LE TIAN PROVENÇAL

Mixed Summer Vegetables,Provence-Style

One early summer, I traveled with our Provençal culinary group to the ancient city of Arles, France where we were instructed by Erick Vedel in cuisine paysanne—peasant cooking. As I stood in the extension to the Vedel’s Arlesienne kitchen, purported to once have been a first century, A.D., Roman stable, my eyes wandered about to see if there were traces of earlier times, but no. Twenty centuries had come and gone with no recognizable stalls to be seen. Instead, long tables stretched the length of the room with an array of garden-fresh vegetables: deep purple aubergine, sleek green zucchini, brightly-colored peppers and voluptuous tomatoes. Fat round onions lay side by side along with rows of garlic cloves. Local bottles of luminous green olive oil stood like soldiers awaiting duty while glasses of wine had been poured for those of us awaiting instruction.

Madeleine Vedel stood close to her husband, as she translated his every word, his every move. “We are about to begin the serious business of ancient and medieval cuisine,” she announced. “Prepare yourselves.” Erick set out numerous sizes of ‘tians,’ rust-red terra cotta baking dishes, as we pulled on our virginal aprons, unscathed by spot or stain. We picked up our wine glasses, pens and stood at the ready.

“Because our fine city is situated on the Rhône River, Arles has, over the past two thousand years, been the benefactor and repository of fine international culinary history. You see, this city was one of the first ports-of-call on the inland ‘highway’ into France. Foods and recipes have always transcended the need for a common language, and as mariners stopped at our port, they would share their recipes, spices, and stories from their homelands. Our present Provençal cuisine reflects this so-called international ‘fusion’ of flavors.” Erick nodded his head in acknowledgement, smiled and grabbed a large knife and one of the glistening purple aubergine.
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Set oven temperature at 375 degrees, Fahrenheit

Ingredients:
2 Aubergine (Eggplant)
3 Zucchini
4 Fresh tomatoes—the freshest, please
1 Red/Yellow Bell Pepper (your choice)
1 Onion
2 Garlic cloves
3 Bay leaves
1 Sprinkling of thyme
½ Cup of olive oil
6 Tablespoons grated Gruyere cheese
Sea salt from the Camargue (or kosher salt)

First, cut the eggplant into rounds and salt liberally. Layer into a colander to ‘sweat’ for one hour. In the meantime, cut zucchini into rounds, as well as the tomatoes. Set aside. Mince the onion and chop the bell pepper into small pieces; set aside.

Take out a frying pan and lightly sauté the minced onions and peppers in olive oil until they caramelize. Remove with a slotted spoon and layer mixture into bottom of a tian or baking dish. Fry the zucchini rounds a minute per side. Set aside. Rinse eggplant from salt and pat dry on paper toweling. Fry them a minute on each side. Set aside. Crush and chop the garlic.
Then begin to layer the vegetables. Place the eggplant in one layer on top of minced onions, followed by raw tomatoes, a bit of chopped garlic, crumbled bay leaf, a little salt, and then a layer of zucchini rounds. Repeat until all vegetables have been used. Sprinkle the top with cheese and bake in the oven for 30 minutes. (Author’s note: I use more cheese, some pitted black olives, plus a sprinkling of Herbes de Provençe or ground culinary lavender.)

Hot steamy hours passed as we completed instruction for this recipe, and two more that followed— Pacquets d’Aubergine and one medieval recipe for quail. Succulent aromas of olive-oil laced vegetables and garlic filled the air. Finally golden cheese-encrusted tians along with platters of crispy quail were placed on the table for all to enjoy. Quickly, we sat down, totally exhausted but completely ravenous. Ah, but would you pour just a touch more Provençal rosé, s’il vous plait?

Tour conducted by: Erick and Madeleine Vedel, Association et Cuisine et Tradition, Arles, France

Culinary Lavender source: http://shop.prairielavenderfarm.com/main.sc

Soupe de Fraises (Strawberry Soup)

My love of strawberries began the summer of my third year. Sneaking out of the basement apartment of my grandparents’ home, I would head down the darkened garden path, past the lilac bushes, through the back gate and into the warm, morning sun of Mrs. Nelson’s strawberry patch. There, I would swoop down with a vengeance onto the brightest red berries my chubby fingers could wrest free, brush away the dirt and leaves and quickly, quickly before my mother would wail, “Calamity Jane, are you at it again?” I would sink my teeth into one of those sweet, juicy, yet tangy red strawberries. In that moment, I could experience summertime explode in my mouth, ooze down my chin and then? And, then I could get on with the business of being three.

So it was with great joy, that I found myself many years later, the giddy participant of a Provençe cooking tour in Avignon, France at the grand hotel, La Mirande. This elegant seven-hundred-year-old renovated Cardinal’s palace, tucked deftly behind the magnificent yet austere former Palace of the Popes, was built in 1309. And our cooking group would have the distinction of learning to cook on one of their mighty 14th century, wood-fired stoves. Ah, but that was the challenge!

The menu for our lessons of cuisine began with a creamy, yet delicate Artichoke Soup, infused with Spanish ham (only acorn-eating ham, at that). This course was followed by a succulent Red Snapper stuffed with a uniquely-prepared Ratatouille (I’ll have to tell you about that another time) with a Saffron Sauce. But for me, the piece de résistance was a marvelous dessert, Wild Strawberry Soup with Herbs, Spices, Zests and a housemade Lemon-Basil Sorbet. Did I mention strawberries? Wild strawberries?

The instructor of the hour, Daniel Hebet, was a young chef of great sophistication, yet had a humble approach to his cuisine. When asked if he prepared his ratatouille the same way as his mother, he replied with a twinkle in his eye, “I am a good son. I do not contradict my mother.” He developed all of the dishes we prepared but, to me, his masterpiece was his Soupe de Fraises.

Soupe de Fraises
2 pts. Fresh strawberries
½ cup of sugar

Group 1: Fresh Herbs –2 Tablespoons each - finely chopped basil, coriander leaves, tarragon, and lemongrass
Group 2: Spices – ground vanilla, ginger, cinnamon, and cardamom
Group 3: Zests (sweetened) – lemon, grapefruit, ginger, orange and lime zests - (Sweeten with 1 qt. water and 2 cups of sugar)
Lemon juice
Gaseous spring water/mineral water

Blend the strawberries in a blender with ½ cup of sugar. Set aside in the refrigerator. Mix each of the groups separately. When ready to serve, mix a small amount of lemon juice and mineral water into the strawberries. Pour the strawberry mixture into individual bowls with broad rims. Place one scoop of lemon-basil sorbet in the middle of each bowl. Then, sprinkle small portions of each one of the groups consecutively along the outside rim of the bowl.

Now, how do I eat this, you ask? Once you lift your spoon, glide it across one of each of the groups, then into the strawberry soup itself, ending in the cooling sorbet in the center. You will find that every single bite is an extraordinary explosion of flavors not to be found anywhere else—unless, perhaps, it’s in the backyard of your childhood.