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.

Spring greens have the edge, that sharpness so complimentary to mild meats such as chicken or rabbit. Tidy little bundles of sorrel (oseille) are to be found in markets this month, and mounds of tender spinach, along with the ever-present white-ribbed (blette) swiss chard. It occurred to me that spinach might add some punch to a pot of herbed Le Puy lentils - after reading about a Spanish dish of chickpeas with spinach strips stirred in at the last moment. So, after a good wash/rinse and dry, two generous cups of destemmed spinach were cut into chiffonade strips and wilted, stirred for four minutes in a hot skillet, then drained before tossing into lentils that were still a tad al dente.  Occasionally a nostalgic flash comes to this cook’s rescue for a final touch, this time I recalled many wonderfully fresh spinach salads with hot-bacon dressing - from college days in southeastern Wisconsin. To adapt this idea, trimmed smoked bacon slivers or slices of pancetta did the trick: seared-crisped in a hot skillet, arranged on each serving of lentils, then the pan juices deglazed with sherry vinegar (and a pinch of sugar) to drizzle over all. Try variations on this some rainy spring evening, scoop up lentils and spinach to serve as a side with almond-crumb-crusted chicken legs - or as a bed for roast rabbit. And a little culinary nostalgia adds to the pleasure.

A Wednesday morning market in Arles, a Monday market in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, two Provençal markets bathed in winter light are previews of coming attractions for this vagabondgourmand. Locals were out in numbers, arriving early to be first in line for the freshest fish and vegetables. And it was the locals I was watching with interest, wondering: could you call France a Nation of Locavores? This question is my theme to pursue in markets across France this year, in these pages. Impressed by the Locavores project in the US, a year-long program in which over one hundred people commit themselves to shopping, cooking and eating locally produced food, I’d like to address the question on this side of the pond.

The Camargue, the mouth of the Rhône river’s delta, is our first stop, observing local shoppers and chatting with a few food artisans. Monday’s market in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, a seaside town well known for its annual religious festival in late May, is small but busy in winter. Our bus pulled in from Arles about nine o’clock, less than an hour’s ride through flat delta rice fields and pastures dotted with black bulls, white horses, and the occasional single heron. After a bracing cup of coffee and stroll through the old town, we took some time to survey products offered by vendors - both local and otherwise. Vegetables displayed in flat baskets caught my eye, especially the green beans and tomatoes, grown locally under tunnels to protect against the occasional surprise frost. In the Midi? Even the season’s Mistral winds can’t blow away a mischievous jack frost.

Glass jars of candied fruit, pots of local honey, bags of red Camargue rice were lined up on a table covered in Provencal print cloth. How do I cook this red rice? I asked the dark-eyed vendor. “Oh, it takes about forty minutes - this hasn’t been processed” was his reply as he showed me some Camargue white rice that cooks more quickly. Being more in tune with slow-cooking, I opted for the red rice, plus fine salt - Le Saunier de Camargue Fleur de Sel with the name of the salt-raker written neatly on the seal. I was tickled pink to find these regional products in the market. And there were non-local products: Peruvian ponchos, a gadget-demo, an underwear stall, and baskets from northern France. The produce and fruit seller was busiest - I waited as she packed up carrots, chard, and lots of garlic - while the Mistral winds whistled around us. It seemed that my timing was off, not an opportune moment to talk with ‘locavores’ and vendors.

A mid-week morning in Arles was a different story: a wide range of food vendors lined the market along the old city walls. Once I got past the running shoes and bath mats, I spotted crinkly cabbages and young, violet artichokes. Then my nose quivered at the aromas of ….fougasse: the flattish sticks or “ladders” of bread rolled in salt or studded with olives got my full attention. With a small sack of these selected savories, it was almost time for a coffee pause - or early lunch. Last, but best, at the gateway to old Arles was a vendor of cheese, made with the help of his own sheep. When local sheep’s milk cheese is fresh, rolled in herbs, it can be eaten at any time of day. And when aged a bit - all the better for nibbling. The cheese-maker’s greying ponytail hung below his black brimmed Provençal hat, a common mode in these hills of the south. I asked if he was in the same spot for the Saturday market. “Oh, no: I’m by the tourism office - watch for the merry-go-round” he replied. I will return to Arles some Saturday, and go straight to Boulevard Clémenceau, and buy more fresh cheese, redolent of Provençal herbs, with the busy local crowd….sometime. And I will watch for the merry-go-round with prancing white horses, a black bull and children tucked into a twirling teacup.

