Going to the sea.

Heading to Cassis seems to have turned into an annual tradition of sorts.  There are worse things. 

This time, I avoided all the highways.  It took most of the day to get there, but it was magical.  We went through the tiniest Provencal villages, through big cities (Nimes and Marseille), and above all through the rolling, endlessly changing countryside. 

The fruit and vegetable stands, with their hand-lettered signs, were up and running nearly everywhere.  The cigales were screeching away; we knew this because the top stayed down the entire trip. 

We stopped for lunch and a wander in Salon-de-Provence, made memorable by its remarkable fontaine moussue. 

 

The fountain dates from the sixteenth century, and the lime deposits from the water have made over time a natural sculpture covered in moss and fairy-light, fern-like vegetation.  Underneath the mushroom-shaped limestone, water drips constantly.  It is hypnotic, a cave in the making, in the bright light of day.

The animation of the cities has become a bit unfamiliar and exciting for us, so it was also a pleasure to drive through them.  But I had a specific idea in mind: I was willing to risk hitting Friday evening rush hour in Marseille for the sake of D559.   Also known as La route de la Gineste, D559 runs from Marseille to Cassis, above the deep, rocky coastal inlets, and across the windswept limestone clifftops and plateau.  It is not to be missed. 

See the tiny houses in that valley?  Breath-taking terrain, every inch of the way, and then, after the nth hairpin turn, Cassis and its golden rockface swerve into view. 

This was the view from our room, taken by my five year old while I was having a well-earned shower.

I have written about Cassis before, here and here and here, so the basics about this charmingly low-key port have been covered.  But there are always lovely spots in Cassis to admire--and photograph.

To better see some of the detail of this gorgeous Ferris Wheel, you can click on the image.  My son's in the St. Exupery/Le Petit Prince airplane...

In the center of the photo below, two men are sea jousting (you might have to click on the image again to better see).  Each standing on a fast-moving boat, the opponents are trying to knock one another into the cold water using lances.  Sea jousting dates from Ancient Greece and Rome, and has been played in port and river towns across France since the time of the Romans.  Provencal sea jousting (joute nautique) is considered the most aggressive of the various versions.  These days, even women have begun to joust, according to the national federation.

I watched from the balcony, and decided I'd rather stroll around looking at boats rather than falling off them.

Once back from Cassis, my kids spent the day at our neighbor's place.  Building a hut in their dry riverbed was the main order of the day, but the children also collected pinecones.  Arriving on the tail end of their foraging session, I was able to grab a couple of cones. 



These cones are from a very large, mature umbrella pine, and you can see the seed pods are tucked back in between the scales.  While this wasn't the greatest year for pine nuts, there is still nothing finer than to dislodge the seed pods, and, using a small stone, crack open the seed pods and eat the creamy colored pine nut within.  Fresh pine nuts have a slightly resinous, almost eucalyptic flavor, far more intense than anything found in a store.  They taste simply spectacular, which perhaps explains why I have never been able to get anyone to collect them for anything other than their own immediate consumption.  If you are lucky enough to get your hands on some fresh pine nuts, or you choose to go the storebought route, I have just the recipe.  I found it in Real Simple magazine years ago, a simple riff on Italian biscotti ai pinoli, which I slightly tweaked; it is devoured by kids and adults alike.  I haven't made it lately (hence the lack of a photo).  Let me know what you think.  I'd love to post a photo of your cookies, so do send me one if you try the recipe.

Biscuits au pin de pignon (Pine Nut Drops)

Makes about 40 cookies.

2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons agave or corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 large egg
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 1/2 cups raw pine nuts

Preheat oven 190C/375F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Beat the butter, brown and granulated sugars, corn syrup, and vanilla for two minutes using an electric mixer. Add egg and beat until combined. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, baking soda and spices. Reduce mixer speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture to the egg mixture.

Shape the dough into tablespoon-size balls. Spread the pine nuts in a low dish. Roll each ball in the pine nuts, pressing so the nuts adhere. Place the balls two inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake until just lightly browned at the edges, about 12 minutes. Cool on the baking sheets for five minutes. Transfer the cookies to wire racks and cool completely.

Seaside color.

