You probably recall that I recently wrote about making nutritious healthy baby food. What I didn’t tell you then, I realize, is about the utensil I actually use to prepare meals for Lulu. Magical! Oh how grateful I am to own a Beaba Babycook! It’s really the best kitchen gadget for a new maman! Perhaps you think you do not need one, and that’s fine too, but I must say that, it’s really simplified the preparation of Lulu’s foods. The bonus? It’s useful for that purpose and for whatever else you want.

So I wrote about it for Short Orders in the Boston Globe’s food section–and the article can be found here.

Today, for example, I prepared a white sweet potato, purple turnip and chicken meal for Lulu. I flavored her food with garlic and coriander. She ate the whole thing, with red quinoa on the side. Meanwhile, I was having a carrot and parsnip soup with coriander too. She ate some of that as well! And I ate some of hers.

We were in fact both enjoying one of the last supplies of local vegetables from our farmer’s market. I told Lulu how sad I was to see them go for the winter. She gave me a cuddle. Then we went to the park and she would not love the swing.

It made the two of us happy. With very happy bellies too.

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.

“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.

I know. It’s been quite a while now since I’ve written and shared some photos and a recipe with you. I miss coming to this space to write. But I know you will forgive me. Imagine this: my parents are here to spend a few weeks with our new small family. They are discovering their first grand-child, and enjoying every minute of their time. As to us, we enjoy watching them love Lulu as grand-parents do.

These special days fly by, regrettably. Most days — actually every day — my dad is busy renovating, tidying and building shelves for my kitchen (lucky me!); my mum cooks with me, and when I am busy with Lulu, she prepares more food. It’s truly lovely to have her in the kitchen prepare the foods I always enjoy when I visit them in France.

We also take daily walks at the park after long lunches eaten the French way. Well, simply, we have happy times I am glad to have and want to remember. It is an important time in our life.

There’s been some writing and testing nevertheless, even if at a much slower pace. I have a soup that you might enjoy, a recipe I wrote for the Boston Globe Seasons Column. It’s extremely easy to make, and still something lovely to be enjoyed during the rest of winter.

Then, I am still in the process of organizing the recipe testing of my book. Bear with me. It will take some time before I am finished, but I promise to give some news soon on that front.

So yes, crazy busy with life these days.

But I love being a mother.

Even if I am sleep deprived, and wished for more time to manage it all.

At least, we always eat well and healthily — and that keeps us going.

So enjoy the soup! It’s a recipe for busy people who still want to eat a healthy and scrumptious meal.

Us these days.

My mother taught me that homemade food is the norm — I don’t even question it. At home, we never ate take-outs, simply because they did not exist — and how could they, in a small village in rural France, nearly thirty years ago? For us, the rule was simple: our meals were always prepared by mum, and it still continues to this day in my parents household. She feeds her love to us through her homemade food.

With the years going by though, like many of you, I’ve developed a true love and interest in dining out. To be inspired, surprised, to learn about new ingredients and cooking methods, to share special times with the people I love, and of course, to get a break from the kitchen.

But I must say, it will never replace the taste of a homemade meal.

My mum also taught me that modest dishes can make the best meals, as long as care is given to choose the right ingredients, those that are the most seasonal and local, and homegrown if possible.

I find such differences really noticeable in the quality of vegetables, potatoes (les pommes de terre) in particular.

I still remember the joy I had the first time I went out to dig for potatoes with my grand-mother. An entire side of her large garden was in fact dedicated to potatoes only.

“C’est de la bonne terre à patates,” she used to tell me as we worked along (the soil is good for spuds).

The whole process fascinated me. I thought it magical to find so many potatoes under only one plant. Each time, actually, was a surprise, as we never knew how many potatoes there would be once we started to dig. I liked to pick them up, rub off the dirt carefully, and pile them into my small woven basket; it gave me a sense I had found a precious treasure.

Le trésor de la Nature.

Later in the day, mémé L. and I would arrange the freshly picked potatoes in cagettes that we stored in the cellar, the darkest and coolest place in the house, to ensure they would keep longer during the winter.

