Melons. Les melons. Aren’t they glorious too?

I don’t know about you but I simply cannot buy a melon when it’s out of the season. I remember when I was a child and my parents, my brother and I drove for our summer vacation across France, to another corner of the country. Sometimes it was to the west coast we’d travel–just as we will in a few weeks–and sometimes it was south that my parents had decided we’d spend les grandes vacances (summer vacation). To my brother and me, it didn’t matter where we were traveling, as long as that involved the seaside. On allait à la mer !

One year, we vacationed in the presqu’île de Giens. My parents had rented a cute cottage by the sea, which was very convenient since my mother was able to cook and we had easy access to the beach. Every morning, we liked to walk to the local market to buy local fresh produce. And on the last day, my mother purchased a large cagette de melons (a box filled with melons), and one of apricots–something she invariably did each year, no matter where we vacationed.

In fact, there was never a vacation that didn’t involve bringing local food home.

I keep a vivid memory of our family vacation by the seaside. And of the drive back each year as the car smelled sweet and delicious from the fruit we had put in the trunk.

The melons were always remarkable.

So naturally, in summer, most likely like a lot of you, I enjoy eating heaps of scrumptious melons. I tell P. that they don’t taste as sweet as the ones from our summer vacation, to which his response is that I feel this way because I was young and carefree, and that everything by the seaside seemed to taste better. He’s probably right. Although…

Nevertheless. The other day, it was this salad that glorified a summer cantaloupe. I had made a point to leave the fruit out on the counter top for a few days until it was ripe and à point. I made the salad with mixed greens and leftovers of a roasted chicken. The marriage between the tenderness of the meat, slices of melon, raspberries and mixed greens tossed in a pistachio & lime vinaigrette was incredible.

In fact, the salad was so tasty that I ate it within minutes–not always a good thing, is it? Lunch left Lulu and I feeling light when we finally set off for the park. I was happy with the salad. Lulu was with the sandbox at the playground. And cookies.

On the way back home, I decided to make a quick stop at the store for milk. What I didn’t expect to find there was what follows. Boxes of delicious looking white currants and gooseberries, local it read on the box, were neatly arranged in the fruit section. It so rarely happens that it frankly took me by surprise. “What am I going to do with those?” I kept thinking as I handed a $10 bill to the cash registrar. Blank. Hence the berries sat in the fridge for one day. Until the word tart, in all of its glory, popped into my head.

It was a spontaneous simple tart, in fact, that I ended up choosing. I didn’t have much to prepare since I already had handy leftovers of a rustic crust . Which left me with the preparation of the fruit only.

Minutes after I started to work, Lulu caught sight of the box of berries. “They are mine and I am going to give them to maman“, the look on her face seemed to be saying as she proudly carried to my small working table the box she was holding tight between her hands.

I cannot help but smile whenever I picture the scene again.

You can really use any fruit and spices you like. At each time I bake a tart like this one, it always evolves into something new.

So the result was a delicious dessert with character.

One that invariably makes me think about the beach. Our time away with the family. And of a day in August building a memory around food.

I am not ready to forget my princess’s tiny hands holding the fruit either.

“It’s too late in the year,” Pamela said. “The cows will already be back in the barn.”

“Really?” I replied, trying to hide my disappointment.

“Yes, sorry. You’ll have to wait until the spring if you want to see them outside.”

Pamela, one of the owners of Robinson’s Farm, was just as friendly as I had imagined her after we spoke in November. At the time, I wanted to visit the farm with Delphine, for the Envoyé Spécial la suite TV program she was working on with me.

I felt sad that Delphine, Cyril and I never made it to visit the farm in November–although our lobster trip was *really* good and made up for it–so I made a mental note of what Pamela had said. J’irai au printemps (I’ll go in the spring), I told myself, determined not to give up. Je veux vraiment voir cette ferme (I really want to see this farm).

Because at Robinson’s farm, they make raw milk. And are starting to make cheese too. Both of which really piqued my curiosity.

But spring came and I was away. Then summer followed naturally and I wasn’t sure it would still be a good idea to go to the farm. Maybe it was going to be too hot then and the cows would have traveled to an exotic place where they’d be cooling off…who knows what cows have on their mind?

