SUMMER PASTA SALAD WITH CREAMY PARMESAN DRESSING

AN APARTMENT AND FOOD FOR SUMMER

Summertime finally flashed by, the sun burning down, the air blowing hot and slow. We strip down to the bare minimum and languish on the sofa, windows flung open as we wait for the soft caress of a breeze to cool us down. Step outside and the heat grabs us, wraps itself around us and squeezes tight and we think of nothing but to search for shade. We droop and sag and move in slow motion, hand brushed across the forehead, squinting into the white light bouncing off of the walls of this City of White.

The quiet dilemmas of everyday life alter with the weather: cheeses in the fridge (where they lose their personality, their creamy voluptuousness, their distinctive flavor) or out of the fridge (where they sweat and puddle onto the plate in a liquid mess); windows open at night (the cool breeze mingling with the loud noises of passing cars and drunken youth) or closed (stifling hot silence); to cook (old bones dragged outside to the market teeming with sticky bodies; the heat of the kitchen) or not (feet propped up, fingers dragging lazily across the dog’s coat, cheese, bread and fruit. Again.). I bring home crisp brown paper bags overflowing with summer fruit, nectarines, peaches, cherries and strawberries, sweet and juicy, and eat one after the next in quick succession. We toss cool salads with ripe local tomatoes and make it a meal; chilled white wine accompanies cold meats and cheeses and if I dare bring home the odd lasagna or vegetable tart to reheat they look at me askance, shake their head as they mumble something about the inferno outside. We quench our thirst not with liquid so much as fruity boozy sorbets and granità, dare to order one more bowl of gelato, anything to cool off, even from the inside out. Yet when the rain returns, bringing a damp chilliness that settles in, we complain about the lack of summer, our need for warmth and the gentle caress of sunshine. We pull the sweaters back out, close the windows and heat up a bowl of soup.

Our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary came and went with brio; the afternoon found us in the tiny town of Campbon signing papers, handing over a check and walking away with a crumpled brown paper envelope full of loose keys, the keys to our new apartment. We decided the day called for a double celebration, so we wandered to a new part of Nantes looking for an open restaurant; this being both a Monday evening and the end of July we had little hope of finding something good open yet a restaurant that I have long wanted to try was open and a table for two on the breezy terrace under drooping swags of greenery beckoned and welcomed us. A romantic dinner for two toasted with a glass of Champagne, chilled cream seafood soup, monkfish and a trio of sorbets all enjoyed in a serene yet privately festive ambiance. We walked home hand in hand, a beautiful beginning to the next twenty-five years.

The men work in the apartment now every day, yanking up old mud-colored carpets glued firmly to elegant wood parquet, snip and snap at wires connecting no-longer-existent computers and telephones, hammer at walls and dividers, dust and paint chips swirling and settling around their feet. They come home for meals hot and tired and collapse into chairs, popping up again at 7 or 8, hungry as wolves, clamoring for a morsel. The apartment advances quickly as the time passes on winged feet; the clock ticks and the pages of the calendar flip over as the pages of the catalogues lying scattered on the floor. We argue the advantages of this stove or that dishwasher, we compare this bathroom vanity and that sink, discuss cabinet surfaces and colors, drawers or shelves and make decisions about tearing down one wall and putting up another. Our conversations are now peppered with measurements and the boys’ daily adventures in the apartment, littered with ideas and underscored by the many things done and still left on our to-do list. Frustrating, exciting, stressful and energizing, this is our new life.

Four young men and my husband slip into scruffed and torn sneakers and paint-stained overalls and shorts and work day in and day out, trying to keep to our schedule, trailing snakes of multi-hued wires, sacks bulging with refuse and snowy white footprints behind. Intermittent telephone calls from the other son off in the office in St. Nazaire or on the beach, feet propped up, claiming to work, asking for this measurement or that as he fine-tunes his designs for our future kitchen and bath, asks for preferences of tubs or stovetops, makes alterations and suggestions that only embroil us further. Keep repeating “It will get done! It will get done!” I dash over every couple of days from home where I am on Martysitting duty to snap pictures of the progress; one must keep a photojournal, records of the renovations as they happen! Exciting times, keeping us busy and moving towards the future.

And as the sun splits through the dark rain clouds and showers us with unbearable heat, I turn back to old forgotten recipes that have been shut up somewhere in the back of my mind all autumn, winter and spring. A cooling pasta salad with tuna is on the menu, but how to jazz it up and make it an exciting meal? I stroll through the market and purchase marinated artichokes and grilled calamari, ripe tomatoes, an avocado and tangy, salty black olives. Back at the house as I boil fusilli, I pop open a can of sweet corn and select a can of tuna in lemon sauce, all the better to heighten the flavor of an other-wise bland pasta salad. And I flip through the pages of a well-worn cookbook from my university days, The Frog Commissary Cookbook, and land on a favorite dressing recipe, Creamy Parmesan Dressing. This is no simple vinaigrette! Rather, this is a mayonnaise with the sharp tang of red wine vinegar and a handful of grated Parmesan tossed in. This dressing is our favorite dip for boiled artichokes and spectacular as a dressing for a pasta salad.

As for the salad itself, well, you ad-lib to fit your family’s tastes and desires, what is on hand and what in season.