And I clearly remember their amazing taste, especially the rattes variety that we made sure to plant every year. These potatoes revealed a unique nutty flavor, remaining firm in the mouth, yet smooth at the same time.

So between P. the Irish, and me the French, it is no surprise if I tell you that we both love potatoes. All of them; they inspire my cooking tremendously. Like in the recipes for this potato soup and stuffed potatoes. I remember how excited I was to visit Peru because I knew I would discover an amazingly large range of potato varieties.

So when I purchase these pearls of the soil, I am fussy about their quality. Like everything else, you can buy amazingly good potatoes, and terrible ones — think a piece of fruit rushed to grow without sun, not a good sight, is it?

During the summer when I can cycle to the farmer’s market, I buy them from local producers. I like the fact that most of them have an irregular shape. And when the markets close for the season, I always buy organic potatoes as they’ve always proven better in texture — and taste.

And of all, the best thing for me is actually to observe P.’s face when I tell him that I’ve prepared potatoes for dinner. His face lights up like a flower opening at the crack of dawn. Simple things like a homemade dish of potatoes make him truly happy.

“Did I ever tell you what I used to tell Agathe when she would bring potatoes on the table?” I asked P. as we were sitting at the dining table, eating les pommes de terre farcies (the stuffed potatoes) I had prepared.

Agathe is my grand-mother’s oldest sister, a strong woman in love with gardening, cats, and good life.

“Non. Quoi ?”

“Well, Agathe used to baby sit me when I was just two and my mother went back to work. Apparently, every time she brought potatoes on the table, I would exclaim “Oh les bonnes poterres**!” She still mentions it today!”

P. would well be capable of such a thing today too. I wish you could just see his face when I bring a dish of potatoes on the dining table.

It’s magical too.

And while we wait (the last month, already!), we’ve already decided that bébé will like pommes de terre.

Just like papa et maman.

PS: It surely looks like I have my own big potato in the oven, doesn’t it?

** For those of you interested, poterres is actually not the correct way to refer to potatoes in French. I do not want to teach you incorrect French, or have you walk around referring to potatoes as poterre. At the age of two, I was simply incapable of pronouncing pommes de terre correctly.

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.

“Which way is it?” P. shouted as he was cycling a few meters ahead of me.

“It’s the next right!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I remember the path!”

The path was rugged and dusty, with many puddles filled with the rain from the previous days. On each side, lines of black berry bushes were loaded with tempting fruit starting to ripen. The path was also leading to one of the many lovely beaches that can be found on Block Island, actually one of our favorite beaches on this small island off the coast of Rhode Island.

This past weekend, we decided to go back to Block island for the second time, after the great trip we’d had there last summer. It was a weekend getaway that we had been looking forward to for a while.

So good that it was finally here.

“You brought the sun with you!” smiling Gaby told us when we arrived at Sea Breeze Inn where we were going to stay once again. She gave us a warm welcome that made us feel we were in fact going home.

“You bet!” I replied, bursting into a loud laughter. In fact, it was quite a relief since the weather forecast had not been too promising. Cycling in the rain would have been a different experience.

It was really nice to see Gaby again, and find this familiar place where we had relaxed and enjoyed warm sunsets last summer. Our program for the weekend was going to be quite similar in fact to last year’s: cycle, relax, rest, pack nice picnics and in short, take it as we please and as it comes.

Since I remembered there was no cooking facilities at the B&B, I planned accordingly and improvised — despite the fact that we traveled on our bikes all along, leaving the car in Point Judith, where we took the ferry: I packed a vegetable peeler and grater, my picnic container, a small glass jar with a homemade vinaigrette so that I could prepare salads.

During our stay, we lunched on simple foods and at night, we dined out. We picnicked on tuna, cucumber and fresh goat cheese sandwiches, with cherry tomatoes and vegetable chips. We ate a carrot salad one day, and a rice salad another day. Since I had also prepared a batch of my chocolate and nut cookies, we enjoyed those as a simple snack, and always had apricots, cherries and roasted nuts to nibble on when we felt like it.

