Frostiness in Léran

    So, it's such a gorgeous morning that, after I'd swung by the mairie, and dropped into the market (pains aux raisins all sold out. Desolé,) I wandered down to the river....

   Frost on the bushes and trees, sequins on the water...sparkle, sparkle.

  
   Nature can really outdo most Christmas decorations. Check out these leaves, each one outlined in white. Beyond, those hedges mark what was once the Duke of Mirepoix's potager. Sheep graze there now, and occasionally a donkey. Those dark shapes in the trees in the middle are mistletoe, which grows everywhere around here.

Frosty morning in France

     Today's date, I just realized, is 12/12/12
     That's the last of the sequence that launched 11 years ago with 01/01/01. There won't be another one for 89 years--so make the most of it. Write cheques, or letters, or the first page of a novel...
     In the meantime, here's what we've woken up to. Frost and sunshine.
     All that white stuff reminds me I'd better go and get out the icing pump to add eyes and noses to the gingerbread men I've made for tonight's carol concert.

Léran's new village library.

   One of the differences between France and North America is its sheer numbers of bookshops. Mirepoix (population around 4,000) has a good independently run one on the main square. Even the nearby SuperU has a commendable book selection. Pamiers--four times as large--has three bookshops that I know of. The departmental capital, Foix, a town of around 10,000, has the huge Majuscule store--one of a chain--and a couple more. And on it goes.... 

   And libraries are everywhere.

   (Drifting off-topic for a moment. You would think that librairie is French for "library." It's not. A librairie is a bookshop. A library, as we know it, is called a bibliothèque.)

   For the past several months, work has been underway on Léran's new library, which now occupies a brand-new space above the former mairie. 

   Some days ago, invitations were hand-delivered to all residents, with a request to respond if we were attending. 

   Official red-white-and-blue ribbon-cutting by our mayor, Henri Barrou, took place around 5:30 p.m., and the crowd and the queue outside all ascended the brand-new flight of stairs into the new, bright space. It's terrific with upbeat orange walls, lots of seating and books for little kids, and a collection of fiction and non-fiction that I can't wait to get my teeth into, metaphorically speaking.

   Our next-door neighbour, David Hilton (of www.davidhiltontableware.co.uk/) created the official signage.

   That's our mayor giving an official welcome. Local and regional representatives, who also spoke, consistently referred to his tenacité in getting this vastly improved library up and running. Yay, Henri!

       Over to the Salle des Tilleuls for cork-popping, a spread of charcuterie, and a story-telling performance.

Tapas night chez nous...

   I'm so relieved. We had a serious tapas night back in the summer and I really thought I'd posted about it, but no, which means I can now.

    But first a short digression.

    One of these days, I'm going to write a doctorate length paper on food and hospitality. Hear me out, this may be a bit of a ramble.

    Some years ago, we were lucky enough to be semi-adopted by some friends from Crete who then lived in Vancouver. We visited Crete twice and, on each occasion, I became spellbound by the ease and simplicity with which people there entertained. What it came down to was this: a number of dishes meant for sharing. Serving temperature not too critical. Emphasis on simple ingredients and ballsy flavours. Lots of wine. All ages squashed around the table. And, where possible, live music.

     It's a formula that still works and I'll take it over any chef-ly multi-course menu, any time.

     So, one warm and torpid evening this past summer, we invited a bunch of friends over for tapas and it turned out to be one of the easiest dinners I'd ever cooked. I'm not saying that some chopping and sizzling didn't go on that afternoon but by the time everyone was settled out on the terrace with the first of many glasses of rosé, kitchen work was essentially done.

     Gleaming black olives, and a couple of cold (or rather room temperature) tapas as they arrived. More cold tapas as the hours went by. A couple of quick trips into the kitchen to 1) put patatas bravas in the oven and 2) to pull them out again. Fruit for dessert, I think. Can't really remember.

