The definition of take-out food in Paris.

   A five-hour lunch today with friends who fly back to Canada tomorrow. This meant that, as well as sending us away with a bag full of cheeses, we had to help them finish up all their wine buys. Like us, they had rented a little apartment but, even though we all love to eat, we don't want to spend valuable Paris time cooking.

   What they had done was raid a traiteur for such treats as eggs wrapped in ham and smoked salmon, a glorious crab and grapefruit salad, a pâté seamed with foie gras and other totally delicious things. We cut the pastries into four so each of us could try them all.

The First Night in Paris

   Six a.m., the alarm clock went off. Two hours later, we were on the train from Pamiers to Toulouse and, almost immediately (nice connection) on the TGV to Bordeaux and then to Paris which put us into Gare Montparnasse around 3 p.m., a little late due to a small delay in Bordeaux. 

   You would think that Gare Montparnasse and the Montparnasse metro station are minutes from each other but they're not. A few visits ago, I clocked the walk between the two at 25 minutes. So we took a taxi. 

   Now, we're comfortably settled into our usual little studio apartment on Ile St. Louis. We're at the back of the building so it's completely quiet. The photo on the left is the little courtyard we walk across, which is dense with pots of greenery that make us realize how small a pot you need to grow quite large plants.

    We've picked up food for tonight, half a roast chicken with chicken-juice-impregnated potatoes, some artichokes in vinaigrette, mesclun...we've done a basic stock up from the little supermarket on Rue de Rivoli.

Moving fruit bushes to their new home

    My eyes are closing after a long day but I did want to post this gorgeous photo of red currants. Our bush is dripping with them. Jewel-like, scarlet, all I hope is that I can pick them before the birds move in. 

     Elsewhere in the garden are a gooseberry bush, a raspberry bush and what may, or may not, be a blackberry cane or two. At one time this was an enormous bush but, when it only produced about six berries last season, I brought out the loppers. The same happened to an apricot tree: four apricots, all of which fell on the ground. Because it has yet to produce a single bud, let alone a big white waxy flower, a magnolia tree is also currently on the botanical equivalent of Death Row.

     Last year, what with all the renos going on inside, the garden played second fiddle. I stuck things in where there was clear ground. A friend, who knows way more than I do about gardening, pointed out that the rhubarb was in the wrong place. I pointed out that I'd read that rhubarb were like French tenants. Once they were in a spot, they were there for life. She pointed out that if the rhubarb was in the wrong spot anyway, what did I have to lose. 

    So, this afternoon, I dug a semicircular-ish bed which, more or less, mirrors the semicircular-ish bed on the other side of the path. Into this, probably tomorrow, will go the rhubarb, the raspberry, the gooseberry and what may, or may not, be the blackberry. Stay tuned.

    

Easiest Summer Dessert Ever

   This is assuming that you can get your hands on a tub of crème fraîche--and I'm talking about the super-strength 30 percent variety not low-fat (what's the point of low-fat anything? Just eat less of the real stuff). After that, all you need are fresh glistening strawberries and--we've tried both on recent nights--finely chopped hazelnuts or praline powder, both of which I can buy at local supermarkets.

   I hardly need to explain the technique. Dip strawberry in crème, then dip in solids. Repeat until strawberries are gone. That dark slick on the plate? That's a scoop of devilishly dark chocolate ice cream. When it comes to dessert, I always believe in gilding the lily.

Using up leftover duck confit

   Two legs of duck confit left from various recent meals. Four of us for lunch. Some leftover cooked potatoes too. 

    First, I fried the chunks of potato in duck fat, along with two chopped green onions. Then I stripped the duck meat off the bones and chopped it into small pieces. That got added to the pan and heated through. 

    Finally I made a bed of frisée, tossed it with vinaigrette, spooned the warm duck mixture on top, and tossed it all again. Chopped parsley. Chunks of baguette. Red wine...

    I've worked the same trick with leftover roast pork too, warming it and potatoes through in leftover jus

Three Cathar Castles in One Day.

Puilaurens from a distance.

And with the zoom lens.

Quéribus. Keep in mind that by now we've already climbed hundreds of metres up a switchback road.

Peyrepetuse from the car park--again after talking a twisting climbing road.

Peyrepetuse from the top. The fields in the distance give you some idea of how high up this is.

     Friends, first-timers in the region, have been staying with us. Not that we really needed excuses to abandon the gardening and house-cleaning that we should be doing right now (I keep thinking of that old French verb, aranteler, that means "to sweep away spiders' webs") so that we could show them what's known around here as "Cathar country".

     Even though we've driven it dozens of times, this route through limestone chasms into wine country still knocks me sideways. 

     First stop was so we could take a look--and photos of--the chateau of Puilaurens. And here I bring out the guidebook to be sure I've got all the facts right. Built as a fortress, it eventually became a prison before beginning its long slide into ruin in the 17th century. As Cathar castles go, it's still in fairly good condition. One we've yet to climb...

     Further along the road, beyond the Aude gorge, where the land widens into a broad vine-filled valley, Quéribus seems impossibly high. You can't begin to imagine how anyone could climb that crag, let alone conquer it. Not surprisingly, this was the last Cathar fortress to fall to the crusaders in 1255. I've ascended it before and, wearing flimsy sandals, wasn't about to do it again. 

      Not far away, Peyrepetuse looks massive, even from a distance but it had surrendered in 1240. I didn't climb that one either but hung around at the base, as I had at Quéribus, looking at all the wild flowers (post to come). 

Elderflower season = cordial

   Elderflowers flourish around here. For weeks now, I've been watching for the tell-tale creamy "plates" that sit like so many flying saucers in the elder trees.

    This year, I managed to coordinate the buying of the sugar and the finding of the citric acid, brought over from the UK by a friend (who later said she wondered what would have happened if security had come on all this white powder in her luggage). 

    Apart from that all you need are the elderflowers, oranges, lemons and a large pot. Chunk the fruit, add the flowers, sprinkle with citric acid and immediately pour on the sugar syrup you have simmering on the stove. Cover and leave in the fridge for four days, then strain and bottle. It's sharp, musky, and lovely with plain water, fizzy water or, as we found out last night, blanquette de Limoux. Next, gin. 

Not out of focus. The heat from the boiling syrup steamed up the lens.