Soulatgé, bread, pottery

There comes a time, every fall, when I start to realize quite how much I miss Paziols.

Leaving Paziols isn’t like leaving New York. I never stay in New York long; I’m never quite ready to leave. But by the time Paziols is over for another summer, I’m exhausted. I’m ready to sleep in my own bed until noon, go out for a drink with friends, go for a walk without counting heads all the time…

And then I actually get home, and I start to forget about the home I left behind. I don’t spend much time thinking about all the fun we had, about the adventures and the stories, the linguistic faux-pas that had us giggling, and the strange stories like barbecuing in a rainstorm or horses coming to the back door… things that were normal until, suddenly, they weren’t anymore. Like a dream.

That moment usually comes a bit sooner than it has this year. It’s usually when the weather first starts to get cold, when I start going through old photos and remembering. But this fall has been full of change of its own, of my new school program, of work, of a little bit of loss…

I’m lucky, then, that I got a response out of the blue the other day from the editor at Travel Belles, writing to let me know that an article I had submitted ages ago, when Paziols was still fresh and the Sous-Chef was still in Paris, had been accepted for publication.

When the article finally went up a few days ago, I got lost in the pictures, allowing memories of Paziols, of running to the local grocery store in wet hair to get morning baguettes and, more often than not, running down the street to the big house to get milk and yogurt as well.

I remember excursions to the Cathar châteaux, to the river at the Prade, to the rope swing at the Pachaire… and, of course, to Soulatgé, where the article actually took place.

The trip to Soulatgé was originally for a pottery workshop, so that the older girls could learn to spin pots on a wheel in French. But some wires got crossed, and we ended up having a group of six with nothing to do for a few hours, while the first group learned to work with the clay. We ended up taking a walk with the potter’s wife in the countryside near the town… and that’s the experience I chose to describe.

The pictures are gorgeous; the words take me back. But there’s something about it that just makes me miss Paziols even more. And so, if for no better reason, I wanted to share the other photos from that day with you, to let you remember a little bit with me.

As some of you are already aware, I was not in charge of dinners this year, as I usually am. Next year I will be, but this year, I was only in charge of dessert, which gave me the time, energy and willpower to learn some new recipes from other people.

Why am I mentioning this now? Well, because while at the pottery class, our teacher, Jamie, told us that kneading clay and kneading bread were very similar… except for the fact that they are very different. Kneading clay is to remove air bubbles, while kneading bread works them in.

Bread and I have never done very well together, but Anne-Marie’s take on no-knead bread was a staple in Paziols this summer. I love it toasted with rich, creamy cheese: camembert or brie. The dried prunes and walnuts combine with the richness of the cheese for a taste that is just remarkable. I like to think I’ll make this bread before this summer in Paziols, but then again, I might just save the memory. After all, I’ll be there again in just a few months. Year six. I can’t wait.

(Oh. By the way. If you want to read the article, here it is.)

Anne-Marie’s No-Knead Bread
3 cups spelt flour
1/4 tsp. instant yeast
1 1/4 tsp. salt
1 5/8 cups water
1 handful dried prunes (Anne-Marie puts them in whole, I like to chop them a little bit)
1 handful walnut pieces

The night before you want to bake your bread, combine the flour, yeast, salt and water in a bowl. Stir until blended. Add the prunes and walnuts. Cover with a plate and leave out at room temperature (in the winter, if your kitchen gets cold, you can put this in the oven with the light on).

In the morning, turn your dough out onto a floured surface and shape into a ball. Cover with a floured kitchen towel and allow to rise for two hours. It should double in size.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Farenheit. Place a heavy enamel or ceramic pot with a lid, like a Dutch oven, in the oven as it heats. After half an hour of heating, remove the Dutch oven and carefully place the dough inside. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15-20. Allow to cool fully before slicing.