Autumn Summary
Signs of winter came and then receded, so it's definitely still autumn. People are sitting out late into the evening on the cafe terraces, admittedly with pullovers and jackets on, but sitting out in comfort. And I've been playing boules in the afternoons in my shirtsleeves.
A week ago there was snow down to about 2000ft. The surrounding hills had snow towards the top and Mt Ventoux had taken on its familiar Christmas cake look, with snow down to the Mt Serein ski station. A small puff of cloud on the summit gave it an almost dream-like quality, viewed from below. In the middle of the wintery spell cloud was clinging halfway down the hills between here and Buis. The “winter” lasted only 2-3 days however and after the past few days of sunshine have totally eliminated the snow, even on the summit of Mt Ventoux.
Moreover, the brief wintery spell wasn't enough to knock the leaves off many trees and so the autumn leaves colour show goes on. The show seems even to have improved recently with more red showing up amongst the yellow, orange and brown. Tomorrow I plan to go up to Le Crestet, which provides a high-level view of the Ouvèze and Toulourenc valleys and see if I can take a decent photo from there.
Garden
The gaura and gallardias at the back have continued blooming and been joined by a blaze of chrysanthemums. These are ones I bought last year, on sale in all the garden centres at this time of the year, which failed miserably in the pots on my balcony and survived the winter. So I dumped them in the back garden last spring, since when they have gone from strength to strength.
I've also started planting the blue pansies in my pots in the front, which were so enjoyed by my neighbours last year. I've managed to vacate two of the bigger pots to be planted up and a third is awaiting the final demise of French marigolds which show no sign of stopping blooming at the moment.
Shades of Jean de Florette
At a recent gathering I got talking to Paul, an Englishman who has been out here for 30 years or more. We got onto the topic of changing attitudes and he recounted how a Parisian couple bought a house and some land overlooking the house we were visiting. They apparently intended to start a small market-garden holding and were drilling for water in various places over their land. They never found any and eventually sold up and moved on. The people they sold to also wanted to find water and asked a neighbour if he knew where it could be found. He did and they found it. When Paul asked the neighbour why he hadn't pointed this out to their predecessors, who could clearly be seen drilling earlier, and he replied: “They never asked me”. All this was a propos of discussion about how and whether people were welcoming or accepting or not and our respective experiences with other nationalities, French, English, Spanish and Italian. Whatever, it's a changing world.
Monday, 16 November 2009
Monday, 2 November 2009
Autumn Smells And Recollections
Autumn Smells
One of the things that most reminds me that it is now autumn is the smell of garden refuse burning: dead leaves, twigs, branches, etc, providing swirls of smoke that perfume the air. The boules court is so covered in leaves that we have trouble seeing the cochonnet when it lands and generally have to clear the leaves away from it so that we can see to point. Sylver, a boules regular, spends some time sweeping up the leaves but last night's high wind left a lot to do.
Sylver is a village character, 82 years old and with a limited brain capacity not helped by his age. He can be seen wandering around the village most days and likes to do odd jobs that help, like sweeping the boules court, making piles of leaves and burning them. Only recently, Daniel told me that his father was a foundling from Marseilles, like Sylver, but with much better luck. Both were part of the programme to find homes for foundlings in Marseilles at the beginning of last century in the Drome/Ardèche areas. Daniel's father, though, was placed with a family without children who treated him as their son and inheritor. Sylver, by contrast, was placed with a family that exploited him as an unpaid servant. Daniel says that, for that reason, he always has a soft spot for Sylver; the difference between his circumstances and Sylver's were a matter of chance.
Added to the smell of burning leaves here is the smell of wood smoke, coming from a number of chimneys and the result of a local liking for wood stoves. Every other household seems to have one. I'm not sure what the French have in the way of a Clean Air Act but it clearly doesn't apply to wood stoves or garden bonfires. The smell of wood smoke always reminds me of Herat in Afghanistan. I remember arriving there from the Iran border and wandering round the main square in the evening to be confronted by numerous stalls cooking bread and various dishes all on wood fires. The air was grey/purple with smoke and the smell of wood burning everywhere.
