Four days on from the excitement of buying my first truffle and I still haven't really done anything with it. Well, I took a photo of it and sent it to Debrah and I cut into it, putting the larger piece into the freezer and the smaller piece in the fridge and the crumbs into my mouth, but I haven't cooked with it or eaten it with anything else. I might just buy a few small bottles, decant some decent olive oil into each and a small piece of truffle and that will be next years Christmas presents sorted. So, if you are reading this and you are nice to me this year, you know what to expect.
Last week I put in our final Ikea order for the rest of the shelving system for the office and utility room and for some furniture for the dining room. This week I have had a daily conversation with a charming but utterly useless assistant on the so called 'helpline' - so far they have promised much and delivered nothing; in fact they haven't as yet committed to deliver anything and my frustration is growing. i shall be back on the phone again first thing in the morning.
My frustration is nothing compared to the ordeal that Patrick is going through. Having successfully bid for the Irish Bar, it was subsequently discovered that the whole place had been cleaned out - fridges, glass washers, AC units, furniture, till, the lot. Absolutely no doubt as to who was involved in the robbery (slightly bitter ex owner?) but not sure anyone can prove it, so it all comes down to an insurance claim. French bureaucracy being a national institution and pastime, I can only see much work being created for the Mairie and the insurance company and the Gendarmerie and many apologies and shoulder shrugging and a very very slow resolution to the whole saga. Patrick wanted to be open at the very latest for St Patricks Day (naturally) but that could just be Irish mist.
I had dinner with Patrick the other night at a restaurant called 'Le Sixieme Sens' (sixth sense). He was slightly worried when I met him that he hadn't made a booking. I assured him that on a Tuesday in January we would be ok and so it turned out - we were the only people in the place. There were in fact more staff (4) than customers (2) which made us wonder how they make a profit and keep going at all. It didn't help that we only had a main course and a bottle of wine - no starter and no dessert, no aperitif and no digestif and no coffee. The food was excellent so it would be a real shame if it came to the worst for them, but I am sure they will be busier at the end of the week and further into the season.
Last night, Gary dropped in to borrow a book about the Cathars which he needed for reference for the film script he is writing. I love Gary to bits and have total respect for his amazing self-belief in everything he does. I really do hope that it results in a massively successful film. When he left, four hours after arriving (which is quite a long time just to pick up a book) we had drunk too much red wine and talked too much complete bollocks. C'est la vie et c'est Gary.
Debrah arrives tomorrow for the weekend - lots of box sorting to be done and people to meet and, hopefully, a bit of time to ourselves - after all, it's a quiet time of year.
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Sunday, 27 January 2008
My First Truffle
It's so long since I last posted here that I feel a bit ashamed of my lack of attention to my audience, which I notice from my statcounter, has diminished to absolutely zero - not really a surprise considering my neglect.
Well, no explanations given and no excuses - basically I've been a bit rubbish.
I came back last Sunday - yes, a whole week ago, - and sort of spent the week cooped up in the apartment doing all the little jobs that need finishing off (a bit of painting here and there, boxes that need emptying etc) as well as trying to get paid for the last four months of work I've done for my London job - problems, problems, - but there is light at the end of the tunnel.
The weather has been absolutely fantastic these last few days. It's January, so, of course, it's been a bit chilly in the morning and evening but in the middle of the day it has been quite lovely - so much so that you can notice the tingle on your face when you get home. That might be also to do with driving around with the roof down - heh, the sun is out - the roof is down.
Today, the sun shone and sparkled on the top of the snow covered Pyrenees. No matter how romantic or fabulous or fantastic that might sound, there is absolutely no substitute for seeing it. My camera failed to catch the glory and my words are nothing compared to the majesty of glimpsing the sun reflecting off the snowy peaks through the winter haze. It just has to be seen first hand.
Anyway, enough of that poetic twaddle - there was a village fete and truffle market taking place at Moussoullens today and I went along. In most respects it was the same as every French village fete, which is the same as every English village fete - full of the usual suspects.
The usual suspects in the Languedoc means plenty of wine tasting opportunities, today featuring mostly Cabardes wines, fresh oysters from Bouzigues, onions from Citou, roast chestnuts, local cheeses, foie gras, naturellement, and the local village vin chaud, soupa and sandwich outlets. 'Soupa" is neither English nor French nor Spanish but is, of course, soup and needs no further description than that but does explain the completely mixed up nature of the population round here - and the soup was delicious.
This would have been just another local village fete except that it was also one of the official truffle markets of the Aude, which means there was some ceremony involved and there was a serious side to the proceedings. As the time drew near to the 2.30pm official opening, a crowd started to gather around the designated area. This had just looked like a random space with a few trestle tables but suddenly it all became very serious. The area was roped off from us, the general public, whilst the 'negotiants' set out their wares - not exactly set out, there was still much secrecy - they had their scales for weighing and their wallets and purses and they all had bags and baskets that looked as if they were bulging with truffles but they were all still firmly shut tight.
