How Loic came to make the Vacherin.

We were passing through Montelimar. The highway sign that usually has a picture of a knife and fork, and a phone and a gas tank to remind us what amenities the station exit has to offer, also had a square with the word NOUGAT. Well, we all know that Montelimar is a big nougat town. And if you've ever had the real nougat from this town, it is something that you come to think about later, sometimes years later. It's one of those things that grows in your mind. The nougat from a few years ago that had reached a certain proportion in my mind and the sight of that highway sign crossed astrological paths in space and time and I had a vision. I told Loic that I had decided what I wanted for my birthday cake. I wanted something with nougat. And meringue. He smiled and said that this year he was going to be preparing me my birthday cake from scratch. The following two days became somewhat of a trial for him. How about a trip to the beach, Lolo? "I have to make the meringue" he replied. He still wouldn't tell me what he was making. I finally convinced him that I would water the garden while he put the meringue together and we set the oven on a timer. Little by little his idea became a reality while I stepped in and assisted here and there, learning details along the way about what could possibly be his suprise dessert. It was delicious, it technically contained no nougat but was absolutely exactly what I envisioned. Thank you, Loic. You know me so well.

Postcard from La Garde, Var

More about the Ice Cream Treat

That is, what I did with the Apricots the other day. Clutched with the idea of this notorious classic French ice cream dessert, I enthusiastically mentioned to everyone I knew my plan to make a Bombe Marquise. Everyone, including Isabelle, gave me a blank stare in return and the conversation didn't go very far.

At first I thought maybe they thought it was impolite to tell them about the luscious treat I was going to prepare and not invite them to come share it. The only real response I got came from Sebastien's Catalane aunt who flashed a brilliant smile and said that when she was my age she also embarked on ambitious cooking projects. This puzzled me because it's really not that ambitious, sorbet, and putting it into a mould is a cute way, and a very classic French way to serve it at the table for guests, right?

I posed the question to Loïc, who is my punching bag for all questions cultural, while we were in the car. Why the flat reception? Quietly as he drove on the way back from our evening out, he said it carefully and with the tact expected from him: "Lucy, what is a Bombe Marquise? I don't think they knew what you were talking about." Ah. The white lines blurring towards us like darts on the road, I reflected back to the evening.

Swatting at bees and sipping wine in the heady evening twighlight, there I was repeating it as if perhaps I hadn't pronounced it correctly. "Bombe. Bombe. You know what that is? With sorbet?" Blank stares. At least I didn't get the classic furrowed brow and squint. Oh well. There in the car I realized that I had once again stepped over that little line, that line marking the end of common knowledge and had entered that lovely solitary little world of culinary esoterica without even trying. I less than gracefully stumble across that line rather often, sigh. It was time for a hearty laugh.



More and more, as I am able to fully engage in fruitful conversations about food from which I glean lots of precious and desirable knowledge, I have to watch what how far I take the conversation. There is a line between a food enthusiast, of which there are many in France, and in many places one would not expect, and a card carrying certified food freak.

I suppose being a food freak is acceptable in general. But not at meet and greet buffet receptions overlooking the river valley, receptions involving relatives that we don't know very well. Not only was I the token American, but I was also the token food freak. It is easy to develop a strange reputation if I'm not careful.



At one time, I thought I was saved, born again, able at long last to talk about food to everyone, because everywhere I went, everyone, from all walks of life, were ready and open to an enthusiastic discussion of food. My hairdresser, raised in the depths of the Limousin, ready to argue for 45 minutes about 9 different species of cherries and their uses, the ladies I used to ride the bus with, my colleagues, even the garbage man and bus driver were ready at the drop of a hat to discuss the weather for meringue, Corsican smoked meats, what kind of potato to use for a tartiflette, whether to add crème fraîche to a pâte brisé, merits of aged vinegars, etc. Then I go and gush like an idiot about a Bombe Marquise at a family buffet and everyone wonders what planet I came from.



The Bombe is actually more of a European thing than purely French, since the whole concept of ice cream is said to have come from Italy, having been readily adopted by the English and the French at roughly the same time, and flourishing through Victorian times and into the 20th century with these cute fruit shaped ice cream treats as the social foil at garden parties and the likes. But even when served in England, the Bombe was always referred to as a French delicacy.

For this particular recipe, the Apricot sorbet has a bit more body than the Chablis sorbet, which follows in line with the whole concept of the Bombe. The logic is that the shell of the bombe is there to give some structure and support to a more delicate inside.

