Photogravure

Last weekend we had another etching course at Maison Conti. This time the class was offered in French, which presented me with the challenge of learning quite a bit of new vocabulary. It was what they call here, "un coup de pied aux fesses", (a kick in the butt) for my advancement in the French language, which does not come easily to me at all. The other interesting aspect of the course was that the participants had never done any printmaking before, so they were brave new souls and it was important to get down to basic explanations and to design projects which would allow everyone to have success. Being on the spot to create beautiful works of realistic art is something that can fill people with anxiety. Many people have had such bad experiences with drawing that they have not picked up a pencil and had a crack at making a drawing since they were children, so the idea of drawing on a piece of metal is not necessarily a happy one. I feel as if my main responsibility as a workshop leader is to be sure that everyone enjoys themselves! And nothing is more enjoyable than creating successful art work. One of the reasons I enjoy etching so much is that the results are often very rich and beautiful, just by nature of the process itself. One does not need to be a talented artist in order to make beautiful etchings. The participants were Michèle, who is French-Canadian, but now lives in Paris with her husband Philippe. She is a writing instructor and discovered our course in a general brochure which advertises our area of France and some of its activities. Although she had no idea about the process, it sounded interesting to her and she signed up to come. Philippe spent several years as a French diplomat and has literally traveled the world. His collection of photographs chronicles these years. He is a very fine amateur photographer and because of this, I suggested that I could organize the class so that I would teach them a little etching and my husband Rick could show them how we create our photogravures . They seemed excited by the idea. Because it is always more fun to have at least four people in a class, I invited our friends Françoise and Bernard to join in. They graciously accepted. Françoise is a writing instructor, but also an accomplished potter and enjoys artistic pursuits. I think she is the only one in the class who has some adult experience in drawing. Bernard is the kind of person who is competent at just about everything, and really enjoys figuring out how things are put together and function. He also turns out, to my surprise, to be a clever artist. Françoise and Bernard also launched and manage an organization in Mali, which sponsors a village there. They visit Africa often. Like Michèle and Philippe, they are world travelers. It was a very harmonious group of people, which, of course makes it all so much more interesting for everyone. I began in the morning with an explanation of the soft ground technique, which allows one to make an impression of natural objects into a protective varnish and then etch the impressed images in a very delicate way. No drawing necessary! Everyone was able to not only get the idea right away, but went right to creating their own designs, using dried grasses, fabric, lace, leaves, crumpled paper and various other found objects. It was rather delightful that everyone seemed to adopt the same can-do spirit and worked at exactly the same pace. Before lunch, we had designed, etched and printed four very charming images, one for each participant. After lunch Rick took over with the photogravure portion of the instruction, and people really came alive with this technique. People had brought their photos and we had a great deal of satisfaction looking at the lovely images and choosing the best for the technique. Bernard chose an old photo of his great grand father, a seaman from Brittany. We first made a transparancy and then exposed the image onto a photo sensitive plate. Rick has built a box with a UV light which can expose the transparancy which is placed over the photosensitive plate and pressed under glass, to keep it flat. There are various steps to follow, but the technique is quite simple and anyone can have success, once they understand and follow the necessary steps. Once exposed to the light, the photosensitive plate is developed in a water bath. It's quite magical to watch the image emerge. The plate is inked and printed in the traditional way. We all gather around when a plate comes off the press. It's the exciting moment when you see what you've created! Bernard was pleased with the results from his plate, and plans to give a copy of the print to each of his brothers and sisters. Of course a handmade print of old family photos, impressed onto luscious all-cotton paper, is a fabulous and unique and very personal gift! We worked for two days in the studio and each participant went away with three images. After we were finished, we relaxed together on the terrace before people left for home. On Sunday afternoon, when the Place was completely empty of other vehicles, two beautiful old antique cars rolled up in front of the house. It seemed a fitting end to a very aesthetic weekend!

