A look back at 2011...January to May

Everyone does it at this time of year, looks back at what they got up to and--in my case--uses the first post of 2012 to share the crème de la crème of memories, not to mention photos that I forgot to include at the time. Settle back, glass of wine or cup of coffee at hand, and enjoy.
January
Midnight on December 31, 2010 found Peter, Kate and I in Chiang Mai, along with my long-lost cousin and his wife (who now live in Thailand) releasing paper lanterns into the night sky and watching a magnificent fireworks display. 

Back in Bangkok, I interviewed Australian chef and ultimate Thai food expert, David Thompson. Here's just part of the extraordinary dinner he cooked for us at Nahm. http://www.metropolitan.bangkok.como.bz/eat-and-drink/nahm

After a return trip to Chiang Mai, a city I have to be dragged away from, we flew to Luang Prabang in Laos. After the kind of taxi ride that takes as many hours to describe as it did in reality (and in reality, it should have taken half an hour) we arrived at the Golden Lotus Guesthouse. It's located on a narrow laneway and, the next morning, when I went outside, I was met by the vivid colours, smells and chat of a  street market.

More evenings than not, we'd head down to one of the many restaurants along the Mekong, order a couple of beers and watch the sun go down.

February

This year's wanderings around Asia ended back in Thailand and a week or so on Koh Chang--Elephant Island.

Fresh seafood and noodles at a little café right on the beach.

The view from our deck along the lagoon--a boardwalk leads to the beach, which you can just make out in the distance.

On Valentine's Day, we tuktuk-ed to the end of the island, to where the fishing boats come in...

March
Back in Léran, I began my annual knock-down-drag-out fight against the weeds--except that, rather than cursing them, I now gather dandelion leaves for salads.

One by one, all the daffodils I'd planted burst in bloom...

...while violets showed up of their own accord.

April

One sign of warming weather was the annual deluge of asparagus at the market.

Meanwhile, back in the garden, the Angelique tulips (no prizes for guessing why I chose those) burst into flower.

Kate came to visit, and we threw a huge party to celebrate Peter's birthday.

And Léran had the first of its annual vide-greniers.

May 
Our walking group, the Lérandonneurs ventured across the countryside (and through the mud).

 The garden came into bloom, the perennial herbs (at the bottom of the photo) pushed up new shoots and the roquette/rocket/arugula seeded itself all over the place. A note about those white dots to the right of the path. These are the tops of concrete posts which once marked the boundary between the two gardens--our house was originally two houses. I dug down about 40 cm and, as far as I could make out, the posts went much deeper. A friend had a go. Same thing. Eventually, he bashed the tops in with a hammer, we covered them with earth and there they will remain.

 Loads and loads of geraniums go in the window boxes, and in pots on the terrace. As well as buying new plants each season, I've also managed to save geraniums through the winter by keeping them in the attic and treating them with benign neglect.

This is not a shot from an Ingmar Bergman film but some of us trudging past the cross just outside the village....

...to where we planted dozens of rosemary, thyme, sage and other plants. Probably the only water from a watering can that they will ever get...The water here came from garbage cans-ful driven up in the back of someone's truck.

 Another walk, this time to learn about--and draw--the landscape.

 Meadows crammed with a wild flowers, a picnic lunch under a tree, and a view of the village of Lieurac to go with it.

Good friends came to stay. Here's a photo of one of many, many, many meals we ate outdoors over the course of the year. The main terrace faces north so, however hot the day is, we stay relatively cool. The smaller terrace, just visible midway at the top of the shot, gets sun year-round. As the seasons move towards winter and the sunlight moves down the garden, we move a little table out on to the lawn.

Love the savage red of poppies.

 Lettuce seedlings all ready to plant in the garden. I buy them half a dozen at a time, and hope that we can eat them before the snails and slugs do.

The annual rose festival in the village of Camon about 15 minutes away. Every single house here has a rose bush planted beside its front door.

We'll travel hours for a festival. This one, in the Pyrenean town of Céret, celebrates cherries. In fact, Céret is famous France-wide for its cerises. We ate in this lovely little square both nights we were here.

Crimson, blushing pink, scarlet, yellow, we gorged on cherries.

Stalls lined the main streets. A merry-go-round kept the kids happy. Dancers danced. Singers sang. We watched a calligraphist at work, ate an impromptu lunch of goat's cheese and fruit, and eventually drove home.

