It was in a rectangular casserole pan, white in a creamy sauce. What was it? Pasta? Cauliflower? “Mais non! C’est blette,” (blet) I was told. Blette? I was none the wiser. I took the thing I was assured was a vegetable on faith and gave it a try. Mmm, delicious! But I still didn’t know what it was. When I got to a computer, I typed blette into the on-line dictionary and discovered that it was Swiss chard, a vegetable I’d had only infrequently, and only the leaves. In France, it was the stalks of blette that were in that casserole pan. I hadn’t given blette another thought since that encounter until I was reading about it in Le Monde today. They described blette as being so yummy that on se pâme (ohn suh pahm), which means that one faints from being so overcome with intense emotion. Now, I can’t say I loved blette that much, but I might keep an eye out for it the next time I’m at a Farmer’s Market.