La Boulangère

I have started a project of creating a collection of etchings of the notable people of our village. It is only right to begin with the baker, Madame Guedet. As all boulangers in almost any village in France, she is the heart of the community. If you want to know what's going on in the area, if you have any questions about procedures, coming events or even the health or activities of other residents, the baker is there to tell you. She knows who's getting married, who's on vacation, who is expecting, who got into a fight with whom. She hands out advice, gossip and counsel with every baguette and croissant. One gets an ear-full at the same time as a bag-full. For our bed and breakfast, we depend upon Madame Guedet each day for fresh bread. Her work begins at about 4AM, when she and her husband arrive at the bakery to prepare the morning offerings. Bread is baked freshly throughout the day. We visit her before breakfast, at lunch, and if we serve dinner, in the evening as well. Most all the villagers patronize her shop several times a day. She is constantly busy and one never arrives at the boulangerie without meeting neighbors. A transaction is not a perfunctory event. One must take the time to exchange a few words, opinions, stories and pleasantries. Besides, if you don't share your family events with Mme Guedet, how can she pass them on to your neighbors? When we first moved to town we remarked to someone that we didn't know anyone. They answered us, "You may not know them, but they know you." Better the baker should learn your news directly from you. The relationship with your baker is one of the most important ones you'll have in a small village like ours. The variety of breads a single baker makes in France is quite impressive. Michael Fenichel took this gorgeous photo of a boulangerie in Paris, with all the many sizes, shapes, colors and forms available from one small shop. It is well worth visiting Michael's site to see the original at a much larger size. Our region of France is particularly known for it's wonderful bread. Gourmet Magazine did an entire article about the Baguette du Perche in the March 2008 issue. Near us is a very special baker who creates this wonderful bread in his ancient stone oven. All his bread is made with sour dough starter that has been active for countless generations. His flour is grown organically and locally and milled by his cousin. He supplies bread for local markets, restaurants and to individuals who order directly from his farm, but he has no boulangerie of his own. He does not bake his bread every day, but when he does, he makes a couple of hundred loaves at the same time. He builds a roaring fire in his ancient brick oven, built into a hillside, early in the morning. In the fire he lays some large stones. After several hours, the fire burns itself out and the oven is very warm and ready to accept the loaves of bread which have been rising on long wooden tables. He pops all 200 loaves into the oven at the same moment. Warm stones are distributed between the uncooked bread, the wooden door is closed and the bread is left to cook. We have watched him while he takes the baked bread from the oven, raps each one with his knuckles to hear if it is done or not and then arranges the loaves in large handmade baskets to take to market. It's one of the most satisfying sights imaginable! In Paris there is at least one boulangerie every few blocks. Fauch0n, that palace of over-priced gastronomy, in the Place de la Madeleine, has a lively bread counter. But my favorite is Boulangerie Secco in the 7th arrondissement. There it is well-worth the wait to purchase some of their crusty breads, madeleines or tartes. This is also the favorite bakery of the cooking teacher at Maison Conti, who rides the metro for 40 minutes each way to purchase bread for her family. The importance of the baker in French culture was expressed most lovingly in the very famous novel written by Jean Giono La Femme du Boulanger - The Baker's Wife, and turned into a movie in 1938 by Marcel Pagnol. (Jean Giono was also the author of The Man Who Planted Trees.) The Baker's Wife tells the story of the village boulanger who becomes distraught when his young wife runs off with someone else. He can no longer concentrate well-enough to bake and so the town is without its bread. The town's people unite together in desperation and go after the wife convincing her to return to her husband. Harmony is returned when the couple is once again happily reunited. All is put to rights when the oven is fired up and the bread is on offer! Everyone is content.

