Category: Recipes for Redemption: A Companion Cookbook (Page 1 of 2)

March 20, 2018 – First Day of Spring

I believe in the adage “Good things come to those who wait” but in this case, the adage should possibly read, “Good things come to those who wait and wait and wait!”  Yesterday, I made a commitment to have my publisher, She Writes Press, who published my first two books, A CUP of REDEMPTION and RECIPES for REDEMPTION, publish the first three books of my new series, SAVORING the OLDE WAYS.  The first book, SEARCHING for FAMILY and TRADITIONS at the FRENCH TABLE – BOOK ONE is a culinary/travel memoir about travels through the Grand-Est of France.  This tour will include the regions of Champagne, Lorraine, Alsace and I’le de Paris and will be coming out in July 2019—yes, a year away!  The next book, SEARCHING for FAMILY and TRADITIONS at the FRENCH TABLE – BOOK TWO, will be the conclusion of the same culinary trip but will head out of Paris and take in Normandy, Brittany, the Loire Valley and ending in the Auvergne.  It will be released in the Fall of 2019 and the third one, SEARCHING FOR FAMILY AND TRADITIONS at the ITALIAN TABLE, will be released in Spring 2020.  Yes, it seems like a long time to wait, but then this has been a journey-of-the-heart of which I began over twenty years ago.  So, I suppose I shouldn’t ‘get my undies in a bunch,’ so-to-speak.

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As a quick peek into the first book, let me entice you with this little tidbit: 

The bitter, sharp April wind howled all around us as my husband, Winston, and I shoved our luggage into the back of Josiane’s car.   Josiane, our French friend from California, and Martine, her cousin’s wife from the nearby Champagne Region, had arrived to pick us up at our hotel in Paris. I noticed the two were dressed in a most chic and colorful manner—typically Parisian, I surmised. My eyes dropped to my own drab slacks and gray top. Six months after 9/11, and I evidently had taken the U.S. State Department’s edict seriously: “Don’t look like an American.”  I sighed.

About a year before, I had retired as a family therapist to go traveling through France and Italy with a culinary arts teacher and chef.  We both were on a search. She searched for traditional recipes and I followed suit by interviewing the families who prepared those recipes.  And, of course, their stories.  It was then I decided to start writing a book about French families, their traditions and favorite foods.

It was purely a fluke that a mutual acquaintance introduced me to Josiane back in my hometown in California. But it was not until she, along with her mother, Marcelle, offered to ‘enlighten’ me about their family’s traditional recipes that I was truly hooked.  From the day they arrived in my kitchen for the first of several interviews, my life was never the same.  Over cups of coffee and wedges of lemon curd tart, we stumbled through our language barriers to form a most incredible bond while sharing our own cultural stories.  One of our first conversations reverberated through my mind:

“So, you are interested in learning how to prepare our French cuisine, n’est ce pas?” Marcelle peered over the top of her coffee cup at me, as she spoke.

“Oui, Madame,” I said, “I would love to learn what makes your cuisine world-famous; your haute-cuisine.”

“Our haute-cuisine?”  Marcelle took a bite of the lemon-curd tart I had so painstakingly baked, hoping this would meet my guests’ approval.  A twinkle flitted through her dark eyes.

“Oui,” I said, in my best French, “but more than ‘haute-cuisine’ I would prefer learning the fine art of traditional French cooking.”

Marcelle carefully dabbed her lips with her napkin.  “Well, Madame, our traditional cooking is rarely considered fine, but we certainly keep a respectable ‘cuisine pauvre.’”

I was brought up short with this French term and quickly turned toward Josiane for an explanation.

“Carole, ‘cuisine pauvre’ means ‘poor kitchen’ and refers to the traditional-type of peasant cooking.  These are the recipes that have been handed down through the many, many generations in our own family and are the type of cooking Maman has taught me.”

Well, that certainly caught my attention.  But, it was when I asked Marcelle what foods she served as a young wife in France, that I was fully caught off guard.  This 83-year-old woman threw her head back, laughed, and then said, “Well, we never had to diet.  That’s for sure!”  She took a sip of coffee and continued. “It was during World War II, you know.  My husband was part of the French Resistance—a Maquis—and we were all in hiding from the Germans.  We were lucky to have even one small potato to share between us, but we managed.  We were family.”

It was at that pronouncement, my life changed.  There was no way back.  Following these talks, with a few cooking classes tossed in for good measure, Josiane offered to continue my ‘education’ by guiding me through France—on a culinary tour with her mother. What could be more enjoyable? The idea of traveling with these two delightful women, while searching for traditional family recipes and learning more about their history sounded like a dream. I couldn’t wait!

But, we were forced to wait.  When the tragedy of 9/11 occurred, our original tour was cancelled, and a month later, dear Marcelle passed away.  The news was devastating on all fronts and I assumed all would be cast aside.  But Josiane informed me she still wanted to take me to France.  “In fact,” she said, “it would be our tribute to my Maman.” I couldn’t refuse.

Shaking the reverie from my mind, I wrapped a purple scarf about my neck, jumped into the backseat of Josiane’s car and strapped myself in beside my husband. This was, after all, the first day of my long-awaited culinary tour!

It’s been a year since Recipes for Redemption: A Companion Cookbook to A Cup of Redemption came into the world and almost two years since A Cup of Redemption made its debut!  It has been quite an interesting couple of years!  Who would have guessed my novel would end up winning, not only national awards, but also international recognition?  And, my little cookbook is no slacker!  It, too, acquired awards both here and abroad and took me into culinary arenas I never thought imaginable . . . cooking schools, food historian dinners, a fun ‘French bistro night’, private culinary events in both Southern California and Austin, Texas . . . Oh, and my cookbook was also featured in a local French bistro, Le Cuisinett for six months.