The name comes from the shapes of the moulds, which were very common in the late 18th, 19th and early 20th century kitchens of homes that had the luxury of ice houses. The moulds were made of copper mostly, and sometimes had the most delightful shapes and patterns. At first, before they started getting decorative, the mould was the container the ice cream was made in. They poured the custard and turned it in the salted ice, kept it cold, and turned it out of the mould when it was ready for service. This quickly evolved with the times to more and more complex moulds and layers, varied layers for the inside part, including frozen fruit purees, whipped flavored creams, custards, etc., and moulds made especially for making evenly distributed pretty layers, containing a more stiff outer support and a delicate inside. It is often noted that the purpose of having two layers is also to give some variation to the textures and flavors.

When the weather is terribly hot like it has been all week here, this really is a pretty good way to cool down. My guests were delighted in any case.

Vin de Noix

Last year I made a liqueur de noix with green walnuts that came out at the end of June. It was a wild ride into the unknown, and by September we were enjoying the fruits of that effort. I served it to the group at Thanksgiving and by the time mother came to visit in May we'd celebrated enough special occasions with friends that we tapped the last drop of our own vin maison from the decanter. My one big regret last year with the vin de noix was that I did not prepare a much bigger batch. The batch only yielded a bit more than a bottle, but certainly the quality of the elixer was magic. We put what we had into a fancy decanter and served it to enthusiastic friends little by little, using the small glasses, and I always sipped my share with a sad and guilty kind of bittersweet regret. Why oh why did we not make more?

My recipe was a kind of montage last year, with my knowledge of my mother-in-law Brigitte's Vin d'Orange and how she likes it strong, and some Italian recipes for nocino. Brigitte puts the Vin d'Orange away in bulk to macerate for several months every late winter. Images of her bottling activities, which take place in the summer, come to mind. Brigitte, wearing nothing but a bikini, in the kitchen with a couple of funnels rotating around into bottles which have been placed on every surface that will take one, and summoning Yves to come and add some muscle while they filter and decant it. For a long time afterward, the diligent sound of pounding comes from the kitchen as she inserts the corks and pounds them in one by one with a rubber mallet. She hands the bottles over to us with a kiss and a pat every time we need a new one, the elixer of her good cheer, reminding us of her sunny disposition (and her hair color as it was for a few years) to be taken whenever we need or even desire a little bit of Brigitte to fill our hearts with joy.

The idea to make the vin de noix actually came from Brigitte. I called her, asking her what I could do as a gift wine - she had given me the recipe for her Vin d'Orange once I had been married to Loic for a couple of years and although I definitely loved it and desired to make some of my own I didn't want to reproduce her family gift. She mused that I should be using something local - she gets her bitter oranges from the tree, they grow locally everywhere where she lives. 'Why not Vin de Noix? You are very close to Grenoble and they are famous for the walnuts.' So the idea was born, and I sat on it for awhile. I inquired when I might get some nuts for the vin de noix, and it was explained that they are ready to pick on the 3rd Sunday of June, the Fete de St. Jean, St. John the Baptist day.

The first year we missed the window, mainly because we didn't approach the right man. As everyone knows, sometimes the vendors at the market are not actually producers and don't understand their product. I approached a vendor who was selling nothing but walnuts from a very minimal operation and who looked somewhat like a walnut himself, in fact his entire being exuded the idea of walnut from the faded ash brown color of his hair to the suede boots he was wearing. You look at the fellow and are drawn into a long epic tale about the hardship and joys of walnuts. But it was just an act, one of those theatrical costumes that he had taken as far as living it out like one of those medieval actors you find at a theme park. We unfortunately find this at the markets here more and more often these days, and back then I was tricked. He quite knowlingly told me that green walnuts weren't ready yet. Those who are not in the know about their own product and what it's good for stubbornly deny the availability of such things as green walnuts. We glissed in perilous dismay through the window that year.

Then around mid-June during the next year, I identified and befriended an actual nut producer at the market on a Thursday and he confirmed and enthusiastically agreed to my plan. This one looked like a normal guy and after a bit of questioning it was clear he was the real deal. The nuts have to be used quickly after they're picked, and they have to be picked at just the right time. During the time when we had arranged for the pickup, I was in Paris with my niece, our last hurrah at the end of her stay with us before I deposited her on a plane at CDG bound for her home. We were just near the Sacre Coeur and overlooking the glorious city, I called and confirmed by portable phone that my authentic nut friend had the goods and then made another call to Loic to ensure that he hadn't forgotten his appointment to get them.

