Review: Picnic in Provence: A Memoir with Recipes

Picnic in Provence: A Memoir with Recipes by Elizabeth Bard
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"The plums gave way, exchanging their springiness for a comforting sag. The wine bubbled into a spiced burgundy syrup, thick and glossy. I served it with faisselle, a mild spoon-able cheese, though I sense that sour cream, Greek yogurt, or mascarpone wouldn't go amiss."

I read Elizabeth Bard's first book Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes probably over a year ago now, but I remember absolutely falling in love with the way in which she paints a scene with her words; I felt like I was walking down the Paris streets with Bard, a New York native, tasting the crisp, buttery and chewy croissants, and discovering my own self as she discovers hers. The same worldly fears and anxieties that follow me as I grow closer to the 'big 30' seem to plague Bard as well in her similar age, and so not only did I connect with her in her first book on a foodie level, but on a personal one as well.

When we last saw Bard at the end of her previous book, she had finally settled in Paris with her French lover-turned-husband and was beginning to feel more comfortable in her expat skin. In this second memoir of hers, we are once again treated to an excellent collection of delicious French recipes that I cannot wait to try out (I've made a handful from her first book and let me just say, they are damn good!), as well as yet another intimate look into her personal journey as she now navigates her life not only as a new resident in a tiny village in Provence but as a new mother to their now toddler son.

Bard has a way of really bringing the reader into the scene, as if they themselves were right there in the room with her. She is funny, self-deprecating, and easily able to point out her own flaws, adding a healthy dose of humour to many of her stories. Yet there is also depth and a quiet sensitivity that she brings as well, especially when writing about her relationship with her son. At first, the so-called natural mother-child bond does not come easily to Bard, and once their son leaves babyhood and enters toddler-hood she finds that she no longer knows her 'place' within the family unit and has a very difficult time believing in herself and her capabilities as a mother, shrugging off such parental 'duties' like story-time and playtime to her more naturally-suited husband. This is definitely both a difficult and sensitive topic and one that many mothers would not easily admit to, though I'm sure many do feel inadequate at least one time or another during motherhood, as becoming a parent truly is a life-altering event in one's life.

This among many others is just one of the reasons why I so enjoyed reading these two books because Bard does not shy away from the 'hard stuff,' nor does she try to put a sunny spin on otherwise difficult moments for the sake of the reader or offending anyone. She is an open and heartfelt writer who obviously lives with her heart on her sleeve, and I appreciate her honesty about life's ups and downs all the more for it. Not to mention that I absolutely adored escaping into the French countryside and reading about all the funny idiosyncrasies about village life in Provence, from nosy yet aloof neighbours, to picking Saffron by the pound by hand and making your own cheese and milk (okay, obviously not everyone does that!), and of course imagining just exactly how amazing those lavender fields really smell like in real life!

"I stood across the street and watched the sun glinting off the giant bubbles as they wobbled into the air. Alexandre ran with his arms lifted to the sky, the sun shining through his blond hair. He won't remember this part of his childhood, but I will. His pants are too short; he's grown so much over the summer."

I had a hard time rating this book, going back and forth between 3.5 and 4 out of 5 stars, simply because I found that the last 5 or so chapters did drag on and I began to lose interest - the latter part of the book focuses mostly on how Bard and her husband open their own ice cream shop, called Scaramouche, in their village of Céreste, and for me it just wasn't that compelling. The book is also quite lengthy at just shy of 400 pages, and unfortunately I found I really had to push through to the end even though I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of it. Despite this, I do still recommend it and will definitely read anything else Bard writes.

If you enjoy decadent, French Cuisine-inspired recipes coupled with intelligent, humorous and thoughtful reflections on life as an expat (and life in general), then give this lovely memoir a go. Not only is it an easy, flowing kind of read that seems to mirror the romanticized, gently-paced life of the south of France, but it is also brimming with sensitive and touching moments that anchor the book in reality.

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