Gaia's Vegan Blog

September, and life is good!

2011-09-05T03:57:00.000-07:00

I love September in Provence! Our fruit trees are heavy with apples, pears, plums and figs, our vineyard showcases an array of various table grapes, and the veggie garden supplies us with tomatoes, zucchini, salads, carrots, chard, blackberries, and raspberries.

Most of the year I go to the kitchen to look for a snack, but these days all I have to do is walk out the door! Little compares to the feeling I get from eating fruit right off the trees - trees that I lovingly nurture, prune, feed, and water all year. Harvest time offers a treasured insight into how simple life really is if I just slow down enough to notice.

Summer was busy this year. We met some wonderful vegan people from all over the world, as far as California, Vancouver, and Australia, and as close as England, who came to discover Provence and enjoy a bit of gourmet vegan cuisine in our little corner of paradise.

The kids went back to school today, meaning that our days are about to become more structured again. Finished the lazy mornings, three o'clock lunches, and late night swims in the pool - until next year, that is!

Flying children!

2011-08-13T11:31:00.000-07:00

Noah and Peter ~ no parachute needed!

Year after year, the pool remains a huge draw for grown-ups and children alike. Whether it's to cool off after a day spend exploring the nearby villages and lavender fields, or whether you fancy spending an entire day resting in one of our lounge-chairs, the pool is where everything happens at La Petite Gardette in the summer.

The pool deck offers plenty of space for everyone to enjoy some privacy, and the surrounding trees and awning provide are a shady alternative for those needing a break from the sun (temps got to 39 celsius just yesterday!).

Max, Nina and Clara - big splash coming up!

The deep-end of the pool is surrounded by massive rocks and a wall on both sides. The water there is over 6ft deep, making it the perfect spot to practice your diving (or cannon-ball!) skills. The rocks are a good way up, but the wall is the perfect hight for our younger guests.

It's fun to watch as games get invented and played out. Last year one game had kids jumping off while acting out Harry Potter characters that the grown-ups had to guess. This year, as Harry delves deeper and deeper into the dark side of adolescence (when Harry takes off his shirt and is, well, hairy, I say it's time to move on!) I'm lobbying for a shift to the Kung Fu Panda II cast:)

Love is in the air...

2011-08-13T11:23:00.000-07:00

One day this week I woke up feeling particularly peaceful and connected. Those who've stayed with us before know that summer is a particularly busy time of year around here, and that the notion of "peace" and "connection" tends to fall through the cracks as we bustle around welcoming guests and delivering on our promise of delicious vegan eats...

This one morning though, I didn't feel the usual urge to rush through my to-do list. Instead, I took the time to notice the first rays of sun coming through the open window, the song of the dozens of birds who live in the cypress trees right outside my bedroom, and the restful silence of a household still asleep. In short, the day felt special. Full of possibilities.

One of my early morning habits is to go check on the vegetable garden, not to work necessarily (although I do plenty of that this time of year), but just to take in the slow but steady growth of our various plants and flowers. It's reassuring and grounding to watch nature do its thing. And when you think about it, it's all effortless. Salad either grows, or it doesn't. Tomatoes either ripen, or they don't. Nature doesn't have goals, nor does it set expectations. It simply is what it is, in a permanent state of surrender. On that particular day, it even showed its playful side. This is what came out of the ground when I was pulling carrots for dinner. How cool is that?

And later that day, these two snails were snuggling by the water hose, much too busy to notice me!

They took notice of Noah however, when he picked them up for a closer look. Luckily he didn't ask too many questions about what the snails were actually doing, dismayed and bewildered (for the nth time) by the fact that most people in France see a snail and call it dinner. Noah really can't get over it that even some of his classmates eat snails (and froglegs) regularly.

A fun-filled weekend on the shore of Lake Serre-Ponçon.

2011-06-30T13:30:00.000-07:00

Noah and Gaia, enjoying the (mostly) downhill ride!

Recently, we spent the night at the foot of the Alps, on the shore of Lake Serre-Ponçon. The outing was sponsored by the Pierrevert mountain bike club (Natur' Bike), so most of the weekend get-together revolved around biking. This included an exhilarating bike ride which took Noah and me from the montain top resort all the way down to one of the lakefront beaches, with breathtaking views and a wonderful breeze all along the way.

Later in the day, we continued our adventure by crossing the lake and driving to La Sauze du Lac, a charming village with, you guessed it, panoramic lake views! Just past the village we stopped at La Montagne aux Marmottes, an unconventional animal park where the animals have lots of room to roam in the natural habitat. They had groundhogs, goats, birds of prey and a really cool fossil and mineral museum overlooking the lake.

A hawk flies over the lake

I never get used to living so close to such a diverse array of natural landscapes. The mountains are just an hour away, but so is the sea with its quaint villages and sandy beaches. I've never been to California or Hawaii, but I keep hearing that Provence compares very well in terms of diversity.

Let there be spring! (originally posted in March...)

2011-06-21T05:52:00.000-07:00

Pear blossom ... won't be long now!

Well, Nature in our part of Provence is discreetly showing the first signs of spring. Temperatures haven’t dropped below freezing at night for the past couple of weeks, our wood stove only gets lit briefly in the evenings, and the occasional door left by one of the kids no longer garners the “close the door, you’re letting all the warm air out” comment from Damon or me!

This is what it looks like outside at the moment...

Daisies everywhere

Cherry blossom

The mad dash begins to get the garden ready for planting!

Every year, a sure sign of the seasons changing for me are the wild salads that grow all over the fields around our house. Nothing says spring more than walking around with a paring knife and a colander gathering lunch. This year I’m really into juicing, and since green leafy vegetables are so expensive to buy at my local organic shop, I decided I would juice dandelions instead. I’ve found that although dandelions are the black sheep in any self-respecting lawn, they have amazing powers. They are a great diuretic, purify the blood, and are packed with minerals. Since I have an endless (and free) supply of them for a few weeks out of the year, I figured I should get my fill.

Here's what you find this time of year in Provence:

Chives

Spider salad (the latin name is Scorzoneralaciniata L.)