“No, no,” Pamela said, when I emailed her back in early July to ask whether I could come. “It’s a great time. Come over to visit!”

“Can I bring Lulu?” I went on.

“Sure! we’d love to meet Lulu.”

That was how it started. And that was how, two weeks ago, I finally made it to visit Robinson’s farm.

I didn’t go alone–and I was glad. I wanted that my Lulu could run around on the farm, and that she saw cows and calves, trees and vegetables, chicken and eggs. So not only did my beautiful princess come along (did I already tell you that we’ve not yet spent one day away from each other?), but a dear friend of mine decided to accompany us with her son. We packed a tasty picnic made of quinoa salad, sandwiches, watermelon and financiers I’d baked the night before, and after a two hour drive, we arrived at Pamela and Ray’s doorstep.

We had an amazing lunch. And a memorable day.

The Robinsons live in rural Hardwick, a small town west of Boston, and they have been farming since 1892. “Four generations,” Ray had said proudly when I’d asked how old the farm was.

I had not yet visited this part of the state and wasn’t really sure what to expect. As soon as I arrived, though, and caught sight of the large red barn with balls of hay and cows grazing in the fields nearby, I felt relaxed. Taking a deep breath in and closing my eyes for a minute, I could almost imagine that I’d been transported back home.

Presque.

This rural setting is suggestive of a slow pace of life. Yet, people on the farm work hard. Long hours. Whether it’s dry, humid or raining, hot or cold–no matter what the weather decides to be.

Pamela and Ray own a forty-cow pasture based herd comprised of primarily registered and grade Holsteins, with cross breeding practices which include New Zealand Holsteins, Jersey & Normande breeds. They’ve been making raw milk for five years now and like it this way. They believe that clean, fresh milk from grass fed cows provides all of the nourishment nature intended without destroying the enzymes and probiotics that assist with digestion. They are fully certified organic, which means that the pastures, hay, chickens, eggs, perennials, and herd found on the farm are organic. Every summer, they grow vegetables and flowers they sell at local farmer’s markets or at their farm stand, along with grass fed beef, “rose” veal and yogurt from Sidehill Farm (which is made with their milk). And this coming fall, they hope to sell their cheese too.

They told me that they’ve been making cheese for a while now and are keen to continue. If you visit the farm, you’ll be able to taste their practice cheese. We did. We had just settled for our picnic lunch at the back of the farm when Pamela brought a large platter of cheese for us to enjoy. I quickly noticed that every time she’d walk by the wooden table where we sat to eat, she’d nonchalantly grab a slice of cheese.

“I saw you!” I exclaimed jokingly, seeing she was putting cheese in her mouth. “You’re snacking on cheese all day long, aren’t you?” I added. She laughed.

Why wouldn’t she?

We sampled a few types of hard cheese: Robinson Family Swiss, Tekenink Tomme, Hardwick Stone (brick) and a Barndance (abondance). We could not stop eating. Lulu, ma petite gourmande, neither. The cheese was tasty. It was the perfect food to accompany our lunch.

After lunch, we also had a tour of the farm. We walked through Pamela’s large vegetable garden that gave me real vegetable envy; we saw where they make raw milk and cheese; we met the calves and cows who were smartly gathered in the shade of tall trees; and we visited the chicken.

“Lulu isn’t scared at all! Pamela exclaimed when we stepped inside the hen house to collect a basket of fresh eggs. “That’s right!” my friend E., who was holding Lulu by the hand, went on.

“Can we have some milk?” I asked.

“Of course,” Pamela replied. “I also have some cheese for you.”

Before leaving, we packed a gallon of raw milk, a large container of yogurt and three pieces of cheese each. We were happy. We’d spent a simple fulfilling day.

I was keen to taste the milk to find out whether it would taste like the one I’d grown up with. At my grandparents’ or my parents’ house, le lait cru (raw milk) was what we’d drink.

“Qu’est-ce que tu vas faire avec tout cela?” (What are you going to make with all of this?) E. asked when we were back in the car.

“Je ne sais pas encore,” (Don’t know yet) I said.

But it didn’t last for long. Back home, ideas started to come.

