"The French are not normally sentimental about their food, but they do like whatever it is they are about to eat to look happy. (It is, as these fortunate creatures should realize, a great compliment that a Frenchman would consider them worthy of consumption.) Thus, in butcher's shops and market stands, on posters and wrapping paper, you will see anthropomorphic expressions applied to the most unlikely faces. Chickens smile, cows laugh, pigs beam, rabbits wink, and fish smirk. All of them seem to be thrilled that they will be making an important contribution to dinner." – Peter Mayle, from French Lessons






It takes no time at all to seek out a recipe for what used to be a simple dish in a more sophisticated cookbook. This is a common enough situation to find oneself in as the never ending daily wrestling match between time on hand and tastes in sight have to work themselves out to produce something that is invariable both good and relatively fast. I already had just such a simple but flavorful idea in mind for salmon burgers, consisting of bad dried and shredded salmon, a couple of eggs, spices of choice, and breadcrumbs – easy enough to mix until the consistency is such that they will hold up over heat in patties. The inherent strength of flavor of the salmon along with the spice of the breadcrumb turned a wonderful and easy match. But what to place along the side? Fingering through my least sophisticated French cookbook, I saw what looked to be the shortest ingredients list I've ever seen, only three entries! Although there was not picture, I imagined the enticing green color of pea soups of my youth, a very common canned soup which, with the right amount of water, was just fine for a K-5 eater. This one called for nothing more than two bags of bright green peas, 3 cups of water, and some cream! Add spice where needed. I was a small bit skeptical of its ease. Peas on their own are, of course, just fine, but do they add to easy and edible whole? I boiled the green peas and simply experimented with the amount of water I poured along with them into the blender to puree. Not too runny, not to thick, plus a cup of cream was to be added in.  A few pulses and a few tinkering with the  liquid level, then the cream for both thickening, richness and coloration, and I dipped a finger into the top of the pea puree. The simple pea came through beautifully. In fact, the simple pea had been transformed. Where the standard little pea is sometimes hard to get to its essence, even with a mouthful, the pea puree was a concoction of all of peas goodness, a sort rich and earthy warm comfort that was both recognizable but new. One bite of salmon burger, one spoonful of pea soup, and a wednesday night at 5:30 had just been turned to simple but gourmet, the best combination.