The boys who played with fire

The attentive reader (modesty forbids me from assuming there is more than one) will have noticed that my attention to the blog is already less assiduous than last year, and that the posts lag the action (so to speak) by a day.

This post (posted on August 18^th) actually deals with the events of Tuesday, August 17^th. It started with the unmistakable pitter patter of Glenn’s barefeet heading downstairs at an early hour, followed by the sounds of the dishwasher being emptied and then the bikes cleaned and tires pumped up. At 8 I ascertained that Peter was still a big blue lump in his bed and I went downstairs to make the oatmeal, which we (Peter and I) enjoyed with another of the decadent yoghurts he had selected at the Super U (red currant and strawberry this time). We selected our yoghurts on the basis of the fact that they were packed in little glass jars, which we intended to convert (when empty and clean) into tealight holders, by which in fact I am writing this while Glenn and Peter play cribbage.

Breakfast over, we headed off to the town of Suzette, which is reached by a 6 kilometre climb (rather steep) from Malaucene, but worthwhile for several reasons: (1) it offers a superb view of the Dentelles, particularly today which was cloudless but not overwhelmingly bright; (2) it is a less steep approach to the view than coming at it from the opposite side; (3) there is a coffee shop with a lovely terrace with a vue desengagee (unobstructed view) when you get to Suzette; (4) there is an 8 km downhill to Beaumes de Venise where one hardly has to brake at all, and would not have to if the road were, alas, not shared with cars.

From Beaumes de Venise we headed east towards Caromb, and then to St. Pierre de Vassols and on to Crillon le Brave, where we had lunch on the terrace of the hotel overlooking the plain of Carpentras. It is only a short ride after that to Bedoin and then the lovely road between Bedoin and Malaucene, which involves some climbing (and some downhills) but not really steep climbing, and excellent pavement and vistas.

Once home we turned around and headed back to the Blueberry for a little beer and blogging. So absorbed was I in my blogging that I did not realize that none of us paid our bill, so that will be a groveling little experience to deal with tomorrow. Desolee, desolee, desolee. I had my knapsack with my computer so I carried home the new box of rose, but did not enjoy this activity much and will not be staging a repeat.

We had determined to grill some entrecote for dinner (purchased from the nice butcher in Bedoin). Our barbecue looked a bit sketchy (no BIG GREEN EGG that) in that it lacked ventilation from the bottom. Nevertheless Glenn made a valiant attempt to get the coals started (and ended up covered in ash from the newspaper he used to start the fired) before retiring with his ice pack to a blanket on the ground. Peter then had the clever idea of using a handheld bike pump as a bellows, which worked alright, but not as well as simply blowing on the coals. It took at least an hour and a half of attentiveness to get to the point where cooking seemed possible. Once we stopped blowing and put the steak on, however, the fire cooled down dramatically, so Glenn pan-fried them instead and we had them with the “on special” green beans Glenn bought at the grocery and with some new potatoes, garlic, and spring onions braised in olive oil. Very modest rose consumption occurred.