Quick Peanut Butter & Chocolate Ice Cream

This post is for Michel of Sablet House, a regular commenter and official new friend. It all started when I lamented the dearth of BIG jars of peanut butter chez France. Thank you, thank you Michel and Shirley!

{cookinglight.com}

If you're not an American, and maybe even if you are, you may not get this PB love. But P-Daddy seriously loves it. And as a consequence, maybe of its unicorn-horn scarcity, so do the kids. They also love the sometimes bag of crunchy, finger caking Cheetos sent by the Beau-Parents. If we lived at home, maybe we wouldn't crave these things. Maybe we wouldn't even notice. Another example of my you-always-want-what-you-can't-have consumer envy comes from the advertisements in my American magazines. They make me want to try things. They might do it to you too, only you can simply head over to Target and get yourself some spray-on lotion if you fancy it. And fancy it, I did. I can't say why, other than it sounded cool, a fun time saver. I digress, but this is to show you how we miss certain American things.

Back to the Peanut Butter. Michel and his lovely wife Shirley thought to bring me some, carrying two super sized jars of it in their luggage from California to France. We met yesterday to do the drop off. They are the sweetest people and I am thankful to have met them, am happy to know people from all over with all their varied and interesting histories and lives, glancing off mine and making it fuller.

As soon as I got home with the loot, slices of bread went into the toaster. The butter knife thick with creamy peanut butter, we slathered it recklessly on warm toast and varnished it with a top coat of creamy honey. The Littlest likes sliced bananas on top of his. We ate it happily, greedily, oohs of gratitude for Michel and Shirley coming from our sticky mouths.

The feast or famine mentality has hit. I hid one of the jars and will ration it when the time comes, but for now we are indulging. Last night, after the kids were in bed, I remembered a recipe that I found the last time we had big jars of PB. It is so simple, yet so good. (I can't remember where I found it, even tried to find it again so I could share the link. Maybe I imagined seeing it, I don't know.)

I whipped it up and P-Daddy and I spooned it in, umming and licking our lips in clandestine enjoyment of this special treat. I will make it for the kids, too. Of course I will. And I am also sharing it with you.

Quick Peanut Butter & Chocolate 'Ice Cream'

jar of creamy or crunchy peanut butter
your favorite chocolate ice cream
individual glass cups or small single serving bowls (you know how the French love to serve things in these little jars? what's happening to me?!)

Then, all you do is scoop a round ball of chocolate ice cream (we like dark) into the cup and cover with two tablespoons of peanut butter. Kind of spread it over the chocolate making a pretty layered icing with it. Then, cover right on the pb with a disk of parchment paper so it won't get all freezer funky and put the cups in the freezer. Wait as long as you can for the pb to get cold and then eat it while your kids are in bed, surreptitiously sneaking a bit of grown-up happiness undisturbed.

Or you can make as many as you like and  serve them to everyone for dessert. You're probably better at sharing than me.

D-Day Remembered, Omaha Beach & American Cemetery

Chateau de Montferrand and Pic St Loup à Pied

We've been on an adventurous kick. Hiking and biking and randonée-ing all over the place. The kids humor us. The Littlest sings, 'It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock and ro-oh-ohl.'

I make picnic lunches that sometimes include wine.

We have Stephanie to thank for lighting the spark, reminding us how much free fun is out there. She was our guide to the top of a garrigue covered colline and the medieval ruins of Chateau de Montferrand.

{Chateau de Montferrand}

{lunch with Stephanie}

After that success,we decided there was no stopping us. Not even a pair of 4-year old legs. They are actually quite sturdy.

We took off. Armed with a picnic and hearts full of vim and vigor, to the top of Pic St Loup. It's a craggy clump of mountain covered in wild thyme, scrub oak and pistachio trees. There was even black lichen. Have you ever seen black lichen?

{Pic St Loup peeking through}

Pic St Loup is a constant presence in the Hérault. Sitting firmly to the left of Montpellier, its ridged back ending in a finger point surrounded by vineyards.It was named after Thieri Loup, the oldest of three brothers, all in love with  the same girl, Bertrand. She died while they were off battling in the Crusades, having never chosen her favorite of the Loup brothers. Each Loup, heartbroken and bereft, took up residence on three different peaks in the region.

Pic St Loup wines have become quite popular in recent years thanks to vineyards like Puech Haut and neighboring l'Hortus, he of the dancing man on my favorite rosé. 

The best place to start your hike is at the edge of the small village, Cazevieille. There's a parking area there with picnic tables. When we went there were groups of families set up for the day, playing pétanque and swinging in staked hammocks. To the top and back is 6 kilometers. It took us, with the Littlest's sturdy legs and a bit of scrabbling near the top, around two and a half hours, give or take.

Getting to the top is the fun part. (Repeat this mantra to your pre-ado daughter all the way up.)

The terrain is mostly small rocks and an easy incline under shade until the middle when you break out and can see the vineyards below and out to the Med. Then, you're back under oaks and pistachios, ready for the hairpin climb to the top.There's a ruined chapel turned makeshift memorial where people leave trinkets and messages to loved ones as well as a guest book to prove you hiked to the top.

{leaving proof}

On the ridge, the views are breath-taking, the sheer drops nauseating. There is no guardrail or barrier of any kind.

{nauseating. he's delighted}

I was holding onto my people for dear life and kept thinking of that scene in Auntie Mame when Beau yodeled off the side of the Alps. There was a woman much braver than me lotus-posed on a rock, looking off to the horizon.

It made me want to hurl. 

{look how I'm holding on}

{spectacular}

For some reason the kids started speaking French on the way down and I noticed something interesting. They don't whine in French. The Middlest tells jokes and makes French puns. Something about boobies playing off the word 'St' in Pic St Loup. Ma Fille actually laughs at his jokes and calls him names, 'minus' for example, which don't seem to be as insulting outside of English. 'Hey, Minus!' See. No biggie.

Like my Midi-Libre randonnée edition says, 'Le Pic Saint-Loup, mille fois vu et sans cessse redécouvert.' 
 
 

{Littlest looks wrecked, I look crazed, Big Kids look great}