The first advice you'll see in any vin de noix recipe worth its weight is that you must wear gloves and not use a wooden cutting board when you make your vin de noix. This advice is not to be taken lightly. The immature nut pods exude a fluid that turns yellow, then brown, and then into an indelible black stain that is not unlike the semi-permanent henna tattoo you see Indian brides painted with at their betrothal. This staining liquid can seep into the tiniest crevices and take weeks to go away. Use gloves. Don't slice your walnuts on wood. Scrub your plastic cutting board with hot soapy water and a brush the moment you're finished cutting the nuts.

Last year's recipe did not use wine and experimented with spices, a liqueur. I had tasted the vin de noix and aperetif drinks on offer in the various tourist trap shops and wanted to shoot much higher. I knew that the taste of the nuts has a lot of character. The other thing was that I really wanted to avoid the sugar syrup flavor that grabs you like barba papa from the commercial versions. So my idea was to use another sweetening agent, something that harmonizes gracefully with nuts and won't just seem cheap and sweet. Grade B Maple syrup was my choice.

Liqueur de Noix

38 green walnuts, quartered
1 vanilla bean
2 star anise
2 long peppercorns
2 thick slices of lemon
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup grade B maple syrup
500ml or 2 cups Noilly Pratt Original Dry
1 bottle of vodka


I mixed this up in a large bowl, covered it, and let it sit for a few months. At 2 weeks I became afraid that the star anise was going to take over, so I removed it. The result at the 2 month mark was slightly bitter and maybe a bit medicinal, due to the high alcohol content. I bottled it and put it away for some more time, and at month 4, it had mellowed and rounded out, and something happened to the flavors that was extraordinary - it was clearly something special. Very special. I mean this stuff was so incredibly delicious it became kind of like a precious nectar we had to guard and treat with kid gloves. We began serving it to friends and also using it to prepare a special sauce for magret de canard and drop by drop it dissapeared.

This year I wanted to multiply my output by at least 10, but realized we could not afford all of the vodka that would take. I did some more research into what went into various traditional French vin de noix recipes, and settled on some changes to my recipe this time. This is for a less alcoholic drink but still something with some serious punch following in the family tradition. It will produce 12 gift bottles plus a little stash on the side for sipping and cooking here at home. This year I omitted the star anise, and introduced szchuan peppercorn, due to the pleasant things I've discovered during cooking about the light floral flavors it imparts. I replaced the lemon with orange, and used a bit more per volume because I enjoyed a nice warmed up glass of last year's wine on a cold late autumn day with an orange slice and it was a great compliment. I replaced the cinnamon with the traditional cloves. And last but not least, instead of dry vermouth, my vin de noix is topped with a hearty full bodied white Burgundy wine. Noted below, the ratios per 1.5 liter jar.

Vin de Noix

Per 1.5 liter jar:

About 8 nuts each jar
500ml vodka
1/2 cup grade B maple syrup
1/3 vanilla bean
2 cloves
1 t. szchuan peppercorns
2 slices of an orange
top off with a full bodied white burgundy (Bourgogne) wine (used 5 bottles to fill all 6 of the jars to the top).

Vin de noix, in order to turn it's beautiful deep dark color, needs contact with some air. This is why mason jars are perfect for this - because you can close them without using the rubber gasket and they'll have enough air circulating to allow the liquid to turn black. Once 2 months have gone by, filter and bottle your vin de noix. Seal the bottles tightly then, and allow it to mature for another month or two before giving it away. By all means, taste it at every step, to understand how it develops and what to expect. You'll be suprised at the many different stages it goes through. I'll report back when this is ready to bottle.

What to do with your Apricots : Bombe Marquise

This summer's apricots are beginning to drop from the trees. In the afternoon, we head up to the orchard to gather them up quickly while they're still warm from the sun. Isabelle warns us to get them all, otherwise those coming behind will step on them and we'll have apricot tracks in the kitchen.
When an apricot fresh from the tree is ready to eat, it naturally falls to the ground. You can easily squish it open and remove the pit with your fingers. The taste is sweet and honeylike, the texture almost like coulis - each one like a little bomb of nature's custard. We're challenged to find ways to use them all.
Why not a moulded ice cream treat in the old style - a Bombe Marquise? This recipe is inspired by one found in the Dictionnaire universel de cuisine pratique.

