What better place to stage a culinary reinvention than in Julia Child’s beloved country cottage in France.
The steaming bœuf en daube à la Provence is unlike any braised pot roast I’ve ever tasted … so tender and tasty with its rich caramelized onions and hearty wine sauce. A crusty baguette pokes out of a breadbasket and our glasses sparkle with a local wine, a Bagnol. I have brought a group of American foodies to La Pitchoune, where chef Kathie Alex gives cooking classes, and six of us are now gathered around the dining table in this charming rose-covered cottage, enjoying the first meal of our week-long visit.But this isn’t just any country cottage. Nestled among olive trees on a grassy hillside, about 30 minutes from Nice in southeast France, this is where Julia Child wrote parts of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume Two. For those who saw Julie and Julia, with Meryl Streep’s high-pitched portrayal of the legendary chef, this is where her story continues in France, in the mid-1960s. This is the little house, peaceful and quiet, that she and her husband Paul built, and where they regularly entertained guests such as James Beard, the dean of American cookery.
Coincidentally, boeuf en daube is the last meal Julia made before finally leaving her beloved “La Peetch” in the summer of 1992. When asked if she wasn’t going to miss it, she supposedly replied with a shrug: “I’ve always felt when I’m done with something I just walk away from it – fin!”
Endings and new beginnings, second acts, are on my mind as the delectable daube makes its way around the table. Five years ago, I was confronted with the “R” word … early RETIREMENT. I’d worked for the same magazine company for 30 years, and the editing routines were etched deeply in my psyche. Then one Monday … poof … no job. I felt the same head-scratching, stomach churning uncertainty of a teenager starting out: What to do? What now? All the free time was scary. Other changes rocked my world too. Like not having the professional safety net of a big name magazine identity. Or the familiar faces around me. Or the six-figure salary.
One day my daughter Kathleen mentioned a TV program about an American leading culinary trips to Italy. “You could do that in France, Mom,” she said. “You know, you’d take groups to special restaurants, hire chefs and visit artisanal shops. From your student days in France and all your travels, you know a lot about the country, you speak French – and, heck, you love to cook. It would be revitalizing for clients AND for you.”
Even the idea caused my stomach to flip. How would I even begin such an undertaking? I soon settled into a routine of freelance book editing, and the rut, fortunately, wasn’t quite as deep as before. Some days I‘d picnic with a girlfriend out on our rowboat that we bought on a whim and we’d take a dip, even though signs forbid swimming in a reservoir that supplied New York’s drinking water. I’d scoot out for a power walk, or jump a train for an art opening. Yoga, practiced with my buddies on a deck along a stream, also started to renew my sense of adventure – and possibility.
But truth is, I still felt like I was racing through life, MY LIFE, in the backseat. One day Alex, our son who was then 17, announced his plan to move to France. “I’ll learn French in a U.S. summer immersion course,” he said, “and apply to the Sorbonne full-time.”
Gutsy, I thought. I soon took my inspiration from my kids: Be daring. Take risks. Get into the front seat of your life. Somehow I would start a small customized cooking tour business in France. Why not? No need to stop the book editing. My safety net could be his sixth floor garret apartment in Paris. And so when I discovered chef Kathie Alex – like the names of my two children -- I felt what seemed like a hug of encouragement from the universe. This venture – Griffith Gourmet -- was meant to be.
Trips in 2007 and 2008. Again now in 2009.
On this October morning in a tiny yellow kitchen that still sports the stencils showing where Julia’s pots and pans hang, I’m surrounded by food-lovers. There’s Peg, a family friend from growing up in North Carolina; Perry Ann, a newer acquaintance from Atlanta, and much laughter from other new friends. Julia’s words, captured in My Life in France, resonate in my head: “Remember no one’s more important than people! In other words, friendship is the most important thing – not career or housework, or one’s fatigue – and it needs to be tended and nurtured.”
Salmon en papillote or a parchment paper tent (see recipe below), zucchini timbale and a risotto, a puckering lemon curd for dessert with fluffy meringue are on the ambitious menu today. Chef Kathie tells us about techniques and adds one of Julia’s secrets: “A little parsley or mint will fix up just about any mistake.” No question, fixing mistakes and moving on are important culinary -- and life -- wisdom.
Another day as we’re raising a glass of sparkling rosé wine (a little bubbly champagne was among Julia’s favorite things), we see how the main meal at noon, or le déjeuner, brings people together. Over mushroom quichettes, squash gratin and a slice of a crispy potato cake, and the French trademark coq au vin, we can stop the rush of the day as they do in Provence, to savor food … and each other.