Nostalgia
Autumn is also often a nostalgic time for me and this evening was a prime example. At the pizza evening in the Bar du Pont, Jacques, the bar owner had set the TV for a programme that showed Petula Clark reminiscing about the 1960s, which was about the time virtually all the usual crowd were in their teens or early twenties. So we had Petula Clark herself singing, as well as the English Beatles and Rolling Stones and the French Johnny Halliday, Sylvie Vartan and Françoise Hardy, and the film scene of the time represented by François Truffaut, Grigitte Bardot and Jeanne Moreau. Plus of course the previous generation who were still in full swing such as Edith Piaf, Juliette Gréco, Georges Brassens and Jacques Brel. And fashion was represented by the Mini car, mini-skirt and Paco Rabanne.
It all brought back to me what an inventive era that was. The French “nouvelle vague” films were swiftly followed by the English kitchen-sink dramas. I don't think the French quite made it on the music front, compared to the Beatles, Rolling Stones and others, but Johnny Halliday was certainly something something new for them. And they added their own gift for chic to the English mini-skirt. I remember Petula Clark as a rather pure, slightly gauche, English rose who became much more seductive and wider in range after marrying her French husband. And mini-skirts on French girls always seemed to me at the time overtly the same as those on English girls but somehow less blatant and more provocative.
“Those were the days, my friend..........”
One of the things that most reminds me that it is now autumn is the smell of garden refuse burning: dead leaves, twigs, branches, etc, providing swirls of smoke that perfume the air. The boules court is so covered in leaves that we have trouble seeing the cochonnet when it lands and generally have to clear the leaves away from it so that we can see to point. Sylver, a boules regular, spends some time sweeping up the leaves but last night's high wind left a lot to do.
Sylver is a village character, 82 years old and with a limited brain capacity not helped by his age. He can be seen wandering around the village most days and likes to do odd jobs that help, like sweeping the boules court, making piles of leaves and burning them. Only recently, Daniel told me that his father was a foundling from Marseilles, like Sylver, but with much better luck. Both were part of the programme to find homes for foundlings in Marseilles at the beginning of last century in the Drome/Ardèche areas. Daniel's father, though, was placed with a family without children who treated him as their son and inheritor. Sylver, by contrast, was placed with a family that exploited him as an unpaid servant. Daniel says that, for that reason, he always has a soft spot for Sylver; the difference between his circumstances and Sylver's were a matter of chance.
Added to the smell of burning leaves here is the smell of wood smoke, coming from a number of chimneys and the result of a local liking for wood stoves. Every other household seems to have one. I'm not sure what the French have in the way of a Clean Air Act but it clearly doesn't apply to wood stoves or garden bonfires. The smell of wood smoke always reminds me of Herat in Afghanistan. I remember arriving there from the Iran border and wandering round the main square in the evening to be confronted by numerous stalls cooking bread and various dishes all on wood fires. The air was grey/purple with smoke and the smell of wood burning everywhere.
Nostalgia
Autumn is also often a nostalgic time for me and this evening was a prime example. At the pizza evening in the Bar du Pont, Jacques, the bar owner had set the TV for a programme that showed Petula Clark reminiscing about the 1960s, which was about the time virtually all the usual crowd were in their teens or early twenties. So we had Petula Clark herself singing, as well as the English Beatles and Rolling Stones and the French Johnny Halliday, Sylvie Vartan and Françoise Hardy, and the film scene of the time represented by François Truffaut, Grigitte Bardot and Jeanne Moreau. Plus of course the previous generation who were still in full swing such as Edith Piaf, Juliette Gréco, Georges Brassens and Jacques Brel. And fashion was represented by the Mini car, mini-skirt and Paco Rabanne.
It all brought back to me what an inventive era that was. The French “nouvelle vague” films were swiftly followed by the English kitchen-sink dramas. I don't think the French quite made it on the music front, compared to the Beatles, Rolling Stones and others, but Johnny Halliday was certainly something something new for them. And they added their own gift for chic to the English mini-skirt. I remember Petula Clark as a rather pure, slightly gauche, English rose who became much more seductive and wider in range after marrying her French husband. And mini-skirts on French girls always seemed to me at the time overtly the same as those on English girls but somehow less blatant and more provocative.
“Those were the days, my friend..........”
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Autumn And The Cinema
Autumn
There's a poem by some French poet I can't recall about autumn leaves, put to music and sung by Juliette Gréco, that just about gets the mood here now. The extended warmish weather has meant the trees and vines have kept their leaves longer than usual and all are now putting on a great autumn display: yellow, orange, red through to brown. And it's everywhere. Opposite the front of my house Mt Bluye is full of cover and the back road to Vaison through St Marcellin, which goes quite high up, gives some beautiful panoramic views.
