We have done a horrible job of cooking at home, despite the fact that we need to given our budget and the fact that we really want to. When we were packing, we decided to bring a couple of cookbooks to inspire us. One in particular was “A Kitchen in France“ written by this stunning woman who pretty much has our dream life (almost) – she lives in a farmhouse in Médoc, has a strikingly beautiful and large family, and writes these delicious rustic recipes. Of course, in my dreams, we are also close friends who go mushroom hunting together and gab over fancy Bordeaux wines from the cellar. This evening, as besties sometimes do, we used two of the recipes she “shared” with us.
I decided to document it since it seemed like a quintessential French meal, and cooking here still comes with a decent amount of challenges.
- The oven wasn’t working. We had to find the user’s manual online and interpret the French to figure it out — but we did it (and without the aid of google translate, I might add)
- We intended to buy thyme but somehow came back with parsley and rosemary
- We intended to buy coarse salt and somehow came back with gros sel — something much, much larger than coarse salt, and we have no idea what to do with it
- The kitchen is still tiny
In the end it all came together. Food has a way of doing that sometimes. We had a coquelet (young, small chicken – perfect for two) roasted with crème fraîche and herbs, potatoes sauteed with lots of butter, and a small side salad with mustard vinaigrette. Dinner was accompanied by a white burgundy and NCIS: Miami, en francais. Don’t judge that last bit. It’s how I was the only person in French class that knew the French word for ‘kill’.
Wishing you all a happy and filling Sunday.