CREAMY PARMESAN DRESSING
Adapted from The Frog Commissary Cookbook by Steven Poses, Anne Clark, Becky Roller, 1985

1 large egg
½ cup olive oil
½ cup vegetable oil
½ tsp salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Dash ground cloves
1/8 tsp Tabasco or other hot sauce
1 ½ tsps minced garlic
Up to 1/3 cup red wine vinegar
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese

Whisk the egg until light colored. Whisk in the two oils gradually so that the mixture emulsifies, thickening into a mayonnaise. This can also be done in a food processor or with an immersion hand blender. Whisk in the salt, a generous grinding or two of black pepper, the ground cloves, the Tabasco and the minced garlic. Whisk in the red wine vinegar about a third at a time, tasting to see how tangy you like it. Finally, whisk in the grated Parmesan. Taste and adjust seasonings. Set aside while you prepare the pasta salad.

This recipe can be halved. I use a half quantity of the dressing for a pasta salad for four people.

PASTA SALAD
For 4 people

This is just a list of suggestions, a list of what we love, but feel free to add or take away and create a salad for your tastes and for the season.

About 18 oz (500 grams) dried pasta for salad (penne, fusilli, large macaroni, orecchiette, etc)
1 red pepper
6 – 8 small marinated artichokes, drained and sliced in half
Two ripe tomatoes or a couple of handfuls cherry tomatoes, cleaned and sliced or cubed
1 ripe avocado, peeled and cubed
1 can very good quality tuna, preferably in lemon sauce
Grilled calamari or tiny squid or cooked shrimp (crab is also good)
¼ cup or more pitted black Greek olives
1 small can sweet corn
1 small can red kidney beans or white beans

Simply cook the pasta according to package directions, being sure to drain and rinse the pasta as soon as they are no longer al dente but just tender and cooked through. They should not be overcooked and soft but tender with some give under the tooth. Drain and rinse under cool water. Place in a large serving bowl.

Rinse, pat dry and trim the pepper; remove and discard stem and seeds. Cut into 5 or 6 large pieces and press flat on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roast under the grill of the oven until the skin is charred black and bubbling.

Carefully remove from the oven and slip the pieces of charred pepper into a plastic bag. Let the pepper sit until cooled during which time the condensation in the plastic due to the heat of the peppers will lift much of the skin up off of the flesh. Simply pull each piece out of the plastic bag and slip a thin, sharp knife blade between the skin and the flesh and lift off the skin and discard. Slice the flesh into strips or bite-sized pieces and add to the pasta in the bowl.

Add all the other ingredients or those which you choose. Break up the tuna with a fork before adding.

Just before serving, whisk the Creamy Parmesan Dressing and pour as much on the salad, tossing until all of the ingredients are well combined, evenly distributed and coated with the dressing, as desired, to taste. Any unused dressing should be stored covered in the refrigerator.

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SUMMER VEGETABLE RATATOUILLE

AND THE LIVING (AND EATING) IS EASY

The very first ratatouille I remember making, although heaven knows that there must have been others before, was for our wedding lunch. Eggplant and zucchini, tomatoes and garlic long simmered until tender, the flavors mellowing like old gentlemen growing tender and drowsy in the mid-summer heat, yet concentrating into something intensely sweet with a hint of the smoky, was nestled inside delicately bland choux pastries. A rustic buffet reminiscent of a pastoral picnic spread out before the dozen guests, hunks of artisan cheese and loaves of baguettes, terrines and pâté surrounded by crispy cornichons, summer salads seasonal and fresh, tangy Lemon Chicken washed down so elegantly with an abundance of Champagne. And my own ratatouille snuggled inside choux. A wedding meal prepared by the bride and groom, a wedding feast fit for a king.

Ratatouille is quintessential French home cooking in my book. Every Frenchman and woman seems to either have his or her very own potager, kitchen garden, or a neighbor with one and its anticipated overflow. And every French marketplace is abundant in the staples of zucchini, eggplant, tomatoes and onions. Summer plenty in aubergine, jade and red, the pale gold of papery onion skins, the violet-streaked creamy white of garlic bulbs set snowy against the deep greens of basil and parsley cry out to be taken home. Ratatouille seems to be in the repertoire of each and every French kitchen, the favorite dish made with these garden standards. The essence of warm summer days, a hint of garden parties and picnics in wide-open fields, ratatouille is the one dish I forever associate with my French life. It is here that I learned to make it, it is here that I fell in love with this so simple yet invitingly complex dish.

The heart of summer vacation, ratatouille is the one dish that has followed us around throughout the years from the Tuscan countryside to the Brittany shore, from steamy Parisian kitchens to breezy Nantes afternoons. Innumerable days spent stirring pots of fragrant herbed vegetables to be eaten as a side with a roasted chicken or as a vegetarian main served over rice, hot off the stove or tepid, the flavors growing even more intense with time. Leftovers reheated or blended into soup, our own style of gazpacho then showered with feta, this is a meal that finds its way to our table all summer long, every summer since I can remember. The regularity with which one is greeted by ratatouille in French homes, finding its way onto buffet tables, the ideal accompaniment to a barbecue, places it squarely on the list of classics, surely a traditional summer specialty.

