Superfluous piece of information for the benefit of readers who stumbled upon this blog in a completely unrelated search: Bastille Day, also known as La Fête Nationale or Le Quatorze Juillet, is a French national holiday that marks the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille (prison) in 1789 and the symbolic birth of modern France. It is celebrated on July 14th with fantastic pomp and circumstance in France, in many cities around the U.S., and in our home.  Yesterday was Bastille Day. I know I should have been thinking red, white and blue—thick swaths of each color—as I arranged our small French Tricolors around…

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I was in the Lourmarin market one Friday many Junes ago when I first noticed them. There, in the midst of the gloriously fresh produce—the bright green clusters of lettuce leaves, the plump red tomatoes, the huge heads of perfectly formed cauliflower, and an impressive pyramid of dazzling green cucumbers—were these dark purple bulbous things. The misshapen balls, each encased in what looked like a very thin and slightly shriveled leathery skin, appeared dense and heavy. The outside covering had wrinkled up just a wee bit on a couple of the balls to reveal a very pretty, glossy purple color, reminiscent of beets. I made…

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If you love markets, now there is one more reason to love Tuesdays in the Luberon. I have already written about Tuesday markets in Aix-en-Provence, Cucuron, and Gordes and haven’t even had the chance to cover two other favorite markets that take place on Tuesdays in Tour d’Aigues and Vaison-la-Romaine. And now, I just found out about another Tuesday market—at least this new addition won’t put pressure on the vacationer to decide which one to visit! The latest addition to the Tuesday line up is an evening market: On May 1, Lourmarin inaugurated an evening farmers’ market. My mouth waters when I picture the beautiful…

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This post coincides with David Scott Allen’s current Cocoa & Lavender post entitled “The Other French Laundry” French laundry conjures up all sorts of images. For my friend and fellow-blogger, David Scott Allen, visions of delectable meals from Thomas Keller’s famous restaurant surface…things like Creamy Maine Lobster Broth and English Pea Soup with White Truffle Oil and Parmesan Crisps. For my friend, Betsy Tabor with whom I have been exchanging gifts, poems, and postcards about laundry for years now —both French and American and, come to think of it, Burkina Fasoian, too—I thought she would say it’s about that crisp fresh smell that emanates from clothes left…

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Having entered the season in which we all eat, drink and endeavor to be merry, I would like to introduce you to verrines, a culinary concept that, in its own right is simply captivating but one that may be especially welcome during our annual holidays of overindulgence.  (Forgive me, those of you who already know verrines!) I made my first acquaintance with verrines in the summer of 2008. At least, I think I did, but Towny insists we enjoyed them as early as 2001 in Édouard Loubet’s Michelin-starred Moulin de Lourmarin (sadly, now closed).  This time around, we were in Roussillon, the Provençal city best…

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Ah, two weeks in Provence.  Heavenly.  I arrived in Marseille, feeling bushy-tailed if not quite bright-eyed.  My delightful seat mates, two long-time female friends on their way to Moscow, included me in their constant flow of mini-bottles of wine across the Atlantic—of course I didn’t decline—and that camaraderie, coupled with the usual sleeplessness of such a flight, led to a noticeable red-eye effect when I landed. But nothing could dampen my enthusiasm about the adventures in store for me in la belle Provence. October is a wonderful time to visit Provence.  The fall weather may require a sweater—even a coat if the Mistral really blows…

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Sometimes I wonder what draws people to Lourmarin. I have visited many villages now, some completely devoid of appeal—even in Provence, such villages do exist—and others with loads of appeal—things tourist books like to mention such as breathtaking views, perfectly manicured window boxes, picturesque squares, streets lined with high-end boutiques, a river running through the center of town, or a perched locale—but, when I return to Lourmarin, a humble village whose charm does not gush out all over but rather seeps, gently, into your heart, I smile broadly and oh-so happily. For generations, its draw has been immensely strong for many people. Lourmarin’s appeal was…

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Naïf art is that which takes inspiration from the soul. The artists who produce this style of work are generally self-taught or at least not academically trained. Their work is therefore free from any prescribed convention. Their work is usually characterized by very bright and bold colors, distortions in perspective and size, and a seemingly childlike or simplistic style (although a closer examination reveals that the work is neither although it certainly appeals to the child in each of us!). If you are a fan of Naïf–naive–artwork or if you are at all curious about it, Lourmarin is the place to be now through November…

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This post will be the first in a series that will feature each of the ten markets that The Modern Trobadors always visit when in Provence. (If you’d like to guess the other nine markets, you may win a cool Absinthe tote bag and a booklet on wine tasting.  See end of article for details.) The markets were selected primarily on the basis of the quality of the offerings of the vendors and the ambiance of the venue although practicality was also considered to some extent (e.g., distance from our home in Lourmarin, market options on that day of the week, convenience of parking, etc.). …

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I have been known to follow the scent of a crêpe into the depths of an unfamiliar Parisian neighborhood thereby compromising our timely arrival for dinner with friends; into the longest line in Saint-Malo—in August around the French holiday, Assomption—at one of Brittany’s oldest and clearly busiest crêperies; and into the intricate maze of the Tuesday market on a very blustery November day in Vaison-la-Romaine. I adore those thin French pancakes and when the scent of a crêpe wafts past my nose, it beckons. With my daughter in tow and my indulging husband not far behind, the detour is invariably rewarding  for all! The French…

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