The KickAssCooking Zine

BREAD & OIL

Stories of two women who shared a passion for centuries-old ways

BREAD
By Jules Bass
Photography: Jeannine Kadow

"Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread."
Conrad Aiken 1914

Madame Odette Diribarne was a charming woman of a certain age.
When I met her, she told me her story: "I was born in the town of Brie,
in the wine country of Champagne. My father was a wheat farmer and
I was brought up to believe that to be a peasant - a man who tilled the
soil - was a noble endeavor. Everyone in the town looked up to Papa,
he was a true personage - for he cultivated the essence of 'the staff of
life.

"Although we had modern equipment, we farmed one small patch of our
field using old-fashioned methods handed down through the generations.
At a nearby mill we had this wheat ground into flour to make bread, which
we baked in our outdoor wood-fired stone oven. On the day my father
baked we invited all of our neighbors to share our bounty. When I was
old enough I took over some of the baking. I looked forward to it more
than I did my own birthday.

"I kept my father's old hand-tools, and when I retired to Chateauneuf de
Villevielle, I brought them with me. Here I found a 300 year-old outdoor
stone oven which had not been used since before World War Two. In
order to restore it to functional condition I formed a society called Li
Bachelli de la Madonna. (Bachelli, after the name of an inedible local
snail and Madonna for the town's eleventh century Romanesque church,)
so that I might recreate for myself, the villagers and the youth of the area,
a joyously remembered tradition."

By a stroke of luck, Madame Diribarne was introduced to Edmond Maro, a
young professor of biology. Not only was bread his passion, he had written
a book titled: La Dernier Fournée, a history of old bread ovens in the Alpes Maritimes. With his help they located a small sunny piece of land near old
Roman ruins above the village. The society's handful of "newly ordained"
peasants planted their short-wheat (which would grow to 18") at the end of
November and waited for nature to work her magic. In August they had
their first harvest - and the start of what would become a yearly event.

We watched as a half-acre of wheat was cut and threshed by hand. Two
weeks later we drove in a caravan of cars high into the Alps, over the Col
de Tendre pass, to the Italian town of Robilante (between Limone and
Cuneo in Piemonte), to a 150 year old mill powered solely by a picturesque
water wheel. Here the wheat was stone-ground (which gives bread a rougher texture and added fiber). After the milling process everyone repaired to a nearby trattoria for a celebratory luncheon; the warm hours-old flour resting safely in the trunks of their cars.

Professor Mari (who proudly considered himself a peasant despite his pro-
fessional status) became the town boulanger - baker - for one day early in
October. His two assistants were Madame Diribarne's son, Marcel, a retired
professor of English, and her grandson, Francois.

Two days before the baking, the oven was pre-heated with dried pine logs.
The festival - Le Fete Du Pain - began after Sunday Church services and
lasted until sunset. It has been going on for the past fifteen years, creating a unique feeling of satisfaction and camaraderie for the participants and villagers, as well as serving to teach the younger generation how things were once done.

On that day, Chateauneuf de Villeveille played host to hundreds of people who, like myself, climbed the steep winding mountain road leading up to the tiny hamlet where we were greeted by the welcoming smile of a farmer's daughter who had achieved her goal of helping to preserve a part of the patrimony of France and attaching pride to the word peasant.

Two hundred loaves were sold for about 40 cents each - just enough to cover the association's expenses. After the bread, pizzas made with the same flour, and the Nicoise onion tart called pissaladiere, were baked and served. When the fire began to die, locals brought other dishes to bake slowly : casseroles of daube, chicken, stuffed tomatoes, socca (a crepe made of chick-pea flour) - portions of which were sold to the visitors.

When I suggested that they could surely sell the loaves for at least twice the price and thereby increase their profits, Madame Diribarne touched my arm and smiled - saying gently" "That's not the point." I took my foot out of my mouth and bit into one of the best pieces if bread I had ever tasted. During my several visits with the villagers of Chateauneuf de Villeveille, I had made many friends, and bread I broke with them was more than bread.

IL VECHIA MULINO - THE OLD MILL

The small old mill has been in operation since 1897. Current manager/owner
is M. Marchizio, who will be pleased to show you around - and you can buy
many different flours, including corn flour.

