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he said nothing.

      Babette and I also made tapenade, anchovy toasts and strips of air-cured ham wrapped around chunks of feta and fresh sage. Because this wasn’t a sit-down affair, I decided I would make thin crusted pizza with many different toppings, from olive oil, sea salt, rosemary and garlic, to Sicilian tomato sauce with capers, and onions with bacon and cream. For dessert I slathered dough with crème fraîche and sprinkled it generously with brown sugar and cinnamon. Our neighbour, Patrick Merlin, diverted Michael with an invitation for a drink at his house.

      Joe was in charge of lighting the hundred candles out front in the courtyard, and as our friends arrived I set them to other tasks – making sure the music was organized, arranging platters, putting away coats. Some washed dishes and put things away.

      I’d asked everyone to bring something sparkling, without being specific. Had this been the States, I suspect that offerings would have ranged from boxes of glitter to sparkling items of clothing, but here in France it meant one thing and one thing only: champagne. I assigned five men to open bottles, and instructed them that the minute Michael and Patrick came in the front gate they were to pop the corks.

      I’d told Patrick to bring Michael at 8.30 p.m., and by then all our friends were assembled and everything was ready, but there was no Michael nor Patrick. I called Patrick. He’d forgotten about the party because he and Michael were having such a good time drinking whiskey, listening to music, talking. Fortunately he lived three minutes away and, much chagrined, said they would leave immediately. I alerted everyone and it went just as planned: the minute Michael walked in the door, corks popped and flew, and he was as surprised as if someone had put ice cubes down his shirt. It was a terrific party, one of our best.

      I had a group signed up for a class in May 2001, and it would be my first, official class. By this time I had a terrific assistant, Kerrie Luzum, who has degrees in cooking and nutrition, as well as years of restaurant experience. She lives in Paris and comes out two days a week to help in the office and the kitchen.

      I planned that first week over and over and over, with Kerrie making phone calls to set up farm visits and wine tastings, restaurant meals and visits to artisans. Establishing the mix of recipes that we would all make during the six hands-on classes was the most difficult part of planning, and the most important. I take my role as cooking teacher very seriously, and I want people to leave my classes not only with a reinvigorated passion for cooking and a sheaf of recipes they can’t wait to make at home, but with confidence in their technique and a keen understanding of how to balance flavours. To that end I was up at all hours tweaking the menus, changing recipes, testing details until I came up with a perfect mix which incorporated the right blend of techniques, methods and ingredients. When the recipes were finally printed and bound, I realized why it had felt like so much work – I’d produced a small book.

      I look forward to the classes as a whole, but the Sunday evening when guests tap gently on the old, wavy glass of the front door for the first time is almost the best part, for it is like a reunion. We’ve never met anyone before they arrive, but the communication and arrangements that have gone into making this moment a reality mean that we are, on some level, already acquainted.

      I’ve thought, planned, and cooked my way to this first meal with each guest in mind, sparing no detail so it will be perfect. Like all the recipes and meals that we encounter during our time together, this first is based on what is best and freshest at the market. It’s a fête, too, because Michael and I – and the others who help out at On Rue Tatin – are just as excited as anyone that our five days together are beginning.

      We greet each other, we share the meal I’ve prepared, we linger over dessert, then the participants leave with their recipes in hand. They return to our home the next morning, put on their monogrammed On Rue Tatin aprons, and cook their way up to lunch.

      After the first evening, the weeks speed by in a blur of cooking classes and meals at home, visits to artisans and restaurants, wine tastings, cheese tastings and drinks outside in our courtyard, in the shadow of Nôtre Dame in Louviers. I can never believe, when the last meal rolls around, that another week is ended: it always goes by so quickly. Yet it has been long enough to bond with great people, to get involved; not only to instruct but to learn and share.

      I imagined many things when we decided to go ahead with lunches, then with a cooking school, but what I didn’t anticipate was the friends we would make. We’ve had the most special people cross our threshold, from the wonderful New Yorker who presented me with an apron her grandmother had embroidered with the name On Rue Tatin, and which I treasure (she also sent us her special Christmas cookies after the week she spent with us), to the duo of dentists who kept us laughing from Sunday night through to Friday noon, then gave both kids a quick dental examination and advice, followed up by packages of fluoride in the mail; from the school librarian who made a list of ‘must read’ books for Joe, to the retired university professor who keeps me up to date with all manner of interesting food items. Nor will I ever forget our first Australian guest, who kept saying, as she fastened her apron and picked up her knife, ‘I didn’t know we were going to cook!’

      All of this, and we’ve only just begun!

      My goal with this cooking school is simple, aside from providing an income for us all. I want everyone who comes to On Rue Tatin not only to gain a practical knowledge of French culinary techniques but also to get a real, authentic flavour of France, to experience the rare relationship people here have with food producers and artisans, and to taste the difference in food that is grown locally with care, and eaten within just a few miles of where it was grown. I want them to leave On Rue Tatin with a sense that they ‘know’ France through all of us, and I want them to go home and share what they have learned.

       CORN LOAF

       Pain de Maïs

      This rustic bread is a delight with any meal, though I particularly like it with roast pork. Make sure you keep some for breakfast, to toast, for it is sublime with a touch of salted butter and a drizzle of honey!

      3 cups (750ml) lukewarm milk

      2 tsp active dry yeast

      1 ¹/₂ tsp sugar

      4 cups (535g) fine cornmeal (or semolina), preferably yellow

      1 tbs sea salt

      5 to 6 cups (705g) unbleached, all-purpose flour

      1. Place the warm milk in a large bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer. Stir in the yeast and sugar, then the cornmeal (or semolina), 1 cup at a time. Stir in the salt, then add the flour, 1 cup at a time, until you have a soft dough. Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead it several times, adding a bit of additional flour if necessary so it doesn’t stick to your fingers.

      2. Let the dough rest for 15 minutes on the work surface, then knead it until it is smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes, adding more flour if necessary to keep it from sticking to your hands. Don’t use more than 6 cups of flour – the dough should be soft and slightly wet, not firm.

      3. Place the dough in a bowl, cover with a damp towel and let it rise in a warm spot until it has doubled in bulk, about 1–¹/₂ hours. Punch it down, and divide it in half.

      4. Sprinkle two 9¹/₂-inch (23.5cm) pie plates with cornmeal (or semolina). Shape each half of the dough into a round and place them, seam-side down, in the prepared pie plates. Press down on the rounds so they fill the pie plates, cover loosely with a towel and let them rise in a warm spot until they are nearly doubled in bulk, about 30 minutes.

      5. Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C).

      6. Using a very sharp knife, cut a large spiral in the top of each loaf, then bake in the centre of the oven until the loaves are golden and sound hollow when tapped, 40 to 45 minutes. Remove from the oven, turn out of the pie plates and let cool to room temperature on wire racks.

      Two large loaves

       RAW BEET SALAD

       Salade

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