Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme

by Jocelyne Rapinac

  Her response came quickly.

  ‘My father is counting on me at Chez Bastien, and I’ll take over later on when he retires. Pretty much like you and your dad’s company.’

  ‘But I thought you loved me.’

  ‘I love you, yes, but I don’t want to give up my life here. I live in a beautiful sunny country that I adore, I’ve a great family that I get along with, I enjoy good healthy food that is fresh and seasonal. I don’t like to rush all the time like you crazy Americans, who just think about making money, and then more money, to add to your insipid, materialistic lifestyle!’

  Matt was taken aback. Paprika had never spoken to him like that before, but he decided to have one last try.

  ‘But you won’t have to rush in California, and it’s a place that also has a lot to offer, you know. The food is good there as well, and there’s plenty of sunshine. We could have a big house with a swimming pool; you’ll have your own car, anything you want.’

  ‘You just don’t get it! What I want is here!’ she said firmly. Then she continued in a milder tone, ‘Maybe I could have all that you want to give me, and thank you for offering it to me, but I’m not interested. What I want is here. What you want to give me is not for an unpretentious person like me who is content with the little things in life.’

  ‘You just need some time to think it over.’

  ‘Matt, actually, for the first time since I met you, I’m a little disappointed in you. You seem to have decided for the two of us. Listen, I’ll never follow you, and I know you’ll never stay here. I can picture your life over there, with your important business career – competing all the time in order to be the best and to make as much money as you can. What you call happiness in your world I call superficiality. You hardly take any holiday and you barely stop to eat properly or spend time with your family, who smile all the time but with whom you don’t really communicate. You told me so yourself, didn’t you?’

  ‘People seem to be in just as much of a rush in French cities.’

  ‘Maybe, but you will never take away their five weeks of holiday, or the ritual of enjoying good food and company. As for rushing all the time, you’re right. I studied in Montpellier for a while but I couldn’t stand it: too many people running around constantly, and so many cars! I’m not a city girl. The life I want is in my village, in the country. I rarely listen to the news and stay away from newspapers because I don’t want my happiness spoilt by the ugliness of a world I want to avoid as much as I can.’

  Matt suddenly realised that he hadn’t minded being cut off from the world since he’d met Paprika.

  ‘And as for my career – and since “career” is such an important word for people like you – I’m going to take over my father’s restaurant, as I said earlier, and keep on living as long as I can in the peaceful atmosphere of this place. You know, some people would like my father to have a bigger restaurant, to expand his business, but what for? Why can’t people appreciate what they have? Why do they always want more? Chez Bastien is special because its size allows it to be authentic. We want to serve the terroir of Languedoc to our customers. My father likes working in the kitchen and coming out to talk to his customers, as you know. Of course, that may not seem very ambitious to people like you, but ambition doesn’t bring happiness most of the time. And money? We have enough money for what we want in life. Money can’t give us time to share with family and friends.’

  Matt paused to think, then said, ‘You have a point, but I’m afraid that I can’t live like that all the time.’

  ‘Yes, you’re realising now that you’ve been in a holiday mindset for a few months and now it has to come to an end. Actually, I hope you enjoyed it because you may not be able to take a break for a long time now.’

  Matt knew she was right.

  ‘I love you so much, Paprika,’ he sighed. ‘I thought that you loved me as well.’

  ‘I love you very much, and maybe more than you realise. I think we have genuinely strong feelings for each other. However, neither of us is ready to follow the other, and if one of us does, it might spoil what we have.’

  ‘I’ll never meet anyone like you again.’

  ‘You won’t because you’ll never be in this situation. I don’t know if I’ll meet anyone or not. I don’t know if I’ll have children or not. I’d like to, in a way, and I hope they’ll appreciate the peaceful life I have to offer them, as my sister’s children do. I hope they won’t be spoilt by the ugliness of the world.’

  She stopped, took a sip of her water, sighed loudly, and went on, ‘But I still have a few years of freedom in front of me. If I had been unhappy with my life here in my little bubble, I might have followed you. But I’m just too happy here.’