So, after observing just two Camargue markets, it seems that in spite of the ‘convenience’ of soul-less hypermarchés with all their centîme-cutting deals, the vendors still sell to a loyal, local crowd, filling their baskets and caddies every Wednesday and Saturday. Our next market rounds take up the subject of marché de proximité, or shopping locally in French terms. Later in March, follow our search for spring greens in the Périgord.

‘Still Life at Cabalus’ (edible!)

Off season in Burgundy, frosty nights and luminous days, are reasons alone to visit such medieval sites as Vézelay. But arriving “cold” on a recent winter Saturday, just before the tourist office closed, posed problems of lodging and a little nourishment. The few hotels open at this time of year were full or closed for the weekend. Luckily, after the cheery tourist office manager made two calls to chambres d’hôtes (B&Bs), a vacant room was found.

We continued an uphill walk along the steep main street of Vézelay to a twelfth century hostel-hospital for pilgrims, now renovated into four bedrooms and a very large, vaulted central room which serves as a café-gallery. Once inside the gate and small entry court of “Cabalus, une maison d’un autre temps “, we entered another time zone: ring a small bronze bell, as a pilgrim would in the thirteenth century, ascend worn stone steps and walk through a narrow passageway, to enter a large bedroom. Look out the single window over tiled rooftops to Burgundy’s Morvan hills, look down at old (but spotless) floor tiles and around at white-washed walls. Sink into the bed’s snowy white down coverlet and imagine who has spent time in this room - pilgrims or travelers - over the last nine hundred years. It gives one pause.

Dark wooden beams and white walls: simplicity prevails in the heated bedroom and bath. The shower and a sink with sleek faucets set above a wooden table are clearly not medieval, but contemporary and functional. After a walk through narrow streets and up to the Basilique de la Madeleine - do not miss the west façade’s tympanum at sunset - return for a supper of long-simmered soup and salad, the wise choice for a winter evening when most guide-book choices are closed. But, more important, be up for petit-déjeuner.

On Sunday morning we took our places at one of the marble tables set for breakfast. Each setting was a still life: a single apple, a tray of jam and ruffly shaved cheese, a basket of homemade bread - warm from the oven - and a tall taper in a brass candlestick to light the marble table. Perfection. And while sipping coffee or tea, we admired the twelfth century vaulted ceiling, the fire burning in a broad fireplace, herbs hung to dry, and books of all sorts tucked in between old objects. There are prints, drawings and calligraphy, jewelry displayed on branches, all against the natural tones of walls that have weathered time. If these old walls could speak, perhaps their best expression would be in the small polished stones subtly carved with labyrinth designs, pendants created by the artist who renovated this welcoming space. Whether for pilgrims or those of us just passing through, time at Cabalus nourishes the body as well as the soul.

Reserve with Mme Cabalus, tel: 03 86 33 2066, rue St.Pierre, F89450 Vézelay. Out of season, B&B rates run about 80 Euros for a double room. Book well in advance during Easter or Christmas seasons.

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!

Please click here or on the image to see the last Vagabond Gourmand photo gallery of the year.

Inside or outside, a shopper’s options expand with the Christmas season’s very special markets across northern France. Alsace and eastern France hold the most festive marchés, where pine cabins strung with brightly lit garlands shelter vendors for the month of December. Marchés de Noël offer gift-shoppers goods and goodies from all corners of the globe.

On a recent windy, wet morning in Paris, I found (and tasted) my way around a few of these seasonal markets. I was looking for regional French products, good gifts, and a little Christmas cheer. All of the above can be found - along with Russian amber, warm Canadian caps and Peruvian ponchos - especially in the aisles spread across the historic Place St. Sulplice in the 6th arrondissement. Mingling aromas of hot chocolate, roasted coffee beans and cheese-enriched specialties of the Savoy region, this market offers a delightful variety. Watch a knitter deftly creating gloves of French mohair, stop to marvel at a mountain of Corsican air-dried country hams, talk with honey vendors or wine makers. Take the metro to the Saint Sulpice stop, from December 5th to 24th, stalls are open daily from 10:30 to 7 p.m.