Dandelion, the queen of all wild salads (Taraxacum gr. officinale, in latin)

Nina finds the best dandelions. She loves them mixed with other salad greens and "crunchies" (Jerusalem artichokes she digs up in the garden).

One of the perks about warmer weather is that we get to eat outside. We have a huge round stone table complete with Lazy Susan for large gatherings (it comfortably seats fourteen people!), but when it’s just us, we like to sit at the smaller table that’s just off our kitchen. It’s sheltered from the wind, and the views of our front field are really nice. No neighbors as far as the eye can see, and only Nature’s sounds surrounding us. If only the kids had anything close to good table manners, I could almost enjoy it!

Splashes of color in the garden

2011-06-21T05:45:00.000-07:00

A photo diary of our Bed & Breakfast's garden this time of year.

Sunny days, crisp air, long-sleeve t-shirts, and great hiking sum up the atmosphere this month.

It's been warm enough to enjoy lunch on the terraces, much to our guests' delight.

May at La Petite Gardette is the perfect time for a romantic getaway or relaxing weekend immersed in nature!

Peonies in front of the Lavender Room

Banks rose by the bicycle shed

The courtyard

Variegated lily by the orchard

Not sure what this is ... but it's lovely!

More peonies...

Meet "Feisty", and other updates

2011-06-21T05:37:00.000-07:00

Winter at La Petite Gardette has been pretty uneventful so far. The weather has been mild, compared to previous years, which has allowed us to forgo out heavy coats and spend time outside, like normal human beings. It does freeze at night occasionally, but the ground isn't rock hard, so much so that I've started hoeing the vegetable garden in preparation for the big spring push to get all our veggies planted.

This will be my third year with the vegetable patch, and I finally feel like I'm getting a handle on what works with Provence's soil, and what doesn't. You'll no longer find burdock for example, nor will there be broccoli or cauliflower -- the first one disappointed last year (too hard to dig out of the ground), and the last two just don't like clumpy clay soil. I'm still experimenting with the general layout of the garden, and will be switching it's orientation this year, creating a few long rows instead of several short ones. I'm hoping the dreaded slugs (aka baby lettuce destroyers) will get all turned around and set off for greener pastures - wishful thinking, I know.

One bright happening had been the arrival of Mike and Sarah, a wonderful couple from the States who stayed with us in the B&B for a few days. They enjoyed themselves so much that they ended up moving to one of our self-catering cottages (see www.lapetitegardette.com), for a few months, and it's been delightful to get to know them and their two furry friends, Miyoki and Megatron. I particularly enjoyed having them over for dinner since most of our "family and friends" gatherings require that I think real hard about pleasing omnivore palates without compromising on our values. It's such a relaxing feeling to cook and serve a menu that you know will be appreciated!

So by now you're probably wondering who "Feisty" is. Well, Feisty is my sourdough starter. I decided it wasn't weird enough that I should refer to my started at my baby, and "feed" it every three days to keep it "healthy". I had to give it a name, so Feisty it was . I'm happy to report that since his "birth" (here I go again) back in early December, Feisty is the gift that keeps on giving. He (or is it a she?) keeps on gaining flavor and complexity, making each batch of bread baking more rewarding than the last.

Feisty, at its bubbliest.

The mystery of wild yeast. You don't have to understand it to love it!

Provence's schools - not a vegan-friendly place to be.

2011-06-21T05:32:00.000-07:00

This isn't actually my kids' school, but it may as well be for how antiquated the thinking is.

I've loved almost everything about moving to Provence. The seasons are great, we're surrounded by beautiful countryside, no neighbors in sight, the kids have learned a new language, and the little organic shop in town started carrying vegan cheese, just for us.

What more could I want? A vegan-friendly school, that's what. I mean, I don't expect the caffeteria to serve seitan sandwitches or anything. But I do take issue with a school that won't let my kids bring their own lunch and eat it there.

My stupid fight with the administration started a couple of years ago. In France, the lunch hour goes from 11:30am to 1:30pm. Kids either eat a sit-down lunch at school (no self-serve - this is a pre-determined menu), or they go home to eat. Shortly after we arrived, I asked the lunch ladies if my kids could bring lunch from home. They agreed, on condition that I would still pay for the regular lunch (which my kids wouldn't be eating).

Within weeks, I was asked to produce a medical certificate explaining why the kids couldn't eat the caffeteria's food, failing which they would no longer be allowed the use of a table and chair to eat their packed lunch. I was told, in so many words, that the French school system's phylosophy is that all children are equal (the dark side of socialism, I guess), and that allowing my children to eat differently for reasons other than medical would make the other children feel less important. Huh? Come again?

I struggled with what to do for a few days - after all, my schedule did allow me to pick up the kids for lunch and bring them back afterwards. It wouldn't be convenient, but it was doable. The back and forth would mess up my days, but Damon and I could alternate and make it work. The feeling of rejection is what really pissed me off. And I didn't believe for one minute that other children would feel less than if they saw my kids eating a sandwitch that was different than their sandwitch. Pleeeeze!

Long story short, I found a doctor willing to give me a certificate stating that Noah and Nina's general state of health, and their allergies to meat and dairy products in particular, mandated that they eat only meals prepared by their parents. This, he assured me, would satisfy the school doctor, and thus allow my kids to resume bringing their lunch to school. The caveat, of course, what that the kids would henceforth have to tell everyone they had food allergies, or our cover would be blown.

We were faced with an impossible choice: lie and eat at school, or stay true to our values and put up with the commute back and forth from school.

It didn't take us long to figure out that we weren't willing to turn a real positive thing - our compassion for all living creatures - into a negative. Noah and Nina are very proud to be vegan - they are very unapologetic about it and usually unphased by people's reactions. It just wasn't right to turn all that into a fictitious medical condition just to appease a bunch of narrow-minded country biggots.

So in the end things worked themselves out. The kids come home every day to a vegan, organic, balanced lunch. After lunch, they have plenty of time to play outside before returning to school, and if they've forgotten something that morning, they can always grab it then. It's usually a hug!

Pita pockets - you'll love these!

