Food never tastes as good as when you are really hungry. And although the temptation is strong to just grab and scarf down the first thing that crosses your path (tasty or nasty, edible or otherwise), it’s a much better move to resist the urge, and pay attention : what does your stomach yearn for, what appeals to you the most, what would really fill that void, hit the spot?

If you do that, and if the demands of the grumbling monster inside can be reasonably met (I mean, sure, I want caviar too), this is when food tastes best.

When I found myself in that situation the other night, I opened the fridge, and spotted a bunch of leeks that needed to be used up (mmmm, leeks!), the opened package of ricotta (oooh, ricotta!) and a few eggs (yum, eggs!). I put a hand on my stomach and murmured : “Ricotta and Leek Frittata? How does that sound?”. A long, guttural growl of approbation echoed. I immediately got to work.

Sure enough, instant gratification it is not – but do you really see me running down the street to Le Mac Do? However, I have also found that once I let the monster know it shall be fed, once it sees I am indeed busying myself to do just that, it usually calms down and keeps quiet until the food is ready.

In passing, frittata means omelette in Italian (the stress is on the first syllable). I’m sure some of you can tell me more about the real way the Italians do it, but what is commonly called frittata outside of Italy is an oven-baked omelette : you usually start it in an oven-proof skillet, and then you flip it and put it in the warm oven to finish cooking. I skipped the skillet step, and I guess what I made could be considered a crustless quiche, but calling it a frittata is much more fun.

Besides, who could possibly resist the pleasure of saying…

“La frittata è fatta!” *

* An expression which means – I am told – “that’s torn it!”, “the damage is done”.

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This package of ricotta was given to me by a passionate and very kind cheese maker from Grenoble, whom I met at the Salon du Fromage – a parting gift after our long conversation, during which we tasted the whole array of his products (and not your teensy scanty samples either), discussed their respective flavors and textures, personalities and benefits, and swapped recipe ideas.

It is sweet with a mildly acidic edge, and its texture, slightly curdled, doesn’t have much to do with the Finetta ricotta you find in grocery stores here.

We’ve enjoyed it simply on its own, with good crusty bread, but we’ve also combined it with lemon zest and a pinch of sugar to coat warm bow-shaped pasta ; we’ve used it in a frittata, as a sandwich spread, and we’ve had it for dessert, drizzled with maple syrup. As you will infer, we had quite a quantity!

Oh, and um… wanna see my ricotta naked?

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[Lime and Ginger Melon Jam]

The truly magical thing about making your own jam is that they tell you to store the jars in a cool and dark place for a few months, to let the flavors develop fully. Oh sure, it is something of a heartbreak at first – you would so like to keep it close to you and dip the occasional finger in – but you know to be reasonable, you’ve been told to act like a grownup, so you relinquish and stash them at the back of a kitchen cabinet.

And life goes on, of course. Summer draws to a close, and fall, then winter, come and go with their own share of distractions and sweets and excitement. And all of a sudden, without a warning, spring is back! And you clean up the house! And the kitchen cabinets! And what do you find in there, all but forgotten, sitting side by side, cuddled up in the back? Your lovely lovely jars of summery jams.

And the following morning, it is with a renewed joy and high expectations that you pop open a jar of lime and ginger melon jam, and spread it generously on a big slice of bread.

Mmmmmm. So sweet and fragrant, so spicy and warm, with candied bits of ginger and lime peel, like tiny gems.

Well worth the wait.

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Some people have all the luck.

Maxence’s company recently relocated to Belleville, in the 10th arrondissement of Paris. Not only are the new offices in a rehabilitated workshop with frosted glass windows and exposed beams, nested at the very back of a series of small rickety courtyards, it is also right at the crossroads between North Africa and Asia.

You didn’t know such a geographic wonder existed? Well it does, as communities from both regions of the world have taken up residence on either side of the place de Belleville.

And this means that my lucky boy gets to conduct stupendous explorations trying out every possible hole-in-the-wall, travelling from Vietnam to Morocco by way of Thaïland, from Tunisia to China, from Korea to Turkey, and back again – all during his lunch break.

Thankfully, he is the generous kind, and from time to time he’ll suprise me with a selection of local Belleville goodies. Like for instance, those huge and delectable poppyseed bagels…

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