  They sat for a moment in silence. Matt didn’t quite know what to say or do.

  ‘Let’s have a toast!’ Paprika announced. ‘To your successful, glamorous life, and to the continuation of my simple little existence!’

  The cheerful clinking of the champagne flutes erased their sad thoughts of the future without each other. What Matt and Paprika both wanted was to make the most of the little time they had left together.

  Matt’s Beloved Recipes from Bastien’s Kitchen

  Tapenade Maison (Black Olive Spread)

  Enjoy this punchy spread with crackers, fresh or toasted baguette, or pasta. Makes about 500g.

  2 slices toasted white or brown bread

  2 cups (250g) pitted black olives, rinsed and drained

  4 tinned salted anchovies, rinsed and drained

  ½ cup (80g) capers, rinsed and drained

  ½ cup (80g) sundried tomatoes, drained

  2 garlic cloves, chopped

  3 tbsp pastis or grappa (optional)

  1 tbsp dried herbes de Provence

  3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

  3 tbsp lemon juice

  Place the toasted bread into a food processor and blitz to make crumbs. Add all the remaining ingredients and blend to a smooth paste. Transfer into jars or an airtight container. The tapenade can be stored in the fridge for 2 weeks.

  Magrets de Canard à la Sauge Miellée (Duck Breasts with Honey and Sage Sauce)

  Daddy Bastien’s house speciality

  serves 4.

  4 duck breasts, skin on

  5 fresh sage leaves, chopped

  4 tbsp honey

  sea salt and ground black pepper

  In a dry frying pan, cook the duck breasts over a medium heat, skin-side down first, until medium rare to well done (about 8–10 mins skin-side, 2–4 mins other side). Set aside to rest, covered, on a warm plate. Return the pan to the heat and add the sage and honey to the duck fat. Heat gently, stirring, until the honey is melted and bubbling. Return the meat to the pan and heat for 1 minute. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. The magrets de canard are particularly good served with sautéed parsnips.

  Goulash à la Languedocienne

  This traditional stew from Hungary with a Languedoc twist serves 4.

  800g beef stewing steak or lamb, cut into 1 in (2cm) chunks

  sea salt and ground black pepper

  3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

  1–2 tbsp paprika, plus extra to serve

  4 onions, chopped

  4 large tomatoes, roughly chopped

  1 aubergine, cut in half lengthways, then sliced into slim wedges

  1 cup (250ml) red wine from Languedoc

  1 tbsp chopped fresh thyme leaves

  1 cup (120g) black olives

  2 tbsp crème fraîche or sour cream

  1. Season the beef well with salt and pepper. Heat 2 tbsp olive oil in a large, lidded frying pan and sauté the beef until browned on all sides. Add the paprika, onions, tomatoes and aubergine and sauté for 4–5 mins, until beginning to soften. Add the wine and thyme and bring to the boil, then reduce the heat, cover and simmer gently for an hour, stirring occasionally.

  2. When the stew is ready, add the black olives and heat for a couple more minutes. Season to t
aste and transfer to a serving dish. In a bowl, mix the crème fraîche or sour cream with the remaining 1 tbsp olive oil. Drizzle the mixture over the stew, sprinkle with paprika and serve immediately. The goulash à la languedocienne is very good served with pasta or boiled potatoes.

  Yaourt Glacé à l’Huile d’Olive et au Miel (Olive Oil and Honey Frozen Yogurt)

  A very popular and refreshing way of finishing a good meal at Chez Bastien. Serves 4.

  3 tbsp good-quality runny honey

  2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

  juice of ½ lemon

  500g thick Greek-style yogurt

  In a bowl, slowly mix the honey with the olive oil until well blended. Add the lemon juice and yogurt and stir gently. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours, then transfer to an ice-cream maker and churn according to the instructions. Serve immediately or store in the freezer until required, allowing the frozen yogurt to soften slightly in the fridge before serving.