I hadn't expected as much. There are a lot of fir and pine trees here and the truffle oak which also abound don't turn brown in autumn (they do later on). However, the vines can put on a display and this year the fruit trees haven't lost their leaves yet (plus the poplars, lime and plane trees). After a few years of wandering around arboreta in England and wondering at Japanese acers I decided that these were a bit too showy. A group of them can look quite startling but you never get enough to make a broad panorama; for that you have to rely on the native trees and the natives here this year are doing great.
Cinema
Autumn is also the time to start scrutinising the cinema programmes. I went to see Fish Tank, which I liked, then Le Syndrome du Titanic which was a worthy documentary on the state of the world's resources but a bit too worthy and obvious. Despite some great photography I fell asleep in places. Then I saw Partir, which disappointed me. Despite good acting from Kristin Scott Thomas et al, and good reports on the IMDB database, I felt the plot lacked something and didn't feel much in sympathy with any of the characters except perhaps the kids, whom I don't think were supposed to figure much in the overall film. Maybe that is just me (and the wrong film for me). Next week it's off to see Le ruban Blanc
There's a poem by some French poet I can't recall about autumn leaves, put to music and sung by Juliette Gréco, that just about gets the mood here now. The extended warmish weather has meant the trees and vines have kept their leaves longer than usual and all are now putting on a great autumn display: yellow, orange, red through to brown. And it's everywhere. Opposite the front of my house Mt Bluye is full of cover and the back road to Vaison through St Marcellin, which goes quite high up, gives some beautiful panoramic views.
I hadn't expected as much. There are a lot of fir and pine trees here and the truffle oak which also abound don't turn brown in autumn (they do later on). However, the vines can put on a display and this year the fruit trees haven't lost their leaves yet (plus the poplars, lime and plane trees). After a few years of wandering around arboreta in England and wondering at Japanese acers I decided that these were a bit too showy. A group of them can look quite startling but you never get enough to make a broad panorama; for that you have to rely on the native trees and the natives here this year are doing great.
Cinema
Autumn is also the time to start scrutinising the cinema programmes. I went to see Fish Tank, which I liked, then Le Syndrome du Titanic which was a worthy documentary on the state of the world's resources but a bit too worthy and obvious. Despite some great photography I fell asleep in places. Then I saw Partir, which disappointed me. Despite good acting from Kristin Scott Thomas et al, and good reports on the IMDB database, I felt the plot lacked something and didn't feel much in sympathy with any of the characters except perhaps the kids, whom I don't think were supposed to figure much in the overall film. Maybe that is just me (and the wrong film for me). Next week it's off to see Le ruban Blanc
Monday, 19 October 2009
English, French and Cooking
Happy Birthday To Me
It was my birthday last week and, apart from receiving cards and presents as usual (but gratefully) from old friends and family, I received similar this year from relatively newly acquired French friends. A key was a round-table session of the week before discovering what star sign everyone was born under, through which my birthday date had to be revealed. I was very touched by the good wishes I received and felt that some kind of response, other than thanking the individuals concerned personally, was required of me.
The weather having been suddenly colder recently, thanks primarily to a light but persistent Mistral, I have tended to stay indoors and embarked on a cooking jag. So, I took my reputation if not actually my life in my hands and decided to cook something for everyone at the next “pizza” evening, which was tonight. To say that the English haven't the best reputation for their cooking ability in France is an understatement: many have not been to England for a long time and remember English cooking as it was before cooking programmes took over prime time television. Anyway, I decided to cook a cherry tart from the cherries that had been taking up too much room in my freezer and and an apple tart as well, apples being plentiful and cheap at the moment. As it turned out, Roberto had decided to offer mussels and chips as well as pizzas tonight and there was something of a record turnout, around 30-40 of us. So it was as well I had decided to cook two tarts and both were well received, and at least the English cooking reputation was not harmed. Everyone seemed genuinely appreciative of the tarts, as well as of the effort and the gesture.
House Sizes
There has been a spate of renovation of old houses in Mollans recently which reminded me again of the disparity between the size of French houses, at least in rural areas, and those in England. I have friends in England who have recently undertaken extensions to add a room or two to their houses. Here, even when renovated, houses tend to have fallow space, unconsidered and to be used as cellars or whatever. The reason seems to be that, in rural areas, the French have built houses not only for themselves and their family (often extensive) but also to accommodate farm equipment and/or livestock. The result is that even a small house locally tends to have as much space (at the very least) as a modern 4-5 bedroom detached house in England.
