Signeture.Living

Don’t know what to do? Go see your friends.
Don’t know what to do? Go to Burgundy.
Don’t know what to do? Go to stay at La Maison de Pommard.
Don’t know what to do? Hug your friends.
Don’t know what to do? Cook a delicious meal.
Don’t know what to do? Walk in the vineyards.
Don’t know what to do? Help friends.
Don’t know what to do? Laugh.
Don’t know what to do? Dance and sing.
Don’t know what to do? Do what you’re most affraid of.
Don’t know what to do? Start a conversation with a stranger.
Don’t know what to do? Listen.
Don’t know what to do? Reply.
Don’t know what to do? Enjoy.
Don’t know what to do? Stop pretending.
Don’t know what to do? Jump into the unknown.
Don’t know what to do? Sit. Breath. Talk.
Don’t know what to do? Have the luxury of eating a slow breakfast with friends.
Don’t know what to do? Do something you never expected to do at your age.
Don’t know what to do? Be open.
Don’t know what to do? Love. Always love.

And always be grateful for that all. Merci team champagne for these 24h. ❤️

Rhubarb tart. Save. Make. Enjoy.

pâte sucrée - recipe in gallery. Use half a portion or a whole if you prefer a thicker layer of pastry.

filling:
600 g peeled rhubarb, cut into 2 cm pieces
7 rosebuds
6 cardamom pods
½ vanilla pod
pinch of sea salt
water, enough to cover the rhubarb
150 g demerara sugar

meringue:
140 g egg whites
200 g light brown sugar
pinch of sea salt
1 tsp cornflour
1 tsp vinegar

Blind bake the tart shell (instructions in gallery) until it is almost cooked through, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare the rhubarb. Put all the filling ingredients into a saucepan and bring to the boil, then simmer for 5–7 minutes. Strain, reserving the liquid, and allow the rhubarb to cool.

Before assembling the tart, make the meringue. In a clean bowl, combine the egg whites and a pinch of salt and begin whisking. Once soft peaks form, add one-third of the sugar. Continue whisking and, when the mixture has lightened and gained some volume, add the second third of the sugar. Repeat with the final third and continue whisking on a medium-high speed for 5–7 minutes, until the meringue is glossy and holds its shape.

When the tart shell is ready, remove it from the oven and top with the rhubarb. If you like, scatter a layer of sliced almonds over the tart shell first. It is optional, but I enjoy the extra texture they bring. Spoon over the rhubarb, then top generously with the meringue, levelling it out so the surface is even and bakes uniformly.

Bake on the lower rack of the oven for about 35 minutes, or until the meringue is golden and feels nicely set. Remove from the oven. It may look slightly cracked or broken in places, but that is perfectly fine. As it cools, it tends to settle and come back together. Allow the tart to cool completely before serving.

And do not forget about the reserved rhubarb syrup. Boil it over a high heat until it reduces and becomes slightly thick and syrupy. It is excellent later on, diluted with water and turned into a simple rhubarb lemonade.

January to June.

These very random photos are a great reminder of why I absolutely love taking photos and videos. I’m very happy that, somewhere along the course of humanity, somebody invented the possibility of taking a photo and filming a video, because these are our memories.

We may carry many of them in our heads, but nothing speaks quite like a snapshot of a moment. Looking through these months of funny, stupid, serious, important, and simply nonchalant moments of my life, I realise that, thanks to “caught on camera” moments, I can look back and see things — and feel things — that I’ve already forgotten.

The moments, the people, the events, the tastes, the smells, the travels, everything. And the joy of those little moments that, in the end, make up the one grand picture of my life. A picture that i choose to create, because nobody but me decides what it will look like at the end of a day, a month, a year, or ultimately, when Im gone.

For that reason, I love photography and videos. Not just for what they capture in the moment, but because they remind us of our little joys, our sadness, our failures, our happiness, and everything else that comes with being alive. Let’s see what June to December will look like.

Let’s just start with the only truth there is about cooking: there’s really not much one needs to do if the ingredient is of the highest quality and a star in its own right. And this dish, which I prepared after returning from Paris, is living proof of that.

It all started with a baked beetroot – a rare thing to get hold of (sadly, I haven’t found it anywhere in Lyon), but such a treasure, so most of the trips from Paris on my behalf end with at least two baked beetroots in my bag (I get them either at Miyam or Berrie). Beetroot baked in its skin has an absolutely divine, more concentrated flavour and a wonderfully dense texture. Of course, you can use a boiled one, but it will never be the same. Never ever.

And then, just as with that glorious beetroot, everything else must be of the very best quality: Lardo di Colonnata, capers in brine, and the finest Grenoble walnuts (preferably still in their shells and cracked just before serving, as that’s when they taste their best).

Recipe for one person

1 large beetroot, peeled and torn into pieces
3 walnuts, shelled
1 tsp capers
1 tbsp mild extra virgin olive oil
5–6 small slices of lardo
smoked salt, if you have it, or simple sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Arrange the beetroot on a plate and top with the walnuts, capers, olive oil, lardo, salt and pepper. Serve. Simple as that. With a light red wine and fresh bread.