Ratatouille just fits my lifestyle. I rarely plan ahead (unless I am over-planning) and when the desire to cook sweeps over me I want something I can ad-lib depending on mood and season, something I can practically put together without thought or effort. I love the soothing, satisfying feel of chopping vegetables, or stirring and simmering, watching as each vegetable weeps and melts, smooth and silky, into the next. Yet I have often stated that I am more baker than cook and something about creating a savory dish scares me just a little bit. So something that practically cooks and flavors itself, something that can be altered and added to as I go along, ratatouille rarely goes wrong. I can mix and adapt the ingredients depending upon what I have in my pantry and what I bring home from the market. I can make it ahead of time and let it sit – doesn’t it always taste even better the day after? Fresh chopped herbs or great pinches of dried, half a stock cube for an extra kick of flavor or not, chopped fresh red or yellow peppers or roasted and peeled for an intensely sweet and smoky touch, with eggplant or without, fresh ripe tomatoes or canned, ratatouille is as versatile as it is good.

Most of my American friends and readers know of ratatouille, this French classic, from Julia Child and Mastering the Art of French Cooking. This would have been the Grand Dame of French Cooking’s 100th birthday and YC Media and Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., launched the JC100 (@JC100 or #jc100) national campaign involving restaurants, chefs, bookstores, and bloggers, in order to celebrate Julia and her legacy. Their goal is to raise one million voices in tribute to Julia, and I am extremely honored that I was asked to participate. A panel of culinary luminaries, including celebrity chef Thomas Keller and food writer Amanda Hesser, has selected their most beloved 100 Julia Child recipes and since May 7th, one of her many recipes is highlighted every Monday. This last week (I am always late), Julia Child’s ratatouille recipe was chosen.

My own ratatouille, although obviously quite similar to Julia’s, was taught to me by my mother-in-law, my husband and in watching various French friends cook, and my own today is, as always, ad libbed. I chose not to use eggplant, which I feel prolongs the cooking too much when I am pressed for time. Add the chopped onion all at once with the vegetables or precook to caramelize. I roasted my red peppers for, as I always say, sweet, smoky roasted red peppers make anything tomato-based taste better. I used canned cherry tomatoes – sweeter and more flavorful than canned plum tomatoes, in my humble opinion. Slow simmer in a regular heavy pot or Dutch oven or quick cook in a pressure cooker when rushed for time, simply cooking off any excess liquid once the vegetables are cooked and tender and the lid is removed. Easy does it.

Summer sunshine comes and goes, it flits around and through Nantes like butterflies, always moving, always just out of reach. One day grim and rainy gray, one day brilliantly warm and bright. I get my summer warmth from what I find on the marketplace, the sweet, sweet, ruby red cherries, the fragrant stone fruit and aromatic fresh herbs, the abundance of local tomatoes. And ratatouille, the very essence, the heart, everything that makes summer….summer.

RATATOUILLE

Add more or less of each ingredient to taste. Increase quantities for more ratatouille. My recipe serves 4.

1 large red pepper (or a yellow or green pepper, if you prefer)
1 yellow onion
3 – 4 zucchini
2 cloves garlic
1 can crushed tomatoes or cherry tomatoes
Fresh or dried herbs: basil, thyme, mint *
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil for cooking

* This is the mix of herbs I prefer. You could eliminate the mint and replace it with flat-leaf parsley, if desired.

Rinse, pat dry and trim the pepper; remove and discard stem and seeds. Cut into 5 or 6 large pieces and press flat on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roast under the grill of the oven until the skin is charred black and bubbling. Carefully remove from the oven and slip the pieces of charred pepper into a plastic bag. Let the pepper sit until cooled during which time the condensation in the plastic due to the heat of the peppers will lift much of the skin up off of the flesh. Simply pull each piece out of the plastic bag and slip a thin, sharp knife blade between the skin and the flesh and lift off the skin and discard. Slice the flesh into strips or bite-sized pieces and set aside.

Clean and trim the zucchini and slice into thick coins. Peel, trim and chop or mince the garlic. Set aside.

Trim and chop the onion. Add a couple tablespoons of olive to a large, heavy pot or Dutch oven and heat. Add the chopped onions and cook over medium or medium-low heat, stirring often, until the onion bits are very tender and golden brown around the edges.

Add the prepared zucchini and the garlic to the onions and cook, stirring often, until just beginning to become tender and slightly colored around the edges. Add the can of tomatoes and the roasted red pepper. Add a handful of fresh, chopped basil and a branch of fresh thyme along with a bit of mint if you like. Or a pinch of each of dried herbs. Salt and pepper. Add enough water to barely cover and allow to simmer for 20 to 30 minutes or until all of the vegetables are very tender, adding water as needed so the ratatouille doesn’t dry out and burn.

When the ratatouille is cooked to perfection, taste and add more herbs or salt or pepper as desired. Serve as a side dish to grilled or roasted meat or sausages or over rice or pasta as a vegetarian main. Serve hot or room temperature. This is ideal for lunch, dinner, a barbecue, a buffet or a picnic.

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PEACH PROSECCO BELLINI SORBET

AN ANNIVERSARY

She slid up to the counter in the dark office and pushed the necessary documents across the chocolate brown wood towards the woman standing stern and tall behind. “I’d like to choose a date to be married!” she exclaimed, giddy with pride and excitement. Despite her still-broken French, she answered all the questions and signed all of the papers. She was ever-so careful selecting the date; she had heard that marrying on a Tuesday or a Thursday was good luck in the Jewish religion so she chose a Thursday to be married. The 23rd… sounded very lucky as well, and she marked it down and confirmed with one sharp nod. And ran home to tell her man.

