In Italy, it would have been called a trattoria—lots of wood and terra-cotta—but about twenty-five years ago I was downtown Perpignan in French Catalonia, Christine Campadieu having invited me to one of her favorite haunts for some local cooking. The main course was a vegetable gratin, and I liked it so much, I asked the chef for the recipe and printed it for you in last year’s August brochure. Remember? So simple. Layers of various summer vegetables like red peppers and eggplant, each layer topped with some glugs of olive oil, salt, and pepper. Since Perpignan, I often make up gratins. For example, last night I looked through my kitchen pantry and ended up with . . .

PROVENÇAL POTATO/FENNEL GRATIN

     Spread a good bit of chopped onion on the bottom of a gratin dish and sprinkle with a glug or two or three of olive oil.
     With a knife or mandoline, slice potatoes thick, thin, or in between and put a layer on top of the onions. Add more glugs of olive oil, salt, and pepper.
     Then a layer of thinly sliced fennel bulb, salt, pepper, and olive oil. You might also sprinkle on some dried thyme and thinly sliced garlic. Not required, however.
     Keep building potato and fennel layers as above until the quantity fits your needs. Yes, always with salt, pepper, and olive oil. Bake for about an hour at 390°F.

     What a burst of Provençal aromatics. I’d say your biggest challenge these days is finding potatoes that have any potato flavor.
     To drink or not to drink? Okay. But what? That is the question. A bottle of Bandol rouge 2001 from Domaine de Terrebrune hit the exact spot I was aiming for. A Provençal bull’s-eye! At twenty-three years old, it is mellowed out and sensuous. An aged Chianti would have been good, too. Or one of the well-priced Barberas we import. Or one of the great Corsican reds from the talented Yves Canarelli. I mean, that guy and I must have similar palates. Red, white, rosé, I’m a fan. Or serve our inexpensive KL Côtes-du-Rhône Villages—a magical, lavishly flavored blend by my son, Anthony. Provence in your glass! And the beat goes on, my friends, and the beat goes on.