2011-06-21T05:27:00.000-07:00

The first time I baked these, I skipped a crucial step and the bread didn't puff out like it's supposed to.  It tasted fine but was pocket-less, and where does a girl stuff hummus if there's no pocket?

The step in question is that you must roll out each ball into a flat disc using a rolling pin. Don't do it by hand. For some strange, counter-intuitive reason, the more you flatten the dough, the more it'll puff out when it bakes, creating the all-important pouch. Who new?

The recipe is super easy. I'm sharing it because one of our guests said lately that this was the best, the best pita she'd ever had. When a customer tells you that, you know you're on to something, and when you're on to something, you just have to share!

Easy peasy pita pockets

Ingredients
400g    all-purpose flour (can substitute whole wheat)
1         TBSP agave nectar or maple syrup
2         TBSP olive oil
2        teaspoons instant yeast
1 1/2    teaspoon salt
300ml  water

Method

Mix the flour, salt and yeast in a bowl. Add the agave nectar and olive oil, then add the water a little at a time, until you obtain a soft dough. It should be tacky but not sticky. Continue kneading the dough for a few minutes, until all ingredients are incorporated.
Allow the dough to rise in an oiled bowl, covered, for about 1 and 1/2 hours, until the dough has doubled in size.

Pre-heat the oven on to 210º (410º fahrenheit), along with a pizza or bread stone. You can also use an inverted cookie sheet.

Turn the dough over onto a lightly floured counter, then divide into 12 pieces.

Shape each piece into a ball, then let rest, covered, for about 15 minutes.

Using a rolling pin, roll each ball into a flat disc.

Bake each disc (I can fit three discs at once) directly on the pizza stone for 6 minutes.

Enjoy!

Adventures in baking

2011-06-21T05:26:00.000-07:00

I've been slowly working my way through Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice, and what a journey it's been!

Poilane miche

Bread baking can become a real obsession, as evidenced by the number of bloggers out there discussing the minute details of a perfectly proofed and expertly scored loaf.

For me, the appeal of baking bread is twofold. First , I positively love the way the house smells when there's a loaf in baking in the oven - that's probably a remnant of my days as a real estate broker in Florida, when I used to tell my sellers to bake bread or cookies just before the dreaded Sunday open house.

Second, I'm totally fascinated by the idea of using homegrown starter (i.e. sourdough) as the leavening agent in lieu of commercial yeast. Don't get me wrong, I'll still use yeast in a pinch, but to watch a loaf rise fueled only by a hunk of fermented dough (okay, I may be simplifying a bit here...) - it defies gravity and totally rocks!

Don't get me wrong, not all my experiments work out, not even close. I repeatedly tried my hand at Panettone during the Christmas break, thinking it would totally impress my Italian father if I could come anywhere close to the Panettone of my childhood, but alas, all my attempts at veganizing this holiday classic fell short of the light and airy crumb I aiming for.

I seem to have more luck with sourdough these days.
This miche I made today turned out beautifully - probably my best one so far, inspite of my oven, which only goes up to 250º, the bare minimum when baking artisan breads. This bread uses clear flour (whole wheat flour that's been sifted once to remove some of the bran), and for once, this type of flour was available at my grocery store! I've been frustrated by the lack of choice in flour in the grocery stores near my house. The limited selection came as a surprise, since France is all about bread. For example, whole wheat pastry flour doesn't exist here, and neither does bread flour. To make up for the latter, I usually add a small amount of gluten to my dough, but I'm not at all sure this compensates for the lower gluten content found in all purpose flour vs. bread flour. King Arthur, I miss you!
By I digress. For once, the miche recipe in the BBA called for a flour that is quite popular here, farine bise (or semi-whole wheat), so I didn't need to make any gluten adjustments. Yay!

I'm usually partial to versatile breads that can accompany peanut butter and jelly but also savory spreads, so I tend to stay away from herbs when baking, but the other day I tried my hand at this rosemary boule.

Rosemary boule

English muffins

I was pleased by the result, and realized that I bake enough bread these days to not worry about running out of suitable breakfast bread. And speaking of breakfast, I made these English muffins today, and lo, they were "forkable"! Had all the proper nooks and crannies, and would have been eaten enthusiastically by D and the kiddies had it not been for the bout of flu that's going through my house at the moment.
I was so proud of my first English muffins, and did my best to tolerate the lack of enthusiasm when I presented the family with N-eggs McMuffins for lunch. I was too overwhelmed with running an infirmery to take a photo of the final dish, but topped with tasty scrambled tofu and oozy soy cheese, I've got to believe that under normal circumstances these puppies would have been a hit. I'll give it another go soon.

Also on a future post: the best pita bread I've ever tasted. Stay tuned, and as always, thanks for reading!

Max the vegan dog.

2011-06-21T05:21:00.000-07:00

Max came into our lives as a bribe to Noah and Nina when we moved from Florida to Provence two years ago.

After seeing the ugly truth behind puppy farms on an Oprah episode, Damon and I ruled out buying a dog from a pet store and turned instead to the internet. Turns out a lady had a puppy for sale, but when we got to the address she gave us we got a little nervous. Her "house" was actually a trailer, and her "neighborhood" a gipsy camp. She had several dogs, and the place looked positively dreadful. We began to expect the worse, but luck would have it that the puppy in question was a real cutie. Friendly, beautiful, and well fed. It was love at first sight. Turns out the gipsy lady was kind and knowledgeable (about dogs at least). She'd already taken care of vaccines, ID tattoo, worms and fleas.

We took Max home that day, and since then he's been such a fun addition to our family. He's the ultimate easy-going dog and the kids love him to pieces, but we I have to admit that he likes my parents' house better They live next door to us, and Max can be found hanging around in their kitchen every chance he gets. I guess it's quieter there, and he's fascinated by my parents' cats. We occasionally try to remind him that he lives with us, not with them, but he's desperately in love with my mother. Honestly, he acts a lot like a teenager with a crush - looks guilty when you bring up the subject, but can't keep away from the object of his affection.