Christmas in Mirepoix

     We plan our weeks around trips to our two favourite local markets and we're especially delighted when a visit from friends includes a Monday--and we can take them over to Mirepoix.
    Because last Monday was the day after Christmas, stalls were fewer than usual but there was still plenty going on, the cafés were filled with people warming up with crèmes or hot chocolate, and inside the cathedral...

    The sun is low in the sky at this time of year, low enough to shine through the stained glass and fling all those ruby reds, sapphires, greens, amethysts and other gum-drop colours on to the ancient stone. God's Christmas slide slow. The effect was quite magical.

Christmas Wrap-Up

       The carcass of the chapon is in the big green enamel pot burbling away into soup. The Brussels sprouts, parsnip purée, roast potatoes, stuffing--the chopped celery and onion mixed in with lots of leftover baguette plus sage, rosemary and thyme from the garden--and gravy are all gone, reheated for a last dinner with Karen and Rob, our friends who stayed here for Christmas. The last of the bûche de Noël went while we watched Love, Actually, an annual tradition guaranteed to leave you teary-eyed.

     Here we are getting into the spirit on Christmas morning with glasses of bubbly before we sat down to scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. 

      Brunch over, it was time to start peeling, chopping and mixing--and discovering "oh, ****, the chapon still has its head on." I hadn't thought to check but at least the innards were gone. What we needed was a chicken guillotine. Instead, Peter used our huge Asian cleaver. Stuffing into the bird. Bird into the oven. It all gradually came together. 

      More friends arrived at 3:30 p..m., the foie gras and more bubbly came out, and then the bird and all its trimmings. 

    Next came cheeses from Spain, and some considerable time later found Isabelle in the kitchen adding a little dusting of icing sugar to the individual desserts she'd made.

   In fact, she'd brought along two desserts. Even though we didn't think we could, we all managed a slice of her luscious chestnut-cream bûche de Noël. 

   Most friends left a bit after 11 p.m. and then the rest of us snuggled in to the sofas, threw another log on the fire, and caught the AbFab Christmas special on BBC. 

...And it's almost Christmas....

    I'm not going to waffle on about the long silence between blog posts. Just know that my New Year's resolution is to post more often. It's late afternoon on Christmas Eve, there's a cup of tea at hand, a nap in the offing, friends coming for aperos at 6:30 p.m., a table booked at the café for an hour later--and all the ingredients for the Christmas feast in the fridge, or in the making.
    I'm in the middle of foie gras preparation. It's been deveined, sprinkled with salt, pepper and some of Alain's legendary eau de vie. This morning, I wrapped it into a roll, and wrapped it in plastic. Next, I'll wrap it in cloth, poach it for 90 seconds, chill it, and rewrap it even more tightly with a second layer of cloth. This is the "torchon" method as spelled out by Michael Ruhlman. http://ruhlman.com/2011/05/how-to-make-torchon-recipe/
     Yesterday, we were on the road before 9 a.m. and at Lavelanet market soon after. What a magical drive there with thick mist covering the fields, and steaming away into invisibility as we watched.

   With the mist gone, the sky was as blue as heaven.
The town was bustling, everyone in a convivial mood as they went about collecting their Christmas orders. I'd ordered a chapon--a capon--from the butcher's so we picked that up first and took it back to the car after the moment of terror when the butcher ran his finger down the hand-written list of names and couldn't find mine...

A corner of the butcher's shop. Note the silver  Christmas candelabra on the counter, and the row of cups awarded to "best butcher..." on the top of the sausage display case. Carcasses hang behind the wooden doors to the left.

   Chapon out of the way, it was time to whizz down the length of the market to the halles--and my favourite produce stall.

    The family who run this have a farm about half an hour away. Everything they sell, they grow. Can you make out the bright pink and red stalks of the chard? We got through a few kilos of that at a meal with friends earlier this week.
    No chard needed today but Brussels sprouts, parsnips, parsley, carrots, leeks, shallots, onions and garlic...the bags were getting heavy by now. I walked back outside on this bitingly cold day, and spotted Peter queueing to buy oysters which, like foie gras, are traditional at Christmas.

  
    While he waits patiently, I want to tell you about the profusion of seafood at this time of year. Earlier this week, we drove over to Pamiers where, among other places, we trawled the Carrefour supermarket. As well as the usual fish counter, pretty impressive at any time of year, there were two huge displays of oysters in wooden boxes, and a central table covered in seaweed, and heaped with live lobsters, crabs, langoustines, mussels and clams. (Next to it was a cooler the size of a bus filled with foie gras in various forms: pale beige lobes, vacuum-packed to be prepared at home, tins of different dimensions, slices...a colossal amount.)
    The other essentials in the Christmas triumvirate are champagne and Sauternes (or some other sweet wine) to sip with your foie gras.