Afterwards, I drive to the Rothschild villa with its nine sunny gardens overlooking the Cote d’Azur. On a rainy day we poke around the cobblestone streets of the medieval village of St. Paul and stroll among Joan Miro’s whimsical sculptures at the nearby Maeght Foundation. Antibes with its Picasso Museum. Or in Cannes Kathie leads a tour of the Forville market … bright red heritage tomatoes, crates of earthy yellow mushrooms, roses of all colors at $6 a bunch (the world’s perfume capital is in nearby Grasse). At the Hotel Martinez, a hangout for movie stars during the Cannes Film Festival, Chef Christian Sinicropi offers champagne in his Michelin-starred kitchen, and we dine at La Palme d’Or, his showcase restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean.
My dream of cooking groups is playing out in ways that I couldn’t fathom in my palm-sweating planning days. I think of this again two days later.
Our group is lunching at the home of one of France’s top chefs, Serge Chollet. That’s in HIS OWN HOME, AS HIS GUESTS. He was the high-octane (this man never stops moving … chopping, laughing, grabbing oregano from his garden) executive chef of the Moulin de Mougins, a much-celebrated nearby restaurant in a restored olive mill. We are on his terrace, and with a very sharp twelve-inch knife he whacks off the top off a bottle of sparkling rose. Pop! Not just any wine, but a Touraine, a bubbling bottle from his family’s vineyard in the Chateaux Loire region of France. Glasses are raised as smoke billows from his wood-fired pizza oven.
What? Pizza … a delicacy? Think of a delicate smudge of a crispy crust topped with smoky chunks of eggplant, fresh-diced tomatoes, pink garlic, Parmesan and steamy buffalo mozzarella. Think of a curried chicken pizza with plump raisins, caramelized onions and crisped pine nuts. Think of our piece de resistance: a dessert pizza with figs and bananas, almonds and sprigs of mint. As we dive into the pizza we say to each other, “Bon appétit,” Julia’s signature closing line on her TV program, “The French Chef.”
“Be sure to follow your nose, as you cook,” urges Serge. “Be innovative.”
“Oui, chef,” we say.
Moments earlier we had smiled when he had tossed burned pine nuts into the sink and whispered under his breath, “merde alors.” He was flirting with a gal in our group – “The best way to learn French is on the pillow,” he said – and lost focus. Now he brushes it off saying, “If you do nothing you never make a mistake.”
“Oui, chef.”
A simple idea emerges from his instruction. Namely, innovation plus mistakes equal new creations; it’s almost like a mathematical formula: Innovation + Mistakes = Creation. And as the sparkling wine and sunshine make the day truly memorable, we decide to give a name to our small group of kitchen connoisseurs. “The Wee Chefs” is our choice … a double entendre, pronounced like the French “oui” we had just used with Chef Kathie and Chef Serge.
All too soon we’re heading back to the United States. I’ve made plans for two Griffith Gourmet trips in 2010. Risks and mistakes and change are the ingredients that make this venture possible. I think of a wonderful line from one of Julia’s books. “The pleasures of the table, and of life, are infinite,” she said. “Toujours bon appétit!
Salmon en Papillote with Herb Sauce
Serves 4
Preheat oven to 400 degrees
4 salmon fillets (7 ounces each), skinned/boned
2 tablespoons butter, melted
8 thin slices of lemon, seeded
salt and freshly ground pepper
Herb sauce
1 ¼ cup fish stock or water
1/3 cup dry white wine
2 shallots, peeled and finely chopped
1 cup heavy cream
¼ cup finely chopped mixed herbs (chervil, chives, parsley, tarragon or shredded sorrel)
For the salmon: Cut four 12-inch circles of parchment paper. Fold each circle in half. Open and brush interior with melted butter. Place a salmon fillet on one half of the paper circle, season with salt and pepper; lay four half slices of lemon on top. Fold the other half of the paper over the salmon to enclose. Seal the package by folding over the edges twice and creasing to tighten. Transfer packages to a baking sheet and bake for 10 – 15 minutes. The fish should be firm but not hard when touched.
To make the sauce: Pour the stock in a saucepan; add the wine and shallots. Simmer until the mixture has reduced to a syrup (there should be about five tablespoons of liquid remaining). Add the cream and simmer for a few minutes to thicken slightly. Season with salt and pepper. Just before serving, stir in the chopped herbs. Serve each person a package to unwrap at the table and pass the sauce.
-- Chef Kathie Alex, La Pitchoune, France