Stepping out of the train at noon, I inhaled the air of Paris, enjoying the mild 22°C, the sun kissing my shoulders and the clouds taking care of any unnecessary overheating. I left my luggage in storage to collect many hours later before going to a friend’s house, but for now I was off to enjoy a Sunday in this city, which is very different from any other day, especially in summertime, bringing more peace and quiet.

After sipping a cappuccino at Nuance Café on Rue Danielle Casanova, and planning to enjoy my bagel from Cody’s at Cody’s, I instead took it with me to eat in the Jardin du Palais Royal while working on (or rather reducing) my daily plans for my summer Paris tours. With pigeons fighting over the crumbs of my bagel, I left for a soft-serve ice cream at La Combine (tonka, almond and rosemary) and ate it while listening to 90s pop music and the chatter of happy children at the neighbouring table.

The riverbanks of Canal Saint-Martin were beaming with people enjoying either picnics or the simple pleasure of talking, and I was lucky to squeeze myself in between them, nonchalantly reading a book. A good two hours later, with semolina bread and different appetisers (Miyam), I entered my friend’s garden to receive a generous hug and kisses (a treat I never refuse), and there I was, eating my first garden meal of the year.

The following morning’s travels took a bit of nerve as several lines were not running properly (something one should always take into consideration in Paris), but by noon, I was ready to order a galette with ham, cheese and egg to chat my mouth dry, yet when the waiter came over with the dessert menu, to graciously decline it as I simply could not wait to try the famous French Bastards ice cream bars, which I did in the afternoon, after a perfectly balanced espresso at Grave.

Just before jumping on the train, I entered the Bourse de Commerce to see the new cloud installation—or rather, fog sculpture—by Fujiko Nakaya. Letting the fog surround me while catching the glimpses of sun rays shining through windows was the most magical way to end this short stay.

Food is religion in France. The religion may take many forms and meanings, but it is a religion nonetheless. Or at least something sacred to be celebrated. Some people go to church; for others, a meal is their church. For some, it is both.

It is no wonder, then, that food exists not only as something physical to be enjoyed, but also in countless everyday sayings. Even when talking about difficulties, one can talk about eggs rather than the difficulties themselves.

Here are just a few of my favourites.

Tā, mani mīļie! Es nāku ar skaistām ziņām par novembra un oktobra trīs dienu franču nedēļas nogalēm Rūmenes muižā. Lai gan visa programma vēl top, esmu patiesi laimīga paziņot, ka papildus četrām manām meistarklasēm, visām maltītēm, dzīvošanai skaistajās istabiņās un iespējai izbaudīt to, ka muiža ir tikai mūsu rīcībā, tagad ir zināms, ka papildus tam, ko jau minēju, mums būs vēl:

✨ Rotaslietu ateljē/meistarklase ar
✨ Joga ar
✨ Sveču liešanas meistarklase ar

Un papildus tam – degustācijas, ziedu meistarklases un daudz kas cits.

Ēdienkartes atšķirsies, tāpat kā atmosfēra, jo oktobris būs rudenīgās noskaņās, bet novembra beigas jau svētku gaidās. Katrs no jums dosies mājās ar savu adventes vainagu.

Esmu saglabājusi tavu sirsnīgo un personīgo stilu, tikai izlīdzinot valodu un pieturzīmes, lai teksts plūstu dabiskāk.

Sīkāks info mājas lapā vai DM. Novembrī palikušas divas vietas un oktobrī trīs.

PS. Pirmā bilde no Pas de Marque arhīva ;)

“A few years ago, at the General Assembly of Gastronomy in Dijon, a solemn—though not especially serious—gathering of chefs undertook to codify the recipe for coq au vin. As if there were only one coq au vin! As if, like Aesop’s tongue, it could be both the best and often the worst of dishes!
The origins of coq au vin are distant and uncertain. Auvergne claims it with its Chanturgue wine. Burgundy prides itself on it and incorporates it into its traditional local cuisine. The very fact that it belongs to wine-based cooking, as we have often repeated, gives every wine-growing region a claim to it.”

From 100 Merveilles de la Cuisine Française.

This is a recipe I stumbled upon in a book published in 1971. At the beginning, it looks perhaps a bit boring, but at the end of the day, when you use a good chicken, a good wine and good bacon, then finish it with either prunelle or, in my case, Chambord, the taste is simply beyond amazing.

Yes, it might be a simple dish, but it is so full of flavour and texture. The croutons play beautifully against the succulent, tender chicken, all topped with the cooking juices, where the layers of flavour come from shallots, mushrooms and garlic. I do add thyme, which is not in the original recipe, but it blends everything together so beautifully.

I have made a few very small changes, but this French recipe is truly amazing. Get on substack French Tables (link in b i o)