A Weekend in Provence

  Not far from the city of Toulon, about an hour west of Nice,  a group of French ladies meets up every week to improve their English. Long story short, some of us here in Léran had them and, in some cases, their husbands here to stay with us for a weekend in March. Entente cordiale in action. A terrific opportunity for all of us to get to grips with the others' language.
   Now it was our turn.

    Setting off around 9:30 a.m., three carloads of us English speakers met up for a seafood lunch in Sète, a port town famed for its moules and oysters.

   My entrée--soupe de poissons with its classic accompaniments of toasted baguette, rouille (a fiery mayonnaise) and grated cheese. Perfumed with anis, the soup is made from tiny fish cooked together and pushed through a sieve. I've never been sure if there's a right way and wrong way to eat it but what I do is smear rouille on the toasts, sprinkle with cheese and float these little "boats" on the soup. Moules frites for the main course of course...

    Our meeting-place was an ancient olive grove..

 ...where our French hosts were waiting ready to pour tea or rosé and hand us small bouquets of lavender.

    Serious eating began a couple of hours later. Those two platters of fresh vegetables are for dipping in anchoïade--a Provençal spread that's heaven for serious anchovy-lovers.

    A pot-luck dinner out on the terrace...

  Here's Annick who, with her husband Jean-Claude, hosted us for the weekend.

    And here they are dancing under an olive tree.

Mandolin, accordion and guitar music took us into the wee hours.

 The view we woke up to the following morning. Only five hours from where we live but a dramatically different landscape. Olives, almonds and pomegranates all flourish locally.

 Off we set for a picnic at the beach. October, and our group had it to themselves.

 It was warm enough to sunbathe or swim. A perfect place for snoozing, skipping stones across the water, paddling...

    That evening we got together for dinner at a little restaurant called Le Pagnol, named I imagine after Marcel Pagnol (who wrote Jean de Florette, Manon des Sources, and practically every other book you've heard of that's set in Provence).
    Jean-Claude gave me his recipe for aioli--the garlicky "butter" of Provence. "How many cloves do you use?" I asked him. "Le maximum," he replied.

    We'd said our goodbyes to Jean-Claude the night before. He was off hiking early on Sunday morning. Annick drove us down the hill for un petit tour of their little village of Solliès-Toucas.

    Judging from this old postcard, it hasn't changed much over the years. Here's how it was back in the day...

   And here's what it looks like now.

   Off into the hills to fill our pockets with wild thyme (much stronger than any I'd smelled before) and these juniper berries. Annick says she adds them to her daubes. I'll do that this winter, their fragrance bringing back memories of that bright Sunday morning in Provence.

Comfort Food Sunday Lunch

   It was cold enough to light the fire last night and, again, this morning. So obviously a salad, however large, wasn't going to hit the spot. Something cosy was called for, for lunch.
    Winging it, I sliced a container of brown mushrooms, and put some dried ceps to soak in warm water. Next, I melted a large lump of butter in a frying pan, and threw in the fresh mushrooms and a chopped green onion. Lid on, maybe 20 minutes over very low heat.
    Saving the juice, I drained the ceps (through a fine-mesh tea strainer--those little fungi can be gritty), chopped them coarsely and added them to the mushroom mixture along with their juice. In went a squishy clove of roasted garlic--a fridge staple now I've discovered that, wrapped in foil, a head will keep for several weeks. In fact, I bake three or four at a time, usually throwing them in the oven together with the same number of foil-wrapped beetroot. No need to wash them as you're going to slide their skins off anyway.
     Cooked it down a little at the end so there was just enough juice to soak up. And that's what we ate: mushroom ragout, sliced tomato from the garden, toasted baguette. Sunday lunch taken care of.

Greens + Purples = Spring

This morning, Mirepoix market was bustling with people--and carpeted with vegetable plants. Herbs too. Basil, chives, savory, even occasionally coriander, parsley both curly and flat-leaved, it was all there. Here's a producer who specializes in tomato plants. From her and others, I've so far collected four varieties including Green Zebra and a black-red variety whose name I've forgotten. Meanwhile, growing in a small pot on the patio, much to my delight, are tiny plants that have sprouted from seeds that I saved from last summer. Not sure what kind that are but I know I salvaged them from an heirloom tomato so you can't fault their family background. 

   The lady in red is buying asparagus and baby purply-green artichokes. Right now, stalls are heaped 40 cm high with white and green asparagus. You can buy thin, medium or thick or odds and ends to make soup or risotto with. If you love to cook, this is an inspiring time of year.

   We came home laden and I've just now taken a break from preparing the veggies for pasta primavera, a dish that'll use some of the produce we bought. Skinny purply-tipped asparagus, beautiful, beautiful young sweet purple-striped garlic, parsley...The most labour-intensive chore is shelling the broad beans. After you've podded them, you toss them in a pot of boiling water f0r 30 seconds, then pop each one out of its skin.