When we first brought him home, we initially gave him dry food, per the vet's instructions. About a year into it, it occurred to us that he could be just as healthy (healthier, even?) on a vegan diet. Being the garbage-dog that most Labradors are, he'd gained a bit too much weight, and we were concerned that he would develop diabetes or joint problems. Never having owned a dog as an adult, we kind of went along with the vet's recommendation, even though I remembered that the dogs my family had when I was growing up never ate dry food. I'm not even sure croquettes existed back then, but as I recall it, my mom would boil a huge pot of water every couple of days and cook either rice, puffed rice, or some kind of pasta (pet pasta, maybe?) for the dogs. She would add chunks of cooked meat to this pasta mush, and that was what the dogs ate.

Fast-forward thirty years, there seemed to be no reason why our overweight dog couldn't do better with homemade food. Vegan. Organic. Homemade Food. So for the past year, Max has been eating our table leftovers, as well as my many failed kitchen experiments.

For one, I'm an avid baker, so there is always day-old whole wheat or whole grain bread laying around. That makes for a nice, nutritious base to which we add leftover soups, casseroles, steamed vegetable bits (broccoli and cauliflower stalks are ideal), table scraps, and even the occasional dessert. Max loves apple cores and leftover salad too! This is what a typical dinner looks like...

On this particular day, he had bread, broccoli, veggie burger, raw carrots, lentil sprouts and some peanut butter cake. How do you think this compares to eating the SAME dry food EVERY day of your doggy life? I don't hear him complain, that's for sure

"Gallette des Rois" ..... or how the French survive January

2011-06-21T05:19:00.000-07:00

French people have it all figured out. While the rest of us attempt to recover from the excesses of the holidays by starting new diets and workout regimens, the French don't hesitate to fire up the overs for one more baking tradition: Gallette des Rois.

Popular since the Middle Ages the Galette des Rois (or King’s Cake) is a treat eaten in the New Year after the 6th of January (we were a couple of days early) to celebrate the Epiphany when the Three Kings visited the baby Jesus.

In the North of France, the cake is made with a puff pastry filled with a layer of almond frangipane but here in Provence version uses brioche. The top layers are patterned and baked to a beautiful burnished bronze. It is customary to mix a single bean (or a plastic charm) in the almond frangipane. It was believed that this bean would draw the kings to the Epiphany. Legend has it that in the beginning the bean was used and whoever received it was crowned king or queen for the day and was asked to buy a round of drinks.

Once it was realized that people who didn’t want to pay up for the round of drinks could discreetly swallow the bean, the bean was replaced by a porcelain charm (often depicting a religious figure). Today plastic charms are most often used.  However, the idea of baking a piece of plastic in a cake didn't appeal to me,so I used a chickpea instead (yes, that's all I could come up with, our pantry being fresh out of proper beans). At teatime, Noah was the lucky chickpea finder - he almost lost an already-wiggly tooth over it, but said it was a small price to pay to be king!~ Gallette des Rois ~[translated and slightly tweaked from Ma Cuisine Végétalienne] Ingredients:2 puff pastry sheets (store-bought)

For the frangipane (filling):

220 gr ground almonds
90 gr brown sugar
20 gr cornstarch
3 TBSP oat cream (or non-dairy creamer)
75 gr soy butter, softened
1 TBSP vanilla extract
1 teaspoon almond extract
1 large bean, uncooked

For the glaze:

2 teaspoons of oat cream (or non-dairy creamer)
1/2 TBSP instant coffee
30 to 40 gr of fruit jelly or smooth jam

Method:

In a large bowl, mix the ground almonds, brown sugar and cornstarch. Add the oat cream, soy butter, vanilla extract, and almond extract. Mix until well blended, then refrigerate for 15 - 20 minutes.

Preheat oven to 395 degrees.

Unfold the first puff pastry sheet on a lightly greased 9" cake pan, then prick the dough a few times with a fork.

Spread the frangipane evenly on the dough, then add the bean.

Cover with the second puff pastry sheet, taking care to seal the edges with your fingers.

Optional: with a toothpick, draw a crown or any other festive image on the puff pastry.

In a small bowl, mix the glaze ingredients then evenly brush the top of the gallette.

Poke a small hole in the center of the gallette to prevent it from rising during baking.

Bake for 35 minutes, then turn the oven off and let the gallette sit in the oven for an additional 5 minutes.
Enjoy!

Provence ~ A Winter Wonderland

2011-06-21T05:18:00.000-07:00

Surrounded by white fluff

As famed Provencal writer Jean Giono said, Provence is a very cold region with very hot summers. After spending two winters here (not counting my seven-year stint as a teenager), I fully agree with Mr. Giono that the area undergoes a major change the minute autumn ends.

Most people who have stayed with us at La Petite Gardette remember it as a lush and sunny holiday spot, the ideal place to warm up their toes and leave all worries behind. That, of course, is an accurate description on the property in summertime. As the following photos attest, winter is an entirely different story...
Hard to believe it, I know, but some years we get enough snow at La Petite Gardette to sled down the golf course's fairway!

The property seen from the tee #16 - no golfing that day!

Our snowman was begging for a plane ticket to anywhere warm!

He had had enough of the weather and insisted he wanted to go to Florida to thaw out!

We haven't had proper snow yet this year, but the season is still young, as they say ... Some snow did fall a couple of weeks ago but didn't stick, much to the kids' disappointment, and the grown-ups relief!

Garden surprise!

2011-06-21T05:13:00.000-07:00

Spinach and mâche

The only thing possibly more satisfying than finding a 5 euro bill in the pocket of a seldom worn pair of jeans has go to to be walking into your (neglected) vegetable patch to discover that a seed you'd planted months ago and forgot all about actually grew into something you could eat for dinner!

That was the happy surprise that awated me tonight. All shops are closed on Sunday in Provence, so no emergency shopping expedition. Our half-empty refrigerator starting back at me, I resolved to get creative. So off I wondered to the garden (in the rain, mind you) in search of salad material. Anything would do at this point , but as it turned out, I wouldn't have to settle because in the garder awated two rows of bright green, gorgeous, spinach. I stood there looking at it for a couple of minutes, musing at the fact I only watered the seeds a couple of times after sowing them back in late August. Having never tried a winter crop of anything before, when nothing germinated in the first couple of weeks I just wrote the whole thing off. Turns out - and you savvy gardeners already know this - spinach likes cold weather. Its time had come!

