days 4-5 in provence

Breakfast in Provence was such a simple, wondrous treat. Our first morning in Gordes, breakfast was served on the patio at La Ferme de la Huppe. A basket of bread and pastries, homemade confiture, coffee or hot chocolate and freshly squeezed orange juice. So lovely, so idyllic. Yet those croissants. Oh. My. Goodness. Forget all those flaky lovers I've had in the past. This one has my heart.


The weapons of mass destruction were proffered. Bread, or pastry? Such decisions!


Ready to plunge in.


A wild berry confiture. Delicious!


We would each get a small Bodum pot of coffee...


...to pour into our cafe au lait bowls.


But this! This...it looks like a simple croissant, but it was HEAVY. Heavy, yet flaky, light and buttery. The sweet almond filling was DIVINE!! One bite and Matt and I froze, looked at each other, and had an inner croissant freak moment.


Matt liked to point out this interesting spider web.


I will have none of it. Time to go! We left the gates of the mas and headed out for market day in Apt.


Along the way, we spied the fiery orange and red cliffs of Roussillon in the distance.


But our first stop was the town of Apt, for its Saturday morning market. Although approaching Apt was less than beautiful with its ugly modern buildings, the Old Town was taken over by the lively, bustling market, which spread throughout the squares and all through the narrow streets. Parking: ridiculous. But we quickly learned that it was exactly the same for every market situation. Grab the first spot you see on the outskirts and join the people walking in with baskets in hand.


Tis the season for asparagus!


And every season is bread season for me.


Oh, and yes...this is my kind of season as well.


And the famous Cavaillon melons, which had a brilliant orange flesh, was sweet, juicy and succulent. Quite a burst of refreshment.


The ubiquitous satchels of herbes de Provence as well as lavender.


The Provencal fabrics were also everywhere, and Matt displayed their bounty here. Even if they're not your style or favorite colors, you'll all of a sudden find yourself obsessing over them and finding them completely necessary, practical and joyous. Matt was a little surprised at my interest.


I enjoyed these pretty baskets.


A variety of olives.


So bright! So for me.


This gigantic, holey cheese freaked me out. It's hard to tell how big it is in the photo, but it was massive. And holey. And scary.


Ah, much better. Saucissons!


Provencal-patterned chair cushions also become very necessary.


Matt and I thought the paella we made for New Year's was gi-normous! Here's an even crazier one. I wonder how long this would've taken us to accomplish. Weeks, weeks, I say!


Apt is also known for its fine confitures and pate de fruit, and there were some adorable candy shops around. We bought a little bag of pate de fruit as well as calissons, the traditional almond-shaped French candies made of candied fruit and ground almonds, topped with a thin layer of white icing. They taste very similar to marzipan.


All this food and candy! It was certainly time for lunch. We headed over to Bistro de France, which seemed like the quintessential village bistro. As the market started to shut down between 12:30pm and 1pm, this place quickly filled up and the patio was packed with all sorts. The food was fresh, simple and generous.


Matt had the pintade, a delicious roasted guinea fowl served with a zucchini and pepper mixture, tomato Provencale and asparagus.


I had a very delicious platter of pate, ham, ratatouille, tomato salad, Camembert cheese and a roasted peppers. I loved everything about this plate and how it was arranged. So simple and yummy.


We had the perfect seat for watching the market action right next to us.


Time to refuel and continue the journey.


We left Apt, drove past several vineyards, and headed for Bonnieux, a hilltop village in the Luberon.


Our first stop was the 12th-century Église Vieille du Haut. We drove through the town center where people were relaxing at the cafes, and we drove up, up and up.


What is this?! Creepy well.


The area around the Église Vieille du Haut was very quiet with hardly anyone around, which added to the very eerie, yet magical quality of the town. I loved it. It was almost like a fairytale, with everything at a standstill.


A quiet and shady spot.


Around the church...


...is a spectacular view.


Matt took a break.


A pretty stone wall is not hard to find.


We admired this fanciful pattern.


The steps down from the church...


...led to wondrous nooks and crannies with tiny stone houses.


