The room is long and narrow, about twenty-three by twelve feet and set at an L to the rest of the house. It has white stone walls about one-fourth of the way up, then timbered walls the rest of the way. A brick chimney angles up one end of the room to the ceiling, and the floor is ochre concrete with the tracings of a carpet design in it that Michael did, for fun.
Before the concrete floor was poured our entire ground floor was paved in gravel. It was an improvement over the dirt and rubble we had found at first, and our friends had found it chic. One couple rushed home after visiting us to call their architect and see how they, too, could have gravel on the floor of their house.
But I loved it when that hard concrete went in. It was clean, and it allowed us to move into the room and use it. The floor heat took off the chill. It wasn’t exactly cozy—the fireplace would help, and so would plugging up the random holes throughout the room—but it was eminently livable.
About a year after the floor was poured Michael was ready to “attack” the room and fix it up. He hung a heavy curtain at the doorway, which connected the room to the rest of the house, and that was the last I saw of it in its cleaned-up state. The next time I walked in it was a work site, as he set about building inner walls that resemble the outer walls so that he could tuck insulation between them. Those first days of work on a previously lived-in room are always a bit discouraging. We seal ourselves off from a certain pattern we’ve established and crowd into the rooms that are livable. And we get used to the fine old dust that settles on everything no matter how careful Michael is to seal it in.
I tend to stay away from the work sites for several reasons. When Michael works he’s a loner, so involved in what he’s doing that he doesn’t like interruptions. I learned that during the years he sculpted full-time. The atmosphere of his studio was always intensely personal, as if he were encased in transparent steel—untouchable, unreachable. It is much the same in the house though less peaceful, for he can’t often control what he’s going to be doing. He will uncover one wall intending to do one thing, only to find that its support has been eaten away over the years by wood-loving insects, which requires him to replace all the wood, or reorient his work so that he can avoid a pitfall. Nothing is simple or straightforward, or even straight. The angles are always off, and nothing matches. All of this, while enormously challenging, is also often enormously annoying, one more reason not to disturb him at his work.
But of course it is impossible to stay away. So I peek in and sometimes wander around, looking. I walked into the room one day, braving the dusty turmoil. Michael isn’t a full-time smoker, resorting to cigarettes only when confronted with a particularly knotty problem. This day he was smoking, so I doubted he was in a conversational mood, but I was curious about what he was doing. I walked gingerly about. Michael is an extremely orderly worker, but there are still life-threatening traps everywhere for the uninitiated—boards with ugly nails sticking out of them, piles of rubble here and there, gullies where he’s had to dig into the concrete to bury something, stacks of pale white local rock he was using to rebuild the lower wall, bags of ochre to dye the plaster, bags of plaster which, if one should somehow fall on a foot or a leg, would crush it.
Then I just stood and looked around; the stone foundation wall that runs around the bottom fourth of the room was taking shape. He was currently tapping on the lovely, local white stone he was using for it, which he had gone to great effort to salvage, using his sculpture techniques to make the pieces the exact size he needed while keeping them natural looking. This work approached sculpture and while it was slow, tedious going, I could sense his satisfaction in it. He’d been working on the room for several months at that time, having completed a stone wall at one end of the room near the fireplace, which previously had been dirty and uneven and now was pristine and lovely, all of the wiring, and now a good part of this small stone wall.
I marveled at what he had already accomplished. I never understand space myself, and I am in awe of his talent. He looks at a rough, dirty, unfinished space and almost immediately figures out how to make it functional and beautiful. When he’s in the midst of it, as he was now, his hair white with stone dust, tools everywhere, the two pieces of furniture in the room covered in white cloth looking like misplaced polar bears, his mind is fixed, intent on the challenge before him.
I looked at all he had done—the walls, the floor, the ceiling—and my eyes rested on a face carved into one of the support beams. Hmm, I thought to myself. I don’t remember seeing that before. I walked closer, to look at it. It grew organically out of the dark beam, an ancient-looking face with slightly Asiatic features; its eyes seemed both opened and closed. It was calm and quite beautiful. I felt silly for not having seen it before, caught once again in my unobservant state.
