A Taste of Mind

Libby is my renaissance friend. She lives in a small medieval village on top of a hill in the French countryside. Founded in the 12th century, Lauzerte was designated as one of 100 “Most Beautiful Villages in France” in 1990.

Screen Shot 2014-03-30 at 9.14.40 PM — central square, Lauzerte

Screen Shot 2014-03-30 at 9.12.24 PM — opening onto town square

Although Libby is talented in painting, writing, decorating, and starting successful businesses, she inspires me most with what comes out of her kitchen. I learn something memorable about food every time I see her. She and her husband left the hectic world of U.S. finance to retire early and bought a farm in rural France.

Before long, they opened a “Luxury Boot Camp” called Camp Biche in a ten-bedroom stone mansion, half a block from the central square in Lauzerte. It’s a place where you go to exercise [a lot], receive daily massages and eat three well-proportioned meals a day, including dessert and wine. The result is to lose weight and inches and discover hidden muscles. “Camp” is the kind of place to jump-start the way to a fitter, leaner, healthier you. But it’s not for the faint of heart.

Around Easter in April 2009, I went to see what boot camp and luxury had in common. Advertising had put them on the map, but I was the solo guest for two weeks. At 6:30AM the day began with a glass of hot lemon water and 30 minutes of abdominal exercises followed by an hour of yoga. Then came breakfast, which was always a bowl of Libby’s homemade granola with sheep’s yogurt and freshly cut up fruit, coffee or tea. After eating, it was out the door to hike the rocky, hilly, pilgrimage trails of southern France for the next three to four hours. Lunch was served at 1:00PM, in three courses, with a brief rest afterwards. Back to the exercise room at 3:00PM for one hour of weight training and aerobics followed by an hour of Pilates mat work.

At 5:00 PM came the blessed massage and a post-exercise swoon. A soaking bath with aromatic soaps and oils, a shower, and dressing for dinner almost completed the day. The first week, I made my way downstairs to the dining room holding onto both the wall and the ancient wooden banister, negotiating one step at a time. Pausing halfway down to admire candles on the landing gave ache-y muscles a tiny rest.

Dinner was always a fine reward. The table was set with antique linens and good china. A candlelit chandelier and wood burning fire created warmth and ambience. Locally produced wine accompanied the three-course dinner. No bread was ever served. Each meal was based on nourishing food in reasonable portions without the contents of a basket of bread to nosh on between courses. Instead, “carbs” were consumed in small glasses of wine, which was fine by me.

Somehow, I kept my part of the conversation going until I could excuse myself and navigate up the stairs for the night. Over the course of fourteen lunches and dinners the three of us covered a lot of conversational territory. Libby and I became friends.

After I was a guest, Libby read The China Study by Campbell & Campbell. The menus changed overnight as she embraced all vegan cuisine. She took charge of the kitchen, planning and preparing all meals. The food was still amazing and few guests complained. Online reviews raved about the meals and the hard-earned body changes typical after a weeklong stay.

In early March of this year, I took the train from Paris to help Libby with a big spring cleaning before the guest season began. Eating was informal and mostly unscheduled. We prepared a couple of delicious veggie soups, but a food epiphany was born in the middle of a sandwich. The bread spread Libby called “Cashew Ricotta” was anything but a nutty cheese. Vegan it is and ricotta only in name. It’s inherent creaminess and spread-ability came from very soft tofu blended with raw cashews, fresh lemon juice, olive oil, garlic, salt, and basil.

The first taste was transformative. Giving up sea-salted butter on my toast for the week? Not a problem. Liberally spread, Cashew Ricotta on the morning baguette fueled energy for vacuuming cobwebs, dead bugs, and dust bunnies, wiping out cupboards and shelves, hauling firewood, and carting many wheelbarrow loads to the garbage and recycling bins. I sneaked restorative breaks by dipping into the container of “sandwich spread” with carrots, cucumbers, bread and occasionally a finger when nothing else was available. An obsession was born.

With a few ingredients and a food processor, Cashew Ricotta can be made in a flash. It’s a wonderful alternative to hummus since it is also vegetable protein. As well as on sandwiches and toast, it can be used as a dip for crudités, breadsticks, crackers, a topping on baked or boiled potatoes, even hardboiled eggs. It’s probably pretty incredible with French fries but I haven’t tried that, yet. Good-bye forever store-bought mayo! This spread could easily be mass marketed, but the best way to enjoy it is to make your own, à la Libby.

tofu, cashews, lemon, garlic, olive oil, salt, basil

CASHEW RICOTTA– Sandwich Spread

½ cup RAW cashews [4oz.]
¼ cup fresh lemon juice
2 T. olive oil
3 garlic cloves [can be roasted too]
1 lb. very soft tofu, drained [the softest and creamiest you can find]
1 ½ t. dried basil [can use fresh basil in larger amount]
1 ½ t. salt

In food processor blend cashews, basil, lemon juice, garlic. Then add tofu, oil and salt. If using fresh basil, cut into smaller pieces with scissors and add with the second batch of ingredients. Use as much as you want until you like the color.