THE OLD WATER WHEEL AT ROBILANTE

The wheel was built and put in place in 1845 and creates all the power needed to operate the mill machinery.

THE GRAIN CLEANING MACHINE

First the grain is cleaned of remaining debris and the weighed. The cleaning
machine is circa 1845

THE GRINDING PROCESS

Although the circular casks are only 50 years old, the pietr - the grinding stones -
in the mill date from the turn of the century.

THE SEPARATING SCREENS

The warm ground whole-grain is shaken through a series of seven screens which serve to separate the flour from the wheat germ.

BAKING FACTS

Old stone ovens have no thermostats. The correct temperature for bread
baking used to be measured by shoving an arm into the oven for a count of ten without burning yourself (don't try it!) Alternatively, wheat bran was (is) tossed onto the oven floor. If it blackens immediately the oven is too hot. Optimum temperature is 250°C (475°F)

The flour mixture is 2/3rds whole wheat to 1/3rd unbleached white, plus the
levure - the yeast - used for the rising. (Only fresh bakers yeast - not that
dried stuff). Red Star brand is available in many places (or ask your local
baker to give you some - which he may do, albeit reluctantly).

OIL
By Jules Bass
Photography: Jeannine Kadow

"Work is love made visible"
Kahlil Gibran: "The Prophet - 1923

Madame Daniele Brizzi was one of ten children born in a small village east
Nice, France. Her father was a fisherman, her mother a cook at a local hotel. Times were hard. At age eight she has yet to own her first pair of shoes.

"When I married," she said, "I knew little about cooking. My mother, although
bed-ridden at the time, insisted upon being propped-up in a chair in the kitchen so she could teach me all she knew about Provencale cuisine. 'It's left to you to carry on the tradition," she said.

"Her dream had been to retire and cook with produce from her own garden,
with oil made from her own olive trees."

Although her wish was never fulfilled, it became her daughter's dream. It
came true when she and her husband moved to the rural village of Piera Cava, an hour north of Nice, and purchased an old olive grove in nearby Blausasc.

"With my mother's tattered cookbook in hand I prepared such local dishes as aioli, bagna cauda, anchoiade, soupe au pistou, artichauts barigoule, passaladiere, boef en daube, legumes farcis, esquinado, and tapenade.
They all had one ingredient in common: olive oil - from out own trees."

December 12. Just before daybreak. We are going on an adventure - to the mountain village of Blausasc to watch the Brizzi's finish gathering olives from their thirty-nine trees. By the end of the day we will be tasting the oil made
from these olives. Talk about fresh!

We arrive in time to see the sun peeking over the ridge, turning the olive leaves from dark to silvery green. Nets have been laid out under the trees and the picking has about an hour to go. Olives are being coaxed onto the nets with long sticks cut from hazel trees. By noon we are at the small mill. Power is provided by a waterwheel; millstones, basins and iron pieces date from the year 1690.

The mill has been renovated several times - in 1840 and in 1910 and more recently by the present owner, as a labor of love. Here, time-honored traditions are scrupulously observed.

An hour after the olives have been in the stone crushing basin, Madame Brizzi hands me a piece of bread to dip into one of the rivulets of oil that have formed on the surface. It is slightly bitter; like tasting new wine. Cold spring water is added to the grinding tank causing the oil and olive mash to accumulate on the surface where it is skimmed off - and the oil slowly drained from the water. I taste it again. It is now round and intensely fragrant - as sublime to my palate as anything I have found in high-priced designer bottles.

Next the olive mash is packed into escortins, round pocketed rush mats that are piled one atop another and pressed in a 17th century wood-screw, hand-turned press, to extract the remaining oil. This is the true old-fashioned cold-pressed extra virgin oil that the Brizzi's will keep for themselves and their friends. None will be sold. For their 357 kilos (775 pounds) of olives, the mill charges them a bit less than $100. They will fill 74 one-liter bottles of oil at a cost of $1.35 per bottle. Nobody is making any money - and that the way it's supposed to be.