“That face is gorgeous,” I said to Michael, who had stopped tapping for a minute. “When do you think it was done?” He took off his goggles and asked me to repeat what I’d said, so I did. He laughed.
“I did it,” he said. “About two months ago. I was so frustrated with the electrical wiring and the beams and the way things wouldn’t come together that I just had to do something.” I looked up at the face. Most people, in a similar situation, might have run out of the house screaming or strangled the first person who came in the room. The kind of frustration I know Michael experienced wasn’t mild. It was the “goddamned frigging stupid little wires and dumb little lights” kind of frustration that, though silent, shakes the windowpanes. His solution was to carve a beautifully restful face in a support beam.
It gave me a shiver. Michael is deeply talented, I know that. But to create something so lovely by making use of frustration takes something more than talent. To me it was an expression of hope, of commitment, of beauty amidst mayhem.
While Michael was working on the electrical wiring for this room I could tell it intrigued as much as maddened him. Each phase of this house is the same as he tussles his way through it, finding the appropriate materials and figuring out how to use them. For this room, he had discovered an inexpensive source for spotlights, each of which required rewiring before he could use it, which he did in his painstaking fashion. Then he decided to embed them right into the old, thick, wavy beams in the ceiling, which took forever, and everyone who sees them is amazed. While we have to get approval from the office of historic monuments for any changes we make to the outside of our house, we are free to do as we like on the inside, so Michael works unfettered.
It took Michael a year to finish the room as he built walls, plugged up holes, mixed up pale ochre-colored plaster to fill in between the timbers, pointed the brick chimney, rebuilt the fireplace box, and made the room an elegant work of art. When visitors walk in they are astounded by its beauty. Then, to really wow them, Michael turns on the lights, a hallmark of his work. He doesn’t just install an electrical system, he installs the most complex and efficient electrical system he can, and since he’s not an electrician, and particularly not a French electrician, he’s learning as he goes.
There are twelve switches that control the spots, so the mood can be somber, elegant, or brightly lit. Delighted with the result, Michael loves to give a light show.
Guests inevitably notice the face in the beam. I often catch them looking at it. They assume that it is ancient, considering it one more marvel of this marvelous house. When they find out it is Michael’s work, they realize how much he has made this house his own.
NORMANDY MUSSELS
MOULES À LA NORMANDE
The waters off the coast of Normandy are filled with sweet mussels and we eat them often. I like this preparation with its local hallmark of cider vinegar, which sets off perfectly the sweetness of the mussels. Serve these in Norman fashion, with plenty of fresh bread and sweet butter and hard cider.
6 pounds/3kg mussels
1 cup (about 10g) firmly packed flat-leaf parsley
2 small shallots, sliced in half then cut in paper-thin slices
; 4 dried, imported bay leaves
1/4 cup/60ml cider vinegar
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1. Just before cooking the mussels de-beard them. (To de-beard mussels, gently but firmly pull out the byssus, or group of fine threads that hang from their shells.) Rinse them well in cool fresh water and place them in a large stockpot. Coarsely chop the parsley and add it, along with the shallots, bay leaves, and cider vinegar. Shake the pot so that all the ingredients are blended, and bring the liquid to a boil over high heat. When it is boiling reduce the heat to medium-high and cover the pot. Cook the mussels until they just open, shaking the pan from time to time so the mussels cook evenly. Once the mussels are open, continue to cook for an additional minute, checking the mussels frequently and removing those that are wide open so they don’t overcook. If, after 2 to 3 minutes there are mussels that refuse to open, discard them as they are either dead or empty.
2. Transfer the cooked mussels to a large serving bowl, or simply return all of the mussels to the stockpot. Season them generously with salt and pepper and serve.