“What?!” he cried. “A Thursday?! How could you choose a Thursday? My parents haven’t closed the shop one single day in the thirty years since it has been open for anything or anybody! They’ll refuse to come to our wedding!” He was distressed, to say the least, but she wouldn’t budge, calming him with her assurance that it would all turn out well and for the best. And married they were after that very brief courtship, married they were twenty-five years ago on a sunny July morning following several days’ preparation, cooking their own wedding lunch, baking their own wedding cakes and gathering around them a few selected family and friends. And, sure enough, his parents closed up the shop, put on their Sunday best and followed the wedding party to City Hall where they watched their only son marry the woman he loved who loved him back. The Champagne (supplied by these very same joyfully happy parents) flowed, the food was lavish, the laughter exuberant and the two began their life together wrapped in warmth and merriment.

And they lived happily ever after.

They all laughed at Christopher Columbus 

When he said the world was round 

They all laughed when Edison recorded sound 

They all laughed at Wilbur and his brother 

When they said that man could fly 

They told Marconi Wireless was a phony 

It's the same old cry 

They laughed at me wanting you 

Said I was reaching for the moon 

But oh, you came through 

Now they'll have to change their tune 

They all said we never could be happy 

They laughed at us and how! 

But ho, ho, ho! 

Who's got the last laugh now? 

Ford and his Lizzie 

Kept the laughers busy 

That's how people are 

They laughed at me wanting you 

Said it would be, "Hello, Goodbye." 

But oh, you came through 

Now they're eating humble pie 

They all said we'd never get together 

Darling, let's take a bow 

For ho, ho, ho! 

Who's got the last laugh? 

Hee, hee, hee! 

Let's at the past laugh 

Ha, ha, ha! 

Who's got the last laugh now?" 

- Astaire & Rogers, They All Laughed, George and Ira Gershwin 

Twenty-five years we have been married, sticking together through thick and thin, the ups and downs so high and so low like a mad crazy roller coaster ride, the joys and difficulties of parenthood, the pleasures and madness of a culturally mixed marriage. Twenty-five years of date nights and family vacations, of exhausting workaday weeks and long months working side by side, of four countries and three languages and two religions and one love.

L’espoir, l’ardeur sont tout 

Ce qu’il te faut 

Mes bras, mon cœur, mes 

Epaules et mon dos 

Je veux te voir des étoiles 

Dans les yeux 

Je veux nous voir sourire 

Et heureux.

- Grégoire, Toi et Moi, Grégoire Boissenot

Hope, strength are all 

That you need 

My arms, my heart, my 

Shoulders and my back 

I want to see the stars 

In your eyes 

I want to see us smile 

And happy. 

Love at first sight, perfect marriage, soulmates, all the old clichés gather around us and we bat them around like flies. True, not true? Who can pinpoint when it began? Who can put their finger on the exact definition of what one means to the other? Who can define what is perfect and what isn’t? We move through the years gingerly, trying this and that, trial and lots of error, dancing around traditions and assumptions and each other, pushing against walls of rules and expectations. Arguments, compromise, stubborn refusals and making it up as we go along. Laughing at our own foibles and at the other’s quirks and eccentricities, trying to laugh when crying seems to be the easiest thing, hoping when desperation comes more naturally.

Twenty-five years today and we are on the cusp of a brand new life. A new apartment, our boys grown, both of us beginning new projects and new careers, life is an on-going adventure that is exciting and terrifying at once. Whatever brought us together, that spark, that curiosity and intrigue, that je ne sais quoi is still alive and kicking although over the years it has metamorphosed into something more honest and solid. Oh, romance is still there, the flowers and Champagne, the date nights and weekend getaways, yet that old romance is punctuated now by private jokes and easy comfort, making it all that more delicious.

Our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary will be spent buying neither diamonds nor Champagne but tools and renting a sanding machine, our afternoon spent in a notary office signing the papers which will make us the proud owners of a new Love Nest. With Marty slowly healing at home as best he can, our evening will be quiet and relaxing en famille.

I loved the Cherry Prosecco Granità so much that I knew that replacing the cherries with peaches and the sparkling Rosé Prosecco with white Prosecco would make a stunning treat. And it did. More like a sorbet this time than a granità, and using the Cartizze Prosecco gave a gentler hint of wine, making for a fruitier sorbet. Beautiful! And perfect for toasting the twenty-five years of marriage gone and the twenty-five years of marriage to come.

I want to share this with Jeanne and Meeta for this month’s Monthly Mingle. This month’s Mingle theme, chosen by Jeanne, our hostess with the mostess, is a Taste of Yellow for Barbara. You have read my post on the passing of a friend and beloved and generous food blogger, Barbara of Winos & Foodies who recently lost her very long battle against cancer. This Monthly Mingle is for her. We are all cooking and baking in yellow. I already posted a first Yellow entry, Milan-Style Asparagus with runny egg and Parmesan.



Thanks to the wonderful people at Bisol Prosecco and at Nielsen Massey for generously sponsoring From Plate to Page and offering me bottles of gorgeous Prosecco and bottles of exquisite extract (vanilla, lemon and coffee).  Keep an eye out on the Plate to Page website and blog to win an amazing goodie bag filled with amazing products!