I was going to bake a herb-scented vegetable tart, a variant of this one that followed my inspiration. And small cute ones for Lulu too.

Prepare a melon and cucumber soup with yogurt and fresh herbs from the garden.

In the morning, drink milk with a batch of homemade granola.

And make a vanilla-flavored custard, and serve it in verrines with strawberries sauce and fresh strawberries–a dessert I frankly have a strong weakness for and could eat every day!

All of these foods tasted like summer, no exception.

Just like home.

The tart.

Maybe you’ll wonder what happened to it.

I had one second. Two, if I was lucky. Until the tart was gone. And I didn’t have time to photograph much of it.

That was Lulu. Stealing the miniature apricot tart I had especially baked for her–while I baked larger ones for us.

It was sweet, really, to see her hands covered in juice and sugar. To watch her delicate lips and tiny teeth nibble on the crust with care. My Lulu really likes tarts. The tiny ones, more particularly, because they are fun. And the crusts. Oh the crusts!

“Elle a l’air gourmande,” (she looks like a gourmande) a French friend told me last Thursday when we met at the park and I told her my apricot tart story. I had to. I found it so funny. I wished I could have caught on film Lulu’s small hand grabbing the tart. Swiftly. Unnoticed, she thought.

“Elle a de qui tenir,” (she’s just like me then) I responded, smiling.

“I’ll have to make more, right?” I later told P.

It will be easy. Apricots are amongst my favorite summery fruit. Lovely at this time of year.

“Next week,” I went on. “When K. and D. come for dinner.”

That’s because we’ll celebrate one of the first nights inside our new house. Before the kitchen work begins and we have to move out again.

“Regarde ce que fait maman,” (Look at what mummy does) I told Lulu. She was staring at me. I could hear her giggle as her feet kicked the yellow frame hung above her head of the play mat where she was lying.

Time flies. Lulu is already a twelve week old baby, playful and smiling as often as she breathes. She’s recently discovered that she can grab toys and use her legs and feet to move things around — she loves it. I like to keep her by my side when I prepare my photo shoots, and I know she likes to observe. Her blue eyes become round, a sign that she is trying hard to understand what I am doing. It’s really precious.

After I gave her a bath Sunday morning, I told her about our day. We would take a walk in the park; P. and I would read her a few stories; we would play and talk, and we would have a nutritious lunch to brighten the day even more.

“Maman va faire des tartelettes aux légumes pour le déjeuner. Tu aimes cela ?” (Mummy is going to make vegetable tartlets for lunch. Do you like those?)

She smiled again. Of course, about something else. But I liked to imagine that she was excited about lunch.

“Tu verras comme elles sont bonnes,” (you’ll see how nice they are) I whispered in her ear while kissing it too.

The truth is that we’ve eaten many tartlets over the last week because I am simply knee deep into the testing of new recipes for the book. In fact, it’s a great excuse for me to prepare our meals while working along.

“Mmm, I am trying to figure out the taste,” P. said after the first bite. I had really let my imagination go with what I had handy in the fridge, even if I had made a point of making healthy nutritious tartlets.

“Des poireaux ? Du fromage ?” he added after taking a second taste.

“Right. What else?” I went on, curious to know if he could make a better guess.

He paused.

“They really taste better than they look“, he said. His face nevertheless showed a look of contentment.

But I had to agree there.

“I know. But can you guess the type of cheese?”

“Du comté ?”

Well, perhaps it was an easy one to find out. We’ve eaten a lot of Comté cheese lately.

First of all, breastfeeding seems to have me crave cheese to no end. Really, I seem to be eating cheese all day long. Secondly, I’ve been lucky to receive two large pieces of Comté directly from the beautiful Franche-Comté region in France, where the cheese is made. I am quite a lucky girl since as long as I can remember, Comté has always been a favorite at home.

You know the cheese, don’t you? It’s fruity, nutty, dense, rich, wonderful as a nutritious snack, perfect in cooked dishes like gratin or tarts. It’s aged for months to develop its full flavor.

