On the way to Cognac for a day’s outing, we zipped past a sign nearly covered with vines. “Wait! A nut oil shop, Huilerie du Bernous“, I exclaimed. “Later”, I was told. On our return trip, after a tour and tasting in the historic Cognac château, now headquarters for Otard Cognac, we stopped at the huilerie and rang the bell. As Madame Petit managed their enthusiastic laborador, we walked to the huilerie, where they press walnut and hazelnut oils, and to the adjacent shop. The tanned woman seemed preoccupied as we talked about their work, about the upcoming harvest and those past. I selected some hazelnut oil, one of my favorite “drizzlers” to top hot carrots or beet and apple salads. Her remarks on the hazelnut yield this year were stark: “Zero”, she said, “…frost two nights running - just at the peak of blossoming - clipped the crop, so there will be no hazelnut oil this year”. But the walnuts seem to be promising, with their anticipated average harvest to weigh in at 60 tons. Last year was abysmal, she noted, with only 40 tons, a bad year. The Franquette variety is their favorite walnut with an average of nine kilograms of nuts to yield three kilograms of kernels, to give one liter of flavorful oil. Their harvest in October lasts ten days, with ten helpers and the use of a tree-vibrator, similar to those used in almond harvesting. The Petites, who run the business started by her father-in-law, have planted a new variety, Farnor, which will help replace over 1,400 trees lost in the violent 1999 winter wind storms. “Gradually, we are recovering”, she smiled and added a hopeful…”almost all of our groves will again be bearing next year”. No wonder she seemed preoccupied, I mused and vowed to return for another supply of nut oil and local honey.

The summer wheat seemed ripe for harvesting one late afternoon as I paused to survey rolling fields. At just that moment, a white van pulled up, stopped short of crushing the golden grain; a man hopped out. He waded through the wheat, bent and rubbed heads of wheat between the palms of his hands, blew the chaff away, and studied the kernels remaining: a gesture as old as agriculture. We had nodded bonsoir, so I ventured a question: “How does the crop look?” He glanced up at approaching clouds, waved an arm and said, “Come see this wheat - we have had too much cloud cover when it needs to be sunny for ripening the kernels, drying them”. I looked at the bearded summer wheat in his calloused palm and saw some kernels withered, some with a pink tinge at the base. “At this point, the kernels should be plump and slightly nacré, a little pearly. The pink you see is a disease “…trop des maladies cette année!” too many diseases this year, and too overcast.” His estimate, a harvest of normal volume but half the quality, anticipated the work of upcoming weeks, but as I turned to go, he added: “We’ll hope for a better crop next year”. This wheat farmer sums up the inherent spirit that keeps the wheels turning, the age-old plant and harvest cycle…. and hope for better weather.

A Sunday morning market draws shoppers to Aubeterre, but not all are here for peaches and new potatoes. This is a craft market as well, a mix of pottery, jewelry, paintings and artisanal foods. In this sense, it is unique in the region, with over half of the vendors showing their work in a side-walk café ambiance. After soap shopping (boutiques are open, too) and wine tasting, we went looking for lunch. A few steps off of the central boulevard market, we were rewarded at the Le Passé Simple. Inside the purple-toned dining room or outside in the garden, the restaurant is attracting Sunday crowds with a simple menu. Appealing entrées, such as hot scallops on a bed of rich, creamy leeks or a pyramid of spicy shrimp, are followed by old favorites prepared with originality. Magret de canard (duck breast) and roast lamb are done perfectly, and a layer of roasted, crushed tomatoes under daurade (sea bream) from the Gulf of Gascony sings of the season. Any room left for a gooey white chocolate and coconut mousse? Or how about a mousse au chocolat, so dense it is more like scooping into ganache - dipping into thick frosting with a spoon? Just how good was it? We returned at nine for dinner…..c’était dimanche!

Notes:

Huilerie du Bernou, Les Vergers du Marquis, sell their single-pressed walnut and hazelnut oils to visitors, call tel.: 06 80 83 11 29 (to make sure someone is there). Located near the village of Pillac, they are west of Aubeterre, north east of Chalais.