Mrs Brizzi awakened at 4:00 AM and baked an apple tart. She also brought along some home-cured anchovies, sausages, country bread and red wine.
The mill owner raised his glass in a surprising toast. With a noticeable crack in his voice, he exclaimed: "This is the last oil that will be made in this mill - because the European Commission has decreed that it (and all others like it), does not meet its hygiene standards. Next year this will become a museum, and I will be forced to build a new mill, run by electricity, with stainless-steel tanks and automated equipment."

Everyone shrugs in the age-old Gallic manner, which signifies resignation. Next year the Brizzi's olives will be turned into oil untouched by human hands or by old millstones, wooden paddles and creaking presses or by historical tradition. "Tant pis," as the French say: Too bad.

Jeanniine and I are here, on this cold December afternoon, just in time to see both tradition carried on and tradition ending. One day, hopefully, Daniele Brizzi will take an eight-year old grand-daughter here to the museum and explain how olive oil was made in the old days, and then, as happy tears form in her eyes, she will say: "When I was your agre I had no shoes…" and tell her story.

Back at home I am parsimonious with the Brizzi's gift of the new oil - for each taste reminds me that truly work can - should - be love made visible.

BREAD & OIL IDEAS

ROUSTIDO (BRUSCHETTA)

In Provence it was a ritual that roustido (the provencal name for what we
call in Italian, bruschetta), accompanied by the quicho: the first olive oil
pressing. You won't want to do this in a toaster. If you have a gas stove
take a large slice of coarse country bread (a bit stale is even better) and
hold it with a skewer or long metal tongs over the fire - passing it back
and forth and turning it over until both sides are a bit burned.

Then rub the bread lightly with a cut clove of garlic, dip into extra virgin
olive oil and sprinkle on some salt. The perfect bruschetta. All others
are chef's inventions and spoil the flavor of the oil.

Of course when the newly pressed oil is being evaluated it is tasted
alone, without garlic or salt - since adding these would alter the taste of
the fresh oil. A parallel situation is when buyers taste new wine: They
never eat cheese since doing so would give their palates a false im-
pression of the wine (possibly making it taste better than it actually is).

THE AGE-OLD METHODS OF PRESSING OIL

Olive Oil is made by the Brizzi's in a manner that has changed little
from when man first pressed oil from the olives on the shores of the
Mediterranean 5,000 years ago! Unfortunately, now it will change.
That's supposed to be progress…

Although I have read (and was always led to believe) that the first
cold-pressed extra-virgin olive oil resulted from the crushed olive
mash being pressed between rush mats without heat, I learned that
the traditional method was to add cold water to the mash in the grinding
basin and then to drain (separate) the oil from the water. Only after this
was done was the remaining olive mash pressed to gain the rest of the
oil in the mash. There was never a "second pressing" using hot water
(which would have given forth what is now bottled as pure olive oil-
a rather tasteless product that usually has some extra virgin added to
at least give it some flavor.

A RECIPE FOR "AÏOLI"

This is simply garlic-infused mayonnaise: Madame Brizzi makes it
with farm-fresh eggs, her own olive oil, pink garlic, fleur de sel
(the finest sea salt from Brittany), a lemon from her garden and a
few drops of mountain spring water. (You can use Evian!)
Taken all together, the difference in the end product is noticeable
as compared with making aïoli in a blender with store-bought
ingredients. Nevertheless, either way, it's worth a try.
Here's how to do it the hard (traditional) way:

"AÏOLI"
Put three or four cloves of fresh garlic (not elephant garlic). If
the cloves have green sprouted centers discard the green - and
mash them in a mortar with a pestle to a smooth paste. Add 2
egg yolks (at room temperature) and turn them until they become
a light yellow. Add a pinch of salt. Now for the oil: The easiest
way I've found to pour it in a thin stream is to take a wine-cork
and cut 2 shallow V's into it (one opposite the other). Put it in
your bottle's neck. This allows you to pour the oil slowly as you
continue to turn with the pestle.

After adding about a quarter cup, add the juice of a whole lemon
(do not use Meyer lemons, which add a sweetness we don't want).
and a teaspoon of room-temperature water. Now continue to add
oil and turn until you have a mayonnaise-like mass. Add a few more
drops of water and keep turning. (The water keeps the oil from sep-
arating from the eggs.)