Between Meals

It started after reading a charming editorial by one of my favorite NYT op-ed contributors, Verlyn Klinkenborg, entitled Some Thoughts on the Pleasure of Being a Re-Reader. In the piece the writer gives a rather long list of books that he re-reads every year. Among his favorite authors is A. J. Liebling, a former journalist for the New Yorker who died in 1963. Since I happened to have Between Meals, an Appetite for Paris by Liebling sitting, as yet unread, on my shelves, I pulled it down and read it from cover to cover. The book chronicles Liebling's student days in Paris during the 1920s and is basically an homage to French cooking, as it seems Liebling ate his way through the time he lived there. I have a serious weakness for books about France in general, but Paris in particular. If the book happens to have a focus on the food, then I probably own it. I may not have read it, but it's there on the shelf. Among the numerous books about French food I have read are A Goose in Toulouse, by Mort Rosenblum, the classic The Food of France, by Waverley Root, in which he divides France into three culinary sections based on the type of grease used in cooking: butter, oil or pork/goose fat and almost everything by M.F.K. Fisher. I've even read quite a lot of The Physiology of Taste, by Brillat-Savarin, who inspired them all. Yet I hadn't read any A.J. Liebling before this summer. I'm also a bit of a sucker for stories of Paris in the early part of the twentieth century. Has any city in history ever been such a symbol of freedom, creativity or the good life? Is there any more romantic image than Paris in the 20s? Has any other city ever inspired so many songs, books or poems? Has any city been a safe-haven to more foreigners? At the turn of the century American artists came to Paris by the scores, to learn at the feet of the French Impressionist and Expressionist painters. Mary Cassatt was the most famous of the lot, but there were many more who achieved prominence and who launched the American Impressionist school of painting. Then came jazz musicians and entertainers. Black performers particularly appreciated the sense of independence and acceptance they discovered in Paris. Josephine Baker was celebrated in Paris in a way she could not have been in New York at that time. Of course the twenties brought writers from all over the world as well. Samuel Beckett found the environment of Paris nurtured his creativity. The same was true for his fellow countryman, James Joyce, who of course couldn't even get his books published in his native Ireland. American writers like Henry Miller, Sherwood Anderson and Ezra Pound found their voices in the City of Light. Gertrude Stien, said "America is my country and Paris is my hometown". She was just one of many Americans who found something in Paris that they could not find at home. Certainly Ernest Hemingway was shaped by the years he spent in Paris. His Movable Feast, which has just been reissued this year, and rather controverisally edited by his grandson, is a wonderful recounting of the 20s in Paris. In my view it's the best thing he ever wrote. Almost all the books written in the 20s about Paris, mention the café culture and rhapsodize about the meals. Food was an integral part of the French experience. A J. Liebling was living in the Latin quarter while Hemmingway and other fellow American writers were populating Montparnasse. He says "The Americans in Montparnasse, sitting at their tables in front of Le Sélect and talking at each other, reminded me of monkeys on a raft." Liebling's views are certainly not in the main-stream. And while he never achieved the kind of acclaim that many other American writers of his generation did, he is a real writer's writer. Reading his sentences is like tasting the meals he so lovingly describes. He famously said of himself "I can write faster than anyone who can write better and better than anyone who can write faster." Between Meals is a very enjoyable read! Liebling certainly expresses some notions about Paris, food and women that one doesn't often hear. For one thing he begins the book by extolling the virtues of a big appetite. He regrets the current fashion in women's figures and praises the large, round and buxom women of his parent's generation. He regards the diminuation in the number of courses at the table (he prefers at least six) as a possible health crisis, as he postulates that losing one's big appetite is the beginning of a descent into death. I got the sense reading him that here is a true glutton. It was a lot of fun to read the book therefore, since gluttony is particularly frowned upon in our time and gluttons so often are over looked and misunderstood. Liebling marks the high point in French cuisine as the early 20th century, before the first war. He says that its decline was already beginning in the 20s, especially effected by the flapper figure and the fear of fat. Julia Child also marks that prejudice against butter which occurred during the mid-twentieth century, as really the death knell of fine dining. Even if Paris is not the same creative mecca it was in the early part of last century, and even if French cooking is no longer the only fine cuisine in the world, Americans still flock to Paris. There are 16,000 Americans who live full time in Paris. There is the American Hospital, the American Cathedral, the American Library and even a store called Thanksgiving where you can buy all foods American. When you walk down the street in Paris, 1 out of every 125 people you pass on the street was born in America. In Saint Germain des Pres English is heard almost as much as French.

The Fête Médiévale

Our little village of Montmirail is usually very quiet indeed. No more than 300 people live here and often it's just as quiet as if one were in the middle of the countryside. There is absolutely no light pollution, for example, and at night we can see the milky way from our windows. But once a year, the first weekend in August, there is a large Medieval fair which lasts for two days and brings three thousand people into town. Atelier Conti opens its doors and we have more visitors in an afternoon than during the rest of the year. Montmirail is a wonderful location for the re-creation of the middle ages. It has changed very little since those days. We are rated as a "petite cité de caractère" which means there is nothing to distract from the sense of days long past. We don't even have over-head power lines and no modern buildings to distract from the charm. The castle grounds are open to the public and lots of tents and various activities are set up. The town's people dress in costume. Demonstrations of ancient crafts and trades are given by genuine experts. Archery is a favorite activity for young and old alike. Children are treated to various distractions and games. And of course there is always lots of food! On Saturday evening there is a grand feast with Medieval food, drink and utensils, very wonderfully executed by the local folk. But the best event of all is donated by the family who live in the castle. They offer a fantastic display of fireworks to music. It is made to look as if the castle is in the middle of a war. It's tremendously exciting and impressive. We all clap when it's over.