The other goody I harvested tonight is a small, dark leafy salad that the French call "mâche" (it's the one in the colorful basket). The dictionary translates the word "mâche" to "lamb's lettuce" and although I'd never heard of this particular type of salad until moving to Provence, I'm sure it's probably not that out of the ordinary. Mâche too loves cold weather, and according to the friendly owner of my local organic store, its hardy, frost-resistant leaves were a farmer's main defense against winter-induced vitamin deficiencies, back in the days when the seasons (and not Whole Foods) dictated what we ate.

The green bounty that unexpectedly graced our dinner table tonight was a really nice ending to a somewhat ectic weekend. Got me thinking though: what else goes unnoticed around me while I'm busy being busy? Maybe I should check my jeans pockets again, just in case

Halloween experiment in Provence. Or how to entertain sixteen kids on a rainy day.

2011-06-21T05:12:00.000-07:00

Well, we survived our first provencal Halloween party this weekend, or as the locals call it, "allahwin". The weather was rotten, so we ended up having to entertain 16 kids inside for the whole afternoon. Luckily, the house's open floor plan lends itself to large crowds, even the "high on sugar/climbing walls" kind of crowd, but by the end of the party the furniture was sticky and there was food everywhere. One little girl evidently didn't like my otherwise delicious vegan death-by-chocolate cupcakes, because Noah saw her spit our a huge mouthful in a corner of the hallway!

Cranky leeks

Inspite the hard work and intense post-party cleanup, I'm happy we had the party. We'd discreetly skipped Halloween altogether last year because we were new(er) to the area and knew that France doesn't really celebrate Halloween. Trick or treating doesn't exist around here (not sure about bigger French cities), so there didn't seem much point in trying to start a trend. What I hadn't figured on is that the kids really missed dressing up for Halloween (and weren't shy about voicing their discontent all through the year). Nina in particular is a self-proclaimed candy junkie as well as dress-up enthusiast, and I was sad to think that she wouldn't have an outlet for her two passions just because we left the U.S.

The party was in part an experiment to see whether rural French parents could be talked into dressing up their kids for a holiday that is only vaguely known about. The invitations had been handed out to eighteen of Noah and Nina's schoolmates a couple of weeks ago ... Against the odds, most of the kids showed up, and the costumes were awesome! You americans out there will be amused to learn that one of the misconceptions that French people have about Halloween is they are convinced that only certain types of costumes are appropriate. They are: vampire, ghost, skeleton, Dracula, witch, and zombie. I had to explain to moms on two separate occasions that in the U.S. kids wear whatever costume they like for Halloween, including Disney characters and non-scary outfits, but I could tell the moms just wouldn't believe me.

By the time D-day arrived, the house was ready. It was so much fun decorating a house that's as old as ours ... it's so easy to "spookify"!

Froont door - complete with witch - "la sorciere"

We put this spider right above Noah's homework desk. Just the excuse he needed to skip doing his homework. What were we thinking?

Our dining room, all dressed up for the occasion

My favorite part of the party was watching the kids scare each other (and themselves!) in the dark hallway. The hallway has a drammatic stone wall and a conveniently blood red wall. We'd hung a ghost with a flashing strobe light behind it at the far end of the hallway.

The infamous "Hallway Ghost"

The kids would all huddle under the ghost with the hallway light turned off, and as soon as one of them would scream, they'd all get freaked out and run back to the living room. They played this game throughout the party, and never got tired of it. It was hilarious to watch!

At snack time, I tried to talk the kids into sampling one of my Werewolf Toes (chocolate cookie dough with almond "nails"), but there were no takers!

Werewolf Toes

A few of them did try my Floating Hands Punch, which consisted of a strawberry juice punch and ice "hands". We made the hands by filling some surgical gloves with water and freezing them. We then threw the "hands" - gloves and all - into the punch bowl so they floated in it. Looked so gross I forgot to take a picture of it

Yes, it was as messy as it looks... but all for a good cause.

Anyway, I can probably talk myself into having the party again next year. And hopefully the weather will cooperate, since we didn't get to play the "ride a broom while holding a tangerine under your chin" game with the eighteen brooms I'd bought!

In the name of burdock

2011-06-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

Being a busy mom, I often get frustrated when a recipe calls for "advanced preparation required". What I'm about to tell you takes that concept to a whole new level.

It all started with Alicia Silverstone's new book, The Kind Diet, which I bought from www.amazon.co.uk last winter. I really enjoyed reading the first half of the book, which focuses on the benefits of a vegan lifestyle, and got quite inspired by Alicia's enthusiasm, inspite of being a longtime vegan (nine years, to be exact). The second half of the book is a series of recipes, some of which really got my interest, in particular those using seaweed, an ingredient I'd avoided up until then. I noticed one day that a few of her recipes called for burdock, a root I'd never heard about. It sounded like a very worthy plant though - Alicia (and others I' sure) touts it as a blood cleansing miracle worker, among other things.

My mind was set on finding some burdock to try out the recipes, so the first step was to find the French word for it so I could ask my local organic store it they carried it. I was told by them that they had heard of "bardane" (burdock) used for medicinal uses, but not for cooking with. Further investigation and a chance encounter with a botanist confirmed that burdock is considered a weed in France, and that therefore you can't buy it in stores, nor can you buy seeds for it (who would want to sow weeds?) -- couldn't find any on the internet anyway.

At this point, I confess that I became a bit obsessed with the idea of getting a hold of some burdock somehow, even if it meant growing my own. After all, I have a vegetable garden, so why not? After a bit more research I found a company that sells burdock seeds online, but only ships them to the continental U.S. A stumbling block, yes, but not an insurmountable one. Coincidentally, my family and I were planning a trip to the States to visit family, so I had the seeds sent to Damon's aunt in Florida, and I collected them during our visit there. I felt like a true criminal with the seeds tucked in my luggage on the way back - would customs believe these were common weed seeds I was smuggling into French soil?