I want this one!


Or maybe this one.


We headed back down to the center of town...


...which was mainly a cluster of cafes and restaurants.


You can still look down and see gorgeous rooftops.


And those blue shutters!


And more stone. Stone stone stone.


Oooh! Matt made us take this passage.


Anyone home?


We finally departed Bonnieux, which ended up being one of our favorite destinations overall,


After Bonnieux, we drove to Roussillon, a town perched on red-ocher cliffs.


The drive into the town was a nightmare because it was MOBBED with visitors. As gorgeous as the place was, it seemed like insanity after coming from the tranquil Bonnieux. Parking was disastrous and quite stressful.


But the lavender quickly soothed us.


On the way up to a lookout point...


...to check out the red-rock madness.


As well as a lovely view of the Luberon.


The town had some gorgeous homes...


...many just perched on overhangs.


On the way back down, more and more crowds.


But from a distance, oh so pretty in oranges and pink.


And dangerous!


We go back to explore the town of Gordes, an ancient stone village with cobbled streets...


...and of course it has a Chateau, built in the 13th century.


Ancient chateau aside, I walked into a shop and apparently I lost it over these baskets, according to Matt.


Tell me! Which one do I need!!? One for pain, or one for tartines!? Which, which?!


After the basket feeding frenzy that Matt will not stop reminding me about, it was time for an ice cream cone.


Overlooking the valley...You pose here...


...and I'll pose there. And then it was time for dinner, which we had in town.


We were eating in the garden at Le Bouquet de Basilic, and I of course had to start with my half-carafe of rosé.


And Matt went for some beer. More rosé for me. Excellent.


A little starter of tapenade.


We shared two absolutely delicious tarts! A ham tart and then a vegetable one. The pastry was so flaky and buttery and the tarts were luscious. This was devoured in seconds.


Unfortunately, our entrees were not as spectacular. Matt had the entrecôte de boeuf, which he said was fine, nothing special, but the pasta that it came with was totally random and just lacking in all sorts of goodness.


I had ravioli with a creamy basilic sauce. Sadly, the entire dish had no flavor or seasoning whatsoever. I had to douse it in salt, and then there was just way to much of the pasta to eat. Phooey! Although the homegrown basilic was fragrant and wonderful.


Matt displayed his chagrin for his meal by eating it in a vile fashion.


A big espresso soothed us both.


But we finished on a high note with an excellent peach tart.


A special spot overlooking the luscious Luberon below. Our mas was somewhere down there in the distance.


And we ended the night with champagne back at the farmhouse.


Sunday morning began with the same breakfast. But what is this!? What is THIS that I spy in the bread basket?


This, my fickle and finicky pastry eaters, was a heavenly raisin brioche pastry. Oh good God this was so ridiculously good. And huge. And all gone. And so were we...


Off to the flea market in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue in the Sorgue Valley.


The central part of the market sells pretty much the same goods as you'll find at any of the other markets...the straw bags, fruits, vegetables, fabrics, sunglasses, jewelry, etc.


But on the edges of the market are the antiques with all sorts of wonderful things, from perfume bottles to silver to linens to garden chairs to Art Deco chests.


I became entranced with all the antiques, oohing and ahhing and pointing and exclaiming, "Look! Locks!" as if no one had heard of such things before.


But Matt was not at my side, and as I looked around for him, I noticed him in the distance, obsessing over this large, mossy wheel in the river.


Yes, he took great pleasure in this turning wheel.


But I dragged him away to exclaim over these boot molds.


And then over these things as well.


Everything needed pointing and exclaiming over. Like cannisters.


And chairs.


And silver. And then...then I became obsessed with finding some pretty spoons.


And I did...a set of 12 silver spoons with a flower motif...


Made in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue.


Matt found some things of interest himself. But this was not purchased.


This might come in handy after lunch.


Which we had at Le Mas de Cure-Bourse, an 18th-century postal-coach inn that was the the pefect countryside getaway.


Among the shady fruit trees surrounding the fields, you could spy some gorgeous and luxurious homes. The place itself was a little hard to find, but once there, it was so beautiful and relaxing.


