Plunge into Provence, absorb the aromas and moods of each season with a stroll through the local market. For the vagabondgourmand, Apt is the market of choice, and summer is the season to catch the region at its aromatic best. I have made regular pilgrimages to this market for over a dozen years, always finding a few new twists on classic Provençal specialties. Apt, a crossroads since Roman times, lies in a valley at the foot of the Luberon mountain range, an hour east of Avignon. Midway between Cavaillon’s melon fields and the goat-dappled hills of Banon, this corner of the Vaucluse département has been a center of fruit production for centuries.

Saturday is the major market day, and a good starting point is the shady square facing Apt’s city hall. I stopped to buy a few cherries and a bottle of apple-quince juice when I noticed two flats of green almonds on the same stall. The shorter of two brothers, whose products caught my attention, quickly engaged me in conversation. As I paid the vendor, I ventured a few questions about the fresh almonds. The answers were supplied up by a large man, a regular customer who arrived with greetings to all around, eased himself behind the stall, plucked a few cherries to nibble on and purchased four kilos of the pale green nuts. The brothers deferred to “the chef” and left us to the questions and answers. In response to my query about how he would use these almonds, he chuckled and reached for another cherry: “…in a compote of fresh fruit, for instance”. His large sacks of both green almonds and glistening cherries piqued my curiosity, and I wondered how these ingredients would turn up on today’s menu. Sensing that he was ready to rush back to the Auberge du Luberon kitchen, I asked if we could book a table for dinner. “Bien sûr” Serge Peuzin replied, “à ce soir!”

That evening, we were seated on the Auberge terrace and studied our menus. I could see how this Maitre Cuisinier de France is true to his terroir : an entire, elaborate menu is devoted to his interpretations of local ingredients using the fruit confit (glazed, preserved fruits), an industry that has put Apt on many a gastronome’s map. My focus returned to the subject at hand, almonds. I was pleased to discover Peuzin’s inspired touch of almond milk with a tender duck filet. Long story short: it was succulent, a contrast to the garnish of a savory polenta cake studded with plump cherries from this morning’s market. Later, when he rolled the dessert cart up to our table, I noted fresh green almonds in a compote of apricots, but my choice was an almond tart - Peuzin’s interpretation of a Savoy walnut tart, using caramelized almonds on a shortbread crust. As a garnish, I chose a small cup of brousse (sheep’s milk soft cheese) topped with a layer of pear compote. No doubt about it, this chef knows his terroir, and interprets each season’s market bounty with a flair. Reserve a table at Restaurant Serge Peuzin, l’Auberge du Luberon (a Logis de France hotel), 8 place Faubourg du Ballet, tel: 04 90 741 250 (to call from outside France, dial 33, and drop the first 0).

La Manade, a cozy restaurant deep in the heart of old Apt, is set on a narrow street leading from the rue des Marchands to the old Roman forum ruins on Place Jean Jaurès. Since it was opened by a young couple from Arles in 2004, I have enjoyed a lunch or dinner at La Manade during each visit to the area. The chef, Jean-François Christin, never ceases to surprise me with his interpretations of Provençal cuisine. Specialties of the Camargue region are featured: both le taureau - the black bull native to the Bouche du Rhône delta - and fresh fish are on the menu. The chef’s take on the traditional fish stew, cotriade, is a wonder of textures as firm strips of lotte (monkfish) form a pyramid over bulb fennel cooked al dente (perhaps with a splash of Pernod?). Call to reserve a table, tel: 04 90 04 79 06, at La Manade, 36 rue Rene Cassin. Katy Christin will welcome you warmly.

Another inventive chef in the center of Apt is Cyrille Petit, who explores seasonal themes for the tables at Le Platane on rue Jules Ferry. Their vegetarian menu always intrigues me, and on this visit it included a delicious lasagne aux épinards (spinach) et aux brousse. His touch with spice is a revelation, poaching fish with badiane (star anise) - but I would opt for the squid and shrimp, écornets et gambas aux legumes, any day. This summer, red fruit reigns on the dessert menu, which includes a creamy, perfect panna cotta coulis fruits rouge. Dine on the shady terrace or in the dining room, where Edith Petit’s whimsical, contemporary touch and selection of jazz brighten any rainy day. La Platane is a popular lunch spot after the Saturday market, so be sure to reserve, tel: 04 90 04 74 36.

** Let us know your favorite markets, contribute your own tips on market-fresh ingredients discovered during summer travel…..’tis the season!

Next up: Meet a wheat farmer and nut producer in the Charente…. anticipating a slim harvest.