Accentuating this trend is a French insistence on selling houses according to the amount of living space it has. The square metres of living space is multiplied by a magic number, according to the area, and thereby the state agent comes up with a valuation of the house. This value may be modified by the internal condition of the house, the modernity of the facilities, but factors such as open beams, beautiful views, facing south or north, etc, seem to have no impact whatever on the valuation. The perception is quite different to that I have been used to in the UK. My own house would suffer, if it were to be sold, quite considerably in the matter of square metres, although it is more than sufficient for my needs, and all the things I love about it would not be taken into account. The result is that my house would attract a much higher price from an English buyer than a French one. The effect is also that an English buyer can still find a bargain in France, even despite the currently awful exchange rate, if buying by typically English rather than French criteria.
Hon(ni) Soit Qui Mal Y Pense
At the recent village vide grenier, equivalent to a car boot sale in England, I bought a book with the above title which is a history of the influence of French on the English language and vice-versa. It turns out to be a very interesting book. I had always assumed that the French influence on English dated from the arrival of William the Conqueror (1066 and all that). Not so, it seems. For around three centuries there were effectively two separate societies in England (not surprising in feudal times) and one – the nobles – spoke French and the other – the peasants – spoke English; and the two didn't communicate much and so didn't need a common language. Moreover, the French, in the form of William and the Conqueror and his acolytes, didn't speak French; they spoke Normand. It wasn't until Chaucer came along and decided to write in English that the English language became, as it were, legitimate in its own right. Then Chaucer found that the then current version of English was inadequate for any vocabulary that wasn't in the peasant idiom and so borrowed lots of words from the nearest alternative, which was Normand becoming French. You can tell some of the earlier versus later influences because the Normand "ca" beginning to a word tends to become "cha" as Normand developed into French. Subsequently, other writers, notably Shakespeare (who, did you know, never wrote his own name with that spelling?), added more than 100 words to the language and other writers, more concerned with legal and ecclesiastical matters, went back directly to Latin rather than to the then current French equivalents; which accounts for many English words of Latin derivation being much closer to their Latin origins than French equivalents, which had already been bastardised into French.
Isn't that interesting..........?
The brackets around Honni are because the older version lacked the extra “n” and “i”. And do you know how that phrase became the motto not only for the Order of the Garter but for England? I didn't. Apparently, Edward/Henry the 2/3, (I've lent the book to Daniel and Patrique is also waiting to borrow it, so can't check) had a mistress who dropped a garter when dancing at some palace function and the king promptly picked it up and uttered those now famous words. I find it very amusing that our national motto should derive from an incident with a king's mistress. Good for us!
It was my birthday last week and, apart from receiving cards and presents as usual (but gratefully) from old friends and family, I received similar this year from relatively newly acquired French friends. A key was a round-table session of the week before discovering what star sign everyone was born under, through which my birthday date had to be revealed. I was very touched by the good wishes I received and felt that some kind of response, other than thanking the individuals concerned personally, was required of me.
The weather having been suddenly colder recently, thanks primarily to a light but persistent Mistral, I have tended to stay indoors and embarked on a cooking jag. So, I took my reputation if not actually my life in my hands and decided to cook something for everyone at the next “pizza” evening, which was tonight. To say that the English haven't the best reputation for their cooking ability in France is an understatement: many have not been to England for a long time and remember English cooking as it was before cooking programmes took over prime time television. Anyway, I decided to cook a cherry tart from the cherries that had been taking up too much room in my freezer and and an apple tart as well, apples being plentiful and cheap at the moment. As it turned out, Roberto had decided to offer mussels and chips as well as pizzas tonight and there was something of a record turnout, around 30-40 of us. So it was as well I had decided to cook two tarts and both were well received, and at least the English cooking reputation was not harmed. Everyone seemed genuinely appreciative of the tarts, as well as of the effort and the gesture.
House Sizes
There has been a spate of renovation of old houses in Mollans recently which reminded me again of the disparity between the size of French houses, at least in rural areas, and those in England. I have friends in England who have recently undertaken extensions to add a room or two to their houses. Here, even when renovated, houses tend to have fallow space, unconsidered and to be used as cellars or whatever. The reason seems to be that, in rural areas, the French have built houses not only for themselves and their family (often extensive) but also to accommodate farm equipment and/or livestock. The result is that even a small house locally tends to have as much space (at the very least) as a modern 4-5 bedroom detached house in England.
