We have just wrapped up the final photo shoot for my new book about vegetables and French cuisine, and as someone who loves to know how things work behind the scenes, I thought I would tell you a bit about what the process has been like.

For my first two books, I shot all the pictures myself, but I felt that being a one-woman-band was not the most relaxed experience of all, so for this new project I wanted to work with a team of pros to produce the photos.

This meant finding a photographer and a stylist for the photos of the finished dishes, and I was hoping to work with Françoise Nicol and Virginie Michelin, because I loved what they had done for Alain Ducasse’s Nature book. They were up for it, and my editor approved the choice after looking at their portfolios, so we were in business.

Because produce and seasonality are central to my book, it was important to me that we shoot each chapter in season. Had we shot everything at once, as is often done for practical reasons, we would have had to work with out-of-season fruits and vegetables, and it would have bothered me (a lot) to practice the opposite of what I was advocating. A secondary bonus was a lower food budget, since seasonal produce is generally cheaper.

The one hiccup in this carefully laid plan was that the stylist injured her hand a week before the fall shoot, so we decided to postpone it until she had fully recovered, and shoot fall and winter back-to-back. This was doable without compromise because, in truth, fall market stalls are not that different from winter ones, and it turned out to have a silver lining: instead of enduring the dark of December, we were able to benefit from the longer, brighter days of late February.

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One of the challenges of writing a cookbook is that, for the duration of the project, most of one’s cooking energies are channeled into the book — to develop the recipes initially, and then to re-test them as often as needed to refine them.

This means that, for months and months, one’s kitchen activities are largely governed by a spreadsheet — glamorous, no? — and any tempting recipe that may be found online, in books, or in magazines, must be bookmarked or clipped and set aside for a future day, when one is no longer so engrossed in the bookwriting process.

It is a small sacrifice to make, to be sure, and seeing the collection of original recipes grow makes up for it tenfold, but still: I have reached the point where I am just about done with the recipe testing, and it feels lovely to dip my toes into spontaneous waters again.

I couldn’t stop thinking about these crisp little numbers until I finally allowed myself to bake a batch last week.

I read about today’s crisp little numbers, rich with seeds and nut butters, on Clea’s blog a month ago, and I couldn’t stop thinking about them until I finally allowed myself to bake a batch last week, for no other reason than my needing a break one afternoon and baking cookies seeming the perfect way to make it count.

I altered the recipe slightly: I had run out of eggs so I used ground and soaked flax seeds instead (a classic vegan trick); I doubled the amount of seeds; I added salt; I used part wheat flour and part buckwheat flour; and I forgot to add the olive oil, but found I didn’t miss it, though it would likely help the cookies keep longer if you chose to use it (Clea adds 2 tablespoons).

I’ve found these to be just the thing to scratch the itch for a small treat, with or without a square of bittersweet chocolate, while I read and re-read and edit and tighten up my manuscript, and they are definitely joining these walnut and date cookies in my budding repertoire of easy yet delicious vegan cookies. What are some of your favorites in that category?

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A little over a year ago, I received the kind of phone call that makes you beam for hours on end, unable (and not really willing, either) to peel the smile off your face: I had just been admitted as a member of the Club des Croqueurs de Chocolat, a famous French chocolate appreciation society I’d been dreaming of joining for years.

Created in the early eighties, when chocolate and chocolatiers didn’t get nearly as much attention and respect as they do now, the Club aims to bring together chocolate enthusiasts for tastings, promote the worthiest of artisans, and share its findings with non-members via a website, yearly awards, and a guide to France’s best chocolatiers.

The Club has one hundred and fifty members at all times. Some of them are food professionals — chocolatiers, pastry chefs, restaurateurs, writers, journalists… — but many are from completely different walks of life — fitness coaches, historians, nurses, photographers… — their only common denominator being a long-standing passion for chocolate.

It can take a while to get your foot in the door of this particular Club, as you have to be sponsored by two current members, write a letter of motivation, and then wait for a seat to become available. But I think the format can be adopted by any group of friends or coworkers committed to fueling their chocolate obsession, so I thought I’d tell you about it in a little more detail in case it inspires you to create your own local society.

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{This is part of a series in which I share three delicious things recently tasted and enjoyed. Please feel free to share your 3VGT list in the comments below, or on your own blog!}

My latest “three very good things” are as follows:

~ Red Kuri Squash Soup with Arabica Whipped Cream

I was just in Valence for a work project, and had the opportunity to dine at one of Anne-Sophie Pic’s establishments: not the three-star gastronomic restaurant, but her chic bistro, simply called Le 7 (after the highway that runs alongside it!).

We had a wonderful evening and ate very well, and I was especially taken with my first course, a velvety soup of potimarron (a.k.a. Hokkaido or red kuri squash) served with a scoop of whipped cream spiked with Arabica coffee.

I had heard about another vegetable/coffee pairing that Pic does, partnering beets with Blue Mountain coffee, and this one works just as well, shaking up the sweetness of the winter squash with a measured touch of bitterness. Coffee is an underused ingredient in savory cooking; shouldn’t we all do something to change that?

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