BELLINI PEACH AND PROSECCO SORBET
Adapted from a recipe in Marie Claire Idées summer recipe issue

14 – 16 oz (400 – 450 g) fresh ripe yellow peaches
5/8 cup (150 ml) Bisol Prosecco or any other sparkling or dry white wine
6 Tbs runny/liquid honey
¼ tsp Nielsen Massey lemon extract or 2 tsps lemon juice

Peel the peaches (if very juicy, peel the peaches over the bowl of the robot mixer or blender to catch the juice) and remove the pit/stone (discard). Cut the peaches into chunks, place in a robot mixer or blender and mix to purée. Pour the peach purée into a bowl.

Add the Prosecco, the honey and the lemon extract or lemon juice and blend or whisk well. Pour the liquid into a freezer-safe container, a metal pan or a plastic container, preferably with a lid, and place in the freezer. The larger and shallower your pan (8 x 12 x 1 inch/20 x 30 x 2 cm), the quicker the sorbet will be ready to eat.

For a shallow pan, stir the sorbet every 15 minutes or so, using a fork, spatula or metal spoon, until ready to serve. For a deeper container, stir every few hours and then leave in the freezer overnight. Stir it up before serving.

Serve as is for a refreshing, flavorful treat. For a summery, elegant dessert, serve with fresh raspberries and strawberries.

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MILAN-STYLE ASPARAGUS AND EGGS WITH PARMESAN

PATIENCE AND DISTRACTION

Patience is power. 

Patience is not an absence of action; 

rather it is "timing" 

it waits on the right time to act, 

for the right principles 

and in the right way. 

- Fulton J. Sheen 

It’s inexplicable. I lost my brother three years ago and Marty’s illness should be so insignificant in the scheme of things. Yet here I am weeping my eyes out. How can something so small be so important? How can something that takes up no room at all take up so much space? The silence is deafening, the apartment empty of his presence and we rattle around in like lost souls. We try to gather our senses and put it all into perspective but, as any animal lover knows, he is and has always been, a huge part of our family. In between visits to the clinic, we bide our time, force ourselves to be patient, and carry on with all of the rest. Time seems to move in slow motion, we feel as if we are slogging through mud; patience is all that we have. Patience and distraction.

Monday afternoon, right smack in the middle of our 25th wedding anniversary, we will become owners of a new apartment. Decoration magazines and shop catalogues are strewn across carpets, stacked up in slippery piles on bedside tables and we discuss and argue and haggle, each sure and certain that we have the perfect kitchen in mind. We take long walks around Nantes and I contentedly snap and share photos on Instagram, which I am quickly falling in love with. And falling back in love with my city seen through the eye of a camera. Iphone in hand, always on the lookout for great images to share, I notice details that I haven’t noticed before, hidden sculptures in niches, beautiful facades and funny signs, very cool graffiti and new shops. Even a wedding in progress.

Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. 

But to keep going when the going is hard and slow – that is patience. 

– Anonymous 

And a diversion! I need very little to distract me: the least little thought or movement, the ping of an incoming email, the expectation of a tweet, the signal of a comment on a Facebook post or just the desire and curiosity to see the latest gossip or political news on Huff Post stops me in my tracks. But a true diversion is heavenly and was much needed this week of all times. I took an early train into Paris Thursday morning and spent a wonderful, wonderful day, despite the chill wind and threatening skies, with David and The One, lunching à la française on roasted chicken, cheesy potato gratin, green beans and ratatouille. And chilled white wine, bien sûr! We talked the day away, pausing long enough and with much regret that the day was so short, to dash to the gorgeous Luxembourg Gardens whose beauty had long slipped out of memory and mind, to hug and chat with Renee until it was sadly time to run (literally) to my train for home, much too soon.

And the little dog’s progress is up and down like some out-of-control roller coaster ride. We finally picked him up, brought him home, gave him a warm bath and he is now snuggling in his comfy, cozy, familiar poof. And we wait… once again…patience, patience… to see how each of us live this weekend.

Have a heart that never hardens, 

and a temper that never tires, 

and a touch that never hurts. 

– Charles Dickens 

Fried egg sandwiches were a comfort food of my youth. A single, tiny, one-egg omelet placed on white sandwich bread, soft and chewy, slathered with ketchup and eaten on the sly, alone, was my mother’s private treat, something, like her chilled, sugary, milky iced coffee or a bowl of creamed corn soup, that she made and kept just for herself. I learned to make my own and did once in a blue moon when I craved that sensual blend of flavors, the tang of ketchup against the blandness of the egg, when I needed the tenderness, the silence of this perfect snack. I still make one for myself every now and then (although one fried egg sandwich usually leads immediately to a second). Love and comfort between two slices of white.

When we moved to Italy, we discovered a Milan specialty which often replaces it: gently blanched asparagus, slender and green, if you please, lined up on a plate and topped simply with a fried egg sunny side up. Just crack an egg and slide it into sizzling butter in a skillet, salt and pepper and cook until the white is firm, the edges are golden brown and the yolk is just set on the outside but still runny inside. Slide onto the asparagus, top with freshly grated Parmesan cheese, as much as desired, freshly ground black pepper and a dash of salt and eat immediately.

I have replaced the traditional (and our usual) fried sunny side up with a soft boiled egg, just 5 minutes in order to guarantee that the white is cooked and firm and the yolk stays runny. Gently peel (don’t burn your fingers), place on the tender-cooked asparagus, dust with grated Parmesan, salt and pepper (I used Halen Mon smoked sea salt!!) and serve!

