Just the headlines and some real pie comfort.

Autumn and I are continuing to get reacquainted.  The bite of cold in the fingers, the ears.  The feel of a friend's frigid cheek, mid-kiss, at the outdoor market.  The critical eyeing of the mushrooms on display and tut-tutting over the cost.  In short, the usual.  Except this is France, and today, here's what we're facing:

Revolutionary woes: French airports face major strike disruption Tuesday

Half of all flights to and from Paris Orly airport and 30 percent of flights at Roissy-Charles de Gaulle and other French airports will be cancelled Tuesday due to strikes, aviation officials said. The civil aviation authority DGAC said it had ordered airlines to reduce their traffic after unions called the day of strikes, with the airport stoppage set to last 24 hours. Tuesday will be the seventh day of nationwide protests in two months against a government reform that will raise the retirement age from 60 to 62.
© 2010 AFP

But that's not all: France activates fuel supply crisis cell
France activated Monday an emergency government crisis cell charged with maintaining fuel supplies amid a strike that has shut down refineries and blocked storage depots, the interior ministry said. Interior Minister Brice Hortefeux decided to "activate from today the inter-ministerial crisis centre in order to assure the continuity of petroleum supplies," a statement said. Petrol distribution bodies UIP and UFIP said separately that pumps were starting to run out, with the UIP estimating that 1,500 out of 4,000 major service stations were affected. Most of France's oil refineries shut down production last week as part of a nationwide movement against plans to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62, and protests escalated Monday with truck drivers blocking access to depots.
© 2010 AFP

In practical terms: More than 1,000 French petrol stations run dry
Around 1,500 petrol stations located on the forecourts of French supermarkets had run out of fuel Monday amid strikes against pension reform, their industry association told AFP. Around 4,500 of France's 12,500 filling stations are attached to shopping centres, and they are the country's busiest, supplying 60 percent of the fuel used by French motorists. "Twenty to 25 percent of our distribution capacity is either stopped or in trouble," said Alexandre de Benoist, a senior official with Union of Independent Petroleum Importers, which represents the sector. He said that some regions, in particular Brittany and western France, were in a "very worrying" situation because fuel distribution stations were either on strike or blockaded by strikers from other sites. "There are at least 1,500 stations that have run out of at least one fuel product or are totally dry," he added.
© 2010 AFP

If you can't get enough of the hullabaloo, there's this: French truckers block roads as anti-reform protests escalate, and oh, yes, this: Go-slow protests hit French roads.  This all means far too many schools are on strike, as well as post offices, oh, the list of government-related strikers goes on.  As of today, here in the Gard, people are suddenly limited to 20 euros of gas at a time, thanks to those charming strikers. Living here, you learn to go with the flow, only my challenge is this: I am supposed to fly (on strike-prone Air France, boo hiss!) to New York City (oh yes!) this particular week, when all things transportation-related are a bit, well, hairy.  Wish me luck.  I have a few days yet.  This may all calm down by, say, Friday. 

 

Hmm. Much closer to the home front, my neighbors have finished their grape harvest some time ago.  The unmarked trail from kitchen door to forest is lightly carpeted with leaves. We've gathered the walnuts from under the big tree (well, what the squirrels left behind anyway).  It's an opportune time for some fine autumn comfort, using some of those walnuts in an easy-as-pie riff of a Bon Appétit recipe (October 2001).   This comfort comes dense, whole nuts bound only by cream and honey, contained within a gorgeous shortbread crust.  There's no complicated palaver with eggs. It's just the kind of thing you need to throw together and eat as the days grow colder.  It's maybe even just the ticket for a paralyzing national strike.

Tarte aux fruits secs et miel (Honeyed Autumn Nut Tart)
For the crust:
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, cut into smallish pieces
1 142 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
 OR 1 refrigerated, prepared pâte sablée/pâte brisée crust

For the filling:
3/4 cup whipping cream

1/2 cup (packed) brown sugar

1/2 cup darkest possible honey

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon rum

1/2 teaspoon blend of ground cloves and cardamom

2 1/2 cups coarsely chopped toasted nuts (can be a blend of cashews, walnuts, pinenuts or really, any other nuts)

1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 180C (350F).  Pulse butter, flour, brown sugar, and salt in a food processor until small lumps form. Press onto bottoms and up sides of small (about 9 inches) tart pan. If using a ready-made crust, transfer the crust to a tart pan, fold in any overhang to form double-thick sides, and place in freezer while preparing filling. 

Whisk cream, honey, sugar, vanilla, rum and spices in heavy, large saucepan. Add nuts. Simmer over medium heat until mixture is bubbling and darkens slightly, stirring until sugar dissolves, about 3 minutes. Spread filling evenly in crust. Spinkle salt evenly over tart. Bake until filling is deep golden brown (watch closely for signs of burned nuts, so much less yummy) and crust is golden, about 25 minutes. Cool completely before serving. Can be baked in advance. Cover and store at room temperature.

Sweet.

