Quiche

We drive up the path, and even though I’ve been self-consciously wedged between my boyfriend’s mother and one of his best friends for the past several hours as we rode the straight-shot highway from the north–Paris–to the south, I can’t help squirming in my seat, causing the close physical contact I’ve been trying to avoid this whole time as I knock manouche #1‘s elbow three or four times, craning my neck to see around him, to drink in everything.

Memories stream back into my consciousness as the reality sets in: grapevines, tiny winding roads. Castles so old I can’t even fathom it. Familiar signposts leading to even more familiar locations–I smile as I remember, not even having realized until this very moment that I had forgotten–the names of winemakers in the region, of nearby cafés, of the champion rugby team.

This feeling used to only come from Long Island–the only true home I had for years: the feeling of something, of some place, that is just so inexplicably right.

When I left Paziols last year, I wasn’t sure I would be coming back–plans were crumbling and rebuilding themselves left and right: a for-sure move to Argentina slowly became a quick jaunt to Spain, and a firm decision to leave Paris at the end of December was fading away as I realized that maybe I would be able to face my 18-month itch–that need I feel to move every year and a half–that maybe someone was more important to me than that feeling, that need, to move on.

But I was back–and, in spite of myself, in spite of the fact that I was dejected about the loss of my almost-job in Africa, despite the fact that I had no real idea what I would be doing at the end of the summer, I was back in Paziols for five weeks, and I allowed myself to be happy about it.

I have turned Paziols into a true home over the past few weeks–a metamorphosis that you, my readers and internet confidantes (no better kind) have witnessed as it unfolded, slowly creeping in around the edges, the way the midday sun here creeps into the cool and breezy mornings so that you don’t even notice until you realize you’re gulping down diabolo menthes by the glassful.

It seems bizarre that I only got here five weeks ago: I feel like I just got here, but at the same time, I feel as though I’ve been here forever. The house feels as though it has my imprint on it–my place at the table, in the chairs by the bookshelf, in my bed by the window in the attic–no place has seemed so right in a long time.

The past few days have been peppered with talk–talk of making programs in Paziols a more permanent thing. My heart skips a beat as I plan–my default setting–plan for adult classes in winemaking and cuisine, coordinating groups with lessons at the boulanger in Cucugnan. I imagine what it would be like to live here all the time–to welcome, not only two groups of children every summer, but other groups, other people, throughout the year. To share Paziols with even more people, and to get to know it better myself. I know it’s just a dream, just a haze in the distant and indefinite future, but for me, it already feels so real I can taste it.

And taste it I will… in time. For now, it’s goodbye again: goodbye to the light pink rosé we’ve been drinking all summer, to the fresh cheeses that sit upon our table every day. Goodbye to fresh baguettes every morning and three or four heads of lettuce consumed every day.

It’s goodbye to the tomatoes we’ve come to love–the ones that I dressed simply with garlic, basil, olive oil, oregano and feta cheese and made into the quintessential summer salad here in Paziols–the one that was missed the day I ran out of tomatoes and didn’t think anyone would notice.

It’s goodbye to perfect summer dishes that I loved to make and typical winter dishes that I sweated over but made anyway because you can’t come to southwestern France without tasting classic cassoulet.

This quiche was a lunchtime standard this summer, one that I could throw together over my shoulder as I spelled out directions slowly and carefully in French to sous-chefs unsure of the meanings of the words dorer, demi and ajouter.

It’s easy enough to throw together quickly for a crowd, but tasty enough to serve with a simple green salad as a classy summer dinner, for quiche, like so many things French has become synonomous with class back in the States, where I’m headed tomorrow. As for me, it’s just a synonym with France, with everything that has been my life for the past two years. And, like everything else, I find it simply delicious.

Quiche Lorraine
5 eggs
25 cl. crème fraîche
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 pinch fresh nutmeg
400 g. lardons
2 onions, diced
1 refrigerated pâte brisée
1/2 cup grated emmental cheese

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Combine the eggs, crème fraîche, salt, pepper and nutmeg in a bowl until well combined and smooth. Set aside.

Heat the lardons in a skillet over medium heat. When they begin to release some grease, add the onions. Cook until the onions and lardons are golden brown.

Roll the pâte brisée out in a tart pan. Spread the lardons and onions over the bottom, and pour in the egg mixture. Sprinkle the emmental cheese over the top.

Bake for 15-20 minutes, until the top of the quiche is golden. It will puff up slightly, but don’t worry: as soon as you remove it from the oven, it will fall back into place. Serve with green salad simply dressed with homemade vinaigrette.

Vegetarian Quiche
5 eggs
25 cl. crème fraîche
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. dried basil
1 pinch fresh nutmeg
1 tbsp. butter
1 tsp. olive oil
1 carrot, diced
1 onion, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
1 red pepper, diced
1 orange pepper, diced
1 refrigerated pâte brisée
1/2 cup grated emmental cheese

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Combine the eggs, crème fraiche, salt, pepper, basil and nutmeg in a bowl until well combined. Set aside.

Meanwhile, heat the butter and olive oil over medium heat in a skillet. Add the vegetables and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and golden, about 10 minutes.

Roll out the pâte brisée in a tart pan. Spread the vegetables over the bottom, and then pour in the egg mixture. Sprinkle the emmental cheese over the top.

Bake for 15-20 minutes, until the top of the quiche is golden. It will puff up slightly, but don’t worry: as soon as you remove it from the oven, it will fall back into place. Serve with green salad simply dressed with homemade vinaigrette.

Homemade Vinaigrette
1 tsp. French mustard
50 cl. cider vinegar
50 cl. extra virgin olive oil
50 cl. sunflower oil
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Place all ingredients in a clean jar with a lid. Shake to combine. Taste for seasoning. Use to dress clean, cool lettuce just before serving.