Accentuating this trend is a French insistence on selling houses according to the amount of living space it has. The square metres of living space is multiplied by a magic number, according to the area, and thereby the state agent comes up with a valuation of the house. This value may be modified by the internal condition of the house, the modernity of the facilities, but factors such as open beams, beautiful views, facing south or north, etc, seem to have no impact whatever on the valuation. The perception is quite different to that I have been used to in the UK. My own house would suffer, if it were to be sold, quite considerably in the matter of square metres, although it is more than sufficient for my needs, and all the things I love about it would not be taken into account. The result is that my house would attract a much higher price from an English buyer than a French one. The effect is also that an English buyer can still find a bargain in France, even despite the currently awful exchange rate, if buying by typically English rather than French criteria.
Hon(ni) Soit Qui Mal Y Pense
At the recent village vide grenier, equivalent to a car boot sale in England, I bought a book with the above title which is a history of the influence of French on the English language and vice-versa. It turns out to be a very interesting book. I had always assumed that the French influence on English dated from the arrival of William the Conqueror (1066 and all that). Not so, it seems. For around three centuries there were effectively two separate societies in England (not surprising in feudal times) and one – the nobles – spoke French and the other – the peasants – spoke English; and the two didn't communicate much and so didn't need a common language. Moreover, the French, in the form of William and the Conqueror and his acolytes, didn't speak French; they spoke Normand. It wasn't until Chaucer came along and decided to write in English that the English language became, as it were, legitimate in its own right. Then Chaucer found that the then current version of English was inadequate for any vocabulary that wasn't in the peasant idiom and so borrowed lots of words from the nearest alternative, which was Normand becoming French. You can tell some of the earlier versus later influences because the Normand "ca" beginning to a word tends to become "cha" as Normand developed into French. Subsequently, other writers, notably Shakespeare (who, did you know, never wrote his own name with that spelling?), added more than 100 words to the language and other writers, more concerned with legal and ecclesiastical matters, went back directly to Latin rather than to the then current French equivalents; which accounts for many English words of Latin derivation being much closer to their Latin origins than French equivalents, which had already been bastardised into French.
Isn't that interesting..........?
The brackets around Honni are because the older version lacked the extra “n” and “i”. And do you know how that phrase became the motto not only for the Order of the Garter but for England? I didn't. Apparently, Edward/Henry the 2/3, (I've lent the book to Daniel and Patrique is also waiting to borrow it, so can't check) had a mistress who dropped a garter when dancing at some palace function and the king promptly picked it up and uttered those now famous words. I find it very amusing that our national motto should derive from an incident with a king's mistress. Good for us!
Sunday, 4 October 2009
September Summary
This And That
September has been a glorious month: temperatures down to a respectable low to mid 20s, lots of sunshine and warmth that has continued until late in the evening. The mornings have been noticeably cooler as the sun struggles to get above Mt Bluye, in front of my house, until around 9.30. Usually, the evenings cool rapidly at this time of the year but this has not happened yet and I can leave my balcony door open or even sit on the balcony until late in the evening without the need for a sweater.
Pizza man Roberto took a week off last week but Dominique and Chantal, two of the usual crowd, stepped bravely into the breach and offered everyone a spaghetti bolognaise at their home. It was a generous gesture and appreciated by all the usual attendees. Their house is magnificent with a steeply stepped garden on one side and a lawn and swimming pool on the other. Sometimes I wish I had a place like that and then I think how much work it is to maintain such a place and what all the running costs are, let alone the purchase price: what would you pay in England for a 4-bedroom house with large living rooms, an acre of garden and a swimming pool in an area with a good climate? Still, it's great to visit.
My “bulbing” in the front of my house is now complete, with bulbs in the pots that have had plants that have finished in them as well as groups of bulbs in new holes in the road outside the front and under the honeysuckle to the side. I'm also getting seriously to grips with the back garden, which has unfortunately but necessarily meant ripping up the Valerianne that is still blooming but was covering up patches of ground that I needed to see to. I think I'm now getting a feel for how the garden should look next year.
Friend Steve came over to help me fit some lights that I'd brought back from England (sale bargains) that needed 3-4 hands rather than the two I'm limited to. So the terrace room and terrace itself are now properly lit. Daniel has been back in La Réunion for just over a fortnight so I've been feeding his dog, Crevette, in the evenings; Jean-Marie does the honours in the morning. Daniel is often my boules partner and my form over the last week or so has been terrible; so I'm blaming that on him!
