Eating and Shopping

Last night (Sunday) I found a lovely little restaurant right around the corner (well around several different corners but not more than 150 metres away) from the hotel. It is called Le Retour du Marche and features cuisine from local ingredients purchased each morning at the market (which is where the Picasso is staying). There was hardly anyone there (6 other people) so I got a spot on the terrace. It was not only lovely, but very interesting because a lot of people’s balconies overlook it so it provided an interesting perspective on the residential architecture.

I had a chilled tomato soup accompanied by little gratinees distinctively flavoured with piment d’espellete, which I do not believe I have ever had before. It is a hot pepper common to southwest France. I followed that with a delicious poached fish and fresh vegetables in a buerre noisette (refreshing change from buerre blanc). I also had a very good local wine from Herault (next department I think) called Eolienne. I had an orthographic panic in making my selection of main dish or I might have had the pulled veal shank pot pie (emiette de jarret de veau avec pommes de terre parmentier), but I feared I might be ordering calf brain (veaux) so I steered clear. Too bad, now that I know it is veal it sounds absolutely delicious. There are no photos because the camera battery conked out on my bike trip earlier in the day.

This morning (now Monday) I had to choose between a bike ride (not to Montpellier – too far I think since I am not familiar with the country) to an archeological site outside of Nimes, but it is hardly worthclambering over stones in bike cleats and it didn’t sound all that interesting, so I decided to explore the city instead and just wandered around on foot, only occasionally consultingthe map (when I began to circle the Arena for the third time). There is some excellent shopping in this town (but quite a bit of it is not available on Mondays, except perhaps for the afternoon). I had a quite tasty coffee at the Café Beaux Arts on the Place des Herbes, and then I could not resist buying a half litre of the best picholine olive oil in France last year – let’s hope that gets home intact.

I went to the little café near the market for lunch (the one where we saw the workmen having an 8 am glass of wine on Sunday). I cheated a bit on my cleanse and had veal lasagne (delicious!) and green salad as it was the plat du jour (and because I had foolishly foregone the veal the night before). Then I went to FNAC and looked at cookbooks and cycling books and cds (and bought a few). From there I headed off to an excellent little shopping street (Rue aux Chapitres) I had passed in the morning and ended up buying two tops and a pair of shoes from some very nice ladies. Much of the clothing here is quite “arty” and either layered or structured.

I came back and organized some of my packing and discovered just how much of Rosanna’s clothing I am actually bringing back! I think I will head to the WiFi café now for an aperitif and maybe post this and check e-mail (and check in on my flight) and see if another restaurant I liked the look of is in fact open this evening. Also, I might pick up a few things I left in the car and pack them in my suitcase.

Ethel (or is it Lucy?) goes back to Italy

Today (Sunday) we were up relatively early and off to a bakery when it opened its doors at 8, then to a café where the street cleaners (the ones we think were at the end of their shift) were having several glasses of wine each (yes, at 8am). We had coffee. It turned out the car exit ramp was quite straightforward and not very steep. Also the uphill starts after the gate and ends in a special lane (no merging). All well and good, but I wondered how I could get back into that precise area of the lot without engaging in some dodgy manoeuvres of my own. I had put on my biking things and stuffed my bike in the car as I planned to visit St. Remy and les Baux and Arles. At first it looked like it might be too foggy and dangerous, but as we left the Gard and approached the Vaucluse (and this is pathetic fallacy I believe) it cleared right up. After Rosanna and her luggage (including Pussy Jones) was safely stowed in the train, I headed for St. Remy, which only took 20 minutes from the Avignon TGV and I found a parking spot on the outskirts of the centreville. There was some kind of Sunday antique fair and the place was crawling with tourists, so I did not linger, but headed to les Baux, which I had formerly thought the most spectacular landscape I had ever seen.

That was before the Gorge de la Nesque. I climbed all the way up into that town (just below the chateau) and it was jam packed with bus tours. Between that and the cobblestones I also decided to leave there quickly, and fancied maybe a lunch at the Bistro du Paradou where Peter Mayle and Charles Aznavour are regulars. Alas, it is closed on Sunday.