Comfort, love and goodness on a plate. Healthy, light, seasonal, this is a wonderful dish for lunch or as a starter for an elegant meal. Milan-Style Asparagus with Egg and Parmesan is pure sophistication at its rustic best.

Feel free to follow your Milan-Style Asparagus with Egg and Parmesan with a bowl of Tiramisu or a Cherry Prosecco Granità.

I want to share this with Jeanne and Meeta for this month’s Monthly Mingle. This month’s Mingle theme, chosen by Jeanne, our hostess with the mostess, is a Taste ofYellow for Barbara. You have read my post on the passing of a friend and beloved and generous food blogger, Barbara of Winos & Foodies who recently lost her very long battle against cancer. This Monthly Mingle is for her. We are all cooking and baking in yellow.

MILAN-STYLE ASPARAGUS WITH EGG AND PARMESAN

6 – 10 stalks of asparagus per serving/person, as desired (slender green asparagus is traditional)
1 large egg per serving/person
Parmesan cheese
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Butter if frying the eggs
Olive oil, if desired

Trim the tough ends of the stalks of the asparagus and discard. Heat a large shallow pan with water (large enough to hold the asparagus) and bring to the boil. Add a large pinch of salt, lower the flame, slide in the asparagus and gently simmer until tender, about 10 minutes depending on the toughness and thickness of the asparagus and how tender you like them). When done, lift out the asparagus with a large slotted spoon, drain and divide among the plates.

For soft boiled eggs (like in the photos), simply boil the eggs on a low boil for 5 minutes, drain and peel off the shell very gently so as not to break the eggs themselves (do this under cool running water or in a bowl of cool water so as not to burn your fingers). Place one egg on top of the asparagus on each plate.

Drizzle a tablespoon or so of olive oil over each serving of asparagus and egg, dust generously with freshly grated Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper and serve immediately.

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BETTER-THAN-BROWNIES CHOCOLATE FROSTED CAKE BARS

A BUMP OR TWO IN THE ROAD

All of life is a foreign country. 

– Jack Kerouac 

A turbulent, highly emotional week. We all have them, don’t we? Where the stars simply refuse to align, when it feels as if someone is skulking in the shadows and tossing sticks and rocks in the road, along your path, to trip you up. Things are going absolutely swimmingly, everything is falling into place just beautifully, people who count are offering you lovely words and promises on silver platters, roses for the plucking. Things just can’t get any better, can they? You have been waiting years and years for things to happen in just this way and then…. Oooh you have one of those weeks. Inexplicable, unfathomable, bewildering.

It all started out so perfectly, you say. A romantic anniversary trip with the man of your life, one son finally… um, one son moving out, a new apartment on the horizon and life was good. You were at the height of your popularity; opportunity had not only knocked but walked right in, sat down in your best armchair and made himself at home, like an old friend. A good haircut and regular exercise and you were feeling tip top.

When it rains, it pours, as the old saying goes. When everything is going smoothly and well, when we are showered with accolades, crowned with laurels, we smile in contentment and whisper to ourselves “Ah, yes, it’s about time, ain’t life grand!” We jump to the conclusion that after all of the hard times that life has laid at our doorstep, after all the troubles and tears, our reward has finally come. Everything that we now are reaping is well deserved for our hard work and patience, our diligence and honesty. We smile to ourselves and slap each other contentedly on the back and congratulations all around that we have finally passed over the hump and are on smooth ground and rolling forward fast. And we gather all of the good things that begin coming our way, ticking each one off on our fingers: it’s a veritable onslaught of greatness and success and it looks like this is the beginning of the rest of our life! Bring it on!

You must learn to deal with the odd and even in life, as well as in figures. 

- George Eliot, Adam Bede 

And then BOOM it all comes tumbling down, crumbling around our feet fast and furious. The first little thing happens and we try and catch it quickly quickly like a flitting butterfly just out of reach. It slips through our fingers and we sigh and shrug our shoulders and think to ourselves “Oh well, everything else is going so beautifully. This is just a tiny bump in the road.” And then another thing falls and a third and so on and so forth and when it rains, it pours. What happened? Just when it was going all so perfectly! “No! No! No!” we scream! “This can’t be happening to me! Not now! Not when everything that I’ve built up was just starting to work! Not when everyone was so happy!”

Any fool can have bad luck; the art consists in knowing how to exploit it. 

– Frank Wedekind 

Oh well. What can we do? We take a huge breath, dig in our heels and come to the decision that we won’t cave in. Nope. Won’t give in. We’ll put up a fight, right? We hold court, discuss with family and friends, plan our war strategy and yell “No more Mr. Nice Guy!” Things may all happen at once; it may seem as if our world is falling down around us, but we have stopped accepting what we once considered the inevitable. Our little dog ends up in hospital, the apartment owner is pushing us around and not keeping to his word or his promises, editors change, the summer holiday is rained out and, well, you get the picture, but don’t worry. Things will all turn out for the best. They will. I promise.

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life — It goes on. 

