The Clumsy American Chef

by Jennifer

I walk into parked cars/trees/lamp posts. There's a little background for you. My second day in France, in Villeneuve Loubet, Nick and I decided to take bikes to le plage for a dip in the méditerranéen sea, but the bike was too big for me, and though I tried to ride it anyway, I only got to the first gravelly and hilled sharp turn before I fell off and dinged myself up. My knee was scraped and bleeding from the thick gravel combined with the high speed, the bike something had cut my foot, and trying to prevent my fall, I had gashes on my hand as well. And I hadn't even started working.

I have aprx. 20 cuts on either hand from the little knife I take with me everywhere on the farm to harvest vegetables and to tie tomates to show them the way to grow (one of which I cut to the vein in my wrist by a vast over exaggerated attempt to harvest an eggplant). I have blisters on the insides of my thumbs from raking. I have scrapes up and down my forearms from harvesting courgettes and about 10 splinters (most of which are still inside the skin) on my thumbs and fingertips from the eggplant. I'm bad at not getting hurt. During a break for lunch one day Markus the English farmer said to me, "You look like you've been on the frontlines".  All this plus a freak accident in the kitchen when a colander fell off the top of the fridge and cut my nose open. My body needed a break.

So I started spending less time in the fields and more time in the kitchen. At first I just made courgettes sauteed with onion, garlic, olive oil, and herbs de provence with the eggplant fries I've perfected and some nice strawberry salads. But everyone seemed to love my cooking...and I was happy to be  in the house where less bad things could happen to me (although the kitchen can be a dangerous place...proceed with caution). I decided to be more creative and really use all the ingredients on the farm. I made tomatoe sauce from scratch for the first time in my life. Nothing came out of a can, and better yet it all came from the farm. I made a strawberry tart out of practically nothing, on a celcius oven no less! Everyone was complimenting my cooking and I was eager to try new things. When our host had some friends over for lunch, me trying to keep up with the conversation in French, they looked at me and said, "c'est bon, this is very good. You made this?" and I was beaming that an actual French person complimented my cooking.

Sensing my adventurous culinary attitude and love of a challenge, the farmers started bringing me things to cook with. Peppers, tarragon, mint, and the biggest challenge of all: a giant, overgrown zucchini that was now a sort of...butternut squash? It had been sitting in the garden for months. I had passed over its girth many times and thought 'why don't they put this rotten thing in the compost?' Apparently they were waiting for the perfect chef. Markus brought it in to me and said, in a thick London accent, "Can you make like a pumpkin pie with this or something nice?". At first I thought he was joking. A pumpkin pie with an old zucchini? Turns out he wasn't.

I set off on the task after staring at the giant thing for a while. I decided to make a meal out of it, with a savory plat and a sweet pie dessert. I started cutting it up and boiled half of it, in small pieces, with some fresh ginger and sel de mer. The other I started cooking in a big pot with tomatoes, basil and garlic. When the boiled squash was soft I used a salad spoon to mash it like potatoes. I added sugar, cinnamon, butter, and nutmeg. I made a crust of oats with egg and flour to bind and popped it in the oven. I cleaned the seeds, added some salt, and toasted them.

Over the next few days I made many meals out of scratch: chili with eggplant substituted for meat, salads with sweet and savory dressings, gazpacho, and a 9 person feast starting with a hot and spicy tomato soup for an amuse bouche, with cous cous, courgettes with herbs and oil, eggplant Japan (an Asian inspired baked eggplant dish invented by Rhea), a grated carrot salad, and a chocolate brownie for dessert, drizzled in strawberry juice and ripe strawberry slices with mint leaves. It was decadent and amazing. I was proud. This day was the first of a new wwoofer, Nadej, from the north of France. She said to me, "I thought Americans were horrible cooks. You must be the best American chef." I beamed, knowing that I am not by a long shot the best American chef, but it's nice to hear all the same.

Les Legumes de Leroy

The fruits of our labor in Villeneuve Loubet...

 in the tomate tunnel

 Aubergines after a summer's rain

 10 kilos of tomates, market-ready

 Rhea's perfect tomate

  Nick's freshly harvested mini courgette - the restaurants will serve the entire vegetable on the plat, and stuff the edible flower with cheese

a weed, it's rich in Omega-3's and delightful in a salad

 not your mom's carrots

 fennel

 bags of fresh vegetables, farm fresh to your door

 these black peppers need no shaker

I guess this is why Americans call them eggplants. 

Antibes

by Nicholas
Antibes is an old port town about seven kilometers west of the farm. There among the shops, restaurants, tourists and locals,  is a long standing marche (market) that is held each day. The merchants have held their same positions week after week, and are threatened by new competition. On this day Fabrice (our host) Rhea and Markus will represent our farm at the market for the very first time.  I intend to bike to Antibes with Jennifer, follow the buzzing of trade, and find our farmers turned sales reps.


As I begin I am feeling down. The joy of partnered adventure is not present; my day-trip will be alone. The bike intended for Jennifer was not built for her unique size and so I leave the farm with her encouragement. I ride south toward le plague (the beach) then west for Antibes. Pushing down each leg with growing intensity, I pedal in rythm and gain speed.