6 TO 8 SERVINGS
THE FISH MERCHANT’S STUFFED CABBAGE LEAVES
CHOUX FARCIS À LA POISSONIÈRE
This is a winter specialty from Aline Aubé, owner with her husband, Olivier, of the Poissonerie du Centre in Louviers, on rue Général de Gaulle. Each day Aline makes a half dozen different dishes to tempt her customers, using whatever fish is abundant and in season. One day she offered these tempting little packets, which customers were buying so fast I decided I’d better try them, too. Mme Aubé carefully placed the last two in a container for me, then scooped up the remaining cream sauce intended to bathe them. She looked at them, decided there wasn’t quite enough cream, and added a generous dollop more from a bowl that sits in ice on her fish counter.
I reheated the dish gently at home and we all loved its delicate flavor, such a departure from the traditional hearty meat-filled stuffed cabbage. I asked Mme Aubé what gave her the idea for this unusual dish.
“When you work with fish all day long and love it the way I do, you naturally think about using it everywhere,” she said modestly. “This dish simply made sense to me, and our customers love it.”
Though Mme Aubé bathes the fish-stuffed cabbage leaves with cream for her customers, when she makes them for her family she drizzles them simply with lemon juice. I like a combination of both, first drizzling the little packets with lemon juice, then with a bit of cream. I have adapted Mme Aubé’s recipe by adding a touch of lemon zest to the filling.
Serve this with a lightly chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
11/2 pounds/750g fish fillets, preferably lingcod, flounder, cod, or whiting, bones and skin removed
1 shallot, minced
3/4 cup/180ml crème fraîche
Sea salt and fresh finely ground black pepper
6 large, pale green inner leaves savoy cabbage
Zest of 1 untreated lemon, minced
2 tablespoons/30ml freshly squeezed lemon juice
1. Place the fish, shallot, half the crème fraîche, and a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper in the workbowl of a food processor and process until homogeneous and elastic, which will take a minute or two. Cook a teaspoonful of the filling in a small pan over medium heat and taste it for seasoning. Adjust if necessary.
2. Prepare a large bowl of ice water. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the cabbage leaves and cook them just until they lose their crispness, but not until they become limp, 2 to 3 minutes. Carefully remove the leaves from the water and transfer them to the ice water. Leave them in the ice water just long enough for them to completely cool off. Carefully transfer them from the water to a surface covered with a tea towel, and pat off any excess water.
3. Gently smooth out the cabbage leaves on a work surface. Trim away the thickest part of their stems. Divide the lemon zest in thirds. Reserve two-thirds for the packets, and stir the other one-third into the remaining crème fraîche.
4. Divide the fish filling into 6 equal-size portions. Place one portion of the filling in the center of a cabbage leaf. Sprinkle some of the reserved lemon zest over the fish filling, then fold the cabbage leaf over it to completely enclose it. If the leaves threaten to come apart, keep them closed with a skewer. Repeat with the remaining fish filling, cabbage leaves, and lemon zest.
5. Bring water to a boil in the bottom of a steamer and place the packets in the steamer, seam side down. Cover and steam until the fish filling has turned completely opaque and is cooked through, about 20 minutes.
6. While the packets are steaming, place the crème fraîche with the lemon zest in a small saucepan over very low heat so that it heats just to the steaming point. It should not boil.
7. To serve, place one packet in the center of a warmed dinner plate. Squeeze about 1 teaspoon lemon juice over the packet, then pour on about 1 tablespoon of the hot crème fraîche. Sprinkle with sea salt and serve immediately.
6 FIRST-COURSE SERVINGS
HEARTY LAMB STEW
CIVET D’AGNEAU
This recipe comes from my butcher, Jean-Louis Richard, and it is an uncommonly delicious treatment for lamb. Monsieur Richard uses what he calls the “lesser pieces” of lamb like the collar and the shank for this dish, which are ideal for long, slow cooking because they are fattier and more flavorful than standard cuts like the shoulder or the leg. You can use shoulder or leg, however, but be sure to check the dish frequently and add water as it cooks so it doesn’t dry out. Serve a lush Bordeaux with this dish.
