In many ways, life in this small town in the centre of France has not changed a lot in the confinement. Yes, it is quieter. And although many shops are shuttered, none are boarded up. That said, minor tragedies abound (The coiffures are closed!). And we are to obey severe measures of restriction.     
 
I can’t go out for coffee, which is one of my favourite things to do.  And, of course, the restaurants are shuttered –denying one of my great pleasures. But the French have a long tradition of making due under difficult circumstances. One of the restaurants in my village has a takeaway option. You can telephone or go in and order then come back in about 15 minutes to pick it up. I do see her petite van wheeling around the town, so I believe she will deliver too. But I like to be out and about as much as I can.
 
Our trois boulangerie et trois boucherie still remain open - in addition to the trois pharmacie, and the Spar and the wonderful les Halles. And of course, the chocolate shop is an essential service in France and they are open! The tabac can open, and the two magazine shops can open, as they also offer some other essential services that I still don’t quite understand. Nevertheless, I am happy they are open for business.    
 
When Saturday rolls around, the Farmer’s Marche is considered an essential service. The folk come out to gather their vegetables and eggs and fish and cheese and butter and escargot and quail and, and...  It is my big morning out. We queue up, one meter apart.   One of the city workers makes sure of this. They also making certain that you close in if you’re standing too far apart – thereby regulating the distance.   
 
When it’s my turn to enter the (now) cordoned off area for the market, I show my attestation papier to the warden of the market. After this, I roll my trolley in and am ready for action! Apart from the vendors, I am probably there longer than anyone else.  Even with the proper social distancing, it remains the kind of gathering place that nourishes your soul. It’s wonderful to see the villagers you know. Their smiles are life-affirming. Some of us blow kisses to each other. Others say they will kiss me on May 12th.
 
I go to every stall and purchase something. It is an effort, as it overloads my trolley on the return journey. But I take great joy in the ritual and smile as I pull my trolley all the way home, thinking about putting my purchases in their proper place. And, especially anticipating what I will cook for Saturday lunch.  Sadly, until further notice, it is just for moi.     
 
But, where food is concerned, there’s always a way to cheer yourself up.  So today my dispatch from the Farmer’s Marche is all about one of my favourite vegetables – the navet. Or, as we say back home, the turnip. 

Did I ever even have a true turnip until I visited France? I think not. 

These creamy white gems were never in my mother or my granny’s larder. We dined on the swede - a yellow root vegetable that appeared to be wearing a little, purple beret. The hearty swede has a warm and comforting demeanor and can be prepared with grace and style. But I’ve grown to prefer the turnip. A delicate, peppery morsel with an identity and flavour all its own.

I have sometimes followed Robuchon’s directions for a sweet, buttery turnip recipe that includes carrot in a co-starring role. I also like this simple, satisfying and quick preparation: steam the baby turnip with broccoli and serve with rice, spring onions, lemon zest and a tin of wild Sockeye Salmon.

Edna Lewis taught me to make a creamy turnip soup, which I top with ground cloves and crabmeat. Another favourite of mine?  I use my mandoline to slice the turnips fine. Together with radish, apple, and a simple vinaigrette, they make a divine side salad. 
    
Turnip is also the perfect pairing for Duck. In France (and, to my current knowledge, only in France) you can purchase duck confit in a can. I have experimented with this dreamy concoction, achieving satisfying results. You start by warming up the contents of the can in a saucepan. Let the fat melt, dump it all into a roasting pan and - together with peeled, turned potatoes and turnips - let them braise in the duck fat in the oven for a few hours. 

When I pan fry a duck breast, I like to make a reduction of Lillet, orange zest and juice (and butter). My vegetable partners? Turnips and Parsnips - steamed, then pureed, with curry and cream. It’s no wonder that in my French kitchen turnips are as essential as a good appetite.   
 
Most importantly, like all recipes, the ones I write about here require equal measures of hope, love and faith. The secret ingredient to a good recipe is much like the one for a good life. You must trust in your heart – that if you follow the wisdom of the rules – everything will work out just fine.    
 
Bonne journee mon amies.

Madame McIntosh
April 2020

P.S. For more information about Maison des Mots email moi at 6ruedunord@gmail.com, s'il vous plait.