Sweating and with heavy breath, the low of the morning rises with the sun to high noon. For now, independence is my companion. After arriving in Antibes and searching for the marche without success I decide to enjoy the narrow winding streets without cause. The herbed and oiled meat caresses my appetite. The vibrant gelato cools my skin. These fulfilling eatables are enjoyed only through my eyes and nose. Feeling satisfied, I decide to head in the direction of home. Making a turn down a more broad street I see, at last, the marche! I dismount the bike and enter the pavilion with accomplishment and pride. This is what I find...

The empty cases and vegetable remains were surely left by my farming friends, but I am too late to share a greeting. The marche is over. Not disappointed by my tardiness,  I buoyantly walk away. Through an archway along the port and through another arch way, I strole a few hundred yards to find this  place to write...

Perhaps, next, a swim....


*Other images from Antibes*

Gourmand

by Jennifer


Two and a half weeks have passed since we've been in France and New York City feels like a lifetime away. Our hosts maison (house) smells like honeysuckle, and to enter you must walk under an archway pregnant with the beautiful and aromatic plant. The fields are full of corn, courgettes (zucchini), aubergines (eggplant), basil, pepper, many varieties of tomates (tomatoes), radishes, beets, fennel, dill, lettuce, strawberries, carrots, haricot vert (green beans), and peas. The courgette are the best I've eaten in my life; they're a specific variety only grown in Nice and they taste like butter. We have them with every meal. 


We wake each morning just after the sun rises and I stumble into the kitchen and make coffee for myself and oats for Nick. I brush and wash in the bathroom and then change into my work clothes: shorts, sports bra, tank top, socks and my work shoes. They are ugly and functional. In the morning we harvest for the day's sale. This is the best time to work because it's not yet hot. I prefer to harvest the salad, or lettuce. There are five varieties and they are always crisp and fresh from the early morning sprinklers. They grow out of the ground just like they sell them at the store, and you have only to cut the roots off the bottom. When I cut them with my knife they bleed a thin white watery liquid, and cool earth gets all over me. After three hours of harvest we take a small break for the ou cafe, which I usually make for everyone, and I sit in a plastic chair overlooking the farm. If I sit too long the tired washes over me, so I sweep up the kitchen or put away dishes to stay on my feet. At 10am it feels like I've been working for ages. 


After tea we continue to work. This is the hottest part of the day and the hardest. I weed or rake or prune the gourmand, which, like many French words, doesn't translate literally to English. A gourmand is like someone with a sweet tooth who likes very rich things, and the one on the tomatoes steals all the nutrients from the plant and takes it for itself. Hungry for the goodness, we must cut it off so the plant can grow and fruit. As most of the tomatoes are inside a tube/tent (sort of like a greenhouse) with no air moving through, it gets extremely hot. I sweat enough that it's most comfortable to take off my shirt and work in a sports bra, but the more the tomate touch your skin, the itchier you get. My hands turn a powdery green at first, then a deep yellow and into a black the more I work. When I leave the tunnel my hands are black and my arms are yellow. The thick powdery and sticky goo grabs on to my arm hairs and turns them a stiff dirty yellow. After a few more hours of work I go in to wash up with a lot of savon (soap) and a hard wire brush. After about 10 minutes I stop and dry off, and though my hands still look filthy, with black around the fingernails and inside all of my cuts, I resign that they're as clean as they're going to get.

I usually make lunch as well, and if something isn't in the fridge, I harvest it. This is truly farm to table. Our host, Fabrice, makes olive oil in the winter, and there's tons at the house. I cook everything in it and dress the salad with it. It's thick and delicious with a peppery aftertaste. I work until 6 hours are up and then sit for a moment letting my body rest and relax. If I have the energy Nick and I go into the village, to le plage (the beach), or to the river, which is cold and amazingly beautiful. The water is completely clear and there are waterfalls and lush green trees everywhere. Le plage is the famous cote d'azur, so of course it's a treat for the eyes. The striped umbrellas pepper the rocky beach and the Mediterranean sea is a light turquoise blue. The water is perfect swimming temperature, refreshing but not cold. With the work in the sun and the beach, I'm getting very tan. Today we went to Nice and the shopkeeper's all spoke to me in Italian, which means that 1. I don't look French, and 2. I don't look American either. There are many musings to share with you, but as my day off is coming to an end and I'll be back in the field in the morning, I will say bon nuit (good night). 

Villeneuve Loubet

by Nick


We settle first 14 km west of Nice, France in a place dubbed Villeneuve-Loubet.  The magic of the farm is not seen through a broad lens. The treats of Fabrice's (our host) land are only witnessed through more narrow inspection. We walk through the garden and the simple-looking farm begins to reveal its treasures...


Dill and basil catch the attention of my nostrils. The tomatoes peak out from their vines like giant red blinking christmass lights as I walk down their queues.  For more presents one would have to dig even deeper, and I did, just under the soil, to find radishes in colors only seen on candy.  The seasoned air lifts me as I continue on through the length of the fields.


Although the gems of the garden are inspiring, each time they are taken in through the visual and olfactory system, the vegetables truly overwhelm my sense of taste.  The flavors of each vegetable sink into my mouth and deeper yet into my body. Every meal highlights another legume. The zucchini stand alone as an entree, tasting as if they were bathed in butter.  The sweet and full flavored tomatoes proved and example for others to follow while sharing their essence with all that are near.  The eggplant, not covered with breadcrumbs, marinara and parmesan, make me crave their savory meat. These vegetables are the best tasting I have ever had in my mouth. I will report back with Fabrice's secret I soon as I find it.


*The harvest and jet lag has prevented me from capturing these specialties on film but photos will follow shortly.