This is a very unusual crumble in that the strawberries are not baked but rather piled fresh into a glass and layered with crumble baked separately, whipped cream and homemade caramel sauce. The result is a light, fresh spring/summer dessert that is as lovely to behold as it is to eat. I can tell you that the crumble in this photo was devoured in seconds by my daughter, and its twin by her boyfriend. And this all came about thanks to French TV…
Crumble aux fraises / Strawberry crumble
Throughout the interminable French lockdown, with cafés, shops, museums and pretty much everything else closed, I fell into the habit of watching the television news at lunchtime. As a news person by profession, I tend to channel hop between the BBC, CNN and the two main French channels, TF1 and France 2. The latter is better for serious news most days, while TF1 has a great presenter on weekends and runs a feature called Quatre à table, which roughly translates as ‘Lunch for Four’. It has a gimmick — the cook is given 30 euros (about $36) to shop at the market to make a meal for four people.
In a recent episode, the cook — a French culinary journalist — was tasked with preparing a meal for her son, who balks at fruit and veggies. After the market visit, we followed her to her kitchen where she prepared a salad of cherry tomatoes and sliced kiwi (the starter), a ‘burger’ of mozzarella and Parma ham sandwiched between pancakes made from grated potatoes and zucchini, along with improvised French fries made of carrots (the main dish), and the strawberry crumble for dessert. Joining the mother and son for lunch were an unidentified man, presumably the boy’s father, and the journalist from TF1.
The strawberry crumble looked so delightful that I decided to try it myself. I didn’t follow the cook’s method exactly — to show her son that the cream had been whipped enough, she picked up the bowl and inverted it over his head — but the rest I did more or less as she did. I halved the strawberries. I made the crumble pastry and baked it on a sheet of parchment paper. I whipped the cream, and I made a caramel sauce by melting sugar in a little water and letting it brown, then adding a bit more water at the end to liquify it.
This dessert is known in French as une verrine because it is served in a glass (un verre). One can of course serve it in a bowl if one prefers, but then one wouldn’t be able to see the lovely layers. This new addition to my culinary repertoire joins strawberry tart, strawberry schaum torte (berry-topped meringues), strawberry charlotte, sliced strawberries with basil and balsamic vinegar, strawberry and rose petal jam, strawberry mousse, strawberry crepes and various other recipes on this site. You guessed right — I’m a fan of fraises.
And the good news is, the lockdown here was partially lifted last week, with sidewalk cafés reopening and the curfew moving from 7 to 9 p.m. So we can at last take a break from cooking and go out for lunch! But those of us who enjoy the arts of the kitchen won’t go out for every meal. So my message to you, as always, is…
Happy cooking.
A lovely way to serve an omelet in springtime is with freshly shelled peas, with a scattering of mint and scallions for an extra burst of flavor. You can add cheese, ham or bacon, baby spinach or arugula — anything your palate desires. The omelet is light, fresh and ultraquick to prepare. Peas straight out of the pod need to be cooked for only a minute. Then whip the eggs, swirl them into the pan, and lunch can be on the table in just ten minutes.
My love of fresh peas translates into many other recipes: 
This dish of roast chicken with a garlicky basil sauce tucked under the skin was inspired by my friend Valérie, a superlative cook. It’s a spin-off from a venerable ancestor, poularde en demi-deuil, or ‘chicken in half mourning’, a specialty of Lyon in which truffle slices are slipped under the skin. As truffles are expensive and hard to come by, Valérie often substitutes herbal sauces. One of her favorites is pistou, the Provençal version of pesto.
The idea for this Mediterranean-style dip came my way the other day when a friend brought me a packet of beautiful dried white broad beans. I wanted to use them quickly, but they were so large that I feared they might be intimidating if served whole. So I cooked them to tenderness and puréed them with lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and a dash of cumin. As my friends and I appreciate spice, I added a crushed cayenne pepper as well.
Fluffy gnocchi sautéd with fresh sage in melted butter is one of my go-to dishes when I need to get a quick meal on the table. The butter is browned ever so slightly, enhancing the lusty flavor of the sage, and a topping of freshly grated parmesan adds a delightful tang. This subtle Tuscan-inspired dish is elegant enough to serve for lunch when last-minute guests arrive. And its real beauty is that it takes just five minutes to prepare.
Along with rosemary, thyme, basil, lavender and campanula (bellflowers), I bought a small lemon tree, which is rewarding me with lovely white blossoms that I hope will be lemons by the autumn. They have joined my my venerable sage plant, transplanted from the country some years ago and still producing darling new leaves every spring and pale flowers in the summer.
Baby spinach lightly sautéd in olive oil with garlic is one of my favorite ways of preparing this versatile veggie. Add a dash of lemon juice and you have a treat with a southern French edge. In northern France you’re more likely to find spinach prepared with cream or butter, the leaves most often served whole in a generous pile. I use spinach in maybe a dozen ways — in salads, in omelets, in savory tarts and as a side dish, as in the photo.
This is a fish story, the upshot of which is a dish of baked sea bream with a delicate lime-flavored sauce. It started two weeks ago when I went to the market and my fishmonger wasn’t there — he’d apparently gone on vacation during the French school holidays. So I wandered through the market and found another fish stand with a remarkably beautiful display. In the middle was a large red fish that looked like a giant goldfish.
Although I had never encountered pageot before, I bought two, brought them home and looked it up: red sea bream. Fine. The next day I set to work for my guest. I coated the fish lightly with olive oil, inserted a couple of lime bits in the cavity and oven-baked it whole. While it was baking, I chopped and steamed a leek and made a sauce of cream, lime zest and lime juice. When the fish was done, I set it on a bed of leeks and drizzled it with the sauce. On the side I served steamed baby zucchini. My guest was delighted.
To give you an idea of the wealth of fish on offer at this stand, here’s another photo. On display in just this tiny corner of the stand are daurade royale (gilthead sea bream), merlan (whiting), limande sole (lemon sole), encornets (squid), seiche (cuttlefish), tourteaux (crab), praires (clams), rascasse (scorpion fish), colinot (hake), colinot friture (small hake for frying) and bar d’élevage (farmed sea bass). This is what makes it so delightful to be a culinary-minded person in Paris, even in a time of lockdown.
If you’ve ever been to Paris, you will most likely have encountered a croque-monsieur, the classic French grilled sandwich of ham, cheese and a creamy sauce. No one makes them at home because they’re served on virtually every street corner, at virtually every café. But with the cafés closed now and snow drifting down the other day, I decided to give it a go. And being in a non-traditional mood, I made an open-faced version on rustic country bread.
When I decided to make a croque, my first step was go down the street to a bakery called 
I like the challenge of going into the kitchen and creating a dish with whatever ingredients happen to be around. So the other day I made a zingy salad from a couple handfuls of lettuce leaves bathed in a garlicky mustard vinaigrette, topped with croutons straight out of the oven. I didn’t exactly create it because I’ve been making this salad for years. The pleasure was in finding the fridge nearly bare and still being able to produce a tasty lunch.
A couple years back I was served this intensely flavorful French dish of lamb and beans on a cold winter’s evening by an English friend who happens to be a superlative cook. Snow was drifting down outside her cottage as a maddeningly delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen — rosemary, thyme, bacon, garlic, tomato and lamb. When I asked for the recipe, she said she didn’t have one — she’d been making it so long that she did it by instinct.