Marie-Claire's Tarte

Getting the recipe for the wonderful tarte that Marie-Claire served us at her home for tea a few weeks ago, proved to be somewhat challenging. It wasn't that the recipe is a family secret. In fact Marie-Claire was extreemly generous and even told me she was "honored" to be asked. It was simply finding a moment to be in contact with her. Her daughter, our neighbor Anne, is my go-between, and she has been out of town lately. Finally Anne asked her mother to give me a call, which Marie-Claire kindly did. She offered to give me the recipe over the phone. I dutifully got my pencil and paper, and prepared to write it all down. Of course French is still something of a struggle to my Anglo ears, and doubly so on the telephone. There's a great advantage to being face-to-face with someone when it comes to understanding what they are saying. Then there is the issue of the technical nature of a recipe and the units of measures not being the same between the U.S. and Europe. I still can't think metrically. I therefore approached the conversation with a bit of trepidation and skepticism!

I began to take down the directions as Marie-Claire gave them to me, and as I listened I put down my pencil and paper. This was another wonderful example of something I was already well aware of. French do not think of cooking and recipes as Americans do! Rick and I took a cooking class in the Dordogne a few years ago. It was absolutely wonderful and involved goose livers, duck breasts, peaches, fresh figs and a few other choice ingredients put together in remarkable ways to create a meal which we then devoured together with gusto. Danielle, our instructor, had been one of the cooks at the Elysees Palace when François Mitterand was president of France. She would demonstrate the making of a sauce, for instance and say, "you add the liquid until it is the color of light tea" and we would say "but how much is that"? Or she would say "and stir the mixture over the heat until it is the consistency of thick cream" and we would ask "but for how long"? We kept trying to get exact measures and times, where as she was trying to give us principles.

She, as most great French cooks, work intuitively. She looks, she smells, she tastes and listens. She knows how much to add and how long to cook based on how things are progressing in real time, rather than following a strict recipe. There is nothing like cup measures, or tablespoons and teaspoons available in France. You have tea cups, you have tea spoons, you have soup spoons and these are the tools you use. No one seems disturbed if my tea cup is slightly bigger or smaller than yours! You add just the right amount of each ingredient and that's that. The right amount will change from season to season, from one time to the next.

So here is the recipe as Marie-Claire explained it to me: Take 125 g of butter, just the right amount of flour and mix them together with your hands until they are in little crumbs. Add about 2 soup spoons of water until the pastry holds together. When I tried this, I used 2 cups of flour and closer to 4 tablespoons of water, but I had a certain amount of raw dough left over.

Secret # 1: throw your rolling pin away. Next she said to pat this mixture into the tarte pan with your hands, until it holds the right shape. This makes for an extremely flakey and delicious crust.

The first fruit to add are apples. Secret #2: cut the apples very thinly. This was my mother's secret for the best apple pie in the world. Most people make their apples much too chunky, and they don't cook through...Cover the bottom with one layer only. I used 3 small apples.
Next cut up seasonal fruit and arrange in pan. I used 2 nectarines, 2 yellow peaches, 2 white peaches and 4 apricots. Secret # 3: the quality of the fruit, of course, is critical to your result. If your peach isn't delicious raw, it's not going to improve in flavor when it's cooked.
  On top sprinkle as much powdered sugar as strikes your fancy. I used about a half a cup. That is simply all there is to putting this masterpiece together.
  Secret # 4; Cook it fast, in a very hot over. #9 in Europe, which has got to be about 450º at least. I was a little afraid of that, so I backed it off at first to closer to 400, but then cranked it back up when I saw that the crust wasn't browning quickly enough. Cook for half an hour at the high heat. Secre #5: Put it under the broiler for just a few seconds after cooking to seal in all those good flavors. When I was done I was very pleased to discover how beautiful the tarte looked and how wonderful the aroma was! I didn't know if it was really going to compare to Marie-Claire's, but I had the opportunity to find out, since Anne and Christine had invited us to their house for dinner. I brought it along with us. Anne was impressed with the presentation of the tarte. After she'd had the chance to taste it she was very complimentary. I had almost reproduced her mother's tarte. There was only one small fault...when Marie-Claire had said "butter" I had assumed salted butter, which was a bad assumption. She had, of course, meant sweet butter. Another cultural wire crossed. In the U.S. one would say butter and mean salted butter and "sweet butter" to make the difference. Here is it exactly the opposite. The term butter means sweet butter. Anne could notice that one additional ingredient. Marie-Claire has invited me to a cooking party at her house in September. Maybe I'll learn a few new tricks!