– Robert Frost 

And what better way to soothe our souls and lift up our spirits than something dense and gooey and oh-so chocolaty? Add to that a thick, rich dark chocolate ganache frosting and you can curl up on the sofa in front of a good archeology documentary or a trashy reality show and thank your lucky stars that you are surrounded by people you love. And who love you back! Son is settling in his apartment only coming home to do a load of laundry and drag out another sack or two of stuff. And meanwhile he is working in the neighboring town redesigning the waterfront. And young son, no, he’s not found a summer job and doesn’t much seem like he’s really looking for one; but meanwhile he and his year’s experience of construction and renovation in New Orleans are lined up to help us with apartment renovations. And two of his friends have even volunteered to work alongside of him, the only payment they ask are regular meals and dessert. Marty was rushed to the hospital but has made it through surgery just fine and will be home in just a few days.

This is yet another recipe from my Taste of Home Baking cookbook which I love. Taste of Home, generous sponsors of From Plate to Page, test all recipes so one can be assured that each delicious, homey, comforting recipe really works. This wonderful frosted cake bar – in the book they are called brownies – is better than a brownie, dense and moist, almost chewy, so full of chocolate flavor which is heightened by the glossy, creamy ganache frosting. I added whole macadamia nuts, but these can be replaced by any nut, from hazelnuts to traditional walnuts or pecans to fun salted peanuts. One can also add a variety of flavors to the cake batter: cinnamon, grated orange zest, orange or coffee extract, instant espresso powder… and the list goes on. (stay tuned for an incredible series of giveaways on The Plate to Page website & blog!)

The house seems so empty. Waking up in the morning without hearing the distant rumble of dog snoring, knowing that he won’t be bounding happily into the bedroom and diving into the bed with us leaves us feeling rather lonely. We realize how important he is to the family and what a huge space he takes up in our home and our lives. We put our foot down and stood up for our rights and cancelled the apartment signing; the owner scrambled and took care of what he had to take care of and now we have a new signing date. We are now back to discussing kitchens, bathrooms and paint color. More updates as they happen.

You may have read my post about the loss of a wonderful, generous, much-loved fellow food blogger and friend Barbara of Winos & Foodies. This month's Monthly Mingle event, created by Meeta of What's For Lunch, Honey? is being hosted by Jeanne of Cook Sister! and in honor of Barbara the theme is A Taste of Yellow for Barbara. I ask each of you to participate.

I was interviewed by my friend Mark of Javelin Warrior for his series Food Fetish Friday as his Featured Foodie! Don't miss it!

BETTER THAN BROWNIES CHOCOLATE FROSTED CAKE BARS

1 cup (225 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
2 cups (400 g) sugar
4 large eggs
2 tsps vanilla
1 cup (140 g) flour
¾ cup (about 80 g) cocoa powder
½ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon, optional
1 cup nuts, whole or coarsely chopped, or more, as desired

Frosting:
1 ½ cups (about 200 g) semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped or chips
2/3 cup (165 ml) heavy whipping cream
2 Tbs (30 g) unsalted butter, softened

(Here I must give the quantities in the cookbook: 2 cups chocolate chips, about 12 ounces/340 g; 1 cup/250 ml heavy whipping cream; 2 Tbs/30 g unsalted butter. I felt these quantities would give too much frosting. I also found that 12 ounces chocolate would come to much more than 2 cups. So I cut back on all ingredients.)

Prepare the Chocolate Brownie Cake Bars:

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Grease a 13 x 9-inch baking pan.

In a large bowl, whisk or beat the butter with the sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time, adding the vanilla with the last egg. Combine the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt (and a teaspoon of cinnamon, if desired) and gradually beat or stir into the batter. Fold in the nuts.

Spread the batter evenly in the prepared pan and bake for 30 to 35 minutes until just set in the center. Do not overbake. Remove from the oven and allow to cool before frosting.

Prepare the frosting by melting the chocolate with the cream in a microwave; stir until the chocolate is completely melted and the mixture is smooth. Stir in the softened butter; it may look curdled and greasy but continue to stir or whisk vigorously until it turns into a very smooth, creamy, glossy frosting, just a couple of minutes.

Immediately spread evenly over the chocolate cake. Allow to set before cutting into bars.

Store in the refrigerator.
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ROAD TRIP TO NORMANDY

The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; 

it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land. 

– G. K. Chesterton 

Road trip! Freedom, the wind in our hair, sun streaming in the open windows to warm our bodies as adventure heats our souls. Road trip! How long has it been? How long have we yearned for the freedom, the reckless irresponsibility of our days and hours, the excitement and romance of finding ourselves alone, totally alone to do as we please and with only ourselves to please? He yanks off his tie, throws his jacket carelessly across the back seat and yells “Road trip!” joyously, loudly, for all on that Parisian street to hear. I laugh along with him as I slide into the passenger seat, kick off my boots, shrug off my coat and prepare myself for whatever excitement lies ahead.

I’ve lived in France for a very long time. I am married to a Frenchman who knows this country and her history like the back of his hand. We’ve done our fair share of traveling, roads of discovery, days of revelation. Yet as it had been quite some time (some would say much too long) since our last vacation, we decided that it was time to get away for a few days and leave Marty in the capable hands of Simon. But where to go? We flipped through travel magazines and guide books, mulled it over and discussed it up and down as we scrolled through google maps and this website and that. Italy again? Basque country? A bike trip through Holland? Should we board a plane for lands unknown? The wild jungles of New York City, the blazing heat of India, a cool Nordic landscape?

I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list. 