I would love to say that we eat totally locally, and while winging my way back across the Atlantic after a swooping three week visit in the U.S., the idea pushed its way around in my thoughts. The movement to “eat local” is ripe in North America, a truly hot topic. My first stop was New York, where a bookshop window devoted to books on the subject enticed me into McNally Robinson in Nolita near the West Village. Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma is center stage on themed displays in this bookshop, and in many others I browsed through. During the early weeks of April, eating local in an urban center tests the principles defined by the Locavores movement, which suggests that 80% of the foods on your table should be grown and packaged within one hundred miles of your home. The popular Union Square Market brings many regional, seasonal products into the city for urban locavores. An emphasis on organically grown and sustainable agricultural practices is clear in open markets and many grocery shops. Call it a wave, a fad or a trend, I say: At Last! But it means choosing, calculating 80% of your foods - the remaining 20% covers coffee, tea, chocolate, rice, spices, and the occasional pineapple or avocado, shipped in from warm climates.

I arrived in Minneapolis just in time to read the Taste section of the Star & Tribune (see April 10, www.startribune.com/taste/sectionT) on Community Supported Agriculture, or CSA. A quote from author and farmer, Wendell Barry, sums it up: “Eating is an agricultural act”. Let last summer’s sun-dried tomatoes add flavor to the risotto, avoid all those summer Provençal ingredients for the ratatouille that can wait a few seasons as you plan menus around roots, winter greens and frozen berries. An increasing number of farmers around the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul are applying CSA methods, now used on 1,500 farms across the US. To have vegetables delivered in season, people buy CSA shares to both support local growers and enjoy the freshest broccoli, turnips and new potatoes. The Land Stewardship Project (see www.landstewarshipproject.org) is one of several companion projects. Markets and grocery stores, such as the Wedge Co-Op in the Twin Cities reflect these efforts to observe sustainable production as well as a focus on seasonal ingredients.

By the time I stepped off of the Larkspur ferry into the dynamics of San Francisco’s Ferry Plaza Market, my curiosity piqued about what features of the “eat local” movement I would find on the west coast, the issue became more confused. Glossy greens, tempting asparagus, olives and jam-tastings fit the local and seasonal profile - as well as smoked fish straight from the bay’s docks (and smoke houses). If I lived in the mild climate of the Bay Area, it would be easy to fill up 80% of the locavores equation, allowing an occasional square of chocolate from Scharfen Berger or other luxurious temptations. Local or Global: everywhere I looked during two rounds of the Embarcadero and its market, I was tugged between a vast array of imported spices and products from Italy, Spain and Mexico and the Bay Area’s ever-changing offering of home-bottled vinegars, sauces, chilis, nut products and cheeses. CowGirl cheeses bring an amazing selection of artisanal, locally made creamy and firm cheeses to the market. But farther north, into the mountains and forests reaching towards Oregon, it would take a greater effort to limit what goes on the table to only locally grown, seasonal products.

Last stop, back on home base in southwest France, the selection in our local market stalls has evolved into spring’s bounty of greens, red Treviso endive, shiny bulbous new onions and carrots with their green tops attached. All of this, with chicken, duckling and fresh rabbits, fits into my 80% - but the lemons, bananas, basmati rice, coffee and cocoa beans remain outside, crowding that 20% of imported, exotic treats. Fish that we enjoy weekly, straight from Atlantic waters an hour away, stretches the one hundred mile limit to define local.  Eating habits, I mused, can be changed, adapted - with an effort - to reorganized culinary priorities.

Deep in the hills of the Périgord lies a village famed for les truffes. And Monday morning is the time to be there, waiting in line for the doors of the truffle market room to open at ten o’clock. Once inside the St. Alvère Truffle Market, one inhales the earthy scent of truffes noire du Périgord.

Photo by Paul Charpentier

We move along with the crowd, admiring truffles of all sizes lined up on long tables. Behind each basket or tray of truffles, the person who found them stands, ready to answer questions or to sell a black lump of pungent fungus. Eighty vendors are packed into the room, some with a basket full, some with just two truffles, each with a digital scale to weigh each sale. All scales are checked by monitors before the doors open to shoppers. Several years ago, I recall a simpler scene in the truffle market with a single large scale set in the middle of the room, an impractical system with today’s crowds.

Choice truffles in the “Extra” quality are perfect and large, going for 1,800 Euros per kilo on this particular day. The next best is #1 category, whole and round but smaller, followed by #2 which can be irregular in shape bringing 1,000 Euros and 800 Euros per kilo respectively. For 33 Euros (about 45US$) I bought a medium-sized #1, while my step son popped for an “Extra” of the same size and paid 10 Euros more. Broken and trimmed truffles cost less (and are easily shaved into an omelette), but one must watch closely to avoid any soft spots or faded aromas.

