May I Help You? Puis-je t’aider?
Last week spring arrived, as well as my debut novel, Tales of the Mistress, that was released out into the world!
In the novel, Epi travels from Southwest France through Languedoc and takes a ship from Marseilles to Sicily.
The title of this post is Puis-je t’aider? Which means May I Help You? It was one of the first things I asked my assistant, and at the time, French Teacher, Aileen, how to say in French so I could ask the chef, Erick, in the kitchen. (Yes, the chef spelled his name the same way as I spelled my oldest son’s name, which was such a cool kismet thing to learn when we first visited with them in 2003.)
Part of the reason I remember this phrase so well is because there was a certain level of transformation going on. I was truthfully, so grateful for Aileen’s help, as I would have been so lost without her. Ask her about Paris and how easy it is to get turned around there. Well, easy for me.
But just say, Puis-je t’aider. “May I help you “ asks the question, what kind of traveler are you? The kind that isn’t afraid to ask for help? Or the kind who is stubbornly independent and clings to not risking embarrassing moments of saying “I’m lost,” and especially in a foreign locale where no one understands you, anyway.
This kind of transformation is at the core of traveling. And perhaps living.
It’s a concept very much in mind as we teach this kind of world confidence in our second generation teen culinary excursions called Taste the Adventure.
I am so tickled that these trips are continuing, led by my oldest son, yes, Erick, and his partner, Abbie. Check out their Paris: Shops, Markets, and Shops Adventure coming up in August. There’s only a few spots left.
But I’ve gotten off track because I started with the intention of talking about gratitude and the bevy of assistance, and assistants in joining all these experiences together and getting to this path, where Tales of the Mistress is published last week.
Jaunts and junctures over the years have been filled with inspiring adventures, through clouds and sun, a few biting mosquitos, but through it all is the joy of transformation; teaching the teens to how to travel like a local. How they learn to give help, and how they learn to ask for it.
Over the years there have been luscious repasts of Roman-inspired cuisine, vistas from behind the scenes of assembling piqueniques for kayaking under the Pont du Gard, passing olive trees, golden fields, and breathing in the salty air as we headed down in the van filled with teens and saucisson, to grill on the caravan strewn beaches of the Camargue. I hope to share some of those times that so informed the journeys that Epi tumbles and fumbles his/her way through in the novel.
Puis-je t’aider?
It was 2005, and I was in Marseilles. Before the group of teens arrived, I wandered and walked and promenaded the fish market at the old port in Marseille.
In looking back, I probably heard people asking me that very question in the market, Le Marche de la Peche, as I scurried around. I didn’t want to be lost. Or look lost. I had about an hour to find where we’d be getting on our boat. Aileen arrived with the teens, fresh off the plane, and luckily I found where we needed to be, and we plunked them and us onto said boat and we took off from the port and they immediately fell asleep as we headed out to tour the famous Count of Monte Cristo’s Chateau D’if.
The sea breezes were a dream. Lost at sea?
The next day we headed upriver, the Rhone to be exact, to Arles, and the Ecole de la Cuisine Provence, which was a bed and breakfast as well as a cooking school. Arles wasn’t humid, just hot. The famous Mistral winds were on vacation, expected to return during the winter.
“We” included the teens and two more of us, besides Aileen and myself; Erick, and Madeleine, at that time they were the chef and pastry/photographer team and owners of Cuisine et Tradition Provencale.
Finally we were all gathered at the table. And after a bit of introduction, we said these words to the teens.
“Aide-toi.”
Help yourself.
There was polenta on a wooden board, Provencale tomato sauces - cold and sharp with vinegar, and hot with capers and garlic. There was L’anchoyade for the cold roasted eggplant, roasted lamb, chilled shrimp, followed by cheeses, then fresh nectarines and fraise, and chocolate tart with hazelnut crust.
At the end of the meal they stood up to depart the table and that was the perfect moment to teach them, how to ask, puis-je t’ader?
Even if you’re not crazy about anchovies, I hope you’ll try this sauce from our time in Arles. This is one of many wonderful dishes that we made that summer of 2005 and on into every summer up to 2008, when the world crashed all around us.
L'Anchoyade - Anchovy Paste/Sauce
From the Kitchen of Erick and Madeleine Vedel
Association Cuisine et Tradition Arles 2003
This is a lovely sauce for dipping fresh vegetables, and the ingredient to many another interesting dish. With a bit of grated cheese it's wonderful on pasta. It is the descendent of the Roman Garum sauce which was a fermented fish sauce made from the entrails, heads, etc., of the mackeral, tuna and/or anchovy. They would put it on meat, pour it on cheese, spread it on bread. A bit like the Vietnamese and Thai fish sauces that are now becoming known across the US and Europe.
Ingredients:
one garlic clove
lemon juice of 1/2 a lemon
2 Tbspoons Olive oil
1-4 salted anchovy filets
Prepare the garlic: on a small plate, squeeze the lemon juice, take a sharp pronged fork and place the prongs flat on the plate, take a peeled garlic clove (the larger the easier to handle) and scrape it back and forth on the tips of the prongs. You will produce a fine puree that will be lightly cured by the acid of the lemon juice, ideal for cold sauces and salad dressings.
Pour the olive oil into a very small frying pan, add your anchovy filets and stir with a fork, lightly mashing the filets to dissolve them into the oil. Let bubble lightly for just a moment. Remove from the flame and add the pureed garlic. Return to the flame and stir while letting it heat for 30 seconds. Remove from the flame.
Serve with your vegetables, or put aside in a jar in the refrigerator to use when you need it.
