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“Coco de Paimpol”? Suddenly these big speckly pods were all over local French markets. I’d never seen beans like them before–soft yellow pods marbled with violet arabesques–and the name was crazy: coconuts from a remote village in the northwest of France??? Of course, I bought them immediately.

Thank goodness for impulses.

Shelled, they are big, fat, beautiful, white beans. Cooked, they are bigger and fatter, exquisitely tender, even melting, and nutty in taste. They’re only sold in the pod or frozen, never dried. They don’t disintegrate, no matter low long you cook them, but their skin is so thin that they pop when your teeth just graze them. Hard to beat THAT for taste sensation. And, indeed, like the best French wines and cheeses, these beans have earned the covetted AOC rating.

What a story: The time: the 1920s. The place: South America. The drama: a young, homesick Breton sailor finds these gorgeous new-world beans in a port of call and brings back a handful to plant in his native soil, at La Pointe de l’Arcouest in the Trégor-Goëlo region of Brittany. Like young Jack of the Beanstalk’s, they practically exploded out of the ground. That particular bean and that particular microclimate turned out to be a perfect match–and they quickly spread to all the local gardens in town. Fateful magic? I think so. In the dark days of heavy World World II bombing and privation, instead of starving…it was cocos for breakfast, cocos for lunch, and cocos for dinner for the good people of Trégor-Goëlo.

But cocos came into their own in postwar France when their sheer abundance made them into a cash crop. And they hit their gourmandise stride in 1998 when they achieved that Appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC) certification–a rarity among beans. What makes them AOC? They’re only planted in Trégor-Goëlo, and only at a certain density and only with certain fertilizer. Perhaps above all, they’re only harvested BY HAND because of the fragility of the pods, then briefly stored and rushed to market strictly by the rules.

And here is where France has so much fun with its love of fine food. Some 3000 plumeurs flock into Trégor-Goëlo in July for a lot of harvesting and a lot of partying during the summer. There are competitions in picking, competitions in shelling and recipes, and a hotly contested election for Best Plumeur of the Year.

In the spirit of this coco phenomenon, I offer you one of the recipes from Prince de Bretagne itself: Soupe potiron coco de Paimpol for 4 people:

• 1 cup cocos, cooked in unsalted water with a bay leaf and onion pierced with a clove for 35 minutes…or fully cooked second-best white beans of your choice
• 1 pound of pumpkin or other orange squash, peeled and cubed and steamed for about 20 minutes–then pureed and mixed with 1 cup heavy cream (or yoghurt if you’re watching calories). Season to taste with salt and white pepper.

At this point you only have to assemble the soup. Ladle the pumpkin soup equally into 4 bowls. Drain the heated cocos or beans and spoon into the center of each bowl. Sprinkle with coarse sea salt and pepper, and serve piping hot. And what’s that next to my bowl? Oh that Woodrow Wilson Market in Paris–fresh, fat chanterelle mushrooms quickly sauteed in butter. Delicious!

I know it’s cruel to tease those of you not able to get these cutie cocos, but the recipe is nice for all that, with those second-best beans of your choice.

One last issue: What ABOUT that name–why “coconuts”? The controversy rages, of course, as it always does in France when food is concerned. But why not the easy vernacular explanation–”coco” being one’s “little sweetie pie”? Plump and melting and a little nutty…sounds like a little darling from Paimpol to me.

There’s no way around it, I am hooked on Saint Du Jour.

“The Saint of the Day” appears as a small daily column in the free Paris metro newsrag, Direct Matin Plus–and is just short enough and easy enough for me to read in transit between Place Victor Hugo and Etoile metro stops on my way to work. Not a bad way to start the day, in fact, pondering these hagiographic tales of virtue and martyrdom.