We sat outside in a lovely garden for lunch.


Which began with some black olives.


Then a very exciting and tasty red beet mousse.


Ready!


Hello, lover.


Matt had coquille St. Jacques (scallops) with fennel confit and a walnut and balsamic caramel sauce. Divine.


I loved mine even more: guinea fowl with sage and mashed herbed potatoes. So succulent, saucy and just fresh and delicious.


A pre-dessert of rich and creamy crème brûlée.


And for dessert, mixed fruits with a garrigue and honey ice cream. Oh goodness, this was insanely good.


And we finished with some espresso...


...and mignardises of meringue, sable cookies and coconut macaroons.


Outside the restaurant was its little herb garden.


After lunch, we headed back to Gordes and made a stop at the 12th-century Cistercian Abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque.


Sadly, it was not lavender season, otherwise this field would be full of purple lovelies.


Matt really wanted to go inside, so we did the one-hour tour (in French only) of the abbey, and unfortunately for me, I did not understand but a few words so kept poking Matt for translation. We both decided the tour wasn't really worth it. Maybe unless you've never seen a cloister in your lifetime.


The nicest part of the abbey on in the inside is the cloister.


Our guide, who seemed to have such disdain for everyone, spent an enormous amount of time discussing the cloister and its sacredness.


Cloister...


...and more cloister.


We were relieved and free once it was done. Let's get out of here!


Goodbye, non-blooming lavender!


And goodbye, monk.


We had dinner back at our place, La Ferme de la Huppe.


An aperitif of a kir royale.


An small bite of salmon, asparagus and asparagus puree. Stunning!


This was exquisite, frothy deliciousness: an emulsion of mussels, carrots, grilled pine nuts and chervil.


And another spectacular dish: filet of dorade royale with baby leeks, beet chips and a Côtes du Rhône reduction. This became one of our favorite meals.


A pre-dessert of mascarpone and cherries. Oh dear oh dear!


And then a hot chocolate souffle with a lime and vanilla sorbet.


Its richness did not stop Matt.


And we plunged in and call it a night.

To be continued...

a respite in provence: Days 1-3

Provence...the sun, the wine, the food, the flowers...yeah, yeah. It's a place to definitely unbutton and indulge in, but carefully. Because a croissant every day for breakfast does dangers. "Rosé, AGAIN?" is a phrase I never thought I'd hear, and, "I SWEAR, no more markets after this one!" is a phrase I never thought I'd say. And, oh yeah...wearing sandals to climb Roman ruins is highly not advised, no matter how carefree and Provence-y you feel.

The place affects your mind in dangerous, fancy-free ways (or maybe that's the Cote-du-Rhone). Driving here, driving there, parking wherever, eating however, having just one more...nothing's a big deal and nothing's too much. Pastis by the pool is quickly a do-or-die situation, and buying antique spoons with just the right flower motif will all of a sudden become a very high priority. So. Beware of Provence and her Siren-like behavior.


And begin...


Our journey started with a 5pm flight from New York, ending up in Paris at 7am; a breeze! But by the time we got to Gare de Lyon to catch the TGV to Avignon, I was feeling quite nauseous. Lack of sleep, disoriented, body clock thrown off, food clock in a dire state, all I could do was sit there, immobile, before our two hour and forty minute ride.


Finally, I mustered enough energy to ... EAT BAGUETTE!! And here, my first jambon et fromage of the trip...yummy.


We eventually reached the walled-city of Avignon.


Our hotel, Hôtel de l'Horloge, looked right out onto the lively Place de l'Horloge, which was filled with open-air cafes that we never ate at.


The magnificent Palais des Papes was a few steps away. But I didn't see any popes.


I have made it to Avignon!


You're so big and looming!


It doesn't bother Matt, and he strikes his French poses.


I'll take that room up there.


The square in front of the palace is quite large to traverse in little feetsies.


My first sighting of the Provencal turquoise shutters.


And what's back there?


I spy the Pont d'Avignon, also known as the Pont St-Bénezet, a medieval bridge built between 1171 and 1185.


