I was in Paris last week and cooked a summer meal for family: champignon mushroom and artichoke frittata, French heart tomatoes-green apples-and basil salad, and for dessert: cooled fruits: cherries, cantaloupe and strawberries mix bowl. The joy began at the farmers market in the 5th district (between the Latin Quarter and Jardin du Plantes) where cousin lives, and there I picked the freshest ingredients a la carte. I very much loved my conversation with the cheesemonger who was in tuned to enhancing my dish's earthiness by recommending the triple cream sheep camembert aged in oak. On Rue Mouffetard was for wine. Cousin picked it incorporating her specificities (dry with sweet notes) and I said that was perfect for the tomatoes with the mild tart of the apples. At her home at last, we had time to chat (with wine) before cooking - and art versus life was the topic as usual (she's a photographer; I'm a writer), and we go deep into our talk because our histories are forever entwined (she is my favorite first cousin, and I visit her at least 3 times a year; New York isn't very far).
While I was cooking, she was preparing the table and cutting the bread. It didn't take me a long time in the kitchen to finish, except for the peeling of the artichoke which she had wanted to see done as she'd never seen it before. The "heart," I told her, is what you get from the vegetable, and it takes a bit of an effort to get there. Over lunch with her kids selecting the music ambience (her 11 year old is a work-in-progress composer, attending a prestigious music school, La Schola Cantorum, a poet-pianist to my mind with an ear for atmospheric tunes and melodies suffused with natural feelings - again, so perfect for the perfect weather in Paris and their perfect home; and there's no better way to express love in cooking when joy is all around - a joy that is organic, elemental, tactile, sensorial, intimate, simple, and profound. They were all there.
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