    A couple of days ago, I did a scaled-down version of this. Dishes so simple that you really should think about adding them to your repertoire. I've posted about tortilla before. I would have made one of those but I was short of eggs.

    What I did have were lovely shiny red peppers:

   Here they are ready to go under the grill till they blister and turn black in places. Out of the oven, in to a bowl, on with the plastic wrap...Meanwhile, I sliced plenty of garlic, added fresh thyme, a bay leaf, then made a dressing with olive oil, wine vinegar and paprika. Skin the peppers and slice into strips about as wide as a pencil. Toss with everything else, and chill. Bring to room temperature a few hours before you start eating.

    There they are on the left. On the right is some country ham. Bread in the basket. Wine in the glass. Tea-light in the holder.

     The haricots verts dish on the left is so insanely easy that I'm almost embarrassed to write about it. Cut the stem end off the beans, and cut the beans in half. Scissors are easier than a knife. Cook in boiling water for seven minutes, just till crisp. Drain, and run cold water over them. Meanwhile...sizzle lots of chopped garlic in olive oil. Throw in the beans and stir them around so they soak up the oil. Eat at room temperature.
     On the right, a chopped onion, and more garlic, softened in olive oil. Quartered chorizo added, and cooked a bit more. A jar or a can of drained chickpeas added. Toss the mixture around and then add plenty of chopped parsley. Room temperature.
     With all of these recipes, ingredient quantities really aren't that important. Just make considerably more than you think you need.
     PS: It's just occurred to me that this is a fantastic way to feed a table-ful if it includes vegetarians.

Another restaurant find in Foix,

     The Pyrenees glistened as though their peaks and slopes had been dipped in sugar, and a herd of cows ambled in leisurely fashion ahead of us on the main road as a friend and I headed for Foix in search of mince-pies. The quest was---dreadful pun alert--dried-fruitless (they won't be around for another ten days). Never mind. We did have time for a stationery trawl at Majuscule. Better still, we came on another discovery for the restaurant list, this one focussing on tapas. 

     Even though we're within an olive's throw of the Spanish border, surprisingly few tapas bars have set up shop locally. La Bodequita (25, rue des Marchands) only opened a couple of months ago. What caught our eye initially was the table outside set with a cheery yellow-and-white gingham cloth, with a crate of kakis--bright orange persimmons--set on it, free for the taking.

    

     

    Inside, a large blackboard spelled out so many choices that I envied the party sitting under it who could order with abandon.

      Albondigas, little cod cakes, escalivada-- Catalan grilled vegetables--I wanted the lot. Can you make out the prices? Apart from push-the-boat-out prawns à la plancha at 8.50, most hover around the 4 euro mark....

     While we debated, the server brought us a plate of pan con tomate on the house. Simple as anything, it's foundation is bread rubbed with garlic and tomato.

    Any time I can get my hands on patatas bravas...These were blisteringly hot, with a spicy kick to their sauce.

    Calamar rings almost as big as bracelets, the batter light, the dish straight from the fryer. Our server was surprised we could only handle two tapas between us--most people order four, she said. I will too, next time because everything that was being carted out to neighbouring tables looked awfully good.
  

     So did the plats du jour: salmon with mustard and fried potatoes, and a lasagne of pumpkin and blue cheese with a salad, 8.50 euros including a glass of wine and a coffee.
    Nice people, nice atmosphere. I can't remember the hours it's open--most lunchtimes and some evenings--but here's the phone number if you're in the 'hood and want to call and find out: 05-61-01-83-65.

An unexpectedly good lunch in Foix

   A week or so back, we needed to buy art and crafts supplies in Foix, which called for a trip to Majuscule, my favourite stationery shop in this part of France. We also had to be somewhere near Foix at 2:15 p.m., so doing the math meant there were two hours to occupy in the middle of the day because, around here, almost all shops close at noon.  (On the bright side, parking is almost always free between noon and 2 p.m. and you generally get 15 minutes thrown in free as well.)

