This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to food. Browse the list of idioms featured so far.

This week’s expression is, “Ne pas manger de ce pain-là.”

Translated as, “not eating that kind of bread,” it means refusing to act in a way that goes against your values, steering clear of a situation or behavior that you think is beneath you.

Example: “Il faudrait que je fasse des ronds de jambe à la directrice pour obtenir une place pour ma fille, mais je ne mange pas de ce pain-là.” “I’d have to kowtow to the principal to get a spot for my daughter, but I don’t eat that kind of bread.”

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

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If you’ve been on the fence about getting a pasta roller — either an attachment for your stand mixer or a hand-cranked one for your biceps — I may be able to offer the justification you were hoping for: a pasta roller proves handy for homemade crackers, too.

You see, to make good crackers, you need to roll the dough out thinly, for optimal snap, and evenly, so that they’ll bake in a uniform fashion, without doughy or burnt spots.

It’s a kitchen activity that ranks high on the fun-o-meter: rolling pasta or cracker dough never fails to remind me of my play-doh days, and I could spend all afternoon doing just that.

And as I learned from my talented friends at Hidden Kitchen (see their blog), a pasta roller is the ideal tool to achieve that. You’ll use the first roller only, the one that’s just two cylinders facing each other and rolling inward, and switch from narrow to narrower, exactly like you would for pasta, until you have a super thin strip of dough, ready to be baked.

It’s also a kitchen activity that ranks high on the fun-o-meter: rolling pasta or cracker dough never fails to remind me of my play-doh days, and I could spend all afternoon doing just that.

My cracker recipe is quite simple: regular flour and semolina flour (the latter provides a slightly more rustic texture), some seeds (I use sesame and poppy seeds), a bit of salt and olive oil, and enough water to bind into a dough that will be smooth but not tacky (or it will gunk up your pasta roller).

The crackers you get in return for your efforts are impeccably crisp — sturdy enough to scoop up stuff, but thin enough to shatter under your bite — and will remain so for a few weeks.

This is a good thing because the recipe makes quite a bit, but as long as you’re taking out the roller and preheating the oven, you might as well bake a good batch. And really, once you have them around I don’t think you’ll run out of things to eat them with: hummus, roasted eggplant and yogurt dip, anchoïade, muhammara, peacamole, cashew cheese, you get the idea.

The recipe is naturally open to variations, so you could add the spices and dried herbs of your choice, and possibly some grated hard cheese to the dough. If you decide to play around with the seeds, though, I recommend you stick to teeny ones, or they’ll get in the way of the thinning of the dough.

Sourdough starter note: If you maintain a sourdough starter, you can use up some of your excess starter in this recipe, according to the same conversion rule I’ve described before: here, I’ve been using 100 grams (3 1/2 ounces) 100%-hydration starter, and lowering the amount of flours to 125 grams (4.4 ounces) each and the water to 75 ml (5 tablespoons).

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I’ve been a little hard on the patty pan squash, and for that I apologize.

About a year ago, I posted a recipe for Roasted Patty Pan Squash and Herbed Chickpeas, and wrote, “avoid patty pans that are larger than the palm of your hand: they will likely be watery and bland.”

I do stand by my statement that young and small patty pan squashes have more flavor, better texture, and undoubtedly more kawaii appeal than their bigger brothers, but that’s not to say the latter should be forsaken. Especially when you find one such specimen in your weekly vegetable basket, white and smooth as china.

Inspired by a string of chilly late summer days, I decided to make pattypan squash soup with it, a simple one, made with shallots and chicken stock in under thirty minutes. And to boost the flavor and tie it back to the season — fall, I’m not ready for you yet — I made pesto.

It’s a classic sort of pesto with basil and pine nuts, but instead of parmesan or pecorino I used ricotta salata, a pressed, dried and salted ricotta I’ve been playing with lately: it’s not a very meltable cheese, but I like its tang and milkiness, and it fares well in salads or in this condiment for my pattypan squash soup.

Because I love interactive dishes — especially soups, which can be a bit one-dimensional otherwise — I served the pesto in a jar at the table, for us to scoop into our bowls, stir, and watch the cream-white soup fleck with green. Add a hunk of fresh-baked pain au levain, and you’ve officially achieved dinner bliss.

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My weekday lunches revolve around salads like this one, built on grains, fresh vegetables, some sort of protein element, and fresh herbs. I prepare a few servings at a time, and that conveniently takes care of lunch for the next couple of days.

I do try to mix things up so as not eat the same thing all the time, but I admit I’ve become a little fixated on this particular one lately: it is full of flavor, refreshing and filling, with a satisfying mix of textures from the fleshy tomatoes and the chewy grain.

The cereal I am using is petit épeautre (literally, small spelt), an ancient cousin of spelt that goes by the Latin name Triticum monococcum or the common English name einkorn wheat.

Petit épeautre was one of the first cereals cultivated for food*; it is a nutritious grain that thrives on arid, mountainous grounds where little else will grow. The one I buy, an organic petit épeautre de Haute Provence grown in the Southeast of France, is said to have been grown unchanged — without cross-breeding that is — in the area for 9,000 years**. It is protected by a geographical indication, and it hopped aboard the Slow Food Ark of Taste a few years ago.

Einkorn wheat has long been displaced by higher-yield crops, but it is regaining a little popularity in France and elsewhere, as conscious eaters try not to rely so heavily on common wheat, and also because it has been suggested that the grain, although not gluten-free, might be safe for gluten-intolerant patients. (I’ll hasten to note that more research is needed and it is too early to be taking any risks, but these initial findings are hopeful.)

Einkorn wheat is worth seeking out, but if you can’t find it, feel free to substitute spelt (Triticum spelta) or emmer wheat (Triticum dicoccum, a.k.a. farro) here, depending on what’s available locally.

While the tomatoes and petit épeautre are permanent fixtures of this salad, the third wheel varies according to what’s on hand: I like it with firm tofu, as pictured, but it is also very good — perhaps better — with feta or mozzarella. You’ll also note that I add a touch of ground cinnamon to the seasoning mix; I like the spicy tickle it brings.

* See Alternative Wheat Cereals as Food Grains, G.F. Stallknecht, K.M. Gilbertson, and J.E. Ranney, 1996.

** If you understand French, I recommend reading this interview with einkorn wheat producer Etienne Mabille.

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