We have made a habit, in Paziols, of eating off-season food.
I’m not talking about ingredients–you’ve never seen so many tomatoes and zucchini in your life until you look in my Paziols kitchen–but because we wanted to introduce the kids to as many traditional French dishes as possible, it’s not unusual for tartiflette, coq au vin or gratin dauphinois to appear on our table.
All I can say is, at least we walk a lot.
Most afternoons, the kids set off (on foot) to one of the three local watering holes.
The favorite is the Pachaire: while it may be the furthest away, at an hour’s walk, it is also the only one to have a waterfall and a rope swing.
I like the Pachaire, really I do, but while as soon as I get to Long Island, you won’t be able to get me out of the water, in Paziols, I’m more likely to be on the sides, counting heads and making sure that everyone is safe. Maybe this is why I tend to enjoy the walk to and from the Pachaire (or the Fontaine des Eaux… or the Prade) even more than the destination.
In the garrigue, we’re surrounded à la fois by history and nature. There’s old Roman footpaths and expanses of grass and vines. There are structures from when winemakers used to spend entire days out in the fields, left to fall to ruins, ruins that I can’t get enough of.
Coming back to Paziols from the States every year reminds me of how new our country is, how long these buildings have stood, long before anyone even considered setting sail due west for India. I love to touch the stones: it makes me feel so insignificant and small. It’s not a bad feeling… just strange and different.
I don’t think that the others see it the way I do: the kids are happy just to sing songs and ask us “on est presque arrivés ?” (“are we there yet?”), and most of the other counselors are French, used to the ancient things that surround them on a daily basis. In France, everything is old, but I’m not used to it, and so I marvel.
At any rate, there are some things that catch everyone’s eye as we walk: it may be easy to ignore a particularly ancient rock, but it’s not so easy to ignore a sanglier.
After a full day of walking, it doesn’t seem to matter that the food we’re eating is more suited to winter than summer: everyone is hungry.
And sleepy.
Gratin is a typical French preparation that involves putting food (often leftovers) in a baking dish and topping it with something that gets crispy in the oven: either breadcrumbs or cheese. I’m famous back home for my gratin dauphinois, a recipe I learned in the north, but since I’ve already given you that one, I decided to include a new recipe I made for gratin languedocien, a typical regional preparation that is similar to a layered ratatouille.
Gratin Languedocien
2-3 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
2 medium eggplants, sliced
2 zucchini, sliced
2 red bell peppers, sliced into strips
10 small tomatoes, sliced
2 tbsp. tomato paste
6 tbsp. crème fraiche
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp. salt
1 tbsp. herbes de provence
1 cup breadcrumbs
2 tsp. extra virgin olive oil
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
In a skillet, heat a small amount of olive oil and cook each vegetable (eggplant, zucchini and peppers) separately until browned and golden. Add more oil as you need it. Do not cook the tomatoes.
In a gratin dish, layer the vegetables, reserving a layer of tomatoes for the end.
Dollop the tomato paste over the top of the gratin and smooth so that it more or less covers the whole gratin.
In a bowl, combine the crème fraiche, garlic, salt and herbs. Dollop over the top of the gratin and smooth so that it more or less covers the whole gratin.
Top with the last layer of tomatoes, then scatter the breadcrumbs over the top. Drizzle with olive oil.
Cover the gratin with aluminum foil and bake for 20 minutes. Remove the foil and bake an additional 10-15 minutes, until the top is golden and crispy.