Edible French Garden. Rosalind Creasy
so desperate that even an ice cream vendor stationed outside a large park looked promising. I hopped out of the car, and when I asked for some ice cream in my high-school French, the vendor replied, "Grand Marnier ou Chartreuse, madame?" I must have looked puzzled, because he then said what sounded like "Esqueemoo pie Grand Marnier ou esqueemoo pie Chartreuse?" Taking a stab in the dark, I held up two fingers and said, "Grand Marnier." He handed me two Eskimo Pies, flavored with Grand Marnier. Only in France! I thought. The bars were out of this world, coated with a wonderful rich chocolate (not chocolate-flavored paraffin), made with buttery-smooth ice cream, and flavored with real Grand Marnier.
That vendor's ice-cream treat became a symbol to me of how much the French care about their food. On that trip, we couldn't eat enough onion soup filled with melted cheese and crispy garlic bread. We woke up to fabulous flaky croissants served with ripe, fragrant melons and wild strawberries. For dinner we savored leek and mussel soup, pheasant with a shallot cream sauce, breast of duck with a garnish of tiny filet beans, and celeriac mousse. Whether we were eating a snack or a full meal, in the city or the country, the food was superb. For a decade I had been cooking from Julia Child's recipes and loved them, but it wasn't until I went to France that I fully realized it was the culture her cookbook reflected, not Julia alone, that made the food so good.
Back in the early 1960s, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck, along with Julia's television program, first interested me in cooking. Were I to start someone cooking today, I would probably point him or her to the same book. What a great introduction to the basics this book is and what wonderful food it presents. When I pick up my dogeared copy, I can still tell which recipes I followed by running my hands over the pages and feeling the tiny splatters and crumbs. As I page through it, I read the penciled-in notes that say, "Fantastic, Robert loved it!" or "Needs more onions." Given our newlyweds' tight budget in those early days, my cooking was light on the meat and heavy on the vegetables, cheese, and eggs. I would make spinach soufflés, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, quiches with leeks or mushrooms, potatoes mashed with garlic, and, for a splurge, the spectacular molded dessert called Charlotte Malakoff, its almond butter cream layered with strawberries and homemade ladyfingers dipped in Grand Marnier.
Having mastered many French cooking techniques, I was on my way to enjoying great French food at home, but it wasn't until I had my own garden that I could duplicate many of the true flavors of France. Baby leeks in an herb vinaigrette, breakfast bowls of Alpine strawberries, round baby carrots in chervil butter, and numerous salads of baby greens—these wonderful treats and many more had all been previously out of reach. In the ensuing years I've grown hundreds of French vegetables and fruits and found that my cooking has gradually changed, with more emphasis on fresh vegetables and less on cream sauces, pastries, and complicated techniques. My garden style has changed as well. When I started vegetable gardening in the 1960s, I confined my garden to the mandatory rows of identical plants in an area relegated to only vegetables. Those who know me realize that early on I became frustrated with this genre and soon began interplanting my vegetables with herbs and flowers in what is called edible landscaping. It was not until I visited France, however, that I started to plant in small blocks with an emphasis on harvesting fresh instead of preserving much of my garden for winter use. Furthermore, after a soul-affirming trip to the definitive French vegetable garden at the Chateau de Villandry, I occasionally plant beds in decorative patterns and line the beds with defining borders of parsley, chamomile, or dwarf basil—all in the French manner.
Château de Villandry in the Loire Valley of France is probably the most beautiful "vegetable" garden in the world. Here chard, ornamental cabbages, and eggplants are the stars.
My research sources for this book were diverse. To reexperience a formal nineteenth-century kitchen garden like those I had seen in France, I visited the E. I. du Pont estate in Maryland. To gather the cooking information, I interviewed countless growers and cooking professionals about their favorite preparations and presentations. Emily Cohen, French-trained sous chef and onetime pastry chef at the San Benito House in Half Moon Bay, California, helped assemble and review cooking information. The late Tom McCombie, chef at Chez T.J.'s, in Mountain View, California, was of special help and contributed a number of recipes. And, of course, I drew on my visits to France and the many unforgettable meals I had there.
The French home garden is alive and well. A garden near St. Emilion displays chard, tomatoes, and cabbages.
Another further north has a classic fall garden of kale, chard, lettuces, leeks, and cabbages. My visit to the E. I.
Du Pont estate in Maryland gave me another opportunity to stroll through a French style parterre vegetable garden.
how to grow a french garden
Most of the vegetables and some of the herbs commonly used in France are popular in many parts of the world; however, there are some edibles I still associate primarily with France: celeriac, sorrel, shallots, haricots verts, and chervil. Further, while the same vegetable may be popular in many countries, French varieties are sometimes unique. For instance, the French are fond of white and purple varieties of asparagus and artichokes, round baby carrots, and waxy finger-ling potatoes. Both the familiar and the more decidedly French vegetables and varieties are covered in the "French Garden Encyclopedia" (page 25).
There are cultural techniques practiced in France that need special mention here as well. One is a somewhat different philosophy of harvesting, the second is the practice of growing baby salad greens and herbs in what's called a cut-and-come-again method, and the third is the practice of blanching vegetables in the garden. The French are willing to grow specialty vegetables and varieties for which the timing of the harvest is critical, sometimes within hours. For instance, the French filet beans (haricots verts) are exquisitely tender if harvested when tiny (a sixth of an inch across), but tough and stringy if larger or more mature. To achieve perfection, one must harvest them at least once a day. Optimal harvest time is critical for petits pois and especially charentais melons. A charentais melon stays at its peak flavor and texture for only a few hours. The French go to great lengths to monitor harvesting because they feel that perfect haricots verts, petits pois, and melons are worth the extra effort.
Growing Mesclun Salads
Growing baby salad greens in France has a long tradition. Mesclun is the Provençal term for a salad that combines many flavors and textures of greens and herbs. The object is to create a salad that is a concert for your mouth by including all the elements your palate can experience. Sweet lettuces and fennel, say; slightly bitter radicchios and endives; the slightly sour sorrel; plus peppery greens like arugula or mustard. To these are added contrasting textures like crispy romaine and velvety 'Bibb' lettuces. (A recipe for a classic mesclun salad is given on page 74)
Growing a mesclun salad garden is easy and quick, as well as a rewarding way to start growing your own salad greens. Unlike large lettuces grown in rows in a traditional vegetable garden, mesclun greens are sown in a small patch and harvested when the plants are still babies, a few inches tall.
To grow a mesclun bed, in the spring or early fall, purchase seed packets that already combine the many types of greens in a traditional mix or create your own mix by purchasing individual packages of seeds of three or four types of lettuce. Add seeds of a few other greens, for example, spinach, mustard, arugula, or finely curled endive.
Choose a well-drained site that receives at least six hours of midday sun. Mark out an area about ten feet by four feet—a generous amount for a small family.