It no longer fully stretches across the Rhone. Eees too small!!


Thank goodness there's nothing flowing here.


We descended down...


...into the winding and extremely narrow streets of Avignon.


Should we go there?


Or there?


I immediately became obsessed with shutters.


As you can see here.


Matt enjoyed this narrow, squashed-in building.


As well as this car being sandwiched between two Smart cars.


I enjoyed the rapturous chocolates in the window. Yes, please!


Ummm...no chocolates down there.


Chocolates in here? Hello?


No, but it was time for dinner at Le Petit Bedon, where I started with a hot chevre salad with toasted almonds. Mmmm, toasty and cheesy.


Matt had an eggplant terrine with crushed tomatoes, which reminded me very much of a savory clafouti I once made.


For my entree, a "crystalized" duck leg, also known as cuisse de canard confite, with "Nyons" olives. Delicious!


And Matt had a filet of beef with shallots, and a vegetable tian. The food seemed very homestyle, not restaurant-y tasting or looking in the least, and everything was sort of the same brownish-red color. I thought it all very tasty and classic, but Matt seemed oddly affected by it in a way he still cannot describe.


The only strange part I found was dessert. I had a Grand-Marnier parfait with a red fruit coulis. I tasted absolutely no Grand Marnier anywhere...it sort of just tasted like an icy vanilla ice cream. Which was fine, but not very Grand Marnier.


Matt had a cakey and custardy chesnut terrine. Very interesting! Although what's up with all the terrines?


After dinner, it was time for an unbuttoned-pants stroll.


We weren't feeling the merry-go-round after so much terrine.


Uhhh...you sure this is the right way?


The sky is such a luminous, brilliant blue!


I make Matt wedge his head in between the rocky formations.


The Palais des Papes at night...such a fun phrase to say. "Palais des Papes." Good night, popes. Rest well.


The next morning, breakfast at the hotel began with some pastries, scrambled eggs and ham. How very un-French of me. I did notice some French tourists look at the buffet platter of eggs in disdain. They headed for yogurt, pastries and coffee.


Time for a tour of the inside of the Palais des Pape. As Matt would say, it's old. A little too old?


It's hard not to look like a tourist with an audio guide.


I will stand here in this corner sans guide.


Matt contemplated what it must be like to be a fine pope.


I don't think it's a good idea for him, either.


So instead, he gave his best princess wave.


A view of the town below us.


Next, we headed over to the Pont d'Avignon.


The bridge to nowhere...


I don't quite feel safe in this little space.


Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse, l'on y danse
Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse tous en rond
Les beaux messieurs font comm' ça
Et puis encore comm' ça...


Enough with the children's song. It was time to head back into the city to leave Avignon and journey on.


Matt carried all our bags and referred to himself as a mule. Awww. Think of yourself as the pope's mule!


Back at the Avignon TGV station, we rented a Citroën to begin our traversing.


Our first stop: Châteauneuf-du-Pape, home to some of the most exquisite wine. The town gets its name from the castle built by the popes when they ruled from Avignon. These popes really loved their wine, so they promoted the growing of grapes in the area. The wines eventually were called "vin du pape," and we know it now as Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Oh so tasty, oh so pricey.


The town is chock-full of wine tasting cellars, and you really can't go wrong here. But, before we got down to business, we had to eat.


In the center of town, we had some excellent pizza at La Muette. Mine with Emmental and Mozzarella cheese, tomato, mushrooms and olives...


...and Matt's was basically the same except with ham. Delicious!


A little pick-me-up to begin the degustation.


Most definitely a cave of pleasures.


Degustation! Begin!


Afterwards, we headed up to the remains of the papal castle.


Remains!


And some more pretty, arched remains.


Shall I pose here in these remains?


So many remains, but whyyyy?


Let us instead enjoy this fine, vineyard view.


With this thing?


Goodbye, sweet Châteauneuf-du-Pape! We are off to Gordes in the Luberon.


After about an hour's drive, the hilltop town of Gordes suddenly loomed in front of us. Insanity!