What to do with truffles? You don’t need a lot to lend the distinctive flavor, and even the peelings can be tucked into a jar of rice or farm-fresh eggs to lend parfum. Other natural truffle companions include chèvre: just layer minced truffles in a log or pyramid of goat cheese and let it mature for a couple of days in a cool place. Delicate meats like veal scallops or chicken breasts pick up the earthy truffle aroma within a few hours before cooking. The same is true of delicate fish such as pike or perch. Of course the Italian custom of shaving truffles - the Umbrian Norcia black are densely aromatic - over steaming pasta elicits sighs around a winter dinner table.

Photo by Paul Charpentier

White truffles found in northern Italy are at their peak in October and November, preceding the “black gold” by a month or two. In the Périgord, mid-January is peak season for the best, most mature truffles, although the season begins in early December and can run until late February - depending on the weather conditions. On this crisp, sunny January morning I was bubbling with ideas for the truffle: perhaps it could add a complex tone to a simple, creamy cauliflower soup.

As we got into the car, I gingerly tucked the small brown truffle sack in my basket and mused: destination shopping doesn’t get any better than this - even my jacket picked up les parfums de la truffe!

When it heats up outside, I hesitate to do much cooking inside. Flames and smoke of grilling outdoors don’t hold much appeal, either. So, I revert to lessons learned in Greece: cook ahead, and keep it simple. Even the most lethargic appetite seems to respond to fresh flavors of basic Greek classics. This year the alarming heat wave across Greece and southern Europe has been major news. But in the cool of the morning, one can make the evening’s meal - and sit under an arbor or pergola somewhere at the end of the day with a glass of retsina or raki. Early in the day, prepare a simple sauce - Skorthalia/ Skordalia - of mashed potatoes, garlic and ground almonds to accent a main dish of sautéed fish with fennel or grilled chicken. In its simplicity, Skorthalia in fact recalls ancient Mediterranean traditions combining ground almonds and garlic. Persia’s legendary, sophisticated cuisine used ground almonds with garlic in sauces similar to Turkish tarator. Today, it seems there is a revival of interest in these combinations that the ancients set before their family and guests. Skorthalia is a actually more of a rich side dish rather than a sauce, though it is usually listed with sauces. In some regions, bread soaked in water is incorporated into the mixture as a thickener instead of almonds - but then it loses the delicate almond flavor. Using new potatoes and fresh garlic, a bit of lemon juice and olive oil, this can be a staple on summer’s al fresco tables. I sometimes thin the mixture a bit with the pan juices from sautéed fish with fennel, and although recipes say: “serve chilled”, I have been known to set a bowl of warm Skorthalia on the supper table and watch it quickly disappear. Combine ingredients using a mortar and pestle, then whisk in the mashed potatoes with a fork, stirring it until all ingredients are smooth, well blended. And add more garlic for a snappier, more authentic version:

2 large cloves of fresh garlic, finely chopped then mashed with 1 tsp. sea salt

2 tablespoons ground almonds, 1 tsp.freshly ground white pepper

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 to 1 +1/2 cups warm mashed potatoes (about 4 potatoes)

1 egg yolk (optional)

1/3 cup olive oil

1 tablespoon wine vinegar

Blend in the order given, stirring the egg into warm potatoes until completely blended (this gives a pleasant color). Using a 2 or 4 cup pyrex measuring cup takes the guesswork out of proportions; this is easily doubled to serve 6. Continue stirring while adding the oil in a thin stream, then blend in the vinegar last. Let cool, cover and chill during the day. Serve with fish, grilled vegetables, or spread a dab of Skorthalia on a slice of toasted baguette and top with a small shrimp or plump mussel as an appetizer. Variations abound.

Pentecost Sunday in southern France coincides with Memorial Day weekend in the US this year.  This three day holiday always brings a springish pause before summer’s long hot days really move in.  Today the valley landscape is especially verdant and very, very wet. A steady rain has been soaking in, much to the delight of gardeners (great time for transplanting and pulling weeds) and ecologists concerned about our water supply. I’ll grab an umbrella and run to the bakery for a pastry or two, and have been giving my selection some thought: will it be a Sacristain - the long, twisted flaky pastry (rolled in flaked almonds) - or a Jesuite?  The triangular Jesuite is also flaky, but with an icing on top (and almonds) of a light-as-air pastry. Or will I succumb to a Religeuse, a cream puff base filled with sinfully thick chocolate ganache, capped by a fluted (almond edged) ruff supporting a chocolate-glazed chou-knob?  Ah, there are always more contenders lined up under glass to tempt me: fruit and frangipane tartelettes, elegant éclairs and layered genoise topped with local strawberries.  Between two bakeries in our village, the choice of pastries will be difficult.  I’ll probably bring back one of each almond-topped temptations - in the name of research, of course.  Whether flaky, fruity, or oozing ganache, these Sunday indulgences will surely inspire some almond recipes for the next posting!