– Susan Sontag 

And finally he came up with our destination: Normandy! A short drive from Paris and a shorter drive home, he offered me another taste of his own country, promising me the discovery of a region I have never visited. No exotic voyage, no far away lands, no airplane tickets tucked into hand luggage, simply a few things tossed into a suitcase thrown into the back of the car, him and me. Yes, I have lived in France for eons and travelled well and often, yet there is so much I have yet to see. And together we find adventure, create spectacular experiences wherever we go. Sea breezes, history, beautiful landscapes and stunning monuments enough to fill up as many days as we decide to stay away for was our need and our agenda.

Langeais. What the Foulques? Foulques Nerra conquers Langeais at the end of the X Century and builds a chateau. The House of Anjou, the Plantagenet Empire, tormented, turbulent, eventful, Langeais eventually returns to France. Kings and Lords, and finally an historic royal marriage and one that particularly excited me: the union of our own Anne de Bretagne, Duchess of Brittany, and Charles VIII, King of France, in 1491! Which began the attachment of Brittany to France. And a rather titillating story of Anne’s marriage to two Kings of France, the second which was in her prenup for the first….

A stunning day, a stroll through the beautiful gardens of the chateau and through the town.

Bayeux. Deep in the heart of Calvados. Approaching the Channel, the air is decidedly cooler, the sun brilliant, guiding us through the lovely, picturesque streets of this ancient yet pristine town. Remnants of the glory and splendor of this magnificent city hint of past turbulence and upheaval. We spend part of the morning in a long, dark corridor, entranced by the tapestry that tells the tale of the events leading up to the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. William the Conqueror, Odo and Harold, the glories of battle in tiny stitches of black, green, terracotta and gold, towers set aflame, boats in movement on rocky waves, galloping horses carrying messengers bringing news of life and death, scenes of war and scenes of reconciliation, an exciting tale told in comic book scenes.

Weaving through the streets of Bayeux, snapping pictures, picking up what is needed for a picnic for two.

To travel is to take a journey into yourself. 

— Danny Kaye 

Omaha Beach. Up and along the coast, the Channel, I keep thinking of my dear old dad fighting in the Pacific, wondering aloud why those brave souls aren’t remembered, aren’t made as much of as those who defended this small stretch of beach, but that is the daughter in me speaking. Cool, clear water, grassy dunes, a picnic spread out between us, baguette and local jambon de Bayeux and farm fresh Camembert. Listening to a silly man puffed up with extraordinary self-importance as he speaks very loudly in heavily accented English, some kind of improvised tour guide imposed upon this apparently bored and hapless family. His arms flailing in an odd jointless way as he walks, his voice carries on the wind as he offers minute details of every single soldier that stood on every inch of dune or fired a shot from every single bunker. JP and I roll on the ground with laughter as we imitate him. Wander up and through the sprawling cemetery, silence, sadness, disbelief hang heavily over the white marble headstones, crosses and stars trailing into the distance, standing straight as soldiers.

Barfleur, Bricquebec, Saint Saveur le Vicomte, Coutances. Up, up, up and around we drive. He craves the sea, any body of water will do even if we spot land far off in the hazy distance edging the horizon; that is deep water rushing in between. We dine on moules frites more than we care to admit, but when in Rome do as the Romans and when in Normandy…

We wind our way along the stunning coastline, breathtaking every inch of the way. We are astonished at the purity and cleanliness of this whole region, from the largest town to the tiniest village, from the rolling countryside to the sandy seaside. The people are kind and generous, shops open, everyone speaks at least a dab of English, as if recognizing what they owe the American, Canadian and English forces, appreciative of the tourism those past horrid events have brought to this cool, green sweep of land like nowhere else in France that we’ve been.

And a final meal before we find our way home, yearning, as we are, to be back in our nest, in our own bed and own kitchen and familiar surroundings with sons and warm dog. A final meal selected carefully from the guide, studied and researched as we studied cathedrals and churches and old Roman ruins. The descriptions held promise and although it was a winding drive from where we found ourselves, we decided to make the trip. Sometimes, you know, one just has that feeling that something will turn out better than expected, a rare pearl, worth the trip.

Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen, 

and thinking what nobody has thought. 

– Albert Szent-Gyorgyi 

And this trip, this region was indeed a rare pearl, a stunning find. With our eye resolutely on the future, we set our sights on Bayeux, on Normandy, adding it to a fragile, romantic yet concise list of where we could one day live. We gathered our belongings, climbed back into the car and headed home.

Life is a voyage. 

– Victor Hugo 

Just a few memorable addresses:

Café de France
12, quai Henri Chardon
50760 Barfleur.
Tel: 02 33 54 00 38.
Excellent moules frites and a cold beer.

Le Jules Gommès
34 Rue du Vaudredoux
50590 Regnéville-sur-Mer
Tel: 02 33 45 32 04
Restaurant and pub, fabulous food, great service, worth the detour.

Hôtel d’Argouges
21, rue Saint-Patrice
14400 Bayeux
Tel: 02 31 92 88 86
hotel.dargouges@gmail.com
Beautiful hotel in the center of Bayeux, clean, comfortable, quiet, excellent, friendly service.
Speaks English even when you speak French.

Hôtel des Ormes
13 Promenade Barbey d'Aurévilly
50270 Barneville-Carteret
Tel: 02 33 52 23 50
hoteldesormes@wanadoo.fr
Small cosy hotel, very pretty and elegant. Comfortable rooms, friendly service.
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