Feasting in the Pyrenees

It occurs to me that an addendum is required to my previous post. Indulgent breakfast? You're probably thinking - Fran, you're pathetically lightweight! And, I would be inclined to agree with you since I eat that kind of breakfast - fruit, cereal and bread - pretty much every single day. So, I feel I must explain myself before I completely lose my reputation as a woman with a reasonable appetite.

The reason why I called it an indulgent breakfast is that I had no right being hungry or in any state fit for food consumption since I dined on a rather large and sumptuous feast the previous evening at Ann's. By the way, Ann is an English lady who lives with her husband, Malcolm, up the road from where I'm staying, living the very good life here in the Pyrenees. I have no idea how the French do it but Ann and Malcolm sure know how to eat. It was an uncompromising assault on the stomach. My mind and body battled it out. 'I don't need any more food' moaned my stomach as I took yet another roll of French bread and greedily smothered it in homemade pork pate. 'I don't give a fig what you need, this I want!' my mind responded voraciously. My mind won, it always does.

And so, I ate my way through every course, only declining a second helping of dessert, which actually consisted of three desserts (roasted home grown plums, ice cream and homemade lemon cake), such that one might say I effectively declined a fourth, fifth and sixth helping of dessert! I guess my body does have some control...I mean, it was lemon cake for the love of all that is delicious - one of my greatest weaknesses!

Ann and Malcolm have a flourishing vegetable and herb garden that induced pangs of desire in me, akin to how broody women must feel when they see a pregnant woman. The simple salad of tomatoes, rocket leaves, peppers and celery was alive with flavour in the way that only fresh vegetables can be. I consumed copious amounts of bread and homemade pork pate, made all the more precious knowing that it was the last jar of the year. Oh, how it broke my heart to learn that I couldn't buy ten jars of the stuff from a local shop. The slithers of roasted lamb, which had been procured from a neighbour in the village, were tender and juicy. I delighted in knowing that it had had a happy, albeit short, life here gambolling on the verdant hills. This was accompanied by a rustic casserole of carrots and lentil beans and followed by a course of cheese! Only in France.

The wine flowed, the bread basket seemed to replenish itself and I was rendered comatised. I didn't think that I would be able to eat this morning but as you know, I did! Now, I am in a state of excitement and anticipation. Something very good is going to happen - Ann has been busy preparing a feast of what sounded like an eternity of courses for the jazz musicians who will be performing in tonight's show. I can't even hum a tune in key but I've got a place at the table and I sure know how to eat with pleasure. I'm not even hungry yet but I know that my stomach has already lost the battle...

A blissfully indulgent breakfast

I am in recovery from a blissfully indulgent breakfast. It's holding me prisoner in a dream-like happy limbo. I don't want to move on from this moment. It's sort of like when you wake up from a really great sleep but you refuse to open your eyes because you're not quite ready to get up and face the world. So, I sit in this beautiful spot that I've claimed as my own - perched on a hillside, over-looking a luscious valley of trees and tumbling hills, with the morning sunshine caressing my face and a symphony of birdsong filling me with joyful energy...recovering. It feels like time is holding its breath and I have been rendered helpless in its palm. My breakfast is simple yet captivating - the way some women look when they just wake up, I imagine. Plums, melon, banana and grapes, refreshingly juicy and sweet. Warm crusty French bread with butter and honey oozing through the cracks. I like eating messy food - it makes me feel like a child as I happily lick my fingers. And, muesli with hot, frothy milk, spreading warmth to the very tips of me. I can't think of a better way to start the day. I want to wrap this moment up in a handkerchief and carry it around with me for emergency moments, such as rush hour on the Victoria Line. But, I think all I need do is re-create my simple breakfast, close my eyes and eat, allowing my mind to take me where I want to be...

Roasted courgette and apricot salad

I'm going to share something with you that might seem a bit lame but I'm quite proud and pleased with myself so laugh away if you will because I won't mind one bit! I've been doing a little bit of experimenting with food, a pinch really. Current circumstances have cornered me and made it quite necessary that I improvise and use some initiative. I'm a staunch follower of recipes, rules in fact. I like having instructions, a formulation, knowing that something is going to turn out well (or, at the very least that it will turn out the way the recipe intended, for good or for bad!). So, it's quite liberating for me to take a chance and say 'hey, I could fail, this could turn out completely unpalatable and inedible, but so what?!' That's my new thing - looking Failure in the eye and not blinking or turning away. I can see him quaking in his boots slightly...

Ok, enough of the build-up. What exactly did I do? Well, I replaced roasted butternut squash with roasted courgettes in my couscous salad. I told you this might be lame. I'll give you a moment to laugh at me...OK, done? The thing is that this was originally an Ottolenghi recipe and anyone who knows me well will know that I positively and unquestionably revere Ottolenghi. So, to modify one of their recipes was quite courageous for me. Whats more, I actually preferred the salad with the courgettes - they were juicier, which added an uplifting moistness to the dish, and the slightly sour flavour better complemented the tart apricots. Who would have thought?! Every bite brought me delight and wonder. This is good. This is really good. I had an I-love-myself moment.

Naturally, this success has instilled me with an even greater desire to divert from the well-trodden path to good food and find my own way there. I anticipate many failures and disasters along the way but I'm ok with that. Rome wasn't built in a day, as they say. Now, what I really need are some brave and hungry guinea pigs to tag along for the ride. And, I promise this will get more exciting than a mere switching of one type of squash to another. So, any volunteers..?

Roasted Courgette and apricot couscous salad (modified from Ottolenghi)

Preheat oven to 230c. Roughly chop courgette into 2cm cubed pieces, place into a roasting dish and mix with 1-2 tbsp olive oil and a pinch of salt. Roast in oven for approximately 20 mins. Chop one medium onion and gently saute in 1-2 tbsp olive oil until soft and golden. Place to one side and allow to cool. Soak a handful of dried apricots in hot water for 5-10 mins. Then, finely dice in 5mm cubes (this can be done quite roughly). Rub 1 tbsp olive oil into 150g couscous (the finer the better) and pour 180ml chicken stock over. Cover and leave the couscous to soak for about 5-10 mins. Fluff up the cooked couscous with a fork and gently mix in the onions. Then, add the apricots, 1-2 tbsp chopped mint and the zest of one lemon. Finally, add the roasted courgettes and season the couscous with salt and pepper to taste.

Et voila! You're done. I've written this recipe in a pretty rough and fluid way so as to encourage you to change it as you wish. Have some fun - toasted hazlenuts, rocket leaves, cinnamon, the sky's the limit with what you can do! And, if you hit upon something good, I want to know!