A few blocks away, the smaller Saint-Germain des Près (Metro line 4 to Saint-Germain) stretches along the boulevard. Here, a more global collection of vendors sell jewelry, saws and cutlery, shawls and objects for interiors as well as sweets of the season. Hot crèpes, deep-fried Chi-Chi, mulled wine and pain d’épice tempt lovers of street food.

After sundown, the market at La Défense is a magical sight, a vast temporary town of 250 white, pointy-topped tents from November 28th until December 29th. Take the Metro to Esplanade de La Défense for shopping daily, and from 11:00 until 8 p.m. on Saturday. At the Maison de l’Alsace, 39 avenue des Champs-Elysées in the 8th arrondissement, the spirited Alsatian mood expands from demonstrations of making sweet specialties every afternoon to fairy tales told on Christmas Eve. From the Metro line 1 stop at Franklin Roosevelt, stroll along the famous, sparkling avenue to this animated Marché de Noël …..in the City of Light.

My first encounter with a Jésuite left me with a sugar-dusted nose. A tray of the long, triangular pastries in the window of an Île de France bakery-café lured me inside, and a few minutes later I emerged with a floral-printed pack of pastries. Michel and I took a table on the sidewalk, ordered coffee and peered into the box: “How do we eat these?” was my husband’s first query.  The Jésuites cantilevered over the rim of a plate; the server brought spoons, but I was wondering if a steak knife and long-tined fork would be better weapons for approaching this iced, sugar-topped puff-pastry.  The American way, go ahead - use your fingers, would avoid having pastry corners shooting across the table, so that was my last resort:  pick it up, bite off one of the corners.  Flakes of puff pastry drifted across the table, the buttery-crisp corner melted in my mouth and traces of sugar stuck to the nose above my triumphant smile.  I took a good look at the pastry for future reference, wondering who first decided that eighteenth century Jesuit hats would provide a template for an almond-cream filled pastry.

Having conquered question number one - eating it - I moved on to question number two: how can I reproduce the frangipane filling and triangular pastry?  For the Jésuite is a classic pastry-baker’s item, rarely made at home.  You can begin with puff pastry, pâte feuilletée, which can be bought ready to roll.  Or chill a slab of marble, mix flour and chilled butter, (layer dough with butter chips) and fold the sticky pastry several times to ensure flakiness.  My first effort at this type of puff pastry was on a hot August morning, not the ideal timing and overall, a discouraging experience.  But I recently bought a pre-rolled pastry that was a decent substitute, enough for making four Jésuites.

To form the Jésuites, cut the circle (about enough to make a 10″ pie crust) of pastry down the center, then across the center making four equal quarters. Slice each quarter in half and separate. Prepare the frangipane: Cream 50 grams/1/4 cup of soft unsalted butter, add 50 grams/1/4 cup of sugar and 50 grams of ground/powdered almonds, whisking this into a frothy mixture. Beat in 1 egg, 1 teaspoon of almond essence, (add 2 more yolks at this point if you want a richer filling), and 2 tablespoons of rum or brandy. This can be made in advance and chilled. With a small pastry brush (I use a Hungarian feather brush from Williams Sonoma), moisten the edges of 2 triangles, spread with the frangipane, place one triangle on top of the other and seal the edges by pressing gently. Repeat this with the remaining triangles. The fingerprints will disappear as the puff pastry expands in the oven. Heat the oven to 205°c/400°f. Very lightly oil a baking sheet (use almond oil if you have it) and place the 4 pastries with 2″ spacing.  At this point, you can brush with milk and sprinkle flaked almonds on them, or go a step farther with a light meringue of: 1 egg white mixed with 25 grams icing sugar then topped with the flaked almonds (or crushed praline!).  Bake the Jésuites for about 8 minutes, then lower the heat to 160°c/324°f for another 8 to 10 minutes.  Take the golden Jésuites out of the oven and dust with icing sugar.  Some French bakers even add a fine top layer of white frosting - gilding the lily, perhaps.
Next question: Frangipane who?

