pscossette

With the children snug in their beds, the adults charted a course back to Avignon for our cooking class. The GPS worked like a charm and we drove through a winding street and found a sign for La Mirande. The parking situation looked a bit dicey so Paul dropped the rest of us off and drove off to find a space. Connie, Craig and I followed the signs for the hotel through several more winding, increasingly smaller alleyways. Finally we asked someone where the La Mirande really was and found it just around the corner. We checked in at the front desk minutes late. The staff was very pleasant and asked where our 4th was. “Parking the car”, only was met with raised eyebrows, laughter, and the comment “He will be here in 3 hours.” We were then led to an amazingly beautiful courtyard and served coffee without an ounce of exasperation at our poor planning. We noticed one other table in the corner enjoying a relaxing coffee and pastries. In about 20 minutes a very rushed appearing Paul entered. He was offered a coffee by a very relaxed staff, which he politely declined. Chef Jean Claude then appeared, notified the other table of guests that we were now ready to go off to the market. They too appeared curiously unbothered by the delay in their day so we all relaxed and began to enjoy a highlight of the vacation.
SKC

Off we went to the market, walking away from the former home of the Pope just behind us, down curvy alleys surfaced with apricot-sized rocks, we were glad we left our stilettos at home. We crossed an open square and looked up to see a wall of herbs – yes, a wall of herbs above the Les Halles entry, our market. The herbs grow right out of the wall about 2 stories high, okay right out of some substance on the wall. Tres fantastique.

Chef Jean-Claude Altmayer leads the class around the market, poking and prodding produce, checking the eyes of fish, and after a conference with the butcher we had back to La Mirande with melons, cherries, ducks, and gambas.

Okay, the hotel courtyard lobby was great – actual French provincial -- but next we were descended down a circular stair to room with a large wood table and proceed into a kitchen I am sure Julia Child would have loved. A big square table, windows that open to a small patio, and a wood burning stove that will be the source of the creations of the day.

First step, is to toast with vin blanc in glasses surreptitiously filled by the sous-chef Heidi from Bavaria. We toast with a Santee and down the hatch with our cooking companions, 3 from Marseille (2 nurses and a biologist) and Jeanette from Avignon, born in St Remy and studied English in England. You could tell she actually did study, plus she taught English. She was a gem. Friendly, accommodating and always willing and volunteering translations.

Chef Jean-Claude was a hoot. He knew how to make the shot for the camera, and when he added the hugging yourself dance in front of the wood burning stove, we knew we had a fun one.

Oh, the cooking. We got to smash fresh almonds to remove the exterior husk, ball melons, pit cherries and ball avocados. More importantly we helped clean the ladle used to fill the chocolate cake tins and taste the lavender infused strong red wine served with a melon ball.

Chef Jean-Claude stoked the fire, added wood, adjusted the ventilation and used different parts of the stove’s surface, the artful substitute for hi lo simmer. The overall theme was slow and long, with some high heat for short periods of time.

The menu – lavender infused wine served in a glass with a melon ball; jamon wrapped around melon balls; prawns in a puree of melon, basil and avocados; duck breast on a sauce of cherries, melon and almonds; (yes, melons are in season) and chocolate almost lava cakes served on puree of melons, basilica, and Muscat with tarragon ice cream. Absolutely delicious.

The final course was coffee on the patio under a canvas umbrella, surrounded by pots of herbs and flowers, where we had to bid our fellow cooks au revoir after a big merci to Jeanette and a fond farewell to our new friends from Marseille.
CNH (Connie)