We've spent the last few days driving across northern France from Paris to Alsace, staying in various lovely farmhouses with friendly people on the way. We'll write more about each one when we get a moment, but we've seen (and eaten or drunk) home-made products from black pudding to Munster cheese to eau de vie.

Plus (in the week that the US ordered the largest-ever recall of commercial beef) met some of the happiest small-farm veal calves there can be. And discovered that Alsace makes some of the nicest white wines we've ever had, and one or two truly rank vinegary reds.

Today Barnaby was so intoxicated by Gaby Demoulin's alambic au feu de bois (wood-fired still) and vast array of eaux de vie and liqueurs (including raspberry, gentian, quince, bay and laurel), that he nearly stayed at Ferme La Fonderie.  The fruits go through a double distillation process, and finally end up in beautiful bottles on sale at the farm shop.

When we knocked on the heavy wooden door at Domaine Weinbach we weren't sure we were in the right place.  Having had it recommended to us by our friend Jono at Chez Panisse in Berkeley (who knows a thing or two about wine), we were confident their wines would be good, but only if we could find them... 

Having driven up and down the picturesque little Alsatian valley at least four times, we finally decided to pull into the winery despite the enormous 'Domaine Faller' sign and the distinct lack of inviting 'tastings' signs for tourists like us which are displayed prominently at so many other wineries.  And when Colette Faller peered round her front door at us, she didn't look sure we were in the right place either.

Today Barnaby met Dany Roess at his farm in Soultzeren in Alsace and learnt how to make proper Munster cheese. As bears don't eat Munster he ended up buying a whole Tomme des Vosges instead. Yum.

Anna and Matt preferred the Munster, which is the local AOC washed-rind cheese and is fantastic on its own or in lots of local recipes. Tomme isn't as old and traditional around here as Munster (Dany says they started making it 15-20 years ago), and isn't regulated to the same extent (you can put any herbs you want in it, including delicious wild garlic). But Barnaby liked it all the same.

It's not easy being an Alsatian cheesemaker.  Yes, you get to live in a beautiful valley in the foothills of the Vosges mountains.  And yes, you get to produce the traditional Munster Fermier, one of France's tastiest (and smelliest) cheeses.

But tradition brings rules, regulations and responsibilities as well as tastiness (and smell) - not to mention expense.  And it's not easy to make a living from cheese alone anyway.

We stayed with Chantal and Dany Roess at their farm in Soultzeren, where they make Munster (amongst other things), and they told us all about what they do, how they do it, and how they see their role as upholders of the traditions of cheese.

This week, while the US government was recalling the largest ever amount of commercial beef (apparently, cows from the Westland/Hallmark Meat Co so sick they couldn't walk properly have still been ending up in diners' Happy Meals), we were playing with Farmer Cornet's very happy baby cows on his farm in Viviers-sur-Artaut.  

One of his cows had just given birth to twins, one of whom Michel was bottle-feeding twice a day himself as the mother would only feed one.  (Nature can be cruel too, let's not forget.)  The twins were having some trouble using their legs, but then they were only 5 days old.  All their older relatives were walking around happy as can be, probably because Michel gives care and attention to each and every one.

Barnaby could hardly control his excitement when he saw the delicious pile of boudin noir freshly made by his hosts Michel and Francine Cornet at their farmhouse in Champagne. There was three times this much from one pig! (whose name was Gui-Gui, to give him full credit)

With only seven nights and seven days in Paris, narrowing down our shortlist of 36 restaurants to a feasible dining regime was no easy task. 

In the end we managed six bistros, two fancy restaurants and over a dozen bars, cafes, boulangeries and patisseries, plus five outdoor food markets and two cooking classes, leaving a couple of hours to quickly nip up the Eiffel Tower and round the Louvre.  

Did we go a bistro too far?

Today Barnaby bought a so-called 'artisan' baguette from a Paris boulangerie, but thought that although it looked quite nice, it tasted as if it was made from a packet. He should have come with us to Poilâne.

Today Barnaby has been chatting with the locals while waiting his turn to buy vegetables in the Place d'Anvers market. The best stall with the nicest-looking most local produce has the biggest queue, but it's worth the wait.

Hello from Paris, where we are caught up in a merry-go-round of sightseeing, bistro-sampling and market shopping.

From now on we'll be trying to keep this site updated with recipes, other culinary notes from our travels and the odd journal entry to let you know where we've got to and what we've managed to write up.

Next stop Alsace...

Today Barnaby has mostly been sunbathing by the Seine.

No, not the scrawled 1970s cartoon or the tooth-wrenching sweet of my childhood, or even the early '90s hardcore rave anthem of my (very brief) clubbing days, but instead some delicious vanilla petits pots de crème (very French) with some bright pink rhubarb scented with orange zest (very English). 

I was inspired to make this by a vanilla panna cotta with rhubarb which I enjoyed at Cotto, by far the best restaurant in Cambridge.  Rhubarb has just hit Cambridge market, so I wasn't surprised to find it on the menu at Cotto, which makes a point of using local, organic and seasonal produce.  Not wanting to get involved with gelatin this particular afternoon, I changed it to pots de crème.  They were easy, beautiful and delicious.