Pleasure
Ginette Mathiot, I Know How to Cook
I hope you all had a marvelous Christmas. I did. I got exactly what my heart most desired. Books.
Cookbooks.
French cookbooks.
One even came with a CD.
(Pity the group coming over on the 9th. Take a wild guess at the theme.)
I love Roland Barthes, Marguerite Duras, Sandor Marai, Milan Kundera, Julia Kristeva, etc., etc., etc. I discuss Peter Carey and Truman Capote and Hemingway and all these luscious writers on this blog. But when I sit on that bike at the YMCA or sip wine while indulging in a book pour moi, I read about France and French food and ponder how to whip it up chez moi.
I'm always looking for something very specific. A book that will teach me to make crêpes and quiche and tartes just like Madame B., a Norman who grew her own organic vegetables and fruits long before organic was fashionable or a word normal people understood. Two books have yielded a few recipes that take me back to her garden and kitchens (yes, she had several kitchens): Anne Willan's The Country Cooking of France and Bruce Healy's The French Cookie Book (those of you longing for honest sablé, go here). Now I have the ultimate:
Ginette Mathiot's I Know How to Cook (Je Sais Cuisiner). Finally, I just might.
Marrons glacés anyone?
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