The Seasons Change and So Do I

From my bedroom window I can see the leaves of the three birches in front of the porch beginning to turn yellow. Not an overall startling change, but more like a paintbrush dabbing New Gamboge onto wet leaves, one by one. The leaves of the white magnolia at the foot of the driveway are just turning brown and crinkly. The whole tree is shaking right now as a grey squirrel jumps up and down a smaller branch, stuffing its cheeks with the berries on the tree.

Today, finally, the temperature is in the 60's and the air is thinner. What a soupy, wet mess of weeks we've had since Labor Day.  September sunshine was hazy and hot, not at all the crisp, clean sheen we've come to expect. Regardless, however, the season has announced itself and I have adorned the mantel with pumpkins and the dining room table with mums.

Up at the Cape, the striped bass are running and the mushrooms are ripe for picking, or so I learned from a parking lot full of Russians and one kayaking fisherman. The crowds are gone, the tide is high from Ophelia, and I can get as many of these as I want without waiting in line in Wellfleet for even a minute!

 

 

Since it was breakfast, and eating one of these would probably send me to the hospital, I decided to chose one from the case below,  since the addition of fruit would make me feel virtuous. But what to choose? Ze apricot? Ze blueberry? The amazingly architectural strawberry or the gleaming like perfect fruit jewels pastry tart?

 

 

Can you guess which one?

 

Yes, zee blueber-rie taht avec creme de Chantilly.  Which quickly looked like this ( I saved the other half for after dinner so I didn't go into sugar shock):

 

My word! The crust was incredibly light, crisp, and buttery! The blueberry compote was not cloying, and the cream, the cream! Now, I am no novice at whipping cream. Whipped cream is a staple on our holiday table, a staple that I learned to make at my mother's right arm. But this cream was no ordinary dump a carton of heavy cream, a cup of granulated sugar, and a teaspoon of vanilla into a mix master. This cream was rich, buttery, fatty, and sweet in a way that made me want to lie down in it and sleep.

And was followed by the best cappucino made by a Frenchman on this earth:

 

 

 

The moral is:  visit the Cape off season.  No wait! Don't come! Stay home!

 

 

 

We noticed that in the few weeks we were gone, the bakery had constructed a  new covered walkway. I expected to see a small bronze plaque reading,

"To the Pomegranates, who without their purchases of pain de lardon et fromage, this roof would not have been possible."

 

I even had time to have a lovely chat with the baker about the butter they use, which clearly is not from an American supermarket. In discussing breakfast choices, he told me in his adorable French accent that he prefer ze pea - nut but-tear koo - key for brek - fawst and I agreed that it was a good choice. Mr. Pom dragged me over the register to pay. I think he was afraid that I was about to run off with the French baker and spend the rest of my life mainlining French butter.

Patisseries redolent of butter, tarts glistening with cream, French roast coffee to die for, what more could a girl ask for on a very rainy and cold Cape weekend?

 

 

How about a table full of loaves of almond meringue? ( Sorry for the horrible pic - Mr. Pom was dragging me out the door.) Be still my heart. I sneaked one up to the cash register after Mr. Pom made me put it back, told me I didn't need one. Who NEEDS meringue? No, I WANTED meringue - for The Fiance who loves it.

Of course, I had to taste it and see, after all, if it was as light and air and fresh tasting as the ones we make at Christmas. You see, I've never seen such a large loaf of meringue - why, it was the size of a football! I was curious as to how they could cook it through without the exterior even browning. I had to break into it...and oh, my word, it was filled with soft meringue, soft, sweet meringue......

Let's just say that I didn't need to be careful of the rest of it being crushed in the car on the way home....sorry Fiance, youll have to drive to Wellfleet to  get your own next weekend.

Tomorrow is Monday and I will be on the too much work to eat diet soon enough. And I'm not going near the scale unto Wednesday, at least.

Do you think it is too humid to make meringues tonight?