I Need You to Meet Ludivine (+ Wine-Poached Pears)
Dear friend,
As I was prepping sandwiches this morning for my family my thoughts wandered from the smearing mustard and layering on sliced cheese to Ludivine Duflot.
You should know Ludivine.
If you’ve been around with me for any amount of time, you most likely know that I have favorites. My favorite pasta is bolognese, my favorite song is “La Vie en Rose,” and my favorite movie is “A Good Year” — this movie is where Ludivine came into my life.
More times than I can count (no, seriously, I’ve seen this movie a lot of times), I’ve watched her curvy hips and wild hair sweep through the rustic kitchen she tends to. Ludivine is always dressed in fabulous colors, taking care of something, dancing, smiling, and smearing on kisses to all who pass through.
She’s sultry. She’s vivacious. She’s womanly. She’s a bit extravagant. Though she’s at home, tending to homemaking tasks, she’s positively delightful.
I can hear what you’re saying: “Yeah, Shaye, but it’s a movie… she’s not real…”
I know that already.
“Big Night” is also a movie, yet it inspires me to cook. And “A Good Year” inspires me to channel my inner Ludivine and remember the part of the kitchen that’s supposed to feel a bit luxurious… a bit sexy… and a bit pleasurable.
Hand to heart, does your kitchen feel pleasurable right now? Does it feel sexy?
I made a reel for social media earlier this week, reminding home cooks who find themselves elbow deep in dishes, frying another egg, and making another grocery run for dish soap and sponges, that food is supposed to give us delight. It’s supposed to tickle our senses, to ignite us with pleasure. Food is meant to be dripped and drizzled and flaked and caramelized and sprinkled and simmered and twirled. Food is supposed to make our mouths water and pucker and moan. Food is an opportunity for joy.
I think flaked sea salt is sexy. Balsamic vinegar too. And bags of gorgeous pasta in my pantry — I think that’s really luxurious. I also find that clean counters, flickering candles, jazz music, and a tidy apron bring an air of pleasure to the kitchen. In a way, they manage to transform the work of the kitchen into something else… something more delightful. Yes, it’s pragmatic (we must eat, after all). Yes, it’s repetitive (three times a day is a lot!)
But lest we forget, we are physical beings who have been given the wonderful gifts of sight, of smell, of sound, of taste… of touch.
I know the look in my husband’s eye when I hand him a glass of Prosecco, a small bowl of olives, and turn on the music. He knows what I’m doing. I’m creating an atmosphere of pleasure.
To the beat of a playful samba, Ludivine sways with her broom, sweeping the kitchen and smoothly moving her hips all at once. “Your Uncle Henry was an amazing dancer…” she says to Max, playfully moving through the pragmatic chore at hand. Throughout the movie, she hosts dinner at her home (wearing a leopard-print dress and gold jewelry), she irons and launders clothes (in a sundress and sexy up-do), she sets the table (with fine china, wine, and candles), and showers those around her with physical affection.
Food is not just fuel. It is community, history, connection, celebration, joy, soul-nourishment. Food is pleasure. Sometimes this is hard to remember when this kid doesn’t like celery, this one isn’t hungry for what I made for breakfast, and I’ve got to come up with an appetizing idea for lunch in the 7 minutes I have free before I need to get back to work. Trust me, I get it.
This is just all the more reason for us, as the Queens of the Kitchen, to counter the demands and pragmatism of real life with simmering pots of pasta, drizzles of chocolate, puffs of pastry… and wine-poached pears.
I can picture Ludivine serving this up at her rustic, country table — a dollop of sweetened mascarpone cheese on the side. There will be music playing, she’ll be wearing her favorite dress and lipstick (her husband notices her effort; she gives him a little wink for later). A glass of wine will be in her left hand and she’ll be licking the sweetened cheese off the spoon in her right.
More of this please.
Click the recipe card above to download your free printable PDF.
Wine-Poached Pears with Bay, Blackberries, and Sweetened Mascarpone
INGREDIENTS
4 ripe pears
3 bay leaves
1 vanilla bean, split in half
1 ½ cups good red wine
½ cup dehydrated whole cane sugar, maple syrup, or sweetener of choice
A few large handfuls of blackberries
8 ounces mascarpone cheese
1 tablespoon maple syrup
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
2. Cut the pears in half and place them cut side down in a large baking dish, making sure they don’t overlap.
3. Pour the wine over top of the pears. Then sprinkle the sugar over the top. Add in the bay leaves and vanilla bean.
4. Bake the pears for 25–30 minutes or until a fork can poke through the pear very easily. Remove from the oven and add in the blackberries. Let cool to room temperature.
5. Whisk the mascarpone and maple syrup together in a small bowl until well combined.
6. Serve two pear halves with a few blackberries and a spoonful of the poaching liquid, with a small dollop of the sweetened mascarpone alongside.
I hope this recipe brings a bit of va-va-voom into your kitchen. Enjoy.
Love,
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