Take as an example this past Tuesday, September 15, dedicated to Bienheureux Roland (that is, “Blessed” Roland de Medici, who is one step up from “Venerable” and one step short of “Saint” in the canonization process):

“In 1386, in the north of Italy, some hunters discovered our poor hero, more dead than alive, dressed only in an old goat skin, shells, and foliage, and dying of hunger…. It was Roland de Medici who, 30 years earlier, had made a vow to retreat alone to the forest. Nourishing himself only with grasses and wild fruits, he passed the hours in meditation, standing on one leg. He said that he saw the face of Jesus in the sun during his prayers. When Princess Pallavicini heard about this, she sent him her confessor, who, after listening to Roland for 2 hours, declared that after so many years of wandering and of a solitary life, Roland was ‘pure of all sin, even those of omission.’ The confessor took him under his care–AND MADE HIM A BOUILLON OF HEN TO DRINK THAT PROLONGED HIS LIFE FOR 26 DAYS. Roland only died on September 15 when he saw St. Michael and some angels had arrived to conduct him to paradise.”

Other sources elaborate: Born in Florence, he was the scion of the famous de Medici family who renounced his inheritance and appeared one day, dressed in black, in the forests of Parma. Only when his clothes rotted away did he substitute the goatskin. Which is how the Princess found him during that day of hunting, flat on his back in rotting leaves and at the point of death. He refused by signs to go to her castle and only agreed to break his lifetime vow of silence to the Carmelite confessor who was administering last sacraments.

Forgive me, but I can’t help but note that the miracle of chicken soup is part of this story. I stopped at the store on the way home and bought a poule. I cut it up and chopped the bones. I put it in a pot of ice cold water with some fresh-pulled little onions and greens and, at a snail’s pace, brought it to a simmer over low heat, to extract every morsel of goodness. I let it bubble for 6 hours. To make an appropriate offering to this pious man, I meant to clarify the broth when it was done–so that, as in Louis XIV’s commission to his cooks, I could “see my reflection in it.”

Voila! In the end, the broth was so pure and so concentrated that I only had to skim the fat and pour it into a bowl. Those are my kitchen drapes in the reflection…but I think they look properly inspirational. You just can’t beat chicken soup. If St. Michael and the angels hadn’t shown up, Bienheureux Roland might still be alive today.

Don’t you just want to slap yourself when you go to a cool place and forget your camera? That would be me this weekend on a trip to Bruges, a medieval Flemish city caught and preserved mostly in the 14th century. Thus my photos, when I got back, of things I bought there (chocolate, tapestry pillow, 18th century chimney tile of the Bruges lion) and what I ate there (a perfect facsimile, if I do say so myself).

Am I obsessed with the Flemish soup Waterzooie? Maybe. At least as far as getting it right. I wrote earlier of my very doubtful Lobster Waterzooie in Brussels and couldn’t wait to get back to Belgium to make a correction. Except I forgot to take the camera. *sigh* But this really IS exactly like the bowl I had at Sint Joris (St. George) Brasserie on Markt Square, except with the local Bruges beer instead of this “gloriously bronze” Westmalle Triple that I brought back to Paris with me.

And what I love about this particular Waterzooie is that it is not only delicious and authentic but also totally easy, much easier than my original recipe at https://soupsong.com/rwaterzo.html. Try this per person:

• 1 chicken thigh and 1 chicken drumstick
• 1-inch green part of leek, cleaned and chopped
• 1 garlic clove, peeled and chopped
• 1 cup water or chicken stock
• 4-5 small waxy potatoes, peeled
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 1 Tablespoon flour; salt and white pepper to taste
• 1-inch peeled carrot, grated
• garnish: parsley, finely minced

Put the chicken pieces, leeks, garlic, and potatoes in a pot, add the stock, bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, cover tightly, and poach for an hour–until the chicken is tender but not falling off the bone. Remove the chicken pieces and potatoes, whisk in the flour and seasonings over medium heat until thick, then whisk in the cream and grated carrots. Remove the skin from the chicken pieces, add the chicken and potatoes back into the pot, and let simmer for 10 minutes. In each bowl, arrange one thigh and one drumstick and surround with potatoes, pour the sauce over each bowl, then sprinkle with parsley. How easy is that? Serve with knife, fork, and soupspoon–and don’t forget the Belgian beer.