Le Passé Simple, 1 rue du Minage in Aubeterre-sur-Dronne, is closed Wednesday night and Thursday. Call to reserve (Sundays are especially busy) tel.: 05 45 98 50 64.

Next up: A French heirloom in season, baking with Charente butter - the Cognac will wait until autumn - and almond butter for the rentrée/back to school.

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.

A week in Lorraine - the Meuse and Moselle region of northeastern France - isn’t enough. What I had planned as a jaunt to visit Verdun, to taste and learn more about fine, artisanal sugared almonds turned out to be a revelation beyond candy-making. Wedged between Alsace and Champagne-Ardennes on the northern route to Luxembourg, the Lorraine region doesn’t get much ink in travelogues - or even in foodologues. The fact that Jeanne d’Arc lived here is an item tossed into guides and tourist pamphlets, as an aside to the glories of the Isle de France and the Loire valley. Since pre-Roman times, this cross roads has carried its history well, surviving invasions and changing rulers. In fact, it is amazing that so much remains after centuries of warfare.

After a day in Verdun, where Dragées Braquier have made sugared almonds since the eighteenth century (this is another, sweeter story!), we took a regional bus back to Metz, rolling through tranquil landscapes of pastures and river valleys from the Meuse to the Moselle. The city’s enormous central train station has a hulking stone presence, reflecting the neo-roman style popular in early twentieth century Germanic architcture (Metz was at the time under German rule).  I looked up at the modern fingers of light ringing the station plaza, and thought: these look like talons - or claws of a beast. We would meet the monster later, in the crypt of Cathedral St-Etienne.

We ambled up and down walking streets lined with shops on the way to the city’s central market. The best of Metz’ shopping streets is Rue Tête d’Or, where pastries and confections decorate windows, enticing me inside to inspect and to catch a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. I stopped to admire fanciful pastries as we passed Claude Bourguinon’s chocolate shop and tea room, just as a case of artisanal ice creams was temptingly rolled onto the street. We found the U-shaped Metz market hall facing the grand cathedral, which is still the hub of this vibrant city. Longer than the cathedrals of Bourges or Strasbourg, and nicknamed “God’s Lantern”, Metz’ cathedral is illuminated by 6,500 square meters of stained glass. Like many buildings in this historic center, St-Etienne is built of a luminous golden stone, pierre de Jaumont. With or without exterior illumination, these plazas and surrounding façades seem to glow from within. After a pause to study the cathedral looming over a café on the plaza, I was ready to scout for regional specialties in the market hall. June brings the melon season, berries and rhubarb for tartes, along with early green cabbage and flats of chantarelle mushrooms. Jars of Mirabelle plums are everywhere, but fresh Mirabelles will not be in the market until August. Then, the sweet, golden plum is cause for celebration in Metz, attracting thousands to its annual Mirabelle Fest.

Well past noon, a mounting hunger sent us in search of lunch à la Lorraine. The Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is a short walk, across two bridges, from the cathedral. We luckily found a table on their shaded terrace, an ideal spot to watch swans dipping into the river. I sipped a fruity white Moselle wine and awaited the arrival of a Tarte aux poireaux (Leek tart), then a Pintade au choux (Guinea fowl braised with cabbage) before tackling a Tarte aux groseilles à la crème d’amandes. The waitress, dressed in peasant skirt, cap and bodice, smiled when I rolled my eyes and took the last bite of the dark berry (currants and raspberries) tart with almond cream. My husband, Michel, didn’t look surprised and asked: More cream, eh? Well, a two-tart lunch doesn’t happen every day - only in Lorraine.