Recipe: Bombe Marquise
(serves 8)

Glace a l'abricot
1 KG (2 pounds) washed and pitted apricots
25 cl (1 cup) water
300 g. (1 1/2 cup) sugar
2 large pinches of cinnamon
the zest and juice of one lemon

Glace au vin de Chablis
20cl (3/4 cup) Chablis wine
500 g. (2 cups) sugar
1 quart or litre of water
1/2 a vanilla pod
the zest of one orange + 4 tablespoons of it's juice

Note about the Chablis: In France this one of the white wines from the Bourgogne /Burgundy region spreading to the north of Lyon, but there are many beautiful wines made with the chardonnay grape made in many regions of the USA from the finger lakes to California. Choose a light and fruity one for your sorbet!

Prepare the apricot sorbet first. Put the fruits, peel and all, into a stewing pot with the water, sugar, cinnamon, and lemon zest. Bring to a boil and cook until it reaches 220 degrees (F) or jelly stage, string through a fine meshed sieve or chinois, then add the lemon juice. Cool to room temp and then put into your ice cream / sorbet maker.

Note about ice cream makers: You know, the ice cream maker does not have to be very sophisticated commercial piece of equipment. In the absence of a commerically produced 'sorbetiere', place the mixture in a non-reactive bowl (like ceramic) in the freezer and mix very briefly every 5 minutes to incorporate a little bit of air. In no time, you'll have your sorbet. Give it a try.

Prepare the Chablis sorbet next. Bring the sugar and water to a boil and let it cook at a full boil until it's reduced to the three cup mark. Open the vanilla pod with the help of a small knife. Cook the sugar syrup, the opened vanilla pod, and the orange zest for 15 minutes over low heat. Remove the vanilla pod and the orange zest, let the syrup cool, and then incorporate wine and orange juice. Make into sorbet as described above.

Coat / spread the inside of your mould with apricot sorbet, a layer about 1-2 cms (1/2 inch to an inch max) thick. Replace in the freezer to solidify, and then fill it with the chablis sorbet. Let it harden in the freezer before unmolding (Dipping the mould in hot tap water or enveloping the mould with a damp dish towel that's been heated with the microwave briefly to loosen the sorbet) and serve. If you hold the frozen bombe in the freezer for a long period of time like several days, you can let it sit for 1/2 hour in the fridge to soften up slightly for easier slicing.

Note: Photos of this finished dessert are found in This post!

A French Wedding

Guests proceeding to the family chateau after the wedding in town.

We were happy to see our dear Aude marry Sebastien during the weekend! The wedding took place at Seb's family home, full of history.
Sebastien held a boat folding class three days before the wedding, I took a break from washing windows, and in short order we were able to turn out enough boats for the tables. Then they placed the paper boats full of sea-worn pebble shaped dragets in chocolate, nougat, classic almond, hazelnut, and a chocolate and almond mix on each table.


The tent arrived and the decorations were put up one by one. Something very special I learned from being involved at the preparations of this wedding is how amazing it can be when when family members are called to come together to help at every detail. Everyone on both sides of the family arrived in the days before the wedding and helped to do something.













Even with all of the preparations going, there were family members designated well in advance to prepare the meals for the people who were there helping.
Ma Belle Mere, Brigitte
Everyone had their job to do.
Even the live entertainement was delegated to family members.
For the cocktail and dinner, caterers did come in. Snails in puff pastry waiting for a blast in the oven before they went out to guests sipping champagne in the courtyard.
Three of Aude's Uncles from Paris.



A wedding just isn't a wedding without the foie gras! What really made it just right was the wine to go with:



We were quite satisfied with the stuffed quail. Tender and delicious.

Creative license was taken with the wedding cake, a beautiful and delicious croquenbouche in the shape of a cruise ship. Or was it a Viking ship? A seafaring vessel of some kind which tasted delicious, even the next morning when I was the first one up and found a plate full of cream puffs waiting for me for breakfast. I actually think I discovered the cure for the hangover, come to think of it.



One of the most beautiful, calm, festive, complete, glorious and home made family weddings down to the last detail that I have ever had the pleasure to be a part of. This was the real thing. My apologies for not getting more food shots. Quick, let's do another one! Who's next?