You should be able to add approximately 2 cups of oil - but use
your own judgment as you approach the end. If it does separate
you will have to empty the mortar, put in another egg yolk, a few
drops of lemon juice and then turn and slowly add back the garlic
mayonnaise - the aïoli. You can, of course, try the same steps in
your food processor or blender - adding oil and pulsing. It will give
you a light texture but it won't be authentic.

TO SERVE

Serve the aïoli as an accompaniment to poached salt-cod filets, and all
manner of poached and raw vegetables (broccoli, peppers, boiled
potatoes, cauliflower, celery, green beans, artichoke hearts, chick-peas,
carrots, etc.).

For a large group you can add hard-boiled eggs and even a roasted
chicken or two. Be inventive!

Fraises des Bois
Written by: Jules Bass
Photography by: Jeannine Kadow

Recently a friend of mine served me what she said were French fraises
des bois - but were actually the locally grown Alpine variety (Reugen
Improved) which are larger than the true fraises des bois and lack their
unique flavor and fragrance. Although many specialty food shops call
their American cousins by the more exotic French name to entice you,
chances are you won't be getting the real thing.

So, careful. Remember the line from H.M.S. Pinafore: "Things are seldom
what they seem, Skim milk masquerades as cream." If you want the real
thing chances are you'll have to come to France to have it. I discovered
this after moving there many years ago, and tasting my first cultivated wild strawberry. I discovered that they're never shipped to the States since
these tiny berries don't travel well; in fact they don't like to travel at all,
even first class. They hate refrigeration, last but a day and must be eaten
quickly after picking or they turn to mush.

Originally the wild strawberry was only found hidden at the edges of forests -
free for the taking. Now they are cultivated in greenhouses - protected from
the rain, cold and too much sun and are relatively expensive; about $7.00
for a small carton enough for two (or one greedy gourmand, like moi!)

In the area of Mediterranean Provence, where I live half the year, the top restaurateurs agree that the best fraises des bois are grown by Monsieur
René Schimd in Saint-Roman de Bellet. When I telephoned to ask when
the best time would be to photograph his farm he said: "Now. All of the
plants are in full flower - and you don't want to miss that." So, following a complex set of instructions, we set out for an hour's drive into the arrière
pays - the beautiful, wild, back country, above and behind the city of Nice.

In 1952, Monsieur Schmid was twenty-four, just out of the army and newly married. Having little money, he and his bride spent their honeymoon camp-
ing in the countryside. On their wedding night, they sought out a simple
auberge for dinner and nervously ordered just two bowls of soup which they
ate with country bread and a half-carafe of the rough local wine. The owner
of the restaurant, sensitive to the paucity of their celebratory meal, brought
them a bowl of wild strawberries which he had gathered that morning in the nearby woods. René Schmid tasted his first fraise des bois - and was
enchanted by their unique flavor and perfume.

Soon thereafter, he determined to try and grow a sample batch on a small
piece of family land. He learned that the berries could be dried for 10 days
and the resulting seeds used to grow seedlings; that fifteen days after germination the tiny plants were ready for planting; a month later the tiny
white flowers appeared which presaged the coming of the fruit by two to three weeks. René found that his cultivated variety had the same taste, aroma and size as the wild forest berry; the only difference being that they grew in foot-round clumps rather than propagating by putting down runners.

He discovered that the weather of the south of France was ideal for growing
the magical berries which hid under their protective broad, green leaves, and
that the temperate climate allowed for year-round harvesting of this perennial plant. Two years later he had his first order from the Negresco Hotel in Nice. They served fraises des bois that Christmas - for the very first time.

René Schmid had become the first to cultivate fraises des bois on the côte d'azur. His present farm, comprising 2 acres - produces 10 kilos (about 20 pounds a day). René picks 2 pounds an hour - helped by his twin daughters. Although they both work in Nice as medical research scientists, they dutifully devote an hour and a half every morning to helping papa pick so he can start his rounds (which he still makes personally) by seven-thirty.

By eleven his truck is empty and he meets his wife at the bottom of the
hill where she waits with a fresh supply so that he can continue servicing
customers from Antibes to Monaco. By 1:00 PM he will have visited
clients such as famed chefs Alain Ducasse (who he met in 1970 when
Ducasse was an unpaid apprentice working at Roger Vergé's restaurant,
Moulin de Mougins.), Jacques Maximin, Jacques Chibois, hotels like the
Eden Roc and La Voile d'Or; even special deliveries to the castle in
Monaco for the Royal family.