Ten minutes to go and a very serious looking man with a very serious looking moustache started to walk around the table and one by one he spoke to each of the traders, examined their wares and allowed them to open their bag or basket and empty their little black prizes out into the full view of the public. I saw no money change hands and no paperwork of any sort so am still in the dark as to what went on. The surrounding crowd was by now four or five deep at the rope and standing on walls and climbing up surrounding buildings in the hope of getting a view. Despite the melee, there was an awed silence about the proceedings.
When the moustache had finished it's tour of the traders, it spoke some incomprehensible French/Occitan and then, at exactly 2,30pm, it whacked the table very loudly and, I can only presume because I didn't understand a word, announced the market open for business. At this point the ropes were pulled aside and small children risked being crushed as the crowd surged in on the tables and traders. Not wanting to feel left out I stood on a couple of toddlers myself and got stuck in to see what all the fuss was about.
There was a lot of sniffing. There was a lot of prodding. There was quite a lot of shoulder shrugging and many an 'Alors'. it was all very serious and it was difficult not to get caught up in it all.
So I am now the proud owner of a 20 gram black truffle that cost me 20 euros, which my French friends told me was a very good deal. The question is - What am I going to do with it?
Well, no explanations given and no excuses - basically I've been a bit rubbish.
I came back last Sunday - yes, a whole week ago, - and sort of spent the week cooped up in the apartment doing all the little jobs that need finishing off (a bit of painting here and there, boxes that need emptying etc) as well as trying to get paid for the last four months of work I've done for my London job - problems, problems, - but there is light at the end of the tunnel.
The weather has been absolutely fantastic these last few days. It's January, so, of course, it's been a bit chilly in the morning and evening but in the middle of the day it has been quite lovely - so much so that you can notice the tingle on your face when you get home. That might be also to do with driving around with the roof down - heh, the sun is out - the roof is down.
Today, the sun shone and sparkled on the top of the snow covered Pyrenees. No matter how romantic or fabulous or fantastic that might sound, there is absolutely no substitute for seeing it. My camera failed to catch the glory and my words are nothing compared to the majesty of glimpsing the sun reflecting off the snowy peaks through the winter haze. It just has to be seen first hand.
Anyway, enough of that poetic twaddle - there was a village fete and truffle market taking place at Moussoullens today and I went along. In most respects it was the same as every French village fete, which is the same as every English village fete - full of the usual suspects.
The usual suspects in the Languedoc means plenty of wine tasting opportunities, today featuring mostly Cabardes wines, fresh oysters from Bouzigues, onions from Citou, roast chestnuts, local cheeses, foie gras, naturellement, and the local village vin chaud, soupa and sandwich outlets. 'Soupa" is neither English nor French nor Spanish but is, of course, soup and needs no further description than that but does explain the completely mixed up nature of the population round here - and the soup was delicious.
This would have been just another local village fete except that it was also one of the official truffle markets of the Aude, which means there was some ceremony involved and there was a serious side to the proceedings. As the time drew near to the 2.30pm official opening, a crowd started to gather around the designated area. This had just looked like a random space with a few trestle tables but suddenly it all became very serious. The area was roped off from us, the general public, whilst the 'negotiants' set out their wares - not exactly set out, there was still much secrecy - they had their scales for weighing and their wallets and purses and they all had bags and baskets that looked as if they were bulging with truffles but they were all still firmly shut tight.
Ten minutes to go and a very serious looking man with a very serious looking moustache started to walk around the table and one by one he spoke to each of the traders, examined their wares and allowed them to open their bag or basket and empty their little black prizes out into the full view of the public. I saw no money change hands and no paperwork of any sort so am still in the dark as to what went on. The surrounding crowd was by now four or five deep at the rope and standing on walls and climbing up surrounding buildings in the hope of getting a view. Despite the melee, there was an awed silence about the proceedings.
When the moustache had finished it's tour of the traders, it spoke some incomprehensible French/Occitan and then, at exactly 2,30pm, it whacked the table very loudly and, I can only presume because I didn't understand a word, announced the market open for business. At this point the ropes were pulled aside and small children risked being crushed as the crowd surged in on the tables and traders. Not wanting to feel left out I stood on a couple of toddlers myself and got stuck in to see what all the fuss was about.
There was a lot of sniffing. There was a lot of prodding. There was quite a lot of shoulder shrugging and many an 'Alors'. it was all very serious and it was difficult not to get caught up in it all.