Stop 2: Condrieu

Stop 2: Condrieu : Wherin we experience an abominable Sunday Lunch and a Beautiful Excursion into the Vines that produce the Cote Roti

We had 15 minutes to get to the station and as we cruised on our bikes across the square in front of Perrache station in Lyon, I saw on the clock that the train would be just pulling away from the track. We’d missed the train! Since there wasn’t one leaving soon afterwards, I decided not to get too worked up about it and began thinking about a new plan. This has happened to me more than once in my traveling days. Since we had all of Sunday spread before us and we were at the station, my suggestion was to head on up anyway and get a ticket going somewhere. Who cares?

Let me note that this is not Loïc’s way of doing things. He is a set your sights kind of guy, he likes to know where he is going before he even steps foot out the door. Plan A, perhaps a Plan B, but always a plan. I am just the opposite – I thrive on the unexpected. I love to be the one reading the map because they show all those little places we can discover off to the side – when we’re out driving, sometimes he gets mad because I tell him to take a turn just because the road is a small one and I want to see what it looks like. For people like Loïc, the scientists who love to rigorously follow the rules, he gets to a certain level in his discoveries and that’s when people like me who push his limits by daring him to take risks are a good thing. I keep telling myself this anyway.

We got up to the ticket kiosk and Loïc, who was smart enough to check the departures board while I was scrolling through our future possibilities, saw that the train we had initially planned on taking was delayed by 17 minutes! Back to plan A! The day is saved! Hoorah! We quickly got our tickets and were off to Condrieu.


Pretty little town, Condrieu, and the town where we got off at the stationon the other side from the river, called Les Roches de Condrieu. We decided after all to eat somewhere. In the town near the station a boulangerie was open. It must have seemed strange to the lady when I went in and said: “we’re looking for a place to eat – can you guide us to someplace open?” For some reason I failed to see the delicious looking focaccia and quiches she had on display (Loic described them to me later). Despite the fact that she had things we could have eaten for lunch, she guided us anyway, to either the restaurant La Plaisance (which means sailing) and the bar down the road, which serves food. She repeated twice that the bar serves food on Sundays, and repeating things sometimes being my only criteria for making a decision about where to go, we went there. We found a seat on the terrace and took a gander at the menu, which had run of the mill salads in the Lyonnais city style, nothing out of the ordinary. When the girl arrived, I ordered my salad, and she got a frightened look on her face and apologized, they forgot to get food that morning. So we bid the bar adieu, and headed to the second choice.

Restaurant La Plaisance. My first impression upon entering the place was that we were entering a dark and stifling hot cave. Then as my eyes adjusted, I saw that this place had the feel of a well lived in house. Papers stacked haphazardly in the corners, various neatened areas which had been brought to our attention with the use of spot lamps placed in corners, lots of kitsch and souvenir type items placed here and there. There seemed to be an attempt to place the visitor in the history of a family. This was not just a family restaurant, but perhaps the restaurant of a large family with a tired mother who didn’t clean the house much and a father who didn’t think much of home repairs. Cozy in a haphazard neglectful kind of way.

The proprietress all the same liked to keep appearances and took some pride in her establishment, therefore, she greeted us with an icy cold glare. The reason for this was that we were not dressed to her liking. Me being in bike shorts and a tee shirt, and Loic dressed slightly like Linus and carrying a knapsack. She seated us at a dark table inside as opposed to the popular terrace meant for the fashionable Sunday people that overlooked the boat harbor.



We’d taken the train to Condrieu to take in the glory of the terroir by bicycle, after all, and the weather was sunny and beautiful, so instead of hooking ourselves into this dark cave-like lived-in family nest by ordering the ridiculously expensive menus on offer, we ordered one dish each à la carte. I ordered a lamb terrine that looked as if somehow maybe it could be promising, considering it was from the ultra-expensive menu. Loic, gearing himself up for biking, ordered some ravioli, in one of those strange menu departures from the norm : restaurants that offer meals two ways: “family style” or “gastronomique”. (note to self: avoid at all costs)

Disgusted that we didn’t order wine from the list or any of the expensive bottled water, the proprietress eventually slammed a carafe of warm cloudy water on the table and disappeared to her Sunday clients on the terrace. After we poured the water into our glasses, we noticed a bubbly slime on the inside of the bottle and clustering along the top of our glasses. I refused to drink it. I was imagining mosquito egg colonies taking root in my gut, and Loïc and I proceeded to get into a quiet spat about whether it was appropriate for us to bring out our own bottle of tap water we trusted from the back pack. At that moment, the food arrived. Here, in all it’s glory, was my lamb terrine, priced at about $13.50 for the plate alone. I will let the presentation speak for itself.


