It’s almost Thanksgiving… a perfect time to remember, gratefully, the time I got to experience over a year ago in Europe, and recreate little tastes of those wonderful memories.

Riding through the serene, golden-green hills and vineyards of Bourgogne, we were all set and excited for an epic B&B stay. We had our room picked, and cash to pay. The hosts cooked dinners as well, with fresh, home-grown food from their garden for their guests, with rave reviews. I was stoked.

Alas. We wanted a rural experience, but for how rural, we failed to plan for, with a car rental. We rode the bus from the city of Auxerre for an hour, got off at a non-descript depot, on an idyllic, silent street shaded by stately trees, still a long distance from our destination, and waited. We fumbled with French and a kind passerby’s Frenglish to call a taxi: “Oh, he is eating supper, and won’t pick you up for an hour or two”, said the girl who knew a little English. Rats. I almost cried, I was so disappointed. So we rode the same bus allll the way back to the city. Google to the rescue. We found an air b&b within walking distance, so we made a quick booking.

It didn’t look like much from the outside, just a plastered, square house from the street, but my… inside, it gave one a feeling of wonder; great, strong, faithful ceiling beams, having held up the clay-tiled roof for centuries, and I do mean centuries. It was built in 947 AD. Can you even comprehend that? I can’t.

Great bells from the nearby church and Abby tolled the hours, reverberating through the flower-decked streets.

In the mornings, I’d smile, and use my best collection of French words, strung together like an awkward necklace, since the Monsieur knew nothing of English, “Deux cafes au lait, un crossaint, s ‘il vous plait.” And we’d savor our coffee with milk and croissants on the tiny table outside in the warm September sunshine, with pastries from tiny shops a street or two away.

I’d seen pictures of such treats, and wondered how on earth they could actually taste good, they looked too perfect, like cheap wedding cakes, fussy elaborations that taste like sugary, greased cardboard doused with artificial flavoring.

Ohhhh no. No way. Not these.

I wish I knew words in English to describe the explosions of flavor, the freshness, the harmony of textures… But I can’t.

We rented electric bikes and rode along the canal of the Yonne river. I’ve never seen so many swans, and such lovely, old villages.

We picked up ripe chestnuts from the ground, and stopped at a winery with a personal tour and tasting by the owner, Jean-Pierre, a jolly, Santa-like, quintessential Frenchman who told us his Vin Bourru (recently crushed, still fermenting, slightly sweet, delicious grape juice) would get me pregnant, with a sonorous laugh. We bought a bottle for our picnic under the Eiffel Tower the next evening.

For lunch and dinner, we enjoyed crispy, savory crepes in a stone creperie, with fillings such as bacon, fried potatoes, fried eggs, spinach and cheese, and lovely sweet crepes with scoops of refreshing sorbet, poached pears and raspberry sauce for dessert. With local hard cider on the side.

Our generous host, Hadrien, went above and beyond to give us a wonderful experience during our stay. He took us for a free tour and tasting of his gourmet popcorn shop, with an astounding variety of flavors. He and his brother had visited the US, and tasted our fancy popcorn, decided to steal the idea but use French ingredients, (like nothing artificial, whatsoever, merci!) and offer their exquisite creations in upper-crust establishments, like the Bon Marche superstore, and the Ritz Paris hotel.

Our time was way too short. How badly I wanted to buy fresh goodies from the outside Farmers market, and cook up a leisurely, luxe storm in that old, old house, with a beautiful new kitchen. To the sound of ancient bells gonging.

Here, home, in my shoebox kitchen in the little house in the middle of nowhere, I recreate those delicious memories from time to time. In that leisurely, luxe fashion I’ve learned to appreciate, and implement more and more in my life. That taxi driver who was busy eating supper? While we were stranded on that silent street? He taught me a lesson I won’t forget. He wasn’t about to hurry up for a few bucks. He had wine to drink, and the most delicious food on the planet to dine upon. He wasn’t about to budge this sacred margin in his life.

That’s the French for you. Priorities. Enjoy life, every day, in the little ways. Don’t be so caught up chasing the big things that you miss the little joys.

We had our Thanksgiving a week late. My brother came for the week, so why not? I made a small feast, and tried a recipe I’d tucked away on my Pinterest board titled: “Beautiful Food”.

It’s called Tartiflette.

It’s potatoes who died and went to France, and found themselves floating on white clouds of garlic & thyme-infused cream, amid golden strands of Gruyere and Brie. (Most commonly made with Roblichon, but remember I’m in a little house in the middle of nowhere.) With bits of bacon and scallions. Bubbling with crispy edges, and golden tops.

You can’t believe how delicious it is. It will partner beautifully with your turkey, or ham, or whatever you make for Thanksgiving.

Ooh la la is not an overstatement.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

2 1/2 lbs. Potatoes, peeled and very thinly sliced into rounds (I used Yukon Golds)

1 cup whole milk

1 cup heavy cream

1-2 cloves garlic, smashed

1/2 tsp. dried thyme, or 1 tsp. fresh thyme

salt & pepper

2-3 slices bacon, fried until crispy, crumbled

1 bunch scallions, sliced thinly

3/4 cup shredded Gruyere Cheese

3/4 cup sliced Brie Cheese

Heat oven to 350. Pour milk & cream, garlic & thyme and a large pinch of salt into a large soup pot. Bring to a gentle boil over medium-high heat; reduce to medium-low heat, simmer until fork tender, about 5-7 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste. Butter a 9×13 baking pan. Spread half the potatoes with milk on the bottom of pan, sprinkle with half the bacon, scallions and cheese, top with remaining potatoes, bacon, scallions and cheese. Bake about 30 minutes until bubbling and golden on top, and potatoes are very tender. Voila!