It’s the tail end of summer, so let’s make pickles! Not the tiny, vinegary French kind, but home-style dill pickles with an East European flavor. I am dedicating this post to my Ukrainian friend Valya, who returned to Kyiv this week after three-and-a-half years as a war refugee in Paris. It’s as dangerous there as ever, but for her it was just time to go home. I made these pickles for her as part of the picnic I gave her for her two-day bus journey back.
Cornichons, style maison / Home-style dill pickles
With cucumbers still in season, this is a perfect time to try your hand at home-style pickles. The best kind are small cukes, 4-5 inches (8-10 cm) in length. I found some while visiting a friend in Normandy in July, but they are not easily available in Paris. So I used Lebanese cucumbers, which are longer and smoother skinned. This works fine if you cut them into manageable pieces. Standard large cucumbers can also be chopped.
Making the pickles is quick and easy. You bring some sea salt or kosher salt and water to a boil to make your brining liquid, then add a little sugar (optional). While the brine cools, you chop your cucumbers and transfer them to a bowl with the other ingredients — fresh dill, garlic, black peppercorns and coriander seeds. Once the brine has cooled, you pour it into the bowl and set a small plate on top to keep the cukes immerged.
Four hours later you can already try your pickles! They’ll be crunchy, with plenty of flavor. If you’d rather save them for later, you can transfer them to a clean jar and refrigerate for up to a week — no sterilization needed. It’s also possible to preserve the pickles by canning, but this is a far more complicated procedure. Many sites online explain how to do it, if you’re interested.
I first started making pickles back in the late 1970s, at the country home of my boyfriend down in the Gers, in southwest France. A neighbor of his farmed the fields around the house, and one day I noticed there were many small cucumbers lying about post-harvest. I went to see the farmer, a friendly fellow. ‘Claude,’ said I, ‘could I possibly gather a few of your adorable little concombres?’ Claude kindly agreed: ‘Servez-vous‘ (‘Help yourself’).
I took the small cukes back to Paris and went straight to a nearby shop where they sold kosher pickles out of a barrel. The man in charge was happy to give me his recipe, which was much like the one I’m posting except that it also involved … oak leaves. ‘They keep the pickles crisp,’ he explained. One urgent phone call to my boyfriend later, and he was back in Paris the next day with a handful of fresh oak leaves. The pickles got made.
But getting back to Valya, she has been heroic since arriving here in March 2022 after a tumultuous escape from Kyiv as the Russians invaded Ukraine. At the time she was 80 years old and spoke no French or English. She was first lodged in a refugee hotel on the edge of Paris, courtesy of the French government, then transfered to an old folks’ home in the eastern suburbs. Most of the residents were doddering, but Valya was not.
An artist, she went out every day to draw and paint Paris. Here is one of her works. It shows Marianne, the symbol of the French republic, draped in a Ukrainian flag. Valya made the sketch at the Place de la République shortly after a pro-Ukraine demonstration when people still thought the war would be brief. She gave it to me for my birthday three years ago. And the war goes on…
I am indebted to Valya for giving me three and a half years of joy, companionship and conversation (during which time I seriously refreshed my Russian). I fear for her safety but understand her decision to go home — because that is where the heart is.
Happy cooking.
It’s blackberry season and, when down in Provence last week, I couldn’t resist the temptation to make a blackberry-nectarine crumble. The two fruits married beautifully. Blackberries on their own would have been difficult because Provence got hammered by extreme heat and dry weather this summer. The blackberries on the bushes lining the road near my friends’ place were less plump and juicy than usual, and fewer and farther between.
So now let’s leave this thorny subject (pun intended, sorry) and return to our two-fruit crumble. To tell you the truth, I cheated a little by adding some store-bought blackberries, which are far larger than the fruit one finds growing wild and therefore suspect, in my view. However, in this case it made for a juicier crumble. You can improvise, too — with peaches instead of nectarines, or blueberries instead of the mûres, or whatever strikes your fancy.