To start, I cooked finely sliced red onion with leeks, thyme and a bay leaf in olive oil before adding a dash of Vermouth to enhance the flavor. Then, I whisked together eggs with crème fraiche and milk, added grated Comté, and finished with a dash of nutmeg and finely chopped walnuts (almost the consistency of coarse flour).

“Are there any more?” P. asked once he finished his plate.

“I thought they did not look good enough,” I answered with a cheeky smile.

A simple recipe, wonderful on the day the tartlets are made, and just as good the next day. Served with a tossed green salad on the side. it was simply another perfect lunch.

Even Lulu seemed to say yes to more tartlets.

Like her papa.

And by the way, thanks so much for your patience! Lulu is almost doing her nights now, hurray, so soon enough, I will (hopefully) catch on more sleep, to become more present again in this space. On verra !

“You’re like a squirrel,” P. told me when he saw that I was putting a plump orange winter squash into the large vegetable basket I keep in the kitchen, which already contained at least three or four nice looking ones.

“I know!” I replied, feeling a bit silly to have bought yet another red kuri squash. “I am just too scared that I won’t be able to find any like this one again.”

Especially as I always make sure to buy organic ones, so that I can leave the skin on while cooking, if I decide to.

On Saturday, I made a soufflé au potimarron (Hokkaido squash soufflé). It was beautifully puffed and golden, and we almost ate the whole dish between the two of us, although my recipe actually accommodates four people. “It feels like we are eating flavored snow,” I said, laughing and helping me to some more. “I cannot believe that we managed to finish the whole dish up.”

“It’s bébé who took his or her share!” P. said in a joking tone.

I know already that I have to make another one again soon, and take pictures this time, if I am quick, to show you.

“Perhaps I could make one for your parents, when they come for Thanksgiving, non?”I asked P. “Do you think that they would like a soufflé?”

“Who doesn’t like soufflé?”

Then there was this Hokkaido Squash tart that I baked one evening last week when I knew that P. and I would not be back home until late in the evening.

“It will reheat quite well,” I said in the car as we we were driving to our birth class. Preparing for the arrival of bébé is of course conducive to making sure that we are all well fed — not that we actually need an excuse, really.

And the season for winter squashes is far from being over, Thank God. Especially with the holiday season approaching à grands pas. Are you already preparing foods? I have a dish of red kuri lasagna to make for dinner tomorrow, a cake and an appetizer to prepare for our festive dinner on Thursday. Frankly, I cannot wait to get started. In the meantime, though, we still need to feed us on nourishing foods, to keep us going. N’est-ce pas ?

This vegetable tart is a good example of how to enjoy comfortable, light autumnal meals. Easy to prepare; bursting with flavor. Quite ideal before the numerous foods awaiting us in a few days, for those of us who live on this side of the Atlantic, and celebrate Thanksgiving.

My family in France always wonders what this holiday is like. “Vous mangerez quoi ?” (What will you eat?) I can hear my mum and sister-in-law ask with evident curiosity. Our phone conversations are always filled with food matters. It runs in the family.

“A lot of winter squash, for sure.”

I am not complaining. I love it, in fact!

Next time, I really have to bake a pumpkin pie for them. They *must* try it!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, if we do not speak before then!

“I don’t think you know what an apple tastes like, until you have picked one from a tree, or tasted an organic or a Heirloom one,” I recently told P.

I really believe this.

And I know that I am lucky. I grew up with the best apple trees around — eating apples after dinner while watching TV was a highlight for my brother B. and I.

So I don’t know about you but today, there will be a few apple tarts around in our house. After going to a Foliage Festival last weekend where I bought delicious Reine des Reinettes, I now have too many delicious apples that need to find a home. And what better thing but treat yourself with an apple tart?

These tarts are really simple to make, *really simple* to eat, so simple that you are allowed to taste every single ingredient, leaving you as light as a feather.

Vraiment ! So if you feel short of dessert ideas, think A. P. P. L. E.

Ideas never fail to pop out, when it is all about gorgeous authentic apples.

I really love the fall!

My dad is not much of a dessert person. He really isn’t. There is one dessert, however, that he would rave about, even asking me to make it for him on occasions — something quite extraordinary for him in fact.

My dad likes la tarte au fromage blanc.

