Ceps and the first chestnuts

October is the month I trust least and like best. The ceps come down from the hills behind Vence on the morning of the dinner, or they don't come at all: if the rain was wrong, course II becomes raw button mushrooms and I tell you on the phone.

The sea bass is the last fish of the season before the menus turn to the mountains. It bakes on fig leaves from your garden if you have a fig tree; most villas do.

The quince is cooked the day before. It's the only thing on this card I make in advance.