It is absolutely no secret to anyone that knows me well that I am in head over heels in love with Provence, land of my predecessors. It's heaven on earth; land of the golden sunshine, peopled by a population that are joyous, defiant, independent with a playful spirit, and best of all, they really love to eat. The cuisine is simple and rustic, yet diversely reflects the seasons on every plate. Limiting my favorites to a select, top 10 list was hard, but this is what I came up with. Here is my list of Provencal Top Ten favorites:

• Roger Verge's Olive Tart: Roger Verge created a very simple olive tart in tribute to a lovely old gentlemen who told him the history of where Verge’s restaurant stood. It was the site of an old olive oil windmill. The old man recounts his youth when he would go visit the miller., on the way he would gather young dandelions and wash them in a nearby stream. “The miller gave us a pignate or crock filled with olive oil that had just flowed off the millstones. We rubbed the bread with garlic, dipped it in the pignate and chewed all this along with dandelions in coarse salt. Add to this a shot of our wine from the hills! And so you see, my little one. I am not sure all your clients relish all your complicated stuff as much as we did that very simple food.”

• Burnt Fingers or brûle doigts: I love whimsical menu names and thankfully Provence is full of them. Sometimes the stories intrigue me more than the food. Fifteen years ago, I first read ‘Feasts of Provence’ by Robert Courier. The beautiful photography and carefully researched recipes transported me to Provence, as any good book should, to where Robert describes eating a popular fried seafood dish prepared by Chef Franck Cerutti at his simple restaurant Don Camillo in Nice. The name brûle doigts implies the fish is served so hot you literally burn your fingers eating it.

• Roasted Espelette Peppers with Goat Cheese, sauce Anchoiade: A really simple dish that has all the elements of Provence hidden within its layers. Smoky, roasted peppers married with wild dried herbs, pungent garlic, anchovies and creamy goat cheese. It makes for a wonderful appetizer or the base of a great meal, especially when paired with a big green salad.

• Pistou, Provencal Vegetable, Bean and Pasta Soup: No other soup, except for bouillabaisse which technically is not a soup, clearly defines Provence more aptly than Pistou. It’s the edible history of the ‘arrière-pays’, or hinterlands of Provence where farmers have long tended their fields of vegetables and fruits. There are several versions of Pistou ranging from ham and bean to purely vegetable. This one is based on what my maman taught me, though she might roll her eyes at the very thought of canned beans and San Marzano tomatoes being used.

• Mussels steamed in Pastis with Chorizo, Leeks and Piquillo Peppers: This recipe was born during the early days of Pili Pili in Chicago when I was looking for classic recipes I could modify for the American palate. To get the creative juices flowing, I would drink Pastis and watch Marcel Pagnol movies late into the night. I closed my eyes and imagined the smells, sounds and flavors of Marseille. I felt myself sitting outside watching the commotion of commerce unfold. I imagined a steaming bowl of mussels served by a gregarious waiter in a long, flowing black apron and white shirt. The sweet, salty scents of licorice, shellfish and spicy cured pork released into the air on billowy currents of steam.

It won't matter if the sun doesn't come out when you serve this soup, because it is hotter than the sunshine of the Midi.  ~ Roger Verge

• Marseille fish soup, or soupe de poissons as it is called in the South of France, is something I actually yearn for all the time. The rich, assertive flavors redolent with the very soul of Provence takes me to the old port where I first tried it.

• Ratatouille: When I was a small child my mother used to keep a jar of ratatouille in the refrigerator at all times. It scared me to death, I thought eggplant was a plant made from chicken eggs. My mother would eat it by the bowl load; cold, hot it didn’t matter. I could never understand her love for it. Now it is something I keep on hand during the summer months when all the ingredients are at their peak flavors. It’s fantastic with poached eggs served on top, rolled into a creamy omelet or just eaten alone.

• Artichoke Barigoule: There were two dishes my mother held in reverence, a true civet de lapin, or rabbit stew thickened with blood and artichokes barigoule. For that reason, they have always held a special place in my heart and stomach. My interpretation is more of a restaurant version, made more luxuriously by finishing with a small tablespoon of sweet cream butter.

• Halibut Tian with Tomatoes, Caramelized Onions and Just-Dug Potatoes: A lot of friends had asked for this recipe shortly after posting a picture of it on Facebook. The dish was born of the moment, inspired partly by too much pastis and perhaps a memory not quite my own. We had just gotten back from France, and my garden was overgrown with weeds competing for the same limited resources that nourished my vegetables. I was doing everything to avoid tackling the tangled mess, so I started reading Roger Verge's classic tome, 'Cuisine of the Sun' under the guise of research. I got to the pages where he delectably described in vivid detail a lunch with local fishermen, they had just caught two beautiful John Dorys, and were preparing a large, festive tian for everyone to enjoy. Verge waxed on poetically about "potatoes gilded with saffron, ruddy tomatoes, pale onions, bluish thyme, green bayleaf and steel-grey fish" cooked in the local baker's oven and served in the golden May sunlight. I was hooked.

• Daube of Beef: Maybe I am like one of Pavlov’s dogs, but I start to crave beef daube (Provencal beef stew) as soon as the first cool Fall weather begins. Long ago Lisa and I lived in a small, off the grid hippie cabin deep within the woods, on the edge of Van Damme State Park in Mendocino, California. Our cabin often reminded me of Daudet's windmill in Provence, though beaten and forlorn, it provided a quiet refuge from the bustle of modern life.