I had almost forgotten about it. Until a few days ago, when I had a sudden urge to bake a tart, and of all, precisely une tarte au fromage blanc.

I would describe une tarte au fromage blanc as the French version of an American cheesecake. Except that, since in France cream cheese isn’t a staple product — I doubt my parents or brother ever tasted it — we use fromage blanc instead. On the other hand, fromage blanc isn’t easy to find in the US, something I quite miss in fact — most of the fromage blanc I’ve tasted here lacks flavor and texture, because they are often made fat free.

Are you wondering about this dairy product?

Fromage blanc [froh-MAHZH BLAHN] is a soft, fresh cheese originating from Belgium and the northern part of France. As its name suggests, it follows the same process used to make cheese without lactic acid fermentation. It has the consistency of plain yogurt and can be found with different percentages of fat — 0, 20 or 40%. Of course, the higher the number, the silkier the texture. In France, we enjoy this delicious dairy product like yogurt, eaten plain with sugar and fresh fruit, and mostly in the preparation of desserts (and sometimes in savory dishes too, like les pommes de terre en robe des champs, an old favorite of mine).

And then, it is widely used in the traditional French tarte au fromage blanc.

I didn’t use fromage blanc in my recipe because I did not have any. Instead I used sheep plain yogurt combined to mascarpone cheese, and obtained a really lovely result — quite similar, in fact. The lemon zest and poppyseeds added provided the tart with a subtle flavor, and despite the fact that not much lemon was used, it still tasted lemony, probably because of the acidity present in the yogurt.

A dessert difficult to make?

Not at all.

Quite on the contrary: extremely simple to make, and keeping well in the fridge for a few days. Always a good thing.

So imagine my dad’s surprise while we were chatting on Skype this morning when I said:

“Devine quel dessert j’ai préparé ?” (guess what dessert I made?)

And him responding without hesitation: “Une tarte au fromage blanc ! ”

He later told me that he had not eaten one in years — like P. and I.

It was really about time to fix this.

Let’s talk about the quiches, shall we? After all, I am from Lorraine where quiche lorraine originates from.

But that’s not the reason why I want to chat about quiches with you.

In fact, let me confide that I’ve never been a huge fan of quiche lorraine. Oh yes, really not. When I was a kid, I always found the dish too rich, too egg-y and creamy, lacking the taste of scrumptious delicate vegetables that I can never get enough of. Of course, you won’t be surprised since a quiche lorraine does not have vegetables as a component. And if it did, we would not call it a quiche lorraine.

But then, I love the concept of a quiche. Everything about it.

Think a flaky pastry crust that supports a deliciously nourishing topping where you can find fish, vegetables, herbs, cheese, and always eggs and cream (or milk); a dish that makes a meal in itself when it is served with a salad. Really, it’s pretty much my idea of a successful lunch, or a light dinner, especially these days, with fall and its gorgeous days settling amongst us slowly.

Over the years, I have developed a lot of recipes for quiches. Sometimes, I make a large quiche to feed a crowd, and at other times, I prefer to make individual quiches — because they are cuter too — or even bite-sized ones, perfect for a party buffet. Quiches are also somewhat different from savory tarts because they use a higher ratio of eggs and cream and/or milk, and are baked in deeper molds. They are wonderful eaten on the day when they are cooked, but also develop extra flavor when they are reheated the next day. I typically prefer to precook the pastry, but not always either. Some people like to eat their quiches cold — perhaps you — although I must say, I am more of a warm quiche kind of eater. Quiches really inspire me, and always make P. and I happy when they are the center piece of our dining table — quite often a reality.

This recipe was actually spontaneous. You know, the type of recipe that happens when you look into the fridge as you are about to make dinner with yet no clue about what you will make.

Since I had leftovers of a few things, Danish blue cheese — used before in a soup and another vegetable tart — pastry crust, organic leeks, eggs and Zebra tomatoes bought at the market a few days before, the recipe happened naturally. With an arugula salad dressed in an argan oil vinaigrette, I knew that these quiches would be simple and lovely.

And they truly were.

With no leftovers this time.

“Let’s go there later in the day,” P. told me when I mentioned I wanted to have a picnic at the beach on Sunday. “It’s going to be hot before then, I can tell.”