After twelve successful years of operation, Camp Biche was put on the real estate market in 2019. All of us who went there once, or multiple times, will remember our “luxury boot camp” experience with fondness. Good luck Libby and Craig on next ventures!

Because I live in France and am an unabashed Francophile, things that are part of French food culture often become my eating habits, too. Certain food and drink customs have been more adoptable than others.

For example, I’ve learned to love eating foie gras accompanied by a glass of Monbazillac wine. The sweetness of this wine melds perfectly with a slice of foie gras sprinkled with crystals of sea salt. Foie gras on toast followed by a sip of this wine takes me to a close-your-eyes-and-enjoy-life kind of moment.

foie gras and toast with Monbazillac wine

For breakfast, I slice baguette “cereale”, full of seeds and nutty grains, into half lengthwise. I eat it hot from the toaster and smeared with butter from Brittany with chunks of sea salt in it. My daughter says I have a salt dependency, but I do enjoy the crunch and burst of flavor when I bite into a crystal of buttery salt on good toasted bread. Another local custom I adopted quite naturally is a glass of Champagne as an aperitif or with meals.

There were less successful adaptations to French food culture. I eat oysters and escargots only occasionally, and beef “tartare” never. In France, raw oysters are served with a sprinkling of high quality wine vinegar and finely diced onions. They are eaten year round, not just in months with an “r” in them. Escargots drowned in garlicky butter and mopped up with torn off pieces of baguette can be pretty delicious, but only when the mood is right.

Although many people in restaurants enjoy plates of seasoned raw beef [tartare de boeuf] with crispy pommes frites alongside, I can’t get my mind around what the mushy texture might feel like in my mouth. I’ll have my pommes frites with an omelet and salad, thank you.

There have also been some unexpected surprises. Which brings me to the subject of the leek. Leeks are prominently displayed in every indoor and outdoor market, with thick green tops and shiny scrubbed white stalks. They are eaten in a myriad of ways–cooked and marinated as an appetizer, in soups and salads. Leeks are well represented and utilized as a vegetable, but I had never bought or prepared one before we lived in Paris.

I was seduced into trying leeks in a rather offbeat way. While reading the book, French Women Don’t Get Fat, I diligently copied the secret recipe that every French woman turns to when her waistband begins to feel snug, but before things get radically out of control. According to author, Mireille Guiliano, French women know to slice up leeks, boil them into broth, sip the soup, and eat boiled leek salad for two days. Thereafter, order is restored to the waistline.

On a day when it took several attempts to close the button on my jeans it was clearly time to give this recipe a try. I prepared two pounds of leeks by cutting off the green parts, slicing one inch pieces and placing them into a large pot of water to which I added some powdered veggie bouillon. [The French recipe uses unflavored water.] They simmered until soft which didn’t take very long, 15-20 minutes. The cooked leeks were separated from the reserved liquid. The plan was to drink broth every two to three hours and eat the remaining leeks drizzled with lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper for the next two days.

I can do anything for two days.

Throughout the day, whenever I was hungry I sipped leek broth from a mug. It was warm and nourishing in an onion-y kind of way and the bouillon gave it a little salt kick. While my husband ate a normal dinner that evening with a glass of wine, I happily consumed cold boiled leeks with lemon juice, salt and pepper and a glass of water. Just like French women do when their clothes are too tight.

By the next morning, I was over it. Looking at the refrigerated leftovers was so grossly unappetizing that yesterday’s waist reducing efforts stayed covered, ignored, and soon to be forgotten. There was little hope except to toss things out when they began to smell.

A solution surfaced serendipitously. While weeding out some old papers and magazines, I came across this: “30- minute recipe for Potato-Leek Soup with Chives“. Maybe redemption was possible with a few added ingredients.

I simmered three thinly sliced potatoes in the veggie leek broth until tender, sprinkled grated nutmeg over the cooked leeks and pureed everything in the blender. The result was a velvety textured, fragrant, soulfully nourishing soup, delicious soup.

That night my husband ate three bowls full.

And I learned not to judge food by first encounter because the seemingly boring leek can become so-very-sublime.

POTATO-LEEK SOUP WITH CHIVES

2 T. olive oil
2 large leeks, light green and white parts thinly sliced [2 cups, or more]
¼ t. grated nutmeg
1 lb. Yukon gold potatoes [3 medium] peeled and thinly sliced [any potato will do]
3 3/4 C. vegetable broth [can use low sodium]
finely chopped chives

Heat oil in large pot over med-low heat. Add leeks, cover and cook 5 min. Add nutmeg and cook 1 min. more. Stir in potatoes and broth. Bring to a simmer. Partially cover, reduce heat and cook 10 min. or until potatoes are tender. Purée with an immersion blender. [Or a regular blender]. Serve hot or chilled, sprinkled with chives. Velvety and golden. Serves 4.

A Taste of Mind

window to a life overseas

Libby’s Lessons in Lauzerte

The Lowly Leek from Boring to Sublime

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A Taste of Mind