So on May 15th I planted my burdock seeds. The plants took beautifully to Provence's soil and sunshine, and in no time I had two rows of sturdy bright green leaves. The seed packet said it would take 100 days from sowing to to harvest, and that's all the information it gave. Today being close to day-100, I figured I should try and take some burdock from the garden. The endeavor proved more involved than I'd anticipated -- the roots are soooo deep! I finally brought out my big hoe, the one I reserve for major soil-turning, and wacked at the dirt surrounding the roots until I was able to get them out. Big job indeed!

Anyhow, back in the kitchen I chose the carrot/burdock kinpira recipe (a macrobiotic recipe) from Alicia's book and went for it. At this point, mind you, I've still never tasted burdock in my life, but am feeling a sense of anticipation and closeness toward the gnarled, wrinkled, brown radish-y things.

This day was a long time coming! The recipe came out real nice, and it was with a definite sense of reverence that I sat down for lunch. I so wanted to like it! After all, it isn't every day that I fly to a different continent to collect seeds for an obscure vegetable to plant in my garden so I can enjoy a recipe 100 days later. And the verdict? As much as I'd love to tell you it was worth it, it kinda wasn't. Burdock has a very rich but unusual taste, some may call it an acquired taste. I think I'll stick with parsnips, my alltime favorites!

Finally, brioche!

2011-06-21T04:52:00.000-07:00

And here's what it looked like.

OMG, I did it! I finally baked a brioche deserving of its name. Up until now, the various recipes I’d tried always resembled more a regular loaf of bread, both in consistency and in taste, than the light, sweet, air-filled brioche I remember eating as a child, first in Italy and later in France. To make the urgency of coming up with a good vegan brioche recipe plainly clear, just know that brioche is to French kids what peanut butter and jelly is to American kids – a real staple, good for all occasions, and hard to avoid all around. So I’d been feeling a certain amount of pressure to come up with a vegan alternative, and was disappointed when my various attempts failed.

Live yeast from a french bakery

But no longer. I have finally cracked the code on vegan brioche-making, and would you believe that I accomplished this with a recipe of my very own? The secret, as it turns out, is in the yeast (I’ve found this to be true for making regular bread too…). Until recently, I’d always baked bread using regular dry yeast from the grocery store, but my mother must have gotten tired of listening to me complain that my bread didn’t look anything like the beautifully crunchy baguettes that fill the local bakeries. She suggested one day that to get close to real French bread, I should buy my yeast directly from the bakery. Duh, but who knew you could do that? Anyway, I got home the next day with the goods -- two cubes of "live yeast" (the lady said to keep it refrigerated). They had a mushroom smell (okay, odor), and the consistency of play-doh.

The instructions said to crumble half of the 42g cube into 500g of flour, and what happened next was one of my best culinary triumphs. The dough started rising, and rising, and rising. It was a beautiful thing! As you can tell from the brownish crust on the picture, my oven was slightly too hot, but the kids were very impressed nonetheless and ate the whole thing before you could say "voulez-vous brioche?"). The dog only got crumbs this time!

I don't know if live yeast can be found anywhere other than in France, but I'll give out the recipe anyway...

Here's what you'll need:

3/4 cups of soy milk
1/4 cups of water
3 tablespoons of egg replacer
4 tablespoons of vegan butter
3 cups of flour
4 tablespoons of sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon of salt
21g of live bread yeast

For brushing the dough:
1 tablespoon of vegan butter
1 tablespoon of soy milk
1 tablespoon of agave nectar

Mix milk, water, egg replacer and vegan butter together. In a separate bowl, mix the flour, sugar and salt together, then crumble the yeast into the mix. Add this to the soy milk mixture and knead until you get a smooth dough.

Place dough in an lightly buttered oven pan. Let rise in a warm place (25 degrees celsius is ideal) for one hour. Bake in a preheated oven (325 degrees) for 30 minutes. Brush with agave mixture halfway through baking.

Enjoy!

Moving to Provence, again. (Part One)

2011-06-21T04:30:00.000-07:00

The first time I moved to Provence, I was an unsuspecting and somewhat reticent twelve-year old. I was very attached to my friends back in Italy, and to a favorite aunt whom I knew I would miss enormously.

Such is life though, and as kids we are supposed to follow our parents, so with the promise of a pony and a scooter, off I went to Provence. Who knew that this move would mark the beginning of a journey toward veganism?

After living all twelve years of my life on the top of an alpine mountain (think Sound of Music) in a four-story wooden chalet, the dilapidated stone farm my parents fell in love with (and had to have) in Provence didn’t look like much. Lots of land, to be sure, and several out-buildings and hay barns, but where would we live?

Turns out my bedroom would eventually occupy a rundown storeroom adjacent to the farmhouse, but in those early days, that storeroom was home to Herman, the giant pig. Herman wasn’t our pig. He was just staying with us while the farm’s transfer between the previous owner, a 5-foot elderly farmer, and my family, was finalized. My three brothers and I really enjoyed hanging out near Herman’s sty, especially at mealtimes when he would thrown himself at the trough, sending sticky cereal-ball projectiles all over the place.

As kids, it hadn’t occurred to us that the pig wasn’t a fun and entertaining animal, but rather a commodity, to his owner the 5-foot farmer. One fatal day not long after I’d arrived at the farm, Herman’s owner decided it was time to cash in on his investment. Without much fanfare, he took Herman to the barn, tied him up by his hind legs to one of the roof rafters, and swiftly cut his throat. Herman didn’t die right away. In fact I distinctly remember his helpless squeals from my bed that night.

When I woke up the next day, something in my twelve-year old heart had changed. A connection was forming that would forever change the way I feel about animals, not just house pets, but all animals. I had witnessed first-hand that up until that day, Herman had been happily alive. His living conditions were excellent when compared to those of pigs in large industrial farms, but besides that, even a twelve-year old (perhaps only a twelve-year old) could see that he loved his simple, albeit confined, life.

On that eye-opening autumn day, I became conscious for the first time that animals aren’t put on the earth to live and die randomly -- they have a definite will to live and a love for life and living, just like humans. So logically, if we as humans have a right to life, I concluded that animals do to. At that young age, I knew nothing about the animal rights movement, but that day I felt something move inside me. Something shifted. I didn’t have words for any of it at first, but after that day I never eat another piece of meat.

