Author’s Note: Ratatouille is a Provencal dish made with tomatoes, eggplant (aubergines), zucchini (courgettes), garlic and onions. Some people add mushrooms, although I do not. Spices are to taste; I like to use herbs de Provence and a single sugar cube in mine as it brightens all of the flavors. Recipes abound; I hope you will try it some time.
Provence
Autumn, 1893
The ratatouille was delicious, Erik had to admit. The fresh tomatoes were bright and flavorful, their sweetness a contrast to the slight bitterness of the aubergines and courgettes. No matter how much you salted aubergines, he reflected, you couldn’t get rid of that little edge.
Claire proved to have a flair for the simple regional recipes. Erik loved to watch her in the kitchen, her skin pink with the heat from her efforts. He only wished she had bonded as well with the baby, Veronique, as she had her cookery; she was still tentative with the child.
Claire was miserable after Veronique’s birth, her melancholy returning in full force for a time. For his own part, Erik was delighted with fatherhood. He loved few things more than making the baby smile and laugh. Already she had shown her love for music, listening with rapt attention whenever he played the violin. One day, Erik thought, I will teach her.
What a difference from the days when his only relief came in seeking revenge against those who had wronged him. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago.
Erik coughed, grabbing quickly for a handkerchief. The blood seemed to come more frequently from his lungs these days. The warmer climate was not helping as much as the doctors had hoped. At least, he reflected, Claire would not be alone when he was gone. He hoped that it would not be too soon.
Erik shook his head sadly and took another bite of his lunch. He vowed to savor everything he could, whether it was a taste of vegetable stew, his wife’s sigh or his daughter’s laughter.
If only he had understood these things earlier …