September has been a glorious month: temperatures down to a respectable low to mid 20s, lots of sunshine and warmth that has continued until late in the evening. The mornings have been noticeably cooler as the sun struggles to get above Mt Bluye, in front of my house, until around 9.30. Usually, the evenings cool rapidly at this time of the year but this has not happened yet and I can leave my balcony door open or even sit on the balcony until late in the evening without the need for a sweater.
Pizza man Roberto took a week off last week but Dominique and Chantal, two of the usual crowd, stepped bravely into the breach and offered everyone a spaghetti bolognaise at their home. It was a generous gesture and appreciated by all the usual attendees. Their house is magnificent with a steeply stepped garden on one side and a lawn and swimming pool on the other. Sometimes I wish I had a place like that and then I think how much work it is to maintain such a place and what all the running costs are, let alone the purchase price: what would you pay in England for a 4-bedroom house with large living rooms, an acre of garden and a swimming pool in an area with a good climate? Still, it's great to visit.
My “bulbing” in the front of my house is now complete, with bulbs in the pots that have had plants that have finished in them as well as groups of bulbs in new holes in the road outside the front and under the honeysuckle to the side. I'm also getting seriously to grips with the back garden, which has unfortunately but necessarily meant ripping up the Valerianne that is still blooming but was covering up patches of ground that I needed to see to. I think I'm now getting a feel for how the garden should look next year.
Friend Steve came over to help me fit some lights that I'd brought back from England (sale bargains) that needed 3-4 hands rather than the two I'm limited to. So the terrace room and terrace itself are now properly lit. Daniel has been back in La Réunion for just over a fortnight so I've been feeding his dog, Crevette, in the evenings; Jean-Marie does the honours in the morning. Daniel is often my boules partner and my form over the last week or so has been terrible; so I'm blaming that on him!
Monday, 28 September 2009
Gardening and Food
Gardening
The recent weather (temperatures close to 30 degrees during the day and warm evenings) have convinced me it's not yet time to start on winter work like scraping the paint off those bloody beams in my bedroom. So, I've been digging more holes in the road to plant bulbs and still have about another 30 of those that I brought back from England to find somewhere to plant. Should look OK next spring.
My plumbago, in a pot under the balcony, has decided to go mad this year for some reason and has spread itself outside amongst the honeysuckle growing between Jean-Marc and Flo's house and mine and is covered in bloom. At the same time, the Dublin Bay rose has decided to climb and start blooming again so that corner is looking good. My false jasmine (trachelospermum jasmoinides) in the pot on the balcony is also doing its nut and is now within four bars of completing its trip across the balcony, as well as pushing up above the grape vine to just below my bedroom window. Near-neighbour Jean said he counted three separate groups of people stopping outside my house and taking photos and wanted to know why I didn't charge them. Maybe I should put a box out for donations for the village school. The local man who refurbishes old cars as a hobby and whose sister makes scented candles has started making ceramics with phrases on them, one of which reads “Place de l'apero”. A bit twee but I think I might get one for my balcony nonetheless (in blue, if course).
The back garden needs weeding again and it will soon be time to sort out what has survived and thrived and where the gaps are. What is already clear is that the ground there is very poor and needs lots more fertilizer; job for February/March. I've decided that when the winter pansies come around, in 4-6 weeks, I'll transplant the perennials I have in two pots out front into the back and fill the pots with pansies as I did last year.
Food
French prepared meals are generally better than their English counterparts but still not as good as the real thing generally. However, I got a flammekueche from the local supermarket which Steve and I ate this evening and it was really quite good. I'd assumed it was a Flemish dish but it in fact hails from Alsace: it's sometimes referred to as a French pizza but the base is quite different, more like an English water biscuit, and the toppings focus more on ham, cheese and onions. I think it could be good as a less usual first course to a meal.
And......more fruit. The house on one side of me that is let out to all and sundry has a damson tree that is currently full of ripe fruit with no one interested in picking it. I can't just let it go to waste and yet don't want to contemplate yet more jam. I think I may pick it (I know the owner well enough to do that) and freeze it while I decide what to do with it. Maybe a fruit tart or two......
The recent weather (temperatures close to 30 degrees during the day and warm evenings) have convinced me it's not yet time to start on winter work like scraping the paint off those bloody beams in my bedroom. So, I've been digging more holes in the road to plant bulbs and still have about another 30 of those that I brought back from England to find somewhere to plant. Should look OK next spring.
