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.
Crumble mûre-nectarine / Blackberry-nectarine crumble
Lacking a pail, I went out with a plastic colander and spent a happy half-hour picking the berries within my reach. Well, dear reader, there weren’t that many, less than a cupful. What to do, what to do? The solution came to me as soon as I entered the kitchen with my small haul. On the table sat a bowl of nectarines. The crumble took about 20 minutes to prepare, plus about 50 minutes in the oven. My friends were delighted. And so was I.
While I was out there picking, I got to thinking about blackberries — mûres in French. Where does that word come from, I wondered. In English, it’s simple. The berries are black. In French, not so simple. First of all, mûres is pronounced exactly the same as two other words: mur, meaning ‘wall’ (think ‘mural’), and mûr, meaning ‘mature’. And then there’s that pesky circumflex (^), which usually means that a letter has been dropped at some point as the language evolved — e.g. hôtel in French derives from hostel.
I had to wait until I got home to Paris to find some answers. I turned first to my friend ‘Bob’, as the excellent French dictionary Le Petit Robert is affectionately known by some. It says that mûre derives from the 17th century French word meure, which in turn derives from the Latin word mora , which is still the term for ‘blackberry’ in Italian. (For the record, the Littré, the Robert’s older brother, concurs on the etymology but questions why the Académie Française, the grand arbiter of language, saw fit to add a circumflex at all.)
Meantime, back in the kitchen in Provence, as I sliced up the nectarines, I got to wondering about that word, too. When I first moved to France, back in the 1970s, nectarines were called brugnons, whereas both words are used now. But not interchangeably, as I discovered. Le brugnon is a clingstone fruit, while la nectarine is freestone. Making matters still more complicated, both brugnons and nectarines come in two varieties in France — with white flesh or yellow flesh. This is also true of peaches.
I realize that we’re wandering far from our main subject here, but please allow me to continue this digression for just a moment — because, as in English, there are actually two words connoting ‘blackberries’ in French. You’ve got your mûres (the berries) and your ronces (the brambles). But just as one would never say one was making a bramble crumble (despite it rhyming nicely), one would never make un crumble aux ronces…
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.
Happy cooking.
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 
This deeply flavorful, earthy dish of rice, lentils, caramelized onions and spices can be found at Lebanese market stalls and restaurants in Paris and is easy to make at home. The ingredients are cooked separately, spices are added and everything is combined at the end, with more fried onions on top. I’ve served it twice recently — with shawarma chicken and with 
