I am not very big on what the French call arts de la table (literally, table arts), an umbrella term that covers the choice and placement of dinnerware, silverware, and glassware, as well as flower arrangements and any other table decorations.

Unless it’s a party and there’s very many of us, only cloth napkins will do.

I do appreciate a nicely laid table, and admire those hosts who devote time and energy to thinking up seasonal themes and handcrafting little trinkets to prettify each place setting (especially if it’s done resourcefully, with three pieces of string and zero budget), but my own style is definitely more minimalist.

Round white plates (from Crate & Barrel, dating back to our California days), simple wine glasses (we’ve been faithful to the C&S range for years), embossed forks we brought back from Japan, and rosewood-handled knives bought in Laguiole — all of this we arrange in five minutes on dark woven placemats set on our black wood and frosted glass table, and call it a day.

Paper or cloth napkins?

Well, not quite. There’s the question of napkins, too. Unless it’s a party and there’s very many of us, paper napkins (or worse, sheets of paper towel torn off from the roll) feel all wrong to me: they lack that warm touch that makes you feel at home, they’re too light to stay put on your lap, and half the guests end up bunching theirs up beyond recognition, and it looks like the table is strewn with used tissues.

So, no. When I’m a guest somewhere I’m happy with anything I’m given, so appreciative I am to be fed dinner, but in my own house, I insist on cloth napkins.

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Only recently did it occur to me that winter squash could be welcome in a dish of pasta. Before that, I’d always vaguely considered the two ingredients were too similar and might cancel each other out, the same way I wouldn’t make a potato sandwich*, for instance.

But then one day, wanting to fix myself a quick bowl of pasta for lunch and hunting down a leftover piece of butternut squash in the vegetable drawer, a light went up (in my brain, not in the fridge) and revealed an entire, unexplored avenue of pasta options.

The curry I use is a secret mix that was developed by an apothecary from Brittany in the early nineteenth century, when ships from the Far East still docked in local ports to unload their treasured spices.

This butternut squash pasta dish definitely belongs to the category of winter preparations that soothe and comfort by the softness of their texture and the sweetness of their flavor profile, so to keep it from being altogether too sweet, I keep things zesty with heat and spice.

Hence the use of curry powder: the one I use is a very flavorful, and surprisingly hot one called Kari Gosse**, a secret mix that was developed by an apothecary from Brittany in the early nineteenth century, when ships from the Far East still docked in local ports to unload their treasured spices. Naturally, you should use whichever curry powder you like, but if it doesn’t pack a chili pepper punch, I recommend you complement its action with cayenne pepper or a good dash of hot sauce at the end.

As for the pasta, I usually get spelt fusilli at the organic store, but lately (and in the picture above), I’ve been using local pasta from ICI: L’Epicerie locavore, which are manufactured in Bagnolet, just outside of Paris, with organic flour from Seine-et-Marne. I’m especially fond of their tiny pasta (which they label as risi but I believe are in fact midolline, as they’re teardrop- rather than rice-shaped) toasted in the style of fregola sarda.

Needless to say, you can change up the winter squash as preferred: butternut squash pasta, red kuri squash pasta, pumpkin pasta, Hokkaido squash pasta, delicata squash pasta, it’s all good!

* Though I know some people who are fond of sandwiches garnished with crushed potato chips and mayonnaise, but that’s another story.

** It is available from a few pharmacies and grocery stores in and around Lorient in Brittany, and online.

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In my Best of 2011 post earlier this month, I hinted at the new book I’m working on, and after receiving several kind requests for details, I thought I’d tell you a little more about the project.

The general idea of the book is to talk about the love affair between French cuisine and vegetables.

It is admittedly a challenge to dine out as a vegetarian in France, where meat and fish are treated as the main character of any special-occasion dish, yet the French culinary repertoire is rife with delicious ideas on how to cook vegetables.

It seems to me that when cooks try to shift their habits to use fewer animal products, French cuisine is not the one they turn to spontaneously, so it is a source of inspiration that is vastly untapped.

Over the past few years, as has no doubt been apparent on C&Z, Maxence and I have transitioned to a more and more plant-based way of eating — for reasons of ethics, environmental concern, and natural inclination — so I’ve had plenty of opportunities to explore unusual and exciting ways to use up my weekly selection of seasonal vegetables.

It is the best of those colorful, seasonal dishes that I want to share in this new book. Some are personal creations, others are drawn from my research into lesser-known regional cuisines. All are simple and flavorsome, so you can make the most of the time you spend in the kitchen.

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Who says winter food has to be colorless and drab?

I first put together this beet hummus just before the holidays, on a day we’d been invited to dinner by one of my dearest friends (I’ve told you about her before), who was days away from delivering her first child.

When I offered to contribute to the dinner, I was entrusted with the mission of bringing something to nibble on for the apéro, to go with our pre-dinner drinks.

I prepared a puréed beet dip flavored with the signature ingredients of hummus. Each of them is an ideal flavor partner to the beet, so I wasn’t surprised that their teamwork produced such a pleasing dip: zesty, well-balanced, not too sweet.

I find that dips are the most travel-ready of all appetizer options, and I remembered that Clea‘s lunchbox book Mes p’tites gamelles had a recipe for beet hummus I’d earmarked to try a long time ago.

In her version, she adds a small, cooked beet to a classic chickpea hummus. I decided instead to skip the chickpeas altogether and use beets only, essentially preparing a puréed beet dip flavored with the signature ingredients of hummus: sesame paste, garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, cumin, and salt.

Each of these is an ideal flavor partner to the beet, so I wasn’t surprised that their teamwork produced such a pleasing dip: zesty, well-balanced, not too sweet.

To go with it, I brought along a tub of baguette slices cut from a day-old loaf, which I’d rubbed with garlic olive oil and toasted in the oven, and we munched away happily while discussing their exciting family prospects.

In France, one can usually find vacuum-packed cooked beets in the produce aisle — I buy the Bonneterre brand at the organic store — and since they have a shelf life of a couple of months, you can keep a package on hand to whip up beet hummus in a pinch. If this isn’t a convenience item where you live, perhaps you can get into the habit of steaming, boiling, or roasting a few more than you need when you’re cooking beets; you can then stash those away in the freezer for future use.

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