“Yeah, I guess you are right,” I responded, feeling somewhat a tad disappointed since my plan had been to leave early in the morning. “It will be better, we will avoid the crowd and the heat. But eh, what about having dinner at the beach then?”

“Deal!”

This idea was already making me feel better. And completely excited. We never think often enough to have dinner at the beach. Yet, how nice to look at the sun set on the ocean while eating with our feet dug into the sand. Franchement pas mal !

We checked the weather forecast to make sure that there weren’t any thunderstorms in the making that we were not aware of. On ne sait jamais (you never know) with New England weather. Chance was on our side. Thus our plan was made and the rest followed naturally.

The last few days had been really hot and humid. We’d had weather to make you sweat at even a lift of an eyebrow, or each breath of air inhaled. Even my almost daily visits to the nearby pool — quite conveniently located, I must say — were not enough to ease it up.

The thought of the beach and a dinner picnic?

Frankly, it was the perspective of a great time.

I love picnics. I love to pack picnic baskets too.

Perhaps because I like picnics so much — I am honestly as fond of picnic utensils, baskets and dinnerware as of picnic foods — ideas kept coming to my head, with too many choices and options from which to choose from. Would I bake something? Make sandwiches? Or rather prepare a few salads?

“Tu préfères des sandwichs ou des tartetettes aux légumes ?” (do you prefer sandwiches or vegetable tartlets?) I said quite busy writing down a short shopping list to prepare for the picnic.

I don’t know why I even bothered to ask.

“Des tartelettes !” P. exclaimed. No hesitation involved.

I spent Sunday morning preparing all sorts of easy-to-pack foods. I did not choose one option, I wanted them all. Leftovers of the lunch we’d enjoyed the day before came in handy: cooked red quinoa and chickpeas were combined into a salad, with fresh herbs, diced scallions and pink radishes, and I also decided to complete this piece of our meal with our salade de carottes rituelle – française oblige ! Then I started working on the tartlets.

It is really my mum’s delicious tarte au thon, the very one she used to prepare every now and then when she was looking for a quick dinner idea, that inspired my recipe. When she prepared hers, my mum would brush la pâte (the pie crust) with moutarde forte de Dijon (strong Dijon mustard) and top it with chunks of tuna marinated in olive oil, fresh slices of tomatoes and grated cheese. For dinner, we always enjoyed the tart eaten warm, accompanied by a large green salad seasoned with a vinaigrette she was the only one to have the secret of, and if there was any leftovers, we would snack on them at odd times of the day.

My recipe used her basis but I also customized it. Starting with the crust, I knew I wanted to use olive oil instead of butter and like my mum, I used tuna for the topping. My mum is the one in our family who taught me how to recycle leftovers. I remember that we used to tease her about it, even finding her a nickname when we jokingly called her Madame Tupperware. Years later, I was far from imagining that, while I was still living with parents, my dad would also find me a nickname: la Miss des petits pots au frigo.

It surely comes handy today.

For the crust, I used three types of flours: brown rice, quinoa and millet — all wonderful in flavor. I also added poppyseeds for a nice color touch and crunchiness. As to the topping, in addition to tuna and tomatoes, I also marinated zucchini slices in olive oil and thyme, and added slices of red onions and crumbled fresh goat cheese.

“What time are we leaving again?” I asked P. as I was busy taking the tartlets out of the oven. They only needed twenty-five minutes to bake.

“Three,” he said. “Mmm, ca a l’air super bon ça,”

“Don’t touch! It is our dinner!” P. always likes to steal bits and pieces of food when I cook.

“I am going to make something sweet too,” I added.

I knew well that this would please him.

Refreshing slices of melon, watermelon, or ripe peaches are always a nice touch to a picnic basket but this time, I preferred to bring a bowl of deliciously crunchy Rainier cherries picked at the market. My spontaneous purchase of red rhubarb and local strawberries, for which I had had no baking plan beside making sure to enjoy them while they are in season, inspired me to improvise a few light fruit cakes baked in small ramekins. They also used quinoa flour, and my favorite Sicilian green pistachios.