His most unique sale was to the Admiral of a U.S. aircraft carrier who had
tasted the wild strawberries for the first time and wanted to serve them the
next evening at a dinner he was hosting on board. René happily provided
a few kilos gratis and was ferried out to the carrier by helicopter to deliver
his precious cargo personally.

M. Schmid is a jovial, mischievous, Santa Claus of a man who honestly
delighted in showing us his farm. On the walk from his house to the greenhouses we had a running commentary on the herbs, wild flowers,
trees, and edible wild salad greens that crowded our path. He insisted we \sample cherries, apricots, plums, raspberries, and picked three avocados
and a handful of almonds which he stuffed into Jeannine's camera bag.
He named every tree, bush, flower and plant that we passed; their French
names swirled around in my head as I tried to make notes. Eventually I
gave up and let the glory of le vrai compagnie - the true countryside of
France - wash over me.

Whoever says this part of French life has disappeared should make a visit
to Bellet. Before he would answer any questions, or allow Jeannine to start photographing, he picked some of his tiny-treasures and insisted we sample them. I ate the tiny fragrant berries one at a time - pausing in-between to
savor the aftertaste - inhaling the lingering perfume and trying to identify the flavor, the essence, as if I were competing in a wine-tasting event.

Did I detect a hint of vanilla? Cinnamon? Peach? Rose? No, I detected
nothing but the unique flavor and fragrance of fraise des bois. Mr. Schmid
made me rinse my mouth with spring water so I could taste a regular straw-
berry from Carros - a village renowned in the south of France for the excell-
ence of its strawberries. It had just the right balance between sweet and tart - but it no more resembled the taste of a fraise des bois than an apple.

We had been taken to the farm by Jean Lorenzi, proprietor of the hotel La
Voile d'Or on the port at Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. When I asked how he
served fraises des bois at the hotel, he quickly said, "come tomorrow - for breakfast - and I'll show you."

So, there I was, on the hotel terrace overlooking the sea, making notes for
this article as I soaked up the morning sunshine. Soon Jean arrived with a
waiter in tow. He was not carrying much on his silver tray - just two bowls of fraises des bois, a bottle of chilled champagne and two crystal glasses.
"Now, this is a French breakfast," Jean said, as he sat down and poured the bubbly. I meekly asked for a croissant, causing Jean to frown. What could
I do but give in to the moment? It's not like I have champagne and wild strawberries every day. Anyway, a good nap after breakfast will set things
right, said my French host.

WHERE TO BUY SEEDS AND PLANTS

White Flower Farm in Litchfield Connecticut sells a version of Fraises des
Bois as bare-root plants called Woodland Strawberries. Friends who have
planted them tell me they're good but not the same as the French variety.
Tel: 1-800-411-6159. They're similar to the Italian Alpine strawberry which
is derived from the French.

Burpee sells seeds. Ask for Ruegen Improved. On the Internet at:
www.burpee.com. Other good varieties include Alexandria, Baron,
Solemacher and Harzland.

Harris Seeds in Rochester, New York specializes in wild-type strawberries
(1-716 594-9411), as does Ahrens Strawberry Nursery in Huntingsburg,
Indiana (1-812 683-3055). Also try Territorial Seeds in Oregon on the web
www.territorial-seed.com

Thompson & Morgan in Warminster, Pa (1-800 888-1447) sells Mignonette.
Williams-Sonoma advertise in their catalog: fraises des bois plants (from
time to time).

A NEW HYBRID STRAWBERRY

The French Institute For Agricultural Research has come up with a hybrid
berry (Mara de Bois) that has a similar taste and perfume to the fraises des
bois. I've tasted them and can report that they're quite good. They are full
-sized berries that are hardy and can be successfully refrigerated and
shipped. When I asked M. Schmid what he thought about them he gave
me a Gallic shrug and mumbled: "You'd think they'd have something better
to do with our taxes."

A traditionalist to the end. Then he threw up his hands and shouted:
"Where's the romance?" Big berries and champagne? I think I agree with
him that it's not going to be the same.