We were not staying in town, rather in a very lovely mas in the countryside called La Ferme de la Huppe, which I immediately fell in love with. The Provencal farmhouse, run by Charlotte and Gerald Konings, dates back from 1776 and earlier.


We stayed in a room that used to be the old kitchen.


Matt tested out the waters.


And we check out our modes of transportation.


Now this looks promising.


Another fine symbol because this place had the most exquisite cuisine (Gerald is the chef)...the best meals we had in Provence were had here.


Before dinner, some relaxation by the pool.


And an aperitif of pastis.


Some more relaxation.


I spy asparagus.


Dinner began with deliciously fresh and spongy bread and two kinds of local olive oil. Which we ravaged.


Un petite entree surprise: asparagus! With a pea puree. Fantastically fresh and exquisite, one of my favorite little dishes.


A zucchini blossom filled with a salmon mousse, fresh artichoke with vinaigrette, and a small salad with a balsamic and mustard vinaigrette. Ridiculously good! Although that zucchini blossom was massive and filling.


But no time to be full here...there is work to be done.


Lamb three ways: grilled, braised and in a stew. Saucy. Lamby. Tender. Excellent. And the vegetables with it were divine.


A bottle of this fine friend went down quite quickly.


We decided to do a tasting of eight goat cheeses, because when in France, one must only eat cheeses, right? There are no cows in the area, only goats, for such deliciousness.


Our waiter carefully picked them and very thoughtfully created a specific progression for us.


This was only a pre-dessert: a millefeuille with fromage blanc. Oh god I'm a sucker for flaky layers!


"Bon continuation..." a phrase we ended up hearing throughout our trip. And the dessert continued with forêt noire, an interpration of black forest cake.


And to end this wondrous dinner, a lace cookie. Oh dear oh dear.

To be continued...

a brief respite

Finally...vacation has arrived. Off to Provence! Be back in a couple of weeks.

cinco de mayo

There's California versus Texas, there's red versus green, there's smothered versus dry, there's pinto versus black bean...There are so many schools of thought when it comes to Mexican and Tex-Mex that what's a girl to do? Well, eat them all, that's what. Let's put aside the fine lines and indulge in all ways of thought. The other weekend, I had a late lunch at Lupe's East L.A. Kitchen in SoHo, which serves up Mexicali food in a slightly dingy, retro-looking spot where it's fun to point out all the cheesy Spanish-language album covers decorating the place. It's the kind of place where some things are really good and some are just okay, but you find yourself going back nonetheless because it's overall yummy, easy and no frills. Here, Matt had some scrambled eggs and vegetable tamales.


I had the Anaheim omelet with avocado, cheese, sour cream and tomatoes. I love these pinto beans! So yummy.


Later that evening I was still in a Mexican-state-of-mind, and decided to continue the theme at dinner. We first concocted a version of the Michelada (beer, lime juice, hot sauce and salt), one of my favorite ways to drink beer.


Then I made a very simple version of Tex-Mex enchiladas smothered in cheese and gravy. Using chipotles in adobo, chicken broth, flour, water and chili powder, I made a super spicy sauce for the enchiladas which I liberally doused the tortillas with and baked in the oven. Mmmmm...tastes ridiculous and dangerous. Yes! Happy cinco de Mayo!

caramel misbehaviors

The point of no return...it's such a dangerous thing. When I was learning to drive to get my license, my driving instructor ingrained this ominous phrase in my head. He would make me repeat the phrase out loud every time I approached an intersection. When I reached a certain magic spot, where if the light turned yellow or red, I'd have no choice but to forge ahead, he'd make me say out loud "point of no return." It was so crazy to me! But yes, a fair warning it was. And it should very well carry over into making caramel. Because at a certain point, caramel can go bust. Go too far, darken too much, burn just a little, and it's over. There's no turning back. Well, I reached that point the other day when my caramel turned into what I can only describe as toxic-looking dark sludge. I've gone and created oil! No need for any more wells and worries. The future is in my kitchen.

