apples

I’ve been neglecting you, friends. These past two months have been incredibly busy, and hard. It’s been better, though, since I ended my contract at the cafe two weeks ago. Only two months in and I was feeling on the verge of what a francophone would call burn-out, what a nutritionist would call adrenal fatigue, and what I would call desperate times. I was coming home every afternoon, too exhausted to read, or write, or make a soup, or call my best friend, or water my plants, or take a walk under moonlight, or a hike in the sunshine, or meet a friend for a mug of something warm, or really hear how Lulu’s day was–too exhausted for care, both for self and for others and that is a bleak place to be, indeed.

It wasn’t only the hours that were draining. And, without getting into too much detail, I was beginning to feel like I wasn’t doing the work that everything in me–heart, spirit, hands, mind–so badly wants to do. Work that contributes something positive to my community, something honest, creative, uplifting, nourishing, healing.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. So I left. It wasn’t an easy decision in some ways, and in other ways it was the easiest one.

Now, I’ve been focusing my energies on my nutrition practice, a few other projects that I’ll share w/ y’all soon, and on all that care I’ve been missing out on these past months.

Like baking this apple pie. This recipe comes from another blog–Lucy’s Kitchen Notebook–the first blog I ever followed. This was back in 2009, October, when I was subletting a tiny room in a light-filled apartment on 4th Street in the East Village, mending a broken heart from the passing of my grandma Stella. The apartment had a spacious (by NYC standards) kitchen and was in close proximity to a farmer’s market and one of the ways I dealt w/ my loss was through making some of Lucy’s recipes, feeling transported to a small village in France (though Lucy’s based in Lyon), a plot of land where there are green walnuts to harvest for nocino and an apple tree that yields and yields.

I’m not sure if Lucy is still blogging, but I return to her archives from time-to-time and I always leave her page feeling galvanized. These past two months, I haven’t spent much time in my kitchen and it’s been nourishing, in all the ways, to rekindle my relationship to home-cooking.

I’ve made this pie dozens of times since that Fall. The crust has an almost sablé-like texture and the addition of apple-sauce is down-right genius, making this comfort food feel even more like a big ol’ cozy sweater. It’s incredibly versatile — I’ve used spelt flour and, once, a mix of spelt and rye flours instead of the whole-wheat flour, yogurt instead of the petit suisse or cream cheese, olive oil instead of walnut oil, cardamom instead of cinnamon…in short, unlike other baked things, it seems pretty darn hard to mess this one up.

The one adjustment I’ve made that I’ve really come to love is to chop the apples into even, on the smaller-side cubes. Chopped this way, they bake evenly and take on a texture that approximates pillows, marshmallows, clouds. If you’re particular about one part of the recipe, make it this.

The other adjustment I’ve made is that I use whole cane sugar (like rapadura, sucanet, or jaggery) instead of processed ones. If you’ve never baked w/ whole cane sugar, now’s the time to start! It’s minimally processed (sun-dried instead of exposed to heat, high-pressure and bleach like white or brown sugars) and its taste has a depth & richness that other sugars lack.

I’ve never been in touch w/ Lucy, but I’ll sign off w/ a merci to her for all the work she does. And especially for this recipe for her Favorite Apple Pie.

Loulou says:

My grand-père Loulou used to say, “Une année c’est comme une glace à l’eau, ça fond vite.” (A year is like a popsicle, it melts quickly).

Twice a week, (the original) Loulou was making my lunch. It was like an institution. I was the last of the grand-children, so he was already well-trained and already nostalgic, I think, about ending this cycle with me. Everything was well-organized–the timing to go to the farmer’s market, the butcher, the bakery for my sweet. Every cousin was always saying the same thing after every meal, “Merci Loulou, c’était très bon.” Loulou was always eating standing up, close to his oven–as if he were being punished. Cooking seemed something very serious to me, at this time. Once, I had to stay because I wasn’t eating my salad, so finally I kept my salad under my tongue and went to the bathroom to spit it out.

But all that’s just surface. Loulou & I were best friends. That’s true. My after-school snack was a time when our generational gap was disappearing.

I often go through his recipe book and this salad was the first thing I made that I had never tried from him. That’s what makes it so special to me. It feels like discovering something for him–something he had meant to make, but never got around to–it feels, in a way, like keeping his spirit alive.

It’s a good seasonal salad because it uses the first radishes of the Spring, the last apples of the Fall, smoked trout from the Winter, and the bitter endives that see us from Winter to Spring.

(The young) Loulou introduced this salad to me last Winter in the mountains, using just endives, an apple and this yoghurt-y, mustard-y dressing. It was bitter and sweet, tart, creamy and crunchy, and I remember him saying, “You usually make it with trout.”

Trout! One of those foods I enjoy when it’s presented to me, but hardly ever seem to seek out. Before making this salad this Saturday, even after seven-months of living alongside the biggest lake in (Western) Europe, I’d yet to really explore all the trout & trout-like (we used the unique-to-these-Alpine-climes white-fish fera in our version) possibilities here. The smokiness of the fish is a truly lovely addition and takes this salad to next-level, all-you-need-for-your-picnic-lunch status, for sure.

I’ve finally tried this salad (the original) Loulou’s way, after a year (that did, indeed, go by as quickly as a melting fruit bar) of making it the way (the young) Loulou introduced it to me.

And this is what’s special to me–how recipes can evolve as they’re passed from generation to generation, and how they can keep the spirit of a person, a connection or a conversation between two people alive.

Merci Loulou, c’était tres bon!

(Grand-père) Loulou’s Smoked Trout & Endive Salad

Sometimes I feel like the descriptor "sustainably caught" is simplifying something that is, in fact, quite complicated. Aquaculture (or fish farms) can be (but are not always!) problematic and the consumption of wild, line-caught fish can be linked to aquaculture's (not always responsible) expansion. I'm not sure what the right answer is (and would love to hear your thoughts on the matter!), but we live in a region where line-caught lake fish are a-plenty so we chose some wild, line-caught fera for our version of this salad. Feel free to make adjustments (substituting roast chicken for fish, for example) according to what's available in your region.

Ingredients

3 small endives, chopped
1/2 sweet apple, diced
2 handfuls radishes, chopped in half
1/2 fillet of smoked trout or another smoked white-fish, sliced in small pieces
4 tablespoons yogurt
2 teaspoons grainy mustard
4 tablespoons olive oil
juice of 1 lemon
salt & pepper

Directions

Chop endives, apple, and radishes and place in large salad bowl.
Slice fish in small, bite-able pieces and add to bowl.
Mix yogurt, mustard, oil, lemon and salt and pepper in a jar and shake until emulsified.
Pour over salad, mix and enjoy.

The Soaked Bean

Seeking Nourishment, Finding Traditions

Franco-American Apple Pie

(Grand-père) Loulou’s Smoked Trout & Endive Salad