Canned baby corn after all, is quite rare in these parts. The sauce was a reduction of Dijon ‘moutarde à l’ancienne’ and balsamic vinegar with no other discernable seasoning, and I attempted tastes with both the meat and gelatin in my dish and it was complimentary to neither. In the end, I left the sauce uneaten, as well as all of the ganishes, which I actually did taste in order to give credit where it is due. In all, I think I got about one ounce of meat and 8 ounces of gelatin. If you are working on your hair and nail health, perhaps this would please you to eat daily.

No dessert or coffee for us! We had to get back on the road! After a long wait, we tactfully presented ourselves to the hostesses stand near the door and waited until she distainfully ceased to ignore us and checked us out. Freedom at last!
The biker in this photo just happened to speed by as I aimed my camera at the bridge into the town of Condrieu and in an instant, we were reminded of how athletic and fit we will be by the end of the series of bike tours of the towns from Vienne to Valence. I took it as a premonition.

Loïc is ready to go ahead and follow whatever I am up to in terms of physical activity, and I surprised him with my proclamation that I wanted to bike uphill into the vines. We decided on the D30, which was very steep and curvy and full of beautiful things to see. The ride through the vines was really glorious and the photos don't do the scenery justice.
In this region, the vines are trained onto triangular supports all in rows on the hills in order to maximize exposure to the sun as it moves on its trajectory through the valley.



Once near the top of the collines, we were rewarded with a beautiful view.



Being a Sunday, the wineries were closed. I did however profoundly enjoy a stale cola flavored popsicle treat once we'd reached the town again. I will be taking a trip during the week to taste the wine in due time. My next visit on the Vienne to Valence discovery tour will be an adventure to see a producer of the local goat Cheese, the Rigotte de Condrieu.

This is installment two of what started as a short project called Vienne to Valence but which has expanded into something bigger. My bike tours of the upper Cotes du Rhône region continue as weather permits, and I will once again be including some of these installments on the blog.

Mamy D's Mousse au Chocolat

This recipe comes from my husband's grandmother, Mireille Durandeau. For the butter, I chose beurre cru that my fromager was selling, but you can use just about any kind of fresh butter and it will be delicious.

Mamy D’s Chocolate Mousse
serves 6.

180 g. (about 6 ounces) dessert or bittersweet chocolate
4 eggs
75 g. or 7 Tablespoons unsalted butter
90 g. or about 1/2 cup granulated sugar

- Separate your egg yolks from the whites, putting the whites into a big clean metal or ceramic bowl, and the yolks into a cup.

- Break up your chocolate and melt it in your habitual manner. Some people know their microwaves very well and can melt chocolate in them lickety split without burning it. Whenever I try that, I always singe my chocolate, so I normally play it safe and just melt mine in a bowl set snugly over a saucepan with simmering water in the bottom. It takes about the same amount of time.

- Once your chocolate is melted, add the butter and stir until it's melted and mixed in completely.

- Remove the butter and chocolate from over the hot water and incorporate the yolks and the sugar (off heat). The eggs will make it thicken at this point, even if you melted the chocolate in the microwave and it's not very warm anymore.

- Beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form, and fold them into the chocolate mixture.

- Voila! The work is done. Now the fun begins.

- Pour the mousse, which should be a thick fluid a bit like chocolate cake batter, into the dessert cups: old teacups, stemmed glasses, little bowls, ramekins, old yogurt pots, or whatever pleases you to serve it in.

Note: Today I put a spoonful of the mousse into glazed ceramic pots, then added a nice pocket of some of this season's black cherry conserves, and then topped it off to the very top with chocolate mousse. Think about what you like with chocolate. Orange goes very well with chocolate too. I had in a restaurant recently a dessert they called "Temps des Cerises": They started with cubes of genoise (white cake), which they put into small mason jars. Then they added cherries which had been soaked in eau de vie. The fluid dripped down and soaked into the cake. Then they added the chocolate mousse over that just to cover it up, leaving about an inch at the top. THEN they added chantilly (whipped cream) to the top, sealed the jar with it's own closure system, and chilled it. Any combination of things can be mixed with this chocolate mousse. It is also very good plain.

-Cover each dessert pot with foil and refrigerate (at least two hours) until it is time to serve dessert.


For Sue, who asked me very delicately if I share my recipes.