It all started off innocently enough with a bake-off with fellow bloggers Melinda (who has the full recipe posted) and Evil Cake Lady. I was kindly asked to participate in making Dorie Greenspan's Caramel-Peanut-Topped Brownie Cake, to revel in it together, to share our joys, mishaps and experiences. The cake itself was quick and successful, and absolutely delicious. I loved the flavor, the texture, its softness, its moistness. "Oh, the cake's pretty much done...I just need a few minutes to make a topping," I told Matt as he inquired about when we were going to eat this dessert. Famous last words.



The next thing I know, well...actually, I didn't even know, but I was standing in my tiny kitchen engulfed in billowing smoke. "Look at you!!" Matt yelled, as he approached the doorway. "Come out of there!" I stepped out of the kitchen and looked back...you couldn't see a thing! It was covered in smoke. It was choking. It was blinding. It was Saddam's spiderhole! Okay...maybe not. But Matt was quite amused to look up and see me holding a seething and burning pot like a little urchin.

"Umm...just a few more minutes!" I said in a shrilly voice.

I had let my caramel get way beyond that point of no return. Trying to reach a dark amber, I miscalculated and let it get too hot. So I started over. And this time, I did it the way I usually do it, swirling here and swirling there, then waiting until I've reached the color JUST before the color I want, then removing the pot from the heat and watching as it continues to darken. Then I add the cream and butter. And voila. Caramel was perfected, oil was put aside, and cake was finally had. Amid a lovely ambiance of smoky mystery.

a little fiefdom

Our friend Erik is a big guy. He's a towering 6 feet 6 inches. And he knows his food. For example, picture a dark rooftop party, grill going in the shadows. Trying to trick him into eating a salad of fruit, whipped topping and walnuts we told him it was mashed potatoes. He took one bite and bellowed: "F-----CK!! It's AMBROSIA!!"

So when he invited us to dine with him near his art studio in Bushwick, Brooklyn, I suspected that the food would be good and large-portioned. And not ambrosia. Matt and I took the L train to the Jefferson stop and emerged into what looked like no-man's land to me: factories, factories, factories. But on the corner of Wyckoff and Troutman hung an intriguing sign that welcomed us into a cozy, lodge-like nook amid the industrial. This was Northeast Kingdom. And the menu was quite hearty.


We started out with the garlic oven fries ($4). They were not only fat and potatoey, but mouth-burning hot! I've never actually started a meal with French fries before, but I'm really liking this idea. Nicely salted and herbed, the fries were yummy but I wish they were just a tad crispier on the edges. But what am I, a fry inspector? (Um, yes, I'll take that job if someone's offering.)


Next up to share was a Ploughman's salad with Grafton cheddar, Branston pickle and house-pickled beets ($10). Although I had been eyeing the toast with Marmite butter, this was very delightful and refreshing! Those beets were spectacular, and I just adore cheddar and chutney together.


For an entree, Matt chose the salmon which was topped with a generous amount of roe. It was large, it was excellent.


Erik's hands descend upon his meal of trout that was layered with tomatoes and all sorts of ridiculousness I can't even remember. What I do remember was that it was massive (this photo is completely deceiving).


In another study of largeness, I had the pork chop, smothered in a tarragon cream sauce, one of my favorite kinds of sauces. It came with mashed potatoes and some tender Brussels sprouts. All creamy, saucy and warming. But it was a big hunk of pork and I had to take the leftovers home.


So after all that hotness of a heavy meal, we opted for a cooling hunk of banana cream pie. Perfect! I had been musing on this since first sitting down.


After dinner, we stroll over to Erik's studio where he shows us what he is working on for his upcoming show at Freight + Volume.


The theme in largeness continues in Erik's almost-complete painting of The Wall, inscribed with lyrics from...Pink Floyd's The Wall, of course.


Here Erik explains to us the minutiae of the giant.


We study some more pieces...


But I am more intrigued with the masking tape monster.


Well it looks like you missed a spot there, Erik...


Where?


He goes in search of more missing spots.


All boxed-in.


Just like this guy...


...who has created a genius-use of space for his parking on the sidewalk. Good night.