When we were not cycling, we would stop to find a nice quiet spot on a beach where we napped until we felt too warm, eager to get a shady spot. When we sat in the back porch of the B&B, we read books — well, P. did while I was reading cooking-related articles and sketching a few recipes on a notebook. We did not have either a computer or access to our email, so much so that it really felt like a real mini-vacation!

“Shall we have a row now?” P. asked enthusiastically on the last afternoon, after we returned from the beach. I was feeling quite tired by then but I also knew that he had been dying to use the kayak available on the B&B’s premises since he first saw it.

“All right, but you will row, and I will do nothing!”

The pond was still and peaceful in comparison to the constant ocean surf, and we were surprised to find plenty of life in the water.

“We should really nickname this pond turtle pond,” I told P. jokingly at the sight of the small turtles we saw swimming everywhere. They would poke their tiny heads above the surface and stay still, almost suspended in the air, before quickly diving under when they saw us approach. I wished I could have been fast enough to take a snapshot, but they were simply too smart!

One night, we ate at Atlantic Inn. The food was as delicious as we remembered from the dinner we’d enjoyed there the year before, with a definite Asian flair to a more classic new American cuisine. We dined on fresh seafood — scallops, clams, monkfish cooked on the bone and served with different types of flavored rice, sunchoke puree and roasted raddichio. We also sampled a blueberry guacamole served with thin slices of smoked duck that truly picked our curiosity.

Dinner at hotel Manisses, on the other hand, was a total disappointment: poor service and a food that lacked character, beside perhaps for the roasted pumpkin soup with lobster cream which we ate to start our meal. We were sure to not go back.

On our last night, we followed Gaby’s recommendation and dined at Eli’s where we savored surprisingly flavorful and fresh food. I particularly enjoyed the fried blend of white and wild coconut rice served with fresh summer corn, mushrooms and kale that accompanied my herb-grilled mahi-mahi. P.’s dish, pasta cooked with artichokes, lobster and crab meat in a creamy sauce, was equally appetizing. The small restaurant room filled up quickly and we were glad to have arrived early, to avoid long waits — the place does not accept reservations. This time, we promised to go back.

“Did you see the lightning last night?” I asked P. when we started to pack our bags on Monday morning. It was so strong that it actually woke me up.

So yes, it happened: the excepted rain and thunderstorm finally arrived. Gaby mentioned a few strong thunderstorms that had occurred earlier in the month causing noticeable damage to some house roofs hit by lightning around the island. I was glad we missed it and that instead, we enjoyed great weather during the entire weekend.

Call this luck!

“I will miss you guys,” Gaby said when she saw us busy loading up our bikes as we were ready to leave.

“Oh us too!” I replied when I gave her a large hug. “But be assured, we will come back next year!”

Thirty minutes after getting on the ferry, we were already back in Point Judith. One hour and a half later, we would be back home.

“What shall we eat for dinner?” I asked P. when we got into the car.

“Something easy. Soup and salad?”

In fact, all I could think of was the pot of corn soup we had enjoyed the day before we left.

“Corn soup for dinner, ça te dit ?” I asked P.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” He really liked this one.

I cooked the soup with a few fresh local ears of young corn picked at the store on the way back, celery and a young head of celeriac with its greens still attached, and served the soup warm with on top, diced cherry tomatoes , fresh purple basil from the garden, and thin sole fillets lightly cooked and cut in small pieces. Not typical I must say, but we really loved this plat complet (one meal dish) as it was.

And the next day, I served the leftovers with fine fresh goat cheese from Vermont crumbled on top.

You must agree, corn in summer is really something special, non ?

And so is Block Island.

The smell of small Italian eggplants simmering with ripe vine tomatoes, garlic and onions, gave a wonderful summery feeling to the entire house.The back door was open and let a nice breathe in. It was still cool at that time of the day; I knew that the heat would hit later on, something I was not looking forward to.

I thought of my mum as I dreamily stirred the vegetables, back and forth: she taught me about the provençal dish I was preparing for my next contribution to the Boston Globe’s Seasons column.

