A Truly Impressive Paella

Being geographically so close to Spain means this classic dish is sold at most local markets. Usually there are a couple of sellers at Mirepoix. This morning, one of them had outdone himself with enormously fat fleshy mussels carefully arranged to flaunt their plumpness. Interestingly, he also uses fillets of fish instead of the usual chicken legs.

Straw chapeaux

Another sure sign of summer are when straw hats alight alongside the usual cloth caps and berets on market stalls. To anyone over a certain age, France and a hat like this add up to wonderful chanteur Maurice Chevalier. Click and listen. This song of former lovers' memories is more autumnal than summery but the scene from the 1950s musical Gigi does take place at the seaside (and you do get two straw hats for the price of one). 

Hacking back the undergrowth on a Sunday morning

Recently, a note was dropped in our mailbox announcing a debroussaillage--a clearing of one of the main local walking and riding trails. Anyone interested in volunteering had to sign up by last Thursday so that the organizers would know how many to expect for lunch. 

  About 15 or 16 of us met up at 8:30 p.m. for coffee and croissants, then headed off in cars to the start of the trail. Electric saws, a wickedly sharp scythe, secateurs and, in my case, small clippers all removed and tidied up errant brambles, weeds and branches. 

   Passing through woods and beside meadows bursting with wild flowers, this is a gorgeous walk. Dense with purple clover, buttercups so glossy they look enamelled, tiny blue flowers, wild pink roses, small wild orchids and tall feathery grasses, these are fields straight from a medieval tapestry. Ivy stems as thick as my wrist clambered up trees. Caterpillars hung from invisible threads. Birds sang their hearts out.

   For the most part, the trail was easy going except for a little stream we had to cross by pole-vaulting. Apart from a break for soft drinks and biscuits, we kept going, until about 12:30 meeting up at 1 p.m. for lunch. 

   Salmon mousse with mayonnaise preceded chicken cooked in a blanquette de Limoux cream sauce, then cheese, then ice cream with strawberries and cream. We drank red wine, and finished with coffee before ambling home for a deep siesta.. 

   

Just one shelf in the kitchen

The two shelves either side of the stove have almost reached saturation point. Here's a section of the one on the left and here's what it holds. Left to right:

1) A tiny, tiny china figurine that was contained in the gateau du roi we ate at Christmas. Think of it the French version of the sixpence traditionally mixed into a Christmas pudding. You see a lot of these diminutive people for sale at flea markets.

2) A somewhat larger figure of a chef. This is actually a timer. 

3) One of many jugs--but here's the thing--still holding the bunch of now very dried mimosa I bought back in February.

4) A big fat blue teapot on loan until we come upon one that's just as big and attractive. 

5) A row of three china canisters for tea, sugar and coffee which, logically, is what's inside them.

6) Behind them is a 3-D map of our department, the Ariège. I have no idea why we bought this or what it's doing in the kitchen.

7) A very heavy pestle and mortar that I brought back from a trip to Borneo. 

8) A glimpse of the Bodum coffee maker. 

Petite sea shells

I am nuts about the tiny shellfish called tellines. You only see them occasionally and when you do, you pounce. We'd already planned to buy mussels from the mussel man who is always at the markets at Lavelanet and Mirepoix. He's a cheerful bearded m'sieu who provides "un bon kilo" for the price of an ordinary kilo (which has been three euros for two or three years now). He also sells oysters and, because it's now in season, asparagus making him the king of aphrodisiac foods. 

  Yesterday he was also selling tellines. Because they're pretty expensive, I only bought a few hundred grams. The original plan was to serve them as a first course but, in the end, it was simpler to cook the shellfish at the same time in two different pots. A glug of vermouth was all the tellines got. The moules had a hot bath in that plus chopped onion, garlic and tomato. Both got a sprinkle of fresh parsley as the finishing touch.

   Here's a shot of the tellines straight from the market, no two the same, and looking exactly like beach pebbles. The biggest are roughly the size of an almond in its shell. As you can see, they're considerably smaller than mussels. Their flesh is pink, a little salty and sweet and I could eat hundreds at a sitting. And have. 

First 2009 appearance of a summer stand-by

On average, we probably eat salade Niçoise once every ten days once the warm weather sets in.. Yesterday and today, it's been 26 degrees. Today was another day at Brico Depot. Those who really want to know the gory details, skip to the end of this post. 

   We left well before 9 a.m. for the drive to Carcassonne (which I'll rhapsodize about at some other time. Let's just say that today the vines are in new green leaf, savage yellow mustard is blooming in the fields and by the roadside and the first scarlet poppies are in flower).   

   Tonight's supper was salade niçoise. Put a pot of water on to boil. Add some quartered potatoes, red, white, doesn't matter. When the water comes to a simmer, throw in one egg per person, piercing the shell with a needle so it doesn't send out wisps of white. Add green beans if you have them. Or asparagus. Drain everything once it's cooked and let it cool. 

   Make a bed of lettuce. Upend a can of drained tuna at stage centre. Slice some red pepper, green onions and tomatoes. Those go on too. Shell and halve the eggs and splosh some mayonnaise on them topped with anchovy fillets. Strew everything else around the perimeter. Garnish photogenically with black olives. I always serve the vinaigrette on the side but it's up to you. Anyway, enjoy. All you need otherwise is bread, and maybe fruit and cheese for afters. 

   For those of you who hung in for the Brico Depot segment. We spent almost two hours there this week. I'd worked out that we needed two 10-litre cans of blanc cassé paint for my office, the landing, our bedroom and divers other places. Only problem: blanc cassé doesn't come in anything larger than a 2.5 litre can and a number of cans this small would be excruciatingly expensive. Together the paint-mixer lady and I figured that there was a custom colour that was pretty damned close (although we did only buy one ten-litre can to be on the safe side). Meanwhile Peter worked out which custom colour he wanted mixed for his studio walls. 

    And then the lights all went out which meant, of course, that the paint mixing machine wasn't working. 

   Eventually it did. Eventually we left with that colour, plus a terra cotta colour for the downstairs bathroom, and only had a minor glitch at the checkout when they refused to believe that we actually owned the Brico Depot carrybag we bought last week for 95 centimes... We also bought a new shower fitting for the downstairs bathroom, putty for the many windows that need replacing and a couple of paint rollers. And you thought it was all sitting in the sun sipping rosé. 

First Meal in the New House

Three plus hours of heavy duty gardening in the sun had made us all hungry. Here's what we ate: a tomato-and-goat-cheese tarte, another tarte, a leek one, made by a friend (who also contributed a really good cherry tarte. Another brought along a ginger cake. I'd rather fallen down in the dessert department so these were very, very welcome. All I had to do was bring out a jug of cream and a bowl of crème fraîche). 

   We also ate sausages--chipolatas and merguez--tabbouleh, green salad, cheeses and several metres of baguette. And there was a bit of wine. These are some of the empties leaving for the bottle bin.

   P.S. Such great people to share our first meal with in the new house. We now know that the new table can seat fourteen.