A few years later, off I went to Florida to attend university and perfect my English. The ultra-progressive campus at New College in Sarasota was very vegetarian-friendly, but the man I fell in love with there and married four years later was as enthusiastic a meat-eater as they come. You’d think life with him would’ve been difficult, at least from the practical point of view of buying groceries and preparing meals, but I don’t remember ever feeling frustrated. Luckily, my husband had been a chef for several years so we both enjoyed spending time in the kitchen. He’d get some of the meal ready while I worked on the rest. I was only vegetarian then, not yet vegan, so he would sit down with his meat dish, I with my beans and we’d happily meet in the middle, where grains and vegetables sat.

Several years went by with this arrangement, until we attended a nutrition workshop as part of a business training seminar we’d been asked to attend. The workshop explained (and I won’t go into detail it here), that animal products sap your energy and are not meant to be consumed by humans. Even in hindsight, I couldn’t tell you why this information resonated with us, but it did, and on the way back from Orlando the next day, a commitment was made to change our ways. After all, when we got to the seminar, they told us we could walk on hot coals and we didn’t think we could. But we did. So when they said we could (and should) be vegan, we didn’t think we could (or should). But we did. ‘nuff said. (to be continued)

Vegan Mexican fiesta in Provence, kinda.

2011-06-21T04:25:00.000-07:00

Damon's homemade pinata - filled with vegan candy!

It's not every day that your father turns 77, so for Dad's special day I decided to get the family together for a party. That would be my three brothers, their significant others, and my six year-old nephew. Some food ideas were tossed around, one of my brothers suggested that we grill a big salmon on the barbeque.

Needless to say, the thought of sacrificing a fish in my Dad's honor didn't exactly float my boat. Obviously our family members know that we are vegan. Our food choices are seen as extreme and aren't discussed openly, in a don't ask don't tell kind of way. And since we don't get together around a meal often, the topic is easily avoided. My brother's suggestion about cooking fish drove home the fact that even though we've lived in this house for almost two years, in my siblings' mind it is still very much the place they knew growing up.

So the first dilemma right out of the gate was ... do we stick to a vegan menu as I'd assumed we would, or do we allow meat products at the table, the way our meals were when we were kids? I stuggled with the issue for a couple of days, but finally decided that, this being our first large family get together since my return to France, I'd better set the tone and bite the proverbial bullet.

I let it be known that I wasn't comfortable having animal products in my kitchen and would instead be serving a Mexican dinner, the implication being: my party, my house, my rules. Mexican food isn't big in France, so my thinking was that since most guests had never had any type of Mexican food, they'd have nothing to compare it too, thus avoiding the whole "lasagna tastes better with beef" argument.

The food turned out really great. Fresh guacamole and pico de gallo for apetizers, olives and hummus (not exactly Mexican, but I couldn't resist!), vegetable burritoes as main course, complete with homemade refried beans and homemade spicy seitan strips, and a traditional coconut and dulce de leche (in our case, dulce sin leche) cake with homemade soy cherry and chocolate chip ice cream. And if you've read my previous blog entry, you'll be amused to know that I even made zucchini ice cream. Less of a hit than the cherry version, but eveyone tried it nonetheless!

After it was all said and done, and Damon's homemade - and filled with vegan candy - pinata was deftly blown up by my seven year-old son, I would say the party was a success. I was glad to be done with it, and honestly felt like the gap was somewhat bridged between our vegan household and the meateaters in our life. I won't go as far as saying that the whole thing was effortless, but it did feel like the meal was well rounded and satisfying to vegans and non-vegans alike. So all in all, mission accomplished!

From brown to green, one leaf at a time

2011-06-21T04:22:00.000-07:00

So it's amazing what a difference two months makes. This is what the veggie garden looked like on May 15th, just days after dad and I tilled the soil with his ancient but oh so handy red ractor. Not a whole lot to look at. I'd been panicking up to that point that the garden wouldn't get done at all this year because the famous volcanic ash that descended upon Europe mid-April caused our flight back from Florida to get cancelled, which lead us to take a two-week cruise (can you see me on a boat for two whole weeks? me, the Goddess of the EARTH for god's sakes?) Anyway, I digress...

And two months later, this is what the same patch of land looks like.

I love how with gardening you get to a point when you just have to get out of the way and let the plants do their thing!

Zucchini ice cream, anyone?

2011-06-21T04:17:00.000-07:00

Well, one of these days I should really learn this one lesson: never grow more zucchini than you (and your friends and extended family) can eat. They - the zucchini, not the family - appear harmless enough at first, but here's what inevitably happens in my garden. By the way, the same thing happened last year - you'd think I'd learn my lesson, but that's another story.

Anywho, so you have these pretty zucchini plants, and around the first week in July (in Provence at least) they begin to bloom ... beautiful yellow flowers like these.

But here's how things begin to unravel. I'm hanging out in the garden just recently collecting various veggies for dinner. A tomato here, a head of lettuce there, some swiss chard, a couple of cucumbers, when I glance over at my nine zucchini plants. I see at least three good-size zucchini peaking out from under the leaves, but half-way down the path on my way to get them, I am reminded that we just had sauteed zucchini for lunch, and thus I turn around, postponing the picking until the next day. After all, what's one day in the life of a vegetable?

The next morning upon returning to the garden, I am taken aback, and a little awestruck, to find that those three zucchini have almost doubled in size overnight (okay, maybe not quite doubled, but is that why the call them nightshades?). And not only that, there are several more zucks now ripe and ready to be picked. No problem, I tell myself, I'll just make zucchini bread. That ought to absorb the excess, right? Come to think of it though, we still have half a loaf of bread ... oh but wait, I'll just give that half to Max, my faithful labrador-turned-garbage disposal, and make a new loaf for us, the humans.

And if that doesn't use up (okay, get rid of) my basket of zucchini, I could always buy a second stand-alone freezer to house more blanched, ready for ratatouille in the middle of winter, zucchini, since my current freezer is already filled to the brim with, you've guessed it, blanched zucchini?