But my personal recommendation is to go to Bruges, and the sooner the better, to experience it in its own setting. What a city! If you have short pockets and low standards, you can stay in a hostel like the Hotel Lybeer for 27 euros, which includes a great breakfast in a crystal chandeliered common room, a discount card for all city events, and Bruges-by-Day/Bruges-by-Night maps “made by locals” that is hilarious and spot-on for what you should and should not do. But, eek, remember to take a towel for that shower down the hall….

When I was in Seattle this summer and daughter Meg was in the urping first months of pregnancy, she said, “Mom, my refrigerator is crushed full of greens and veggies from the farm that are going bad. I can’t deal with them right now. Help!” Boy, do I wish I had had Anna’s book then. Yes I made some borshch, but all those semi-tired collards and mustards and spinaches and chards? Where was Love Soup when I needed it?

It was in the hands of publicist Rebecca Carlisle at Norton, who’d asked me if I’d review it…and it just arrived this week. I was so glad to get it, just as the weather has begun to cool and La Rentrée has commenced in France.

Anna Thomas, famous for her 1973 Vegetarian Epicure, written when she was a struggling grad student, has gotten marvelously comfortable in the kitchen since then. Her take on soup and her mostly self-created recipes in this book are exciting, but not precious–you can hear on every page that she is writing her book for real people and customizing recipes to please, not to be showy. That’s important when you’re making up soup recipes, I think, because unless soup is traditional or designed for a particular experience, it really doesn’t call for recipes–just for a sense of how to put available ingredients together in an inspired sort of way. And Ana has lessons to teach.

Love Soup is a big book; is written above all for vegetarians; and is romantic, matching produce with their just seasons in a way that connects each soup to the earth and to people. What’s new? A number of things.

• It is as specific and various on vegetable broth recipes as most soup books are on meat and fish stocks–and this is huge, as clear/dark/rich/light foundations to soups are at least and probably more important to vegetarians who want a soup that sings.
• It is crazy for “green soups”–just what I needed in Seattle.
• It is crazy for using roast vegetables in soups. I love this! Tapping into the density and sweetness of roasted vegetables, so different from raw-vegetable soup, creates all new flavors and textures in the final soup bowl.
• It is awash with inside information on ingredients and preparation, gained from both study and experience.
• American and European measures are detailed in every recipe.

Where to start? In honor of France and in honor of friend Stu, who is currently obsessed with all things lentil soup, I chose her “French lentil stew with roasted carrots and mint for 6″ to try out this weekend. Wow.

1 and 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 and 1/2 pounds onions, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch wedges
4 Tbsp olive oil
sea salt and pepper
1 generous cup French green lentils (Lentilles vertes du Puy)
4 cups cold water
4 cups vegetable broth
1 generous Tbsp. chopped fresh mint
1-2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
1-2 Tbsp. red chile salsa (I used the classic Basque espelette pepper sauce, just cause I’m lucky enough to be able to get it)
Garnishes: feta cheese (I substituted Poitou goat cheese) and fruity olive oil drizzles

Begin by tossing the carrots and onions separately in a bowl with a Tablespoon of olive oil, salt, and pepper to coat them, then roasting them in separate pans in a 375 degree oven for an hour, stirring occasionally. You need to keep them separate as the onions may cook more quickly and need to be stirred more often. Take them out when soft and browned, let the cool a little, then chop them coarsely.

Meanwhile, wash the lentils and put them in a pot with 4 cups of cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer, covered, for 25 minutes. Add the chopped vegetables, the vegetable broth, 1 Tablespoon of lemon juice, salt to taste, and your pepper sauce of choice. I was lucky to have gotten a jar of Basque espelette peppers while visiting Bayonne this summer in the corner of southwest France–as a rule, the French do not like spicy foods and rarely use pepper sauce. But Espelette is extraordinary–buy it if you can find it.

Simmer the soup for about 10 minutes to marry the flavors. Taste to see if it needs more salt, pepper, or lemon juice. Add more broth if you want it soupier. Ladle into soup bowls and garnish each with cheese and a drizzle of fruity olive oil.

Many thanks, Anna, for a great contribution to the world of soup cookbooks.

Anna thomas, LOVE SOUP: 160 All-New Vegetarian Recipes from the Author of The Vegetarian Epicure [W. W. Norton & Company; September 21, 2009; $22.95 paperback original].