I've been going to the same beekeeper, Meger & Galibert, for the better part of a decade now, this even though it's not at all down the road, unlike say, my bee-keeping neighbor. In fact, there are probably a dozen different beekeepers operating closer by, and while I do try other artisanal honeys, I keep coming back to my favorite. My Parisian friends, whom I will be meeting up with in a sleepy Burgundy village over the weekend, asked that I pick up their favorite honey--from my favorite beekeeper. Before leaving the house, I remembered to slip my camera in my basket, so that you can come along for the ride.I remember one of the first times I came calling for some honey. The honey sales are in a barn right next to the house. This tiny, old lady came out of the kitchen pulling on her little sweater after I'd yanked at their bell (this was before they started posting their opening hours). I was appalled, as I suddenly realized it was siesta time, and I had most likely woken her. As we chatted, she mentioned she was feeling a bit tired, so I swiftly apologized for disturbing her, and she laughed at me, waving a dismissive, wrinkled hand: "Now don't you mind, I've been up since 4 am, getting the honey ready for the [outdoor] market. I'll have plenty of time to nap when I'm dead."Honey has been flowing in this family's veins for three generations. From the matriarch on down, everyone takes a tiny amount of royal bee jelly daily, slid under the tongue before breakfast, said to be good for immunity and energy. They're certainly all as spry as can be. The only time I've ever seen M.Meger down is when he talked about the heavy losses in his and fellow beekeepers' bee populations and the on-going global bee crisis.

The back of the truck.

Judging by the number of cups, medals and certificates lining the walls of the shop, I am not alone in my passion for their honey. They offer a dozen different kinds ranging from the palest, creamy AOC lavender of Provence honey and crystallized rosemary honey, to the far darker chestnut honey, metcalfa (or honeydew), and heather and the darkest of all, the pine honey and Corbières. They also sell their own pollen, beeswax, and certified (award-winning), highly potent royal bee jelly.

Scraping off the beeswax seal.

Many people make a real fetish of Provencal lavender honey, and theirs truly is stand-out: a pure, highly aromatic lavender honey. Having said this, I prefer the fuller-tasting rosemary, and their Provencal blend of lavender and wildflowers.

Once this extractor starts spinning, the honey will run down the inside walls.

My own real fetish? The darker the better, whether a blend or a single varietal. Some of the honeys approach molasses in appearance and taste, others have a distinct mineral or herbal overlay. Generally speaking, the darker the honey, the less sweet and more complex the taste.

There it comes out of the extractor...ready to eat!

Being self-respecting French beekeepers un peu tendence (just a bit in step with the trends), they also sell a honey-based, organic line of beauty products, made in Provence. I can vouch for the hand cream, as effective as they come, quickly absorbed by my parched hands without any greasy feeling.

This is a heather and thyme blend.

But you can also make your own beauty products, for a fraction of the price, and not too much trouble. The U.S. Honey Board features some great-sounding "recipes" online for those who'd like to have that spa feeling at home. I'm partial to the recipe for lip balm, "Honey-Kissed", but if someone were to whip up a batch of Lavender-Honey Milk Bath for me, I don't believe I'd say no.

While one of my favorite cooking techniques is braising lamb with honey, I add it to a salad dressing of Roquefort, a touch of homemade mayonnaise, lemon juice, and a drizzle of olive oil. Honey also goes in countless desserts: across baked fruit, or over a puff pastry apple and ginger tart, in ice cream or in dainty orange tea cakes, even in whipped cream. Simplest and perhaps best of all, slathered on a slice of really good bread, with a slash of butter. I always have at least two different types of honey at the ready. Because you never know.

This is what I went home with.

The beekeepers Meger & Galibert can be found at the Ganges outdoor market on Fridays and at the Sommières market on Saturdays. They also ship within France and overseas...(tel: +33(0)4 66 80 12 96, email: rucher.garrigues.gardoises@wanadoo.fr)

Braising with honey: Souris d'agneau confit au miel.

I don't know my meat cuts in English very well, but a souris d'agneau is the last narrow bit on the leg of lamb. (No mice are involved in the preparation of this dish, despite the name). Braised for two and a half hours in a blend of oil, honey, and herbs, then paired with a puree of celery root and potato, this becomes winter comfort food par excellence. It has the added advantage of being extremely easy on the nerves as it is incredibly easy to make, using a minimum of ingredients. When you've finished, you'll find the meat falls away from the bone.

The recipe is enough for four to six people. If fewer people are at the table, make four souris anyway, as you can use the leftovers to make lamb rillettes--a coarse-textured, easy to make pate. Or you can make delicious sandwiches. Simply flake the meat, removing any fat, salt and pepper generously and refrigerate. The next day, enjoy on a split baguette with mayonnaise or mustard and some arugula or mache.

4 souris d'agneau

8 tablespoons olive oil (or duck fat, if you have some)

6 tablespoons honey (the fuller-flavored, the better)

4 tablespoons fresh herbs (thyme, rosemary...)

1 head of garlic, optional

Preheat your oven to 180 degrees celcius, or 350 degrees fahrenheit.

If (and only if!) you have the time, cover the souris with rock salt and refrigerate overnight. Wipe off the salt before cooking.

Pour the oil and honey in your cocotte*. Heat on a low fire, just until they combine nicely. Toss in the herbs (crushing them a bit beforehand with a mortar and pestle helps release their flavors). If you are using dried herbs, use half as much. Put in the souris, coating them with the oil and honey. Break apart the head of garlic, throw in the cloves with their skin still on. And that's it.

Put the lid on, pop the cocotte in the oven. After an hour and a half (or so), make sure that the lamb doesn't seem to be drying out; if there is barely any sauce left, stir in some water. Pour the sauce on the lamb. Your souris will be nicely browned and ready after two, to two and a half hours in the oven. Please note that longer does not always mean better; in this case, overcooked will still be tender but also dry, so calculate when it will need to be on the table and work backward to figure out the best time to start cooking.

Enjoy--and let me know what you think!

*This is an oven-proof cast-iron, sometimes enameled, braising dish with heavy lid. While it can be a splurge purchase, it will pay you dividends in terms of being able to prepare a whole new range of meats, vegetables and desserts requiring minimal work.

Leftovers (above), baking in a yolk-glazed tourtiere, or meat pie (below).