This past week-end, I was able to read from my novel, A Cup of Redemption, at the infamous LitCrawl–LitQuakes literary week of authors in the Mission District of San Francisco.  Yes, it was raining cats and dogs, but it was a cozy place for a group of us authors and also for those who had come in out of the rain to listen.  Always a fun time to be shared with many!

Next month, on November 13^th, I will be involved in something I could never have guessed possible.  I have been invited to participate in Les Dames d’ Escoffier – San Francisco Chapter’s special event—‘A Literary Feast’.  There I’ll be, along with many of the world’s top-selling cookbook authors, who will gather for the first ever special event at San Francisco’s Ferry Building from 3-6 p.m.  We will be on hand to sign our cook books and to share ‘amuse bouche’, or small bites, from recipes taken from our own cookbooks.  You will easily find me!  I’ll be the one, stunned and in awe of being in the company of such culinary excellence.

When I first began to write of food and families, it never dawned on me that I would end up writing a cookbook.  Or that it would end up being such a fun way to continue the stories of my three main characters, Marcelle, Sophie and Kate.

So, after almost two years, I’m continuing to do what I have come to love best—to write about food, families, and the traditions that bind us all together.  Stay tuned as I string together more of my stories from Savoring the Olde Ways.   I did just return from Bordeaux, you know!

My newly published cookbook, Recipes for Redemption, serves up the wit and whimsy from the original text of the novel, A Cup of Redemption.  As an example or as a little ‘amuse bouche’, please find the following:

CRÊPES de FROMENT

BRITTANY – 2002 – ST. MALO –   ‘A crown of stone above the waves,’ wrote Gustave Flaubert of the magnificent walled city on the sea.

As the two women ventured farther into Brittany, rain fell gently upon them, off and on, light and misty at times, changing slightly with the wind.  The November air felt cool but not cold, so as they traveled around the fringes of Brittany’s coastline, they popped in and out of the car enjoying the seascapes.  It was early afternoon when they veered off the main road to stop in the walled city of St. Malo.  The tide was extremely low.  Old tugs and sailboats listed heavily to one side with their keels resting lazily in the mud.  The two climbed from the car to follow a path where locals walked along the sea wall with their dogs, stopped to chat with old friends, or disappeared through the city gates.  Before the majestic Solidor Tower within the city wall, others sat quietly on park benches to smoke or ponder the day.  Sea gulls and pelicans skulked about the edges of the water in search of lunch, as the smell of salt, sea and seaweed wafted up to the two as they sought out a creperie.   [A Cup of Redemption – Pg. 265-6]

**And as a special treat to you, my reader, I am including a part of a chapter which had been cut from the original novel, A Cup of Redemption, but tells more of the story of the women, politics and crêpes enjoyed in St. Malo.

“Hear that?” Kate asked.  “I believe that’s my stomach growling.”  Sophie, the quintessential tour guide, rose to the challenge.  Kate’s appetite was one she herself did not have, but could certainly accommodate.  She quickly moved back into her mode of ‘taking charge’ and off they went.  Vite!  Vite! Off to a number of little cafés which paralleled the water.

Unfortunately for them, it was nearing 2 p.m. and the cafés were preparing to close for the afternoon.  Not to be daunted, Sophie asked for suggestions, and they were directed up the street to a little crêperie.  As the door swung open and they entered the tiny shop, they were hit with the sweet smell of sizzling crêpes.  The banter inside, between the owner and his patrons, was also rich—rich with talk of the national primaries which had taken place earlier that week.

“What are they saying?” Kate asked Sophie, as they slid into a booth near the bar.

“The owner of the crêperie is saying, after eighteen years of flipping crêpes, mind you, he has made the decision this very week to sell his business and is also thinking of leaving the country as well.  It appears Brittany is not far enough away from the fray of presidential politics!” Sophie said with a toss of her head and a hearty laugh.

“Nothing good could possibly come from either Presidential hopeful,” the owner intoned.  “But we will know shortly, as the run-off is due in another week.”  He prepared crêpes at a fast clip as he bemoaned the thought of having to sell! “But, then, what is a Frenchman to do?  Enough is enough!” he wailed.

“I’ve never had a crêpe made in Brittany, the crêpe capital of the world,” Kate whispered.  She ordered two—they’re small, she thought—a savory one with a bit of ham and cheese, and a sweet crêpe made with a red berry confit with butter drizzled throughout and sprinkled with powdered sugar.  Sophie opted for a savory crêpe, as well.  But only one!  The crêpes were served hot, steaming actually, and the brown lacy pancakes literally melted into their mouths.

“Did I even chew?” Kate asked out loud.  “A quick cup of coffee is definitely needed now,” she said.  But, while Kate had been totally engaged in eating, Sophie, like the Frenchwoman she is, was more interested in debating the issues of the contentious upcoming run-offs.  Her laughter rang through the small café, and others joined in with her.  She turned to Kate and said, “Just like I told you!  People everywhere are planning to go to the polls with clothes pins on their noses—just to show their distain!!”  She laughed again.  They all laughed again, and their voices remained raised.  “These people still live in France,” Sophie said, in way of explanation.

As the two slipped out the door, Sophie said yet again, “Those are Frenchmen for you; they never miss a chance to debate politics!  I love that about my countrymen.”  [Recipes for Redemption – pg. 76-77]