You can’t sneak a bite of fouace without a bit of evidence: a cheek dusted with sugary crumbs. The traces are quickly brushed away, leaving only a smirk behind. We first encountered rings of fouace in the Auvergne at Aurillac’s annual June Snack Festival, Fête du Casse Croûte. Once discovered, I took on the duty of sampling fouace across southern France. Not a bad assignment. Initially, this briochy and light yeasted bread was in the basket for our after-market picnic lunch. Then it traveled along to be sliced for breakfast in a Rhône valley gîte. With its airy texture and a hint of orange-flower water (many are brushed with this before baking), fouace soon replaced a morning croissant with my first cup of café au lait. I found fouace in both large and small sugar-studded rings on baker’s stalls in the Albi and Castres markets, or shaped in ovals and topped with glossy cherries in Céret. The latter version lifted a humble hearth bread into a new role as a festive dessert.

When I stumbled upon a savory fougasse in the Nyons market, I wondered if the two breads were related in some way. Not at all. The easily-gripped ladder bread or fougasse is firm and often has a salty topping of onions or olives. It can be snapped apart rather than sliced, so a knfe isn’t essential. With slits to separate the bread in parts, its maximum crust makes fougasse a good partner for cheese. Across the diverse regions that make up sunny Provence, I have seen many variations on the fougasse theme. In some markets, one might find a sweet version, Gibassier, flavored with almonds and orange flower water, though it is not as common as the slitted, salty fougasse.

As is true of many regional specialties, both fouace and fougasse can be found in some Paris markets. I have bought fouace, made by a baker from the Auvergne, in the 5th arrondissement’s Rue Monge market. The more widely popular fougasse is sold in bakeries and city markets, such as the bustling Bastille market on Sunday morning. Which is best? Its all a matter of mood, appetite and the time of day. Why not begin the day with a feather-light slice of fouace and save the fougasse for an evening picnic, to nibble while watching the sun set over the Seine- or over a rolling panorama of Roussillon vineyards?

…unless you bring a bundle to a spring picnic in France.  Then the blushing little bulb is transformed into a savory ritual. Bring on the butter and salt, slice the baguette de campagne: its time for an apéro hour initiation.  First, the healthy bunch of freshly dug radishes needs a bath under cold running water, then a good dousing of household vinegar will chase any residual sand.  A short rest in ice water perks up the radishes while we cut a chunk of beurre de baratte (unsalted, freshly churned butter) and pour sea salt into a saucer.

Our baguette is cut into thinner slices than usual, keeping it easier to juggle.  Set out a few sharp paring knives, and everyone gathers round to watch the radish pro.  He carefully selects a gleaming bulb, nips off the root thread and incises a cut halfway into the base. Next, a sliver of butter is inserted into the cut, then a quick dip into the salt, et voilà!  Pop the radish into your mouth and reach for another.  They are so good on a bit of bread, but don’t toss away the green stem just above the shoulder- take a bite: it helps to digest the radish.  A sip of local white wine hits the spot on a warm evening in May, and with another dip of the radish the ritual continues –trés conviviale!
A variation on this theme, croque sel, is another spring rite when the fève (broad beans) have begun to bulge.  This early, green stage of fève is usually in April or May.  Some country bars and bistros in the Charente and Bordeaux regions set out bowls of beans in the pod.  The tender, pale fèves are slipped out of the pods, and once a plateful had been shelled, they are dipped into salt and enjoyed croque sel with an apéritif. Does this sound too much like work?  Not when we consider that the season for young fève is merely one or two short weeks.  Locals cherish this seasonal treat, a fleeting taste of the tender beans before they become firm and we must wait for late summer’s second round of shelling them to be cooked.

To return to the radish itself, French markets offer quite a variety from blushing pink to solid red, round to elongated, peppery to mild.  So choose your favorite for the picnic. Alongside the round radishes, some vendors sell the long white Chinese radish or Daikon, which can be peeled and sliced into discs for croque sel.  Long black radishes are often stacked like kindling wood in winter markets.  The radis noir, the black radish is a dusty- looking root that conceals a mild, white interior.  Once peeled, these are sometimes thinly sliced and mixed with grated carrots for a ‘crudité‘ first course, guaranteed to ease digestion of richer dishes to follow.  But to keep it simple, the crisp, round radish with a bit of butter and sea salt holds the top spot on my list of favorite spring rituals.