Thank god for my wonderful husband who, when presented with zucchini bread for breakfast for the fifth day in a row, suggested I make zucchini ice cream to go with it. With a man like that by my side, surely I can overcome any challenges my over-zealous garden throws at me? Or did I detect a hint of sarcasm? Huh.

Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and bimba's birthday !

2010-11-24T12:12:00.000-08:00

Who said French TV sucks? Well, I actually does blow 99% of the time, but tonight after flipping channels for about an hour I stumbled on an interview (in English, to boot) of cutie pie Adam Levine. For those of you who don't know Adam (yes, we're on a first name basis) he's lead signer of Maroon 5. There's something addictive about this guy and it's not, I swear, his jewish-ness. I guess I have a thing for tall, self-deprecating, five o'clock-shadowed pop stars. And listening to him talk on the TV as I write this, the boy actually has some depth - can I have an order of brains with that sexy swagger?

On another note, the day kind of got away from me today, especially in the afternoon when D and I resolved to go to the local toy store looking for Hanukkah presents for the kids. Whether it was the toxic paint fumes emanating from the discount section or my brain going into overdrive on its own I'll never know, but within twenty minutes of perusing the shelves, I started feeling seriously overwhelmed by the bright colors, flashing lights, and belligerent parents aggressively trying to grab the last bag of banz (les banz, as they call them here). Luckily this was one of those days where the shopping stars aligned - the right toys almost chose themselves and landed in the cart, and in the end we picked some good stuff ... a guitar, Lego, and rollerblades for bimbo and a princess keyboard and assorted stuffed animals for bimba. She lives for anything fuzzy. We also got them walkie-talkies, but come to think of it I wonder if they'll get much use.

So tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I've decided to make an attempt at celebrating it. It'll be the first time since moving to Provence. The past couple of years the idea of cooking a whole bunch of food for just the four of us (and bimba eats like a bird, so she almost doesn't count) was too daunting. Plus with Whole Foods gone there also went the Tofurkey. And if that wasn't enough, I am an very disciplined eater (more on that on a subsequent post), so I'd be essentially cooking for D and bimbo, the two men in my life. Truth be told, Thanksgiving did not make the top of my favorite holiday list even when we lived in Florida. We mostly celebrated it because D's elderly aunt lived nearby and would be lonely if we didn't have her over. For me, the highlight was reading 't Was the Night Before Thanksgiving to the kids, and oohing and aahing over the photos of the turkeys we adopted that year from the Farm Sanctuary.

This year the vibe is different. Come to think of it, I think I've changed. I've become compulsively addicted to reading vegan food blogs online, and marking off dozens of inspiring recipes. So now I have long list of recipe I want to try, and a good number of them are Thanksgiving favorites. I'm not sure the kids will like sweet potato pie (can't find canned pumpkin here anywhere, so that pie's out), but I'll keep you posted. For desert I'm branching out (when in Rome...) and will be trying out this mille feuilles from an amazing new French site I found, Ma Cuisine Vegetalienne.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

What did this smoothie ever do to you?

2010-11-22T13:43:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone! This is the first entry on my new blog, and I figured I should write something - anything - to ease into it. I'm calling this blog La Dolce Vegan because life's inherent sweetness ultimately outweighs the challenges I sometimes face, and because choosing to be vegan nourishes my sense of connection with my surroundings, my universe, and my soul.
Speaking of challenges, my 6 year-old bimba comes downstairs for breakfast this morning, and although her mood had been fine up until that point, takes a sip of D's banana-date-homemade-almond-milk smoothie (the same one he makes EVERY day), and says : "eeugh! this is disgusting!". When D points out that this is the same smoothie she happily drinks every morning , all hell breaks loose. Next thing we know she's screaming, thumping her foot, fists clenched. She just won't have it. Her exact words were "I CAN'T HANDLE IT!"

At this point, both D and I felt we should let the proverbial door hit her in the --s, but who wants to start the day like this? So the next twenty minutes are spent trying to convince bimba that yes, she has to drink her smoothie and yes, she has to go to school today and no, she can't have a lollypop at eight o'clock in the morning. Isn't she too young to behave like she going into hormone-induced self-combustion? Isn't that MY hard-earned right?!

Of course, guilt sets it the moment she left my sight, pulling her giant backpack up the stairs at the local village school she attends here in Provence, where we've lived for two years now. All thoughts of smoothie-bashing dissipate as I drive off, overcome by a sense of pride for this little girl who is now in first grade in a regular French school, where two years ago she'd never even heard of a country named France. I think back to two years ago, to the first day we dropped her and bimbo off at their new pre-school, the only school in the tiny countryside village of Provence where we'd just moved. They could not've stood out more if they'd tried. American, Jewish, Vegan, Nudist children. Oh, and did I mention they didn't speak a word of French?

A big part of me seriously wondered if they'd come out of the experience alive, and the doubts kept building up in the days to follow. As the novelty gradually wore off, the reality of their situation became clear. Their old friends from Florida were gone and would be hard to replace, the weather was shitty and cold, the teachers might as well have been speaking Chinese. We went through a tough six weeks. The kids would cry miserably at drop off every day, and I would cry in the car on the way home. And then one day, bimbo made a friend. Samuel was the only other jewish kid in the entire school, so it was doubly cook that they should connect.

Fast forward six months (how long is that in "kid years"?), and they're both speaking French. Not fluently yet, but damn! They're holding their own at recess, no longer bullied and traumatized and come home with new words every day. Finally, light at the end of the tunnel. What a relief that was!

So my reminiscing this morning really helped put things in perspective. Bimba's been moody lately, and often downright rude, and although I shouldn't condone it, I also realize that we all need to blow off steam once in a while. I know in my heart that my job as a parent is to respond with kindness and love. The journey is always, always more important than the destination, and it feels like the decision to trade our fast-paced career-oriented life for one where on any given afternoon you can find bimba, le chien, and I wondering around the provencal country side gathering pine cones and kindling for the fire was in alignment with everything that I've come to believe. The quality of the attention we give the present moment as it unfolds is the very best way we have as human beings to carve a balanced and peaceful future. Even if it means that smoothies are out.