the dessert. It’s always nice to get feedback.