Dark and edgy, chocolat noir has a grip on me. Maybe my crush on bitter chocolate started with Marabou, the superb Swedish chocolate that I savored on ferries going from Finland to Sweden years ago. (A Finnish friend just sent the bad news that Marabou dark is no longer available - what a loss for chocolate lovers!) But to cook with bitter chocolate, a balance must be struck between bitter and sweet. This rendition of a dark mousse does just that, with an added crunch of praline. Having tried adding spirits for depth, I found that rum was too strong, so I dash a little cognac or armagnac into the equation. Gently fold in whipping cream, which adds richness but not the volume of whisked whites that lifted mousse I to a lighter texture. And whether almonds or toasted hazelnuts are used for the praline, in the spirit of autumn, don’t forget the nuts.

The praline: In a non-stick frying pan, toast 1/2 cup coarsely slivered (not finely flaked) blanched almonds. Add a scant 1/2 cup powdered/icing sugar, stirring in from the edges as it caramelizes over low heat. Line a pie tin with aluminum foil, and when the almonds are coated with caramel (10 to 15 minutes or less), quickly transfer them into the tin. Cool, cover with foil and break into pieces by hitting it with a mallet. Set aside 1/3 cup of crushed praline for the mousse, which should serve 4 or 5.

The mousse: Melt in a pan set over simmering water (not ON - or it will scorch and spoil the flavor), 100 grams dark chocolate, such as Lindt Excellence, 70% cacao (1 bar/ package) which has been broken/beaten into pieces (to melt faster). Add 2 tablespoons butter, cut into chunks and stir, then add 50 grams of praline-filled milk chocolate, such as Côte d’Or (1/2 package) or Gianduja, broken up, and 1 to 2 spoons of Cognac or strong coffee. Lift the pan off the heat. Separate 3 eggs, and stir the yolks into the chocolate one by one; then stir in the powdered praline, add a twist or two of grated nutmeg. Whip 1/2 cup of thick cream, 1 tablespoon confectioner’s/icing sugar and fold this carefully into the cooled chocolate mixture. The amount of cream can be doubled, and a bit more sugar (sweeten to taste) added. When blended, pour the mousse into a glass bowl or individual cups, sprinkling all with crushed praline.

What to do with the extra egg whites? If you are not in a mood to make meringue, whip up a simple prune mousse. Cook 2 cups of semi-dried prunes in water to cover (with a tea bag to soften the skins); cool them, remove pits, then purée in a blender, add 1/4 cup sugar and a twist of nutmeg (and minced orange zest, or a splash of Cointreau if you have time) to the prunes. Whisk the (3) egg whites (add a pinch of fine salt and a tablespoon of sugar) to form stiff peaks, fold them into the prunes in three stages to hold the volume, pour into an attractive bowl and top with crunchy praline. Ready for dinner: Mousse aux pruneaux - a bonus autumnal treat - can be made a day in advance, to serve six.  Hold the remaining crushed praline in reserve - maybe to sprinkle on Jésuites…..

Journeys of a Lifetime, 500 of the World’s Greatest Trips is National Geographic’s recently published lush and colorful temptation to travelers. Even sitting in a cozy armchair, one can almost smell the aromas of ripe melons emanating from a market photo which introduces the ‘In Gourmet Heaven’ section. True to their high standards, the National Geographic books team has orchestrated words and images evoking places, people, flavors and discoveries. Organized in sections, such as Across Water, By Road, In Search of Culture, this round-the-world whirl takes the reader to distant mountains and market places with the flip of a page. It was a pleasure write five of the destinations for this comprehensive travel book, and the VagabondGourmand is busily preparing more chapters for another in the series, to be published in 2008. Add Journeys of a Lifetime to your Christmas list - for giving, or drop a hint to Santa.

The New York Times listed Journeys of a Lifetime  on it “best sellers” list for three weeks in January 2008.