  September

  A Taste of Summer in Burgundy

  ‘When from a long-distant past nothing subsists after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain.’

  Marcel Proust, 1871–1922, French writer

  ‘Antoine!’ I cried, overjoyed to see him after so long.

  ‘Julie, how many years has it been since you were back here?’

  Time goes by so fast … too fast. I stood there, trying to remember.

  ‘I’m not sure now … four, five?’

  ‘Definitely too long,’ muttered Antoine, glaring at me. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

  I wouldn’t tell him that I thought he looked older. Or maybe he was simply tired?

  ‘Hello, Delphine.’ Antoine kissed our friend who I was staying with and who had come with me to the farm.

  All of a sudden none of us wanted to talk, even though there were so many things to be said. Here we were, silently thinking about our shared past. Our eyes took in the beautiful countryside, like a green patchwork that covered the hills and plateaux. Right in the middle lay the small village, with its Roman church, the faithful sentinel.

  Antoine’s imposing stone house stood proudly on a hill. A little breeze caressed our faces. The future would always be uncertain, but we knew our fondest memories would always be here.

  I was ready to sit down, delighted and melancholy at the same time: two feelings that I always had when I came back to spend a holiday in the south of Burgundy, where I’d grown up. The big table on the terrace around which we were all gathered had been nicely set for the meal and I began to feel very hungry.

  Suddenly strident screams broke the silence and shattered our tranquil thoughts. Two young boys wearing cowboy outfits came tearing out of the house. They seemed a little overexcited.

  ‘Bang, bang! You’re dead. I got you,’ shouted one to the other, who pretended to be dead.

  ‘Mathis and Bruno, can’t you just behave for once?’ Antoine said firmly. ‘Come and meet Julie.’

  Antoine’s strict tone of voice surprised me – that was something I didn’t remember.

  ‘Hi, Julie!’ the two boys chorused in unison.

  After I’d kissed them, Mathis, who seemed to be the bolder one, began: ‘Dad told us you live in Chicago …’

  ‘Do you see Indians there often?’ asked Bruno.

  ‘Not Indians, stupid: gangsters!’

  ‘Bang, bang!’

  I could see that the legends of the Wild West, as well as the Chicago of Al Capone’s time, were still alive in the Old World, as I liked to call Europe. Of course, I guessed immediately why Antoine’s kids were so interested in these mythical aspects of America.

  Mathis was keen to know more. ‘Is it true that—’

  He didn’t have time to finish his sentence. At that moment a woman appeared on the terrace and Antoine held up his hand to silence the excited boy.

  ‘Hello, Gégé,’ I said, getting up from my chair. ‘I’m so happy to see you.’

  If I thought that Antoine had got older, Gégé hadn’t changed at all. She was also very welcoming but, unlike her husband, didn’t seem to be stressed out. Her smile was warm and her voice was smooth. She was still chubby, like many women I’d met who lived in the countryside, but it suited her. Her cheeks were rosy, proof of a healthy life in vivifying air.

  ‘Let’s have an aperitif,’ she said.

  Within seconds, home-made pâtés, cured ham, dried sausages, and pain de campagne were brought out. Everything looked delicious. How long had it been since I’d eaten farm produce like this?

  I was happy to see that Gégé continued the tradition of rural Burgundy hospitality. In Antoine’s house I knew it couldn’t be any other way.

  The boys both wanted to sit beside me and had endless questions to ask about the Wild West and ‘gangsterland’ Chicago. But Antoine wanted them to sit on the other side of the table so that he could be near me himself.

  ‘Later then?’ implored Mathis.

  ‘Sure,’ I answered with a big smile.

  But rather than sitting at the table, Mathis and Bruno began to slope off back indoors.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going? Stay here, we’re about to have dinner!’ shouted Antoine.

  ‘We don’t really want any of that, and since we can’t talk to Julie—’

  ‘“Any of that” is what’s for dinner tonight, boys. Besides—’

  ‘Antoine,’ Gégé interrupted smoothly, ‘they wanted burgers tonight because, with Julie here, it’s like an American evening for them.’