So I am now the proud owner of a 20 gram black truffle that cost me 20 euros, which my French friends told me was a very good deal. The question is - What am I going to do with it?
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Mad Week
I was rubbish at blog writing over the festive period and now it is 2008 already - too many guests and too much to do is my excuse though even I don't believe that for a moment.
It has been absolutely fabulous to have had Amy here for the past week and I am very sad that she is going home tomorrow. It feels so right to have her around, pulling me up on my bad habits and errant ways. She feels so much like an extension of me and I will miss her terribly - but she has her life to live and so back to her mum in Lincolnshire and then university in Lancaster she will go - with my deepest and dearest thoughts until the next time we can get together.
Out of the blue, Tim and Giovanna came to stay - nothing was planned, then Gio was coming, then they were both coming. They arrived on New Years Eve which turned into a dinner followed by nightclub type silliness which was followed by a slower early to bed night and then another over the top drunken 60's/70's/80's music night at home followed by a slower early to bed night and then departure tomorrow. It has been a bit all or nothing round here this week.
On the hungover calm days I seem to have spent my time driving which isn't good.
On New Years Day we drove down to Argeles to see Nick and Chris at their beach house where they always have a party on the sand to welcome in the new year. What could be better than being wrapped up in scarves and hats, sat round a brazier on the beach overlooking the Med and the Pyrenees - well, the sun could have been out for a start and we could have got there before all the soup was consumed. In fact, it was a glorious day until we got within 10km of the beach which was a bit of a shame and we were very late setting out on account of the big night the night before which meant that we were late arriving so of course all the soup had gone - but we drank champagne and ate cheese and baguette and sat around the fire and had a good chat with our friends so it was a journey well worth making.
Today I drove to Ikea in Toulouse to try and get the shelving that we need to put in the office. I say try because it wasn't altogether a successful trip and it wasn't just I because Amy came with me after Debrah refused to come on account of being sick in the night and her almighty hangover as a result of the vodka and tequila shots and the massive night we had 'chez moi'.
It was a most frustrating shopping trip in all respects - they didn't have all that we needed in stock and what they did have wouldn't fit in the car so I had to arrange a delivery and, basically, it was a complete balls up. We either have to go back or we have to arrange another delivery and none of it is ideal and just proves that you shouldn't try and do anything sensible the day after a massive blow out drunken night - even if you have got your sensible daughter with you, in fact, especially if you have got your sensible daughter with you because it makes you look even more of a fool.
A mad mad week - it is now pissing down outside and everyone has gone to bed. I think that is a good idea - goodnight.
It has been absolutely fabulous to have had Amy here for the past week and I am very sad that she is going home tomorrow. It feels so right to have her around, pulling me up on my bad habits and errant ways. She feels so much like an extension of me and I will miss her terribly - but she has her life to live and so back to her mum in Lincolnshire and then university in Lancaster she will go - with my deepest and dearest thoughts until the next time we can get together.
Out of the blue, Tim and Giovanna came to stay - nothing was planned, then Gio was coming, then they were both coming. They arrived on New Years Eve which turned into a dinner followed by nightclub type silliness which was followed by a slower early to bed night and then another over the top drunken 60's/70's/80's music night at home followed by a slower early to bed night and then departure tomorrow. It has been a bit all or nothing round here this week.
On the hungover calm days I seem to have spent my time driving which isn't good.
On New Years Day we drove down to Argeles to see Nick and Chris at their beach house where they always have a party on the sand to welcome in the new year. What could be better than being wrapped up in scarves and hats, sat round a brazier on the beach overlooking the Med and the Pyrenees - well, the sun could have been out for a start and we could have got there before all the soup was consumed. In fact, it was a glorious day until we got within 10km of the beach which was a bit of a shame and we were very late setting out on account of the big night the night before which meant that we were late arriving so of course all the soup had gone - but we drank champagne and ate cheese and baguette and sat around the fire and had a good chat with our friends so it was a journey well worth making.
Today I drove to Ikea in Toulouse to try and get the shelving that we need to put in the office. I say try because it wasn't altogether a successful trip and it wasn't just I because Amy came with me after Debrah refused to come on account of being sick in the night and her almighty hangover as a result of the vodka and tequila shots and the massive night we had 'chez moi'.
It was a most frustrating shopping trip in all respects - they didn't have all that we needed in stock and what they did have wouldn't fit in the car so I had to arrange a delivery and, basically, it was a complete balls up. We either have to go back or we have to arrange another delivery and none of it is ideal and just proves that you shouldn't try and do anything sensible the day after a massive blow out drunken night - even if you have got your sensible daughter with you, in fact, especially if you have got your sensible daughter with you because it makes you look even more of a fool.
A mad mad week - it is now pissing down outside and everyone has gone to bed. I think that is a good idea - goodnight.
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