“We’re here to cook!” said our instructress and hostess, Tessa Talha.  “The lavender must infuse!”  Which is what we came for, but the last morsels of a magnificent luncheon were still being cleared away and we, Darrell, Ann and I, the apprentice cooks, were just discussing whether a nap or a long walk would be more appropriate.

Nonetheless, after a heartbeat of hesitation, we threw ourselves into separating eggs and debating over cups v. grams and creme normale v. whipped cream.  Tessa disappeared into the garden and reappeared bringing with her a strong whiff of lavender.

Our day so far had been preoccupied with food.  Lovely.  We had discussed food, admired food in the shops and market stalls of Aix-en-Provence, made our purchases, carried them home, prepared a delicious Salade Nicoise which was meant as a light lunch, and then eaten said lunch.  Which got a lot less light when preceded by foie gras on one type of baguette and then followed by a tray of wonderful cheeses with another type of bread, this time an olive bread.

The cheeses were explained to us, each from a neighboring region.  Epoisse from Burgundy, Cantal from South France, Brebis, a sheep’s cheese.  Tessa lamented that Banon, a goat cheese wrapped in chestnut leaves from a nearby town, had not been available from her favorite cheese shop (9 Rue des Marseillais, 13100 Aix-en-Provence).

“You can put coriander instead of parsley with the garlic for the salade Nicoise” explained Tessa, “but not for the alouettes sans tetes; it must be parsley.  Otherwise it has the wrong flavor.”  Some of French cooking involves knowing and following dictates such as this. (photo Nicoise stage 1 and 2)

We had opened a local rose wine with lunch.  “You don’t use a great wine with vinegar” explained Tessa.  She opened a bottle of dry white wine which would be used to simmer the alouettes.  The centerpiece wine for dinner was opened at the same time so it could breathe.  This was an exceptional red wine from their own cellar, a 2001 Cotes de Luberon, Reserve Les Griottes, Chateau Val Joanis.

We busied ourselves with beating egg yolks and sugar, shaking in seeds from a vanilla pod and a great deal of lavender.  This went into the refrigerator to infuse, so that later when we strain it, the lavender flavor will remain.

The alouettes were made from thin strips of carefully-chosen beef, garlic and herbs and chunks of custom-cut thick bacon, all wrapped and tied with string into tiny packages (hence the name “larks without heads” -- no reference to real birds!)  Then out to the garden to cut the components of a bouquet garni -- celery, savory, thyme, parsley, and rosemary all tied together with a bay leaf.  Carrot and onion, minced fine and “sweated” for almost an hour to soften (no water).  The alouettes were then set on the vegetables, the entire bottle of white wine poured in as the only liquid, then mixed and left to simmer for two hours.

“Provencale cooking is always better the second day” explained Tessa.  “You can cook for company two days before, and it will be better!”

Our last production was home-made tapenade, with olives which had soaked all afternoon to remove the salt.  “Tapenade from the store is too salty” declaimed Tessa.

Then we rested from our labors, and talked, naturally, about food.  Tessa wrote out another recipe for a tomato tapenade and discussed the fine points of making aioli and mayonnaise.  We nibbled -- just a taste -- on our freshly made tapenade and of course a little bread to go with it -- now that I’ve tasted tapenade without too much salt, I will have to make it at home; it’s so much tastier.

I’d like to give you a photo of the meal once we’ve got it on the table, except that it has been appearing and disappearing all day.  There’s never a time as in America where every dish is loaded on the groaning board.  It’s this gentle and irresistible filling up of time and tummies which went on all day, from nine am until after ten pm that evening.

I’ve been in France before.  With Greta for New Year’s in Paris.  We had a ten course meal.  As a child with my parents.  As a young adult making my way to a photography job in Turkey.  But I’ve never thought of coming to this culture of cuisine via Japan, Thailand, Bhutan, India, Kenya, and Israel.  I never thought of studying French cooking with images of Buddhist temples, Chiang Mai washed out roadways, the Taj Mahal, Tiger’s Nest and hyena packs, the robes of the Masai, gunslinging Israeli teenagers, men around a table in a detox, desert sand foxes, and so much blue sky you think you will disappear and become light.

But here I am.