The crypt below St-Etienne cathedral holds artifacts of the city as well as religious documents and sculpture. And that is where I encountered a replica of the city’s legendary monster, the Graoully, suspended from the ceiling. St-Clement, the first bishop of Metz, was credited with destroying the menacing beast who was said to live in the old Roman arenas. It is a story reminiscent of St-George and the dragon, a familiar metaphor of Christian force crushing pagan beasts. In the third century, St-Clement founded the first chapel on the site of the Roman forum’s ruins. But tales of the Graoully are still told, in fact a literary award for science fiction writing, Le Graoully d’or (The golden Graoully) is awarded annually in Metz.

The famous Dragées de Verdun drew me to the Moselle, but there are many other reasons to return. The Mirabelle Festival in August, the huge monthly flea market - perhaps to find Madeleine molds or oval earthenware terrines - a gathering of brocante dealers second only in size to Paris’ noteworthy Marché St-Ouen, and the Marché de Noël would all be fun. Imagine stepping out of the monumental railway station into a frosty plaza filled with cabin-stalls chuck full of jams, pâtés, wines, novelties and preserved Mirabelles - all well lit by designer Philippe Starck’s narrow, pointed street lights. In any season, Metz is well worth the detour.

To view more images of Metz, tap the photo above. Then tap category “Bites of History” to return to the story.

Note: Take the TGV Est from Paris’ Gare de l’Est, about one hour’s train ride to Metz, via Nancy.

Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is at 1, rue du Pont St-Marcel in Metz. Open year round, reserving a table for dinner is advised : tel. 03 87 30 1229. Claude Bourguignon’s chocolate and pastry shop at 31, rue Tête d’Or, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 9:15 to 7 p.m., and Sunday from 8:30 to 12:30.

1 cup milk + 1 T. butter

2 large eggs

1/3 cup vanilla sugar + pinch of salt

2 T. grated almond paste

1 tsp. almond extract

3/4 cup sifted flour, or half flour and half ground almonds (almond flour)

2 large nectarines, sliced

1/2 cup fresh, stemmed black or red currants

1/3 cup of flaked almonds + 1 T. sugar

In a small saucepan, heat the milk and let the butter melt in it - do not scald - and let cool before adding it to the eggs. Whisk the eggs until foamy, then add the sugar, flour, and then stir in the grated (soft) almond paste: then stir in the milk and extract. Allow this batter to rest an hour. (This makes a firm flan - use less flour for softer consistency.) Meanwhile, slice the peaches, butter a 9 inch baking dish (I use a glass pyrex pie plate), and pick (and stem!) the fresh currants. Don’t forget to chill the wine. Preheat the oven to 375°f/191°c. Arrange the nectarine slices in a radial pattern, scatter the berries in the middle and a few around the edges, the pour the batter over all. Scatter flaked almonds on top, then sprinkle a little sugar over all. Bake for 30 minutes or until toasty and golden. Pour chilled sparkling Vouvray into flutes with a few black currants, or serve with a cool Saussignac sweet wine from Clos d’Yvigne.

This clafoutis is adapted from: Suzanne Goin’s Sunday Supper at Luques, Knopf, 2005. My copy falls open to her recipe for Cranberry-Walnut Clafoutis with Bourbon Whipped Cream. Inspired. And for a larger, more classic clafoutis (for 8), refer to James Villas’ French Country Kitchen, Bantam Books 1992, his superb collection of basics.

I stopped at the corner, just before my dash for the metro, and waited in line. Could not resist watching Lebanese bread being baked on a black griddle, could not resist a sampling of meat pies - fataya filled with spinach and pine nuts, cheese crescents with a hint of mint, and a pot of laban (a dense yogurt that I yearn to make at home) - even if this made my run to the TGV more pressured. It was worth it, as I slipped into my seat on the train to Bordeaux with four and a half minutes to spare, and pulled out a small lamb pie to nibble on as we headed south. Another Friday, I will know where to stop first at the Place Monge market - after a quick survey of a new season’s blossoms.

Note to shoppers: The Place Monge Market (at the Place Monge Metro stop) is an open-air market held on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings from 7:00 to 1:00. This neighborhood market is within walking distance of the Muséum de l’Histoire Naturelle and Jardin des Plantes, in the 5th arrondissement.

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.

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.