   Sooooo.... what you do is have lunch. Not a swift trip into the sandwich shop for a bacon-lettuce-and-tomato on wholewheat but a proper sit-down meal in like-minded company.

   It's a while since we last ate at Le Jeu de l'Oie (named after a kids' game) but I think they've changed ownership. Where meals here were always reliable, they weren't especially surprising. You did sort of know that the entrée would always be pâté or something else, and I could recite the dessert choice from memory.
  When I say this was "unexpectedly good"(see title of this post) I don't just mean for what we paid. Not that entrée and plat du jour or plat du jour and dessert with a glass of wine or a coffee, and the usual basket of bread, all for 9.80 euros isn't a bargain--and that's including taxes and tip.
   What was unusual was the care and thought that had gone into it.

   In the open kitchen, we could see two young guys working seamlessly and at ferocious speed, with the occasional blaze of flame from the stove. It was incredible teamwork that was a joy to watch. 

   Medals all round too for the wisely-chosen menu du jour. They served a single entrée--potage Crécy--vegetable soup, which was clever. You could make it ahead, reheat it, and garnish, as needed.

    Two plats to choose from, one of them tartiflette with a little salad. The ingredients in tartiflette are Reblochon cheese, bacon, potatoes and onions. Does that sound good? It is. Delicious, satisfying, tummy-comforting and available everywhere, including at local markets where you can buy it dolloped into take-away containers. 

   So you could pick familiar comfort food, or...

    I'm a huge fan of squid and its relatives. On the menu today were tiny seiches, cooked for just the right amount of time so that they cut like butter. These were seriously good, and topped with what the menu said was "persillade". Normally this translates as a mixture of garlic, parsley and olive oil. This version was several rungs up the culinary ladder with the addition of tiny cubes of courgette and red pepper. Linguini dressed with pesto on the side. All in all, very satisfying.

 

    For dessert, there was familiar tarte tatin or a milles feuilles, the pastry topped with a commendably crackly caramel, and sandwiching a mousse combining whipped cream and puréed starfruit. We could see the one serveuse pause briefly between kitchen and table to scribble some raspberry coulis on the plate. She was also taking care of tables one floor above too, racing up the stairs with three plates balanced on her arm.
    Meanwhile, the little room hummed happily with people eating, drinking and talking. Judging from all the bisou-ing going on, all are regulars. You can see why.
  
  

How to Make Christmas Shortbread Mice.

     "Cute" doesn't begin to describe these festive little creatures and "onerous" doesn't start to describe the work involved in making them. Do you really want to hear the entire step-by-step process? Right, you asked for it.

      The night before.... mouse-making, the recipe told me to make my shortbread dough. Easy-peasy. Whack some butter into the Cuisinart, add flour, vanilla and egg, and it all turns into a single perfect ball of dough, ready to rest in the fridge overnight. 

      Except that it didn't. 

     It was more like fine shingle on a Norfolk beach. Gravelly anyway. My fault entirely. Mea culpa, ten times over. I'd only seen the word "butter" in the recipe, and not the term "softened." This had come straight from the freezer. Thinking fast but not very sensibly, I beat up another egg, and threw about half of it into the dough, which appeared to help. 

     Except that it didn't, as I found out the next evening. 

     Initially the dough felt alright. Though a bit sticky, I could still shape it into mice. I indented the eye sockets, stuck in two delicate pieces of almond for ears, did that 20 times and placed the baking sheet in the preheated oven.  

      And....as I watched....as the warmth hit them....they slowly spread into primeval flattish shapes. Mouse roadkill. 

      We ate them. I didn't bother with applying ickle chocolate eyes and noses (melt a chocolate bar; use a toothpick) but I did use the first batch to practice my tail insertion skills. (Poke skewer up mouse's derrière while it's still warm and insert length of licorice.)

      Made with properly softened butter, the second batch went better...

    Still not sure if I'd make them again. But it's seeded the idea for a separate post on how the world is divided into those who bake and those who don't.