I looked at the clock. I actually stared at it then. Was it already 10:20 am? How could I have not noticed the time? I only had two minutes to get ready before hopping in the car and drive to my acupuncture appointment across town. Hopefully, I would still be on time, traffic allowing. I switched off the stove, closed the back door and turned off the fan. I would tidy the mess when I returned.

I did not yet know that I was going to bump into my friend L. either.

“Oh I just left you a voicemail,” she told me when she saw me come out of the room where I had had my treatment. “What are you doing now?”

“I am going home. But why don’t you come at home when you are done, and have lunch with me?”

It was quite lovely and spontaneous to imagine that we were going to have a girl’s lunch.

I made a quick stop at the store to pick a few things for my afternoon photo shoot, and then I started to plan lunch. Easy, we would eat pasta with the pistachio pesto I had prepared in the morning, the eggplant dish I was planning to finish, and an arugula salad.

“Oh that’s funny,” L. said when she walked to the stove and saw the eggplant dish . “It very much looks like something we eat in Russia too.”

How interesting indeed to see that some dishes are prepared in many different countries, with tiny variations, but often bearing a different name.

We sat down and enjoyed the food, while chatting away. The heat outside made us feel lazy.

“It’s yummy.” L. said when she was done with her serving. “But what about your noodle soup? When are you going to post it?”

“What noodle soup?”

“The rice noodle soup with coconut milk you showed me the other day.”

Oh yes, I remembered then. She was inquiring about the soup I had prepared a few weeks before, with fresh large rice noodles I had been so happy to find.

“I promise, I will post it soon.”

Have you eaten Drunken Noodles before? I am personally a big fan of the fried noodle Thai dish. So much so that, well determined to prepare the dish at home, I once again set myself to go on a food quest to my nearby Asian store — I feel blessed to have it — but this time to buy large rice noodles used in the recipe. There, I’ve learned that you buy this type of noodles fresh and not dry, like the thinner ones used for Pad Thai. I even asked K., my Vietnamese friend, for a recipe on how to make them. So perhaps one day if I feel ambitious and courageous, I will start on that project.

It is really P. who is the one who made drunken noodles for us the first time. He insisted and I was more than happy to let him do it. His first attempt made a delightful meal for us. The second time, I made the dish: we ate it with friends on the back patio on a hot Friday night. We are both still trying to perfect the recipe — anyone with a recipe you love, send it along! — and while this happens, I’ve kept returning to the Asian store to buy many more bags of rice noodles. In fact, I’ve pretty much become addicted to them.

I am a real amatrice of Asian food. One day, I know I will visit Vietnam, Japan, Cambodia, Malaysia, Laos and Thailand, to discover its many mysteries, meet its people and wander its markets in search of inspiration for all the senses. I am keen to discover new scents and flavors, and to understand how to cook the food better. One day, I know it will happen. But in the meantime, while not an expert of Asian food by any means, I am just curious to try and experiment their cuisine in my own kitchen — oh yes, spring rolls are high on the list too!

One dish that I particularly love to make is Rice Noodle Soup. Simple, tasty, refreshing and easy to accommodate with what you like: I never tire of this type of soup.

Since I’ve been left with many rice noodle leftovers from my frequent visits to the Asian store, I’ve recently made many batches of this delicious soup: ideal for lunch, enjoyed alone or with a friend, always eaten with chopsticks, and a side salad.

If you make the soup like I did, use thinly sliced pork, soft tofu, sugar snap peas and Thai basil. However, for easy substitutions, and just as delicious, I would suggest to replace the meat with shrimps, add a few bunches of baby bok choy and bean sprouts too, and even some fresh corn kernels — why not? In all cases, this soup is a winner for its simplicity to toss together, and the wonderful aromas it leaves dans la bouche (in your mouth).

And to make a completely lovely lunch, think about using the beautiful summer fruit we have plenty of these days, like fresh apricots and red currants, and make a seasonal open tart, like I did — I used a crust made with almond butter and olive oil, really lovely. Not Asian, alors pas du tout, but eh, I am French or what?

I am really thankful that my friend L. reminded me of the soup. I think I really had to share its complete goodness with you.

I also know what to prepare next time she comes over for lunch.