3 pounds/1.5kg lamb, shank and/or collar, cut into 2-inch/5-cm pieces
1 bottle/750ml hearty red wine, such as a Minervois from the Languedoc
2 dried, imported bay leaves
20 sprigs fresh thyme
20 black peppercorns (preferably Tellicherry)
3 tablespoons/45g unsalted butter
2 medium carrots, peeled, trimmed, and cut in very thin rounds
1 large onion, cut in paper-thin slices
3 tablespoons/25g all-purpose flour
Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup/5g loosely packed flat-leaf parsley, for garnish
1. Place the lamb in a shallow, nonreactive baking dish, and pour the wine over it—it should be about 1/2 inch/.75cm deep in the dish. Add the herbs and the peppercorns, stir, cover, and marinate for 48 hours in the refrigerator, stirring occasionally so the pieces marinate evenly. Remove the lamb from the refrigerator at least 1 hour before you plan to bake it.
2. Preheat the oven to 425° F/220° C/gas 8.
3. Remove the lamb from the marinade and pat it dry. In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium heat and lightly brown the lamb on all sides. Remove the lamb from the pan and add the carrots and onion and cook, stirring, until they are slightly golden and beginning to soften, about 5 minutes.
4. Remove the vegetables from the pan and stir in the flour. Cook, stirring, until the flour is bubbling and golden, at least 2 minutes. Pour the marinade and herbs into the pan and cook, stirring, just until the mixture thickens slightly.
5. Place the lamb (with any juices it has given up) and the carrots and onions in the same baking dish that the lamb marinated in, arranging them in an even layer. Season with salt and pepper and pour the thickened marinade over it. Bake, covered, until the lamb is very tender and can just about be cut with a spoon, 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes.
6. Remove from the oven and let cool for 5 minutes.
7. Mince the parsley and sprinkle over the lamb just before serving.
6 SERVINGS
MAMIE JACQUELINE’S CHOCOLATE CAKE
G TEAU AU CHOCOLAT DE MAMIE JACQUELINE
One of Joe’s friends, Florian, accompanies us on vacation from time to time and his grandmother often sends along a little treat for us all. This cake was an offering once and we tucked into it the minute we arrived at our destination. It was tender and delicious. When we returned, I a
sked Mamie Jacqueline for her recipe and she scoffed, “Oh, that simple little cake?” When I pressed she rattled off the ingredients by heart. A surefire success whenever I make it, you need only serve it simply sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar.
3/4 cup/100g cake flour
Sea salt
7 ounces/200g bitter chocolate, such as Lindt 70%
8 tablespoons/125g unsalted butter, softened
1 cup/200g sugar
4 large eggs, separated
Confectioners’ sugar
1. Butter and flour a 91/2-inch/24-cm round cake pan. Preheat the oven to 375° F/190° C/gas 5.
2. Sift the flour and a generous pinch of salt onto a piece of parchment paper.
3. Melt the chocolate in the top of a double boiler over medium-high heat. Transfer the chocolate to a medium-size bowl and whisk in the butter until the mixture is smooth. Vigorously whisk in all but 1 tablespoon of the sugar, then add the egg yolks and whisk until the mixture is smooth. Using a wooden spoon, stir in the flour mixture 1 tablespoon at a time until combined.
4. In a large bowl whisk the egg whites with a pinch of salt until they are foamy and begin to thicken. Add the remaining tablespoon of sugar and continue whisking until they form soft peaks. Fold the egg whites into the chocolate mixture, then turn it into the prepared baking pan and bake in the center of the oven until the cake springs back, 20 to 25 minutes.
5. Remove the cake from the oven and let it cool to lukewarm in the pan, then turn it out onto a rack to cool thoroughly. To serve, sprinkle it with confectioners’ sugar.
6 TO 8 SERVINGS
SIX
Mornings in Louviers
LOUVIERS IS MAGIC in the mornings. In winter when I wake up and walk downstairs I look outside at the church, which is a mass of shadows and shapes against the dark blue sky. Our little garden is snug in front of the house, the apple trees snaky forms against the dramatic backdrop. A few early risers drive by on their way to work. Part of the magic is that the house is warm inside, something I never take for granted having lived here before the furnace was installed.
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