  ‘Les hamburgers micros: trop cool!’ the boys piped up.

  Gégé’s tone was so sweet that I’d have thought it would evaporate almost anyone’s anger – but not Antoine’s.

  ‘Oh, yes, nowadays children dictate what they want to eat. I forgot!’ he said sharply. ‘And microwaved burgers as well! Bravo, Géraldine!’

  I remembered then that Antoine tended to call his wife by her full name only when he was in a temper.

  I could see that Gégé wasn’t happy about Antoine’s comment, but she didn’t answer back. Looking at me, she simply said, ‘It’s rather hard to please everyone. And you know, Julie, I wasn’t going to cook hamburgers for you! That would have been sacrilegious!’

  Should Antoine have allowed Mathis and Bruno to sit near me? Would they have stayed longer at the table then? I didn’t know enough about children to answer these questions, but I could see that they seemed to be like so many kids in America with bad eating habits. But here, in this part of the world, and on a farm where the food was so good, I was surprised that Gégé was microwaving hamburgers for her children. Was it a way to pacify them, or was it really because it was a sort of American evening for them in my honour?

  Once again, I contemplated the beautiful countryside around me, which would have been mine if I had stayed here instead of trying to find myself in the ‘New World’ – as I called America.

  The little white dots scattered across the green fields, framed by hedgerows and trees were Charolais cattle, which matured slowly, at nature’s pace. How long had it been since I’d sat on a terrace like this one and gazed at such a peaceful, bucolic scene?

  Gégé asked me if I wanted a kir, and of course I accepted.

  When our drinks were served, we proposed a toast: ‘To us, back together again.’

  The petit vin blanc that Antoine bought from a friend who had a few acres of vineyards nearby was unpretentious and full of flavour – completely to my taste. I often find American wines too overwrought; there’s nothing better than a simple, earthy wine. It’s the same with food: it’s better to let its natural characteristics shine through rather than adding extra ones that might spoil its authenticity.

  Gégé made her own crème de cassis. Added to the wine, it made the best kir I’d ever had, in part because I was drinking it here, in this convivial atmosphere, and in the very landscape in which everything we ate and drank had been produced.

  I wanted to go back to the past, to
when my parents were still alive. They, my brother and I used to eat at the big table in the garden just as we were doing that evening on Antoine’s terrace. Wine was always on the table, even when we were children. I remembered Sunday lunches when we would put a tablespoon of red burgundy into our water to add some colour to it.

  The kir was bringing back more memories, just as the famous madeleine had for Proust. But I didn’t have time to write hundreds of pages about it. Besides, nothing needed to be written down; everything was etched into my memory.

  Enough nostalgia for the past!

  ‘How is your brother?’ asked Antoine. ‘I don’t think he’s ever been back here since your parents passed away.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t. He’s fine, thank you. He still lives in Singapore. He comes to see me in Chicago once a year with his girlfriend. They have an adorable little girl.’

  I started talking about my life in Chicago, which seemed almost surreal now, in this southern Burgundy countryside. Everyone listened as they drank their aperitifs. The hors d’oeuvres were as delicious as they looked.

  Then Gégé brought out my favourite dish. Antoine had evidently remembered and told his wife about it. How thoughtful of him. Fromage blanc à la crème et pommes de terre nouvelles en robe des champs.Yummy!

  There was also an exquisite green salad with boiled eggs and bacon. I was already feeling a little full after all the appetisers, but I couldn’t resist.

  By now, I was totally contented, and I wished I could stay for ever in the midst of this beautiful tableau, which I had a naïve tendency to idealise: a sumptuous meal composed of fresh and delectable foods, with the perfect family consisting of mother, father and two kids, in a pretty house, surrounded by lovely serene landscape.

  This was what I would have had if only …

  I met Antoine’s gaze and I guessed his thoughts were running along the same lines.