Move over, potato pancakes. This lighter, summery version with zucchini is perfect in hot weather. The pancakes combine grated zucchini and potato with egg and plenty of herbs — mint is my favorite. Fried in olive oil until crispy and golden, they may be served on their own or with a tangy yogurt-garlic sauce. You can make them in half an hour for a couple of people. Or, if serving for a crowd, make a lot — you’ll find them going like pancakes…
Grilled chicken with rosemary and thyme is one of the delights of the summer season, particularly if you have access to a barbecue — but even if you don’t, as I experienced once again last weekend while staying at a friend’s place in Normandy. We marinated the chicken in olive oil, lemon juice, minced garlic and the herbs, fresh from her garden. We had planned a barbecue, but alas the heavens opened. So we grilled it in the oven. Ab fab…
The green olive spread from Provence known as tapenade verte is delightful at cocktail hour on warm summer evenings. Like its cousin, 
If you prefer white, choose a crisp, fruity variety. Or you may like to serve pastis, the oh-so-Provençal anise-flavored apéritif. Pastis, of which there are many varieties (Ricard, Casanis, Pernod, etc.), comes out of the bottle deep yellow but turns a cloudy pale yellow when water is added. Pour about an inch (2.5 cm) of it into a glass, add ice and top up with water. This goes brilliantly with tapenade — green, black or both.
Forget everything you’ve ever heard about jam-making taking all day. It doesn’t! A few jars of apricot jam, for example, can be made in less than an hour, setting you up with a burst of summery flavor all year long. The key words being ‘a few jars’. If you make your jam in small batches, you can fill your cupboards as the seasons unspool. So far this year, I’ve made strawberry and apricot. I’ll go on to 
For one kilo of fruit, you will get 3-4 jars of jam. That may not sound like much, but if you do it several times a summer with different types of fruit, you’ll end up with enough to last the winter. I missed the red and black currant season this year, but plums and figs are yet to come, and with any luck I might find some blackberries in the autumn.
Bo bun, which originated in Vietnam and has taken Paris by storm, is an ultrafresh, healthy, flavor-packed bowlful of lemongrass beef, rice vermicelli, veggies, fresh herbs and peanuts, bathed in a tangy sauce. It is often topped with nems (mini fried spring rolls). Making it at home is a bit of a challenge, as there are many steps. But how else to enjoy this fantastically tasty salad bowl if you don’t live within range of a place that sells it?
Meantime, if you’re into growing your own herbs, I’d like to point you in the direction of 
Making a French cheese tart is — dare I say it? — as easy as pie. And it can also be creative if you put your own imprint on this classic dish by combining the cheeses of your choice. Of course, if you want to keep it French, then Comté is the cheese most often used over here — either on its own or mixed with another French cheese. For example, chèvre (goat cheese), Epoisses (a Burgundy cheese) or Roquefort, as shown in the photo.
Is there a truly French version of eggs Benedict, or is this dish — which has taken Paris by storm — just a copy of the American original? The basic recipe of poached eggs, Canadian bacon, English muffin and hollandaise sauce has been ‘Frenchified’ over the years. The most surprising variation, oeufs bénédictine, was created by the great chef Auguste Escoffier in 1903 and consists of truffled 
Sea bass and finocchio marry well. In this combo from Provence, fillets of roasted sea bass are served with a tian of potatoes, finocchio, garlic and fresh thyme. But what, you may ask, is a tian? Well, it’s two things. First, it’s the name of an earthenware cooking dish typical of Provence. Second, it’s the food cooked in the dish, generally sliced veggies drizzled with olive oil. Happily you do not need a tian (dish) to make a tian (baked veggies).
If serving the sea bass with the tian, you’ll want to get that going first. The potatoes and finocchio are finely sliced and layered into a baking dish with minced garlic, salt, freshly ground black pepper and thyme. I highly recommend using 