     A bûche de Noël --a Christmas log--is the traditional dessert. So what's it to be? The Black Forest version? The "white lady" kind with vanilla and chocolate? Or a Norwegian omelette which, for reasons unknown, is the French name for Baked Alaska. Our friend Isabelle is bringing dessert so I can't tell you what we'll be eating....
    Merry Christmas to all--and to all a good night.

Vide grenier find spotted on TV!!

   Sometime this past summer, we spent a wonderful morning at the annual mega-vide-grenier in Fanjeaux, a hilltop village midway between Léran and Carcassonne. The best stall of all was a lady selling all kinds of linens and I spent a happy time, along with other bargain-hunters, rummaging through a giant mountain of them, all priced at a euro.
   But my prize find was folded neatly on her table where things climbed to astronomical prices--like five euros. Age unknown, this pure linen night-dress has the most beautiful hand-crocheted yoke. Last night, I spotted its twin on the BBC series Downton Abbey worn by the rather dreary Lavinia (spoiler alert: she dies of Spanish flu). Now I can date my purchase to around 1919.

Mine

Hers

Foie gras season is upon us...

     In addition to knitting patterns, "before" and "after" home decor stories and a beauty column--"oups, une ride!": "Oops, a wrinkle"--the November issue of Modes & Travaux also promises to deliver (in the largest type on the cover) recipes for jams, terrines and foie gras.
    To be honest, there are only two recipes for foie gras inside, one simply coated in salt, the other for foie gras poché au vin rouge. And the ingredients for that are in the photo. One vacuum-packed foie gras and one bottle of Côtes-du-Rhône, as specified by the recipe. It didn't say to wrap the foie gras in cheesecloth but I thought it might be a good idea. Finding it was a different matter. I eventually ended up with a sac à jambon--a ham bag. You can buy these anywhere at this time of year, also entire legs of pork at ridiculously cheap prices. I'm tempted, I'm tempted....
    I turned the gauze sac into a designer ham bag by cutting off one end and wrapping it tightly around the foie gras.  That was after I'd denervé-d it by letting it come to room temperature, feeling around inside it for anything vein-y and pulling it out with my treasured Spencer-Wells artery forceps (an insanely useful kitchen tool when you really need to get a grip).
    Once it had been very, very gently poached, the foie gras was left in the wine overnight. Not a pretty sight and the next morning, it looked so thoroughly disgusting that I started thinking about what else I could serve as a first course that night.
    Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I fished the foie gras out of its winy bath, pressed it hard on to paper towels, and repeated the process until most of the wine had gone. Then I left the foie gras to firm up in the fridge. In the end, it was delicious. Baguette and/or pain d'épices, and fig jam went with it, and glasses of rich amber Loupiac. Then we had salmon with lentils and leeks, various cheeses and a lemon and chocolate mousse. Let me know if you'd like the recipes for either and I'll post them.

Prizes for guessing what this is...

  Desolé for the long silence and a quick catch-up since my last post. We arrived back from Paris late on the Wednesday and my sister and her family arrived on the Friday at lunchtime for a few days stay. In between then and now, one of the things we've been doing is readying the house for the cooler weather. Our downstairs has two doors and one large window at the front (two doors because we live in what was originally two houses). The goal this year is to find or make thick curtains that will add to the visual coziness and keep the cold out. We do have shutters on one door and the window but you have to open both to open and close them. A drafty job.
  The previous owner left net curtains behind but they're decorative rather than functional. What I'm leaning towards are velvet curtains lined with fleece (not sheep's fleece but that faux stuff used to make sportswear). That way, we should be super snug.
  The wood-burning stove throws off an astonishing amount of heat. We buy our wood by the stere, the equivalent of one cubic metre, and have it cut in 50 cm lengths--the width of the stove. The house came equipped with a central heating system but we try to use it just as a back-up, oil prices being what they are.
  Seasonal cooking really starts to make sense at this time of year. Cassoulet, duck, pork belly, daubes, all those dishes you really don't want to think about in the summer but love to eat once the temperature drops.
  Vide greniers (attic-emptyings) continue well into the chilly weather. Léran had its own the other weekend, and here's my prize find.
   If you've been to our house, you know that it features more than its fair share of chipped French enamel. Coffee-pots, candlesticks, things for hanging drying cloths on, but we didn't own one of these

 Aren't those little birds adorable?  I was delighted to pick this up for a mere five euros. Anyone like to guess what it is?