Hello again! I'm still shaking the sand out of the beach bag, as my family got together for some sun and fun in Cassis. Here's some of what I saw... Tablecloths for sale, swaying in the breeze.
Beans at the market. I should have gotten some...
Colorful bracelets for the summer.
Linen blouse with pretty details.
Breakfast options.
Better than television: watching the action on the square.
A secluded cove, where you can see the native Aleppo pines growing directly out of the limestone rock.
Moroccan pottery.
Mediterannean multi-tasking: hop off your scooter, grab a bite to eat, peel off your shirt and people-watch while you catch some rays.
Local olives.
Some good-looking fig jam. I should have picked some of that up too, come to think of it.
Coeur de boeuf (heart of beef) tomatoes.
The first golden plums I've seen. (I'm already stockpiling jars because I'm going to have a serious bumper crop of Reine-Claudes--greengages--this year).
Keeping it down-home and local.
I ate at Nino's, a family culinary institution right in the port which has been serving meals without interruption since 1962.
Anise-infused pastis is the drink on the coast. I love the notion, the reality is more of an acquired taste. Little old hat-wearing men sit around drinking it.
Cassis is a charming little port village, with more than its share of restaurants.
Color, and laundry, everywhere.
The Mediterannean unfortunately doesn't have the fish stocks it used to; most of the boats in the port are for pleasure.
Not too far off, there are also some camp sites tucked under very large, airy pines, where some of these sun-burned vacationers head off to in the evenings.The calanques are every bit as beautiful as in these postcards. If you find yourself in Cassis, you musn't miss them.
There are shade-giving platanes (plane/sycamore trees) with their distinctive 'camouflage' bark in every village, and Cassis is no exception.
Street jazz. Young and talented.
The sun is so bright, you tan even under a rented parasol.
I could have put up so many more photos...Oleander everywhere, in all the hues from whites and peaches to reds, fuschia bougainvillea draped over walls, blue plumbago in full bloom.
I mightily enjoyed some eggplant caviar at a beach restaurant. Inspired, I'll be whipping this up after I've stocked up at the farmer's market tomorrow; we've got a full house, and I enjoy keeping tasty, make-in-advance spreads and finger foods within arm's reach. If you've never had this before, do give it a whirl. It's just the ticket with a glass of white wine in the late afternoon...I like this version (there are many out there), by Hubert Keller.

Caviar aux Aubergines (Eggplant Caviar)

Serves about four. Can easily be doubled or tripled.

1 large eggplant, halved lengthwise
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small baguette, thinly sliced (1/4 inch thick)
1 medium red bell pepper, diced
1 small onion, minced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 large tomato--peeled, seeded and cut into1/8 -inch dice
3 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons minced chives
2 tablespoons minced fresh basil

Preheat the oven to 180C°. Brush the cut sides of the eggplant with 1 teaspoon of the olive oil. Set the eggplant, cut sides down, on a baking sheet and roast for about 1 hour, or until tender and collapsed. Let cool. Arrange the bread slices on another baking sheet and brush lightly with olive oil. Bake for about 8 minutes, or until golden and crisp.

Heat 1 teaspoon of the olive oil in a nonstick skillet. Add the red pepper, onion and garlic and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are softened but not browned, about 6 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and let cool.

Using a spoon, scrape the eggplant flesh from the skin; discard the skin. Finely chop the flesh and add the eggplant to the sautéed vegetables. Stir in the tomato, 2 teaspoons of lemon juice and the remaining 1 teaspoon oil. Taste and adjust seasoning, adding more lemon juice if necessary; refrigerate until slightly chilled. Stir the chives and basil into the eggplant caviar and serve with the toasted slices of bread.

(The eggplant can be refrigerated for up to 1 day; store the croutons at room temperature. Let the caviar stand at room temperature for 20 minutes before serving.)

Approaching the summer solstice.

Any excuse for a party. "Vive les Fêtes de la Transhumance!"

It's that time of year again: with the advent of summer, thousands of Cevenol sheep, goats, herders and their working dogs have made the trek toward the cooler mountain meadows and plateaux. This annual migration is called the transhumance. The migrations have taken place since Roman times, as noted by Pliny the Elder and corroborated by recent archeological finds. Today, the ageless traditions continue--the head ewes get the fanciest bells, and all the sheep are marked with each family's symbol, using a colorful dye. They walk for days, winding through the countryside slowly upward. They make their clanging, steady way through small villages, where the women stand watching in the doorways, broom at the ready to prevent any nibbling of their roses. In some places, it becomes a full-scale party, and a chance to celebrate the old pastoral ways. (The photos above are courtesy of http://www.transhumance.org/).Some of the herders lead their animals past my gate, as you can see in the photo above, which I took last year.Using wool from local sheep, the kids made a felt wine cooler for Father's Day (we've got some leeway, as he's only due back later in the week). You can see an armful of shorn, 'raw' wool in the photo above. It's even softer than it looks...

...and here's Daddy's gift for being Daddy. Pretty nifty, don't you think?

We're also busy harvesting the raspberries and black currants. Some berries are macerating in sugar overnight, and will soon be converted to jam and slathered across warm bread, or swirled into a bowl of homemade yogurt.

There is such a bumper crop of black currant that I will once again make some liqueur, or crème de cassis. I have discovered that beyond the classic kirs and other cocktails, it makes a sumptuous flavoring agent for sorbets, cakes and dessert sauces.

Now it's just a matter of time before the cherries fully ripen (darn delayed season and missing sun!) and the blackberries come into their own...mmm, blackbery crumble, blackberry cobbler, blackberry jam, blackberry everything.