WINE WITH FRAISES DES BOIS

Champagne is first, according to my local sommelier, followed by Chateau d'Yquem (which nobody can afford anymore - at least I can't), or any good chateau-bottled Sauternes - served well-chilled. Or try Barsac, a bit less
sweet, or a Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise - which is unfortified, less strong
and less sweet than the others in the Muscat group.

CHEF DANIEL BOULUD COMMENTS

Top chef Daniel Boulud, upon occasion, serves fraises des bois at his famed
New York restaurant and loves their delicate flavor. But, he says, they are
not an item that occurs often on his carte simply because he has found only
a few local growers and their product is not readily available. He does use
American varieties of Fragaria, when they are in season, and comments that
they are very nice, plump and juicy, but lack the subtlety of taste of the true fraises des bois.

A FRAISE DES BOIS RECIPE FROM THE AUTHOR

EASY WILD STRAWBERRY SORBET

2 Cups of wild strawberries (or sweet regular ones)
1/3 Cup of simple syrup* (boiled sugar-water)

*Make a simple sugar by slowly cooking 2/3 cup of fine sugar with
1 cup of water until sugar is dissolved. Reduce slowly to 2/3rds
cup and allow to cool to room temperature before using

Add strawberries to food processor fitted with steel knife and
pulse until berries are finely chopped (do not puree or turn to mush!)

In a glass bowl mix the berries and simple syrup and scrape into a
plastic container with a lid. Freeze overnight (or longer).

When ready to serve set bottom of plastic container in hot water
for a few seconds to loosen the sorbet. While still in the container
cut with a dull knife into chunks that will fit in your food processor.

With steel knife, process for a minute or so until the mixture turns
to a creamy frozen sorbet. Scrape down the sides and re-process
for another 10 seconds if not smooth.

Spoon into chilled wine glasses and serve with a whole berry atop
each portion.

WILD STRAWBERRY / MANGO SALSA

1 Cup wild strawberries (or regular, diced)
Juice of ½ lime
1/4 teaspoon fine sugar
1/8 teaspoon hot chili pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons fresh chopped coriander (cilantro)

Peel and dice the mango, add strawberries and balance
of ingredients in a glass or ceramic bowl. Mix gently and
keep at room temperature. Add salt just before using is
prepared more than ½ hour in advance.

Spoon liberally atop grilled fish filets or try on grilled chicken
breasts.

WILD STRAWBERRY / VINEGAR SAUCE
(As a compliment to the above salsa)

1 cup wild strawberry sorbet
½ cup balsamic vinegar
½ cup good red wine vinegar
1/8 teaspoon hot chili pepper

Cook the two vinegars until reduced to 1/3 cup.
Cool and whisk 4 tablespoons into the melted
sorbet. Add pepper and simmer 2 minutes.

Serve warm or cool as a second sauce to the Wild
Strawberry / Mango Salsa - separate, pooled on the
plate or dribbled over fish or chicken.

The THUMBELINA Strawberry

Jeannine was reminded of Hans Christian Andersen's story,
Thumbelina, who was so tiny (just like the wild berries) that
she floated down the river on a flower petal.

Fraises des Bois In Full Flower - Early May

The tiny fraises hide under a canopy of broad green leaves -
protected from the sun. Oddly, their main enemy is the
butterfly (which can bring disease to the plants). It is kept
out by screening-in all the open spaces in the greenhouses.

René Schmid Lovingly Displaying His Plants

The berries are lovingly picked only by hand by René and
his daughters, at dawn, and personally delivered so that
they can be on restaurant tables for breakfast.

Alice Waters Comments

Alice Waters (of famed Chez Panise) said "Yes, we have
served and continue to serve fraises des bois at Chez Panise.
We used to have a grower that provided us with them on a
consistent basis. Unfortunately she wasn't able to make
enough money to continue doing it. Currently we do receive
them from time to time from different growers who have small
patches. I grow both the white and the red varieties at home
and they grow quite easily and are very tasty.

A HINT, IF YOU'RE COMING TO FRANCE

Ask the head waiter at your hotel when the fraises des bois
are delivered. If it is early morning, tell him to save you a portion
before they are refrigerated and have them for breakfast with
a small dollop of crème d'Isigny and a glass of champagne.