My plumbago, in a pot under the balcony, has decided to go mad this year for some reason and has spread itself outside amongst the honeysuckle growing between Jean-Marc and Flo's house and mine and is covered in bloom. At the same time, the Dublin Bay rose has decided to climb and start blooming again so that corner is looking good. My false jasmine (trachelospermum jasmoinides) in the pot on the balcony is also doing its nut and is now within four bars of completing its trip across the balcony, as well as pushing up above the grape vine to just below my bedroom window. Near-neighbour Jean said he counted three separate groups of people stopping outside my house and taking photos and wanted to know why I didn't charge them. Maybe I should put a box out for donations for the village school. The local man who refurbishes old cars as a hobby and whose sister makes scented candles has started making ceramics with phrases on them, one of which reads “Place de l'apero”. A bit twee but I think I might get one for my balcony nonetheless (in blue, if course).
The back garden needs weeding again and it will soon be time to sort out what has survived and thrived and where the gaps are. What is already clear is that the ground there is very poor and needs lots more fertilizer; job for February/March. I've decided that when the winter pansies come around, in 4-6 weeks, I'll transplant the perennials I have in two pots out front into the back and fill the pots with pansies as I did last year.
Food
French prepared meals are generally better than their English counterparts but still not as good as the real thing generally. However, I got a flammekueche from the local supermarket which Steve and I ate this evening and it was really quite good. I'd assumed it was a Flemish dish but it in fact hails from Alsace: it's sometimes referred to as a French pizza but the base is quite different, more like an English water biscuit, and the toppings focus more on ham, cheese and onions. I think it could be good as a less usual first course to a meal.
And......more fruit. The house on one side of me that is let out to all and sundry has a damson tree that is currently full of ripe fruit with no one interested in picking it. I can't just let it go to waste and yet don't want to contemplate yet more jam. I think I may pick it (I know the owner well enough to do that) and freeze it while I decide what to do with it. Maybe a fruit tart or two......
Monday, 21 September 2009
Fruit, Weather And A Dog
Fruit Galore
Two weeks ago I went with some friends to help a local small-holder harvest his plums from around 60 plum trees. We picked just over 500kgs in the afternoon and, for our time, got back about 80Kgsand some aching limbs. We were also royally entertained for an hour by the small-holder with aperos that were home-made. There was a fad in the 1970s in England to make your own beer and wine; I remember Boots having a whole department selling the kits and cans of grape juice of various sorts. However, rising wages and reducing booze prices, plus the efforts of Camra and new world wines, knocked this little home industry on the head. And, given that good if unsensational wine is cheap in France relative to the UK, I was surprised that the French would try any home-made stuff. But, it appears, they do; and it can be good as an aperitif rather than as a wine to go with a meal.
Afterwards, I took my two cases of plums home and shared them with the neighbours and the Monday evening pizza crowd. The remainder have since been transformed into jars of jam and chutney. I hadn't intended making plum jam but the chutney was always on the agenda. Many years ago in England my mother had wanted to make chutney and dredged up a recipe from a 1940s edition of Good Housekeeping called Old Dower House chutney. We found that, by doubling the amount of spices recommended, we had a very good chutney. As a base it has plums, apples, tomatoes and onions, all in plentiful supply here in autumn. And the small-holder let me pick a couple of handfuls of apples. All that, plus brown sugar, vinegar and plentiful spices (cloves, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, chili and garlic) makes a great chutney. Of which I now have very many jars to give away when invited out and, of course, to eat myself. I know from experience in England that this chutney keeps for 2-3 years (at least) and even gets better the longer it is kept.
And............the local man who sells his produce on the car park wall opposite the Mairie had a notice offering tomatoes, olives and figs today, all at more than reasonable prices. He had, however, run out of figs when I got to him but promised more for Wednesday. So I shall be there on Wednesday. At the supermarket right now they are selling for over 4 euros per kilo, the market not yet being in full flood. If I can get them for less than half of that then the planned fig jam will be on the way.
Weather and Plants
I was very abstemious this time when going back to see my mother in England and came back with only one clematis (Bill Mckenzie) and one succulent (plus, admittedly, a few bags of bulbs). The former are planted already; I need to think about the latter. I was going to plant some of the bulbs in my pots hanging from the balcony but am a bit worried about what winter and spring winds might do to them. A friend from England should be coming out to see me this autumn so I think I may ask her to bring me some bulbs of miniature daffodils/narcissi and plant those in the pots on the balcony.