The cakes turned out so delicious that despite trying not to, we ate the first two before leaving. But since my recipe called for four, I packed the other two for our dinner picnic. I sensed that eaten by the spoon, they would really finish our meal nicely.

When we arrived at the beach, the heat had almost completely vanished. Most people had already left too, to our delight. We walked for a while to reach a completely secluded place and then, we sat down. The blanket I spread on the sand was large enough for four people to lie on it. Quite comfortable for the two of us, and our picnic.

It was quite windy. After a short dip in the water, still cold at this time of year despite the outside temperature, we took a long nap. Then, when we started to feel hungry, we arranged the food on our improvised outdoors table: we had plastic plates, forks, napkins, homemade limeade and glasses. We passed the food between the two of us without feeling any need to talk. Instead, we simply enjoying the quietness. The scenery.

A couple walked by us as they were leaving the beach. They looked beaten by the wind and hot afternoon sun.

“Mmmm, this looks good,” the tall skinny tanned man said with a large friendly smile.

“Thanks!” I said, returning his smile.

We dug our feet into the sand which felt cold and cooling as it covered our skin.

The sun was starting to set too, casting a warm light all around us. We smiled, feeling content as we listened to the noise made by the waves breaking on the sand.

“Shall we do it again next week?” P. said.

I smiled.

He didn’t need to ask me twice.

Where have I been, I wonder myself, and where did time fly by this week? I just don’t know.
Sometimes life takes its course, not asking whether you agree with it or not. And with this being said, it was really much harder for me to get back into the swing of things.

Into a normal pace of life.

In fact, I found out that it is even more real now that the weather is gorgeous outside, and the thought of spending time inside, to write or do anything that keeps me between four walls, sounds less appealing. I am really an outdoors girl, and like a dog traveling in a car and sniffing the air through the window, I cannot help but want to go to play outside. I know you would feel the same way, wouldn’t you? We agree that we have to enjoy spring, and summer, as long as they offer us wonderful days.

But I also knew that I could not let another day go by without coming here to chat with you. I have missed it too. So even if I perhaps do not have anything amazingly interesting to say, I still have a few images and one favorite recipe to share. Easy to make, easy to eat, easy to pack with you.

I had promised to talk more about my love for tartlets and this recipe is a good way to start: I make it quite often, with many variations on the crust and the topping.

Since it is a long holiday in the US this weekend, and it is so nice — and warm — outside, P. and I decided to go out for a picnic. I decided to pack a few things: most likely a carrot salad, Moroccan style; these lovely grated vegetable tartlets, an egg salad — P.’s favorite; perhaps vegetable and goat cheese sandwiches if we are still hungry; juicy dark cherries or peaches, and a few chocolate cookies. I know we will have a good time.

The mystery of these tartlets resides in a few things: first there is the crust, which is a combination of brown rice flour, quinoa and tapioca flours with olive oil and poppyseeds; grated celeriac stewed with leek and red onion; and the delightful scent of poivre long — Long pepper — to flavor the dish.

You do not need to use much long pepper, and perhaps if you are new to this subtle spice, you will want to try just a tiny touch. Me? I love its smell: a little sweet, delicious in sweet and savory preparations. Try it with lamb, osso bucco, in soups, with goat cheese and even in a crème brûlée.

Variations on these tartlets abound, of course. For the topping, I don’t like to add a lot of egg/milk batter because I prefer to taste the vegetables more. I like to vary the vegetables too: I sometimes use grated carrots and parsnip, zucchinis and sometimes beets too. A slice of prosciutto added on top will enhance the tartlet, and a green salad — arugula, frisée or mâche — will always accompany the meal Ca, c’est obligé ! Note that because the crust is using brown rice flour – making the recipe gluten free — the consistency of the crust is much crumblier, hence a little more delicate to work with. But as you can assess, not impossible since at each time, the tartlets are a success. Of course, you can always substitute regular flour for the ones I suggest: a matter of choice and preference.

So off we go before the day is over and the sun is down. I want to feel the breeze on my face, feel the sun warm my skin and walk bare feet in the grass. The birds will keep us company. They have much to say these days too.

And in any case, be inspired by your mood to create a tartlet of your own choice. They can never disappoint.