inside marie's kitchen

My first week in Provence I was invited to the home of Stephane & Marie Andre who live in the tiny village of Sanilhac, near Uzes. At the front door Stephane proudly pointed out his fig trees & almond trees, the chickens at the bottom of the garden, a sheep, rabbits, & a green stretch of land with large trees that belongs to him. The fragrance of flowering mint, like jasmine & honeysuckle, surrounded the entrance. He led me inside to meet his children, Mathieu & Theo, & his wife, Marie, who was at work preparing our lunch – an event I eagerly anticipated after the way Stephane had praised her cooking.

Marie was in the kitchen area at one end of the large living room. She wiped her hands on her apron & came over to greet me and shake my hand. It was so gracious & easy; no worry about leaving the kitchen or having to rush back. We continued to talk while she went back to work.

I think all kitchens should be part of the living room of a house. How could a room be more alive than that? Why should the cook be isolated? Perhaps it’s a holdover from the days when the cook was an employee & not part of the family which is hardly the case these days in most households in the western world. If I ever build my own house I’ll make the kitchen the central point of the whole place. I spend so much time in my kitchen & the little dining area next to it. It’s where I live; where I want to spend my time. That’s why this bloggidy blog is named what it is.

Marie’s kitchen walls were covered in brightly colored Spanish tiles. I noticed she was pressing the tines of a fork into small pastries & I came over to watch what she was doing. Empanadas, she explained to my surprise. Turns out Marie is Spanish -- and empanadas come from Spain (and I thought they were Mexican). Stephane served an aperitif, a subtly sweet Malagan wine from Marie’s home town in Spain. The boys played on the computer.

Stephane is a school-teacher; Marie runs a small day care from the house. They left Paris six years ago for the sake of their children’s health. They work hard for their simple but comfortable life in the country & are happy with their choice. They have a mortgage on the house, two cars, one quite old, & a computer; with two incomes they just manage to cover expenses.

Marie had recently purchased a friteuse & was making good use of it today. She deep-fried the empanadas which were stuffed with a combination of dark tuna (canned), tomato sauce (her own), & chopped hard-boiled eggs (laid that day by her own hens). They came out light, golden, crispy and, as I would soon discover, bursting with flavor. Beside these she had prepared a grated carrot salad with bits of pine nuts, & fresh boiled broccoli swimming in olive oil, flavored with garlic. She served the colorful meal on individual, large white, rectangular plates which she set in front of each place at the dining table.

The main feature of the meal was a rectangular tart placed in the center of the rectangular plate. I worked my way around this tart, tasting first the salad, the vegetables, then an empanada, and a warm cheese twist which she had also made herself. Everything was delicious.

At last I tasted Marie’s tart. I closed my eyes, contemplated, & had to ask what it was. Pear, she said, with Roquefort & walnuts. What a surprise! Of course, it was exactly that. I was intrigued by the combination of ingredients but even more by the subtlety of their tastes. The pears, finely sliced, were laid in a shallow layer in the center of the pastry, about the size of my hand. The Roquefort was not visible but its flavor affected the sweetness of the pears without dominating them, and the nuts were but small pieces strewn sparsely over the whole. Of course Marie’s pastry dough was made with pure butter, French butter, the best butter in the world, and so flaky & light it nearly rose off the plate. What a delight!

This surprising tart taught me a much-needed cooking lesson. Had I made it I’m sure I would have been too heavy-handed. I would have made a thick layer of pears & plastered the cheese over it like a pizza just because I love the tastes of pear & Roquefort, & the nuts would have covered everything. But I would have been wrong. Savoring the delicacy of flavors which blended in my mouth without attacking my senses I realized how true it is that less is more. What an idea – to use flavors to tease the palate while bringing complete satisfaction.

Now I understand the odd way Stephane described his wife’s cooking. He’d said she likes to mix salty & sweet & get something that is neither, yet is a balance of both.

This she achieved magnificently & I aspire to Marie’s refined, sensitive culinary skill.