The weather here has been much as in southern England over the past 2-3 weeks although slightly warmer here; overcast at times, raining at times but with sunny periods. A bit like classic April weather in England. Here, however, the remnants of summer should hang on for a bit longer so we are due for a spell of better weather to come. Whether we get it or not is another matter. Today, anyway, I was able to resume playing boules and didn't play badly.
And A Dog....................
Daniel has gone off on an assignment to La Réunion for ten days and left the care of his dog, Gillette, to myself and various friends. I feel slightly guilty about not saying I would have Gillette with me all the time, although Daniel didn't ask that. He had already arranged with Jean-Marie to walk Gillette in the morning, with Michelline to let it out at midday and asked me simply to feed her in the evening, which I am doing. She seems quite happy with that and, even though when I feed her I stay around for a time so that she can roam the garden, she seems content to return to “captivity” within the house before I leave. So I don't feel too bad about it; but I do wonder.
Two weeks ago I went with some friends to help a local small-holder harvest his plums from around 60 plum trees. We picked just over 500kgs in the afternoon and, for our time, got back about 80Kgsand some aching limbs. We were also royally entertained for an hour by the small-holder with aperos that were home-made. There was a fad in the 1970s in England to make your own beer and wine; I remember Boots having a whole department selling the kits and cans of grape juice of various sorts. However, rising wages and reducing booze prices, plus the efforts of Camra and new world wines, knocked this little home industry on the head. And, given that good if unsensational wine is cheap in France relative to the UK, I was surprised that the French would try any home-made stuff. But, it appears, they do; and it can be good as an aperitif rather than as a wine to go with a meal.
Afterwards, I took my two cases of plums home and shared them with the neighbours and the Monday evening pizza crowd. The remainder have since been transformed into jars of jam and chutney. I hadn't intended making plum jam but the chutney was always on the agenda. Many years ago in England my mother had wanted to make chutney and dredged up a recipe from a 1940s edition of Good Housekeeping called Old Dower House chutney. We found that, by doubling the amount of spices recommended, we had a very good chutney. As a base it has plums, apples, tomatoes and onions, all in plentiful supply here in autumn. And the small-holder let me pick a couple of handfuls of apples. All that, plus brown sugar, vinegar and plentiful spices (cloves, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, chili and garlic) makes a great chutney. Of which I now have very many jars to give away when invited out and, of course, to eat myself. I know from experience in England that this chutney keeps for 2-3 years (at least) and even gets better the longer it is kept.
And............the local man who sells his produce on the car park wall opposite the Mairie had a notice offering tomatoes, olives and figs today, all at more than reasonable prices. He had, however, run out of figs when I got to him but promised more for Wednesday. So I shall be there on Wednesday. At the supermarket right now they are selling for over 4 euros per kilo, the market not yet being in full flood. If I can get them for less than half of that then the planned fig jam will be on the way.
Weather and Plants
I was very abstemious this time when going back to see my mother in England and came back with only one clematis (Bill Mckenzie) and one succulent (plus, admittedly, a few bags of bulbs). The former are planted already; I need to think about the latter. I was going to plant some of the bulbs in my pots hanging from the balcony but am a bit worried about what winter and spring winds might do to them. A friend from England should be coming out to see me this autumn so I think I may ask her to bring me some bulbs of miniature daffodils/narcissi and plant those in the pots on the balcony.
The weather here has been much as in southern England over the past 2-3 weeks although slightly warmer here; overcast at times, raining at times but with sunny periods. A bit like classic April weather in England. Here, however, the remnants of summer should hang on for a bit longer so we are due for a spell of better weather to come. Whether we get it or not is another matter. Today, anyway, I was able to resume playing boules and didn't play badly.
And A Dog....................
Daniel has gone off on an assignment to La Réunion for ten days and left the care of his dog, Gillette, to myself and various friends. I feel slightly guilty about not saying I would have Gillette with me all the time, although Daniel didn't ask that. He had already arranged with Jean-Marie to walk Gillette in the morning, with Michelline to let it out at midday and asked me simply to feed her in the evening, which I am doing. She seems quite happy with that and, even though when I feed her I stay around for a time so that she can roam the garden, she seems content to return to “captivity” within the house before I leave. So I don't feel too bad about it; but I do wonder.
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