There was nothing for it but to head to Arles, which has a long drawn out approach and layout typical of these towns in the flats. There was some kind of bullfight festival on (no doubt why hotel rooms were so scarce) and it was also crawling with tourists (all in either Tilley-style or straw cowboy hats). I had a steak frites and glass of red costieres de nimes and headed back to St. Remy, taking a slightly different route (so I did not have to climb les Baux again and deal with all those vehicles on that narrow road). As luck would have it, it was completely flat and featured a bike lane, so I made very good time and arrived moments before my paid parking (not that anyone seemed to be checking) expired. Then, miracle of miracles, I got from St. Remy to Nimes and into the parking lot and into exactly the same space we had departed from in the morning (without doing anything tricky or illegal at all, unless you call following the signage tricky) and then to the hotel in one hour flat.

Subsequently I spent almost an hour trotting around with my macbook looking for a bar (or restaurant – anything) that is open on a Sunday night. I am NOT going back to Country Rock, even though it advertises itself as ouvert 7 sur 7. I would rather eat Petits Ecoliers all night. I think I will do a little Michelin search to see if there are any restaurants I might like to patronize. Tomorrow I am contemplating a bike ride to Montpellier, if I can figure out how to get out of the city on something other than a major road.

Lucy et Ethel quittent le Vaucluse

We were up quite early Saturday morning, and headed off to the laverie in Malaucene to do the household linens (which we now have a full set of stored with June!), and for Rosanna to retrieve her pedals which she inadvertently forgot to have the shop remove from her rental bike. Once back at the house there was a bit of horsetrading of items – I was prevailed upon to bring afew of Rosanna’s things back and in return she demanded my Q-tip holder (!) and tea towels and several CLif Bars. We divvied up the remaining PetitsEcoliers. I packed the car and made several trips to dump garbage, recycling and compost and she cleaned the house. Then we popped down the road to les Alazards to say goodbye to June and Paul who were cleaning the large gite. The pool looks fantastic I must say, and the house is more beautiful than I recall, and so is the setting. Rosanna wanted to know why we kept dragging our asses on bikes up all thoselong ascents to look at landscapes no more beautiful than what we have in ourown valley.

All of the above done, we decided to stop at Chez Serge in Carpentras for lunch. I commenced my new regime (announced the previous evening). I call it a “meatcleanse”. It involves the elimination (for a period of time) from my diet of all cheese and white carbs (not including weissbier). I started off with prosciutto (salad) followed by faux filet of boeuf (saignant). Delicious! Then we headed towards Avignon and on to Nimes.

Nimes is quite confusing and very very old. The streets are really quite tiny. There are insufficient indications as to whether one is permitted to drive on them, and if so, in which direction. We circled a couple of times and then found our hotel indicated. It was down a narrow (but clearly drivable one-way street). There was no parkingclose by and we had a lot of stuff, so Rosanna decided we should circle back to where she had seen a parking “lot” (a few spaces). We went up one narrow deserted street and that wasn’t so bad until we had to turn, but the vegetable merchants and the vendor across the way were amenable to moving their wares and moving patrons and passersby to safer locations. We only had to fold in one side mirror. That over, we went upanother little street. After about 100 of 150 metres, another car turned into it heading towards us. They assured us we could pass and each car went as close to the wall as possible. All mirrors were folded in. There was about 1 ½ inches of clearance, frommy perspective, which was quite good as I took off my seatbelt and hung out the window, sweating. The other car lost a piece of itself (we think a side mirror). All this and we had only just arrived at the 2-hour “lot” from which we took some stuff into the hotel. Then we moved the car to an indoor lot. I was not much looking forward to that as the one weparked in in this town last year had really narrow spots and a exit ramp pitched at about a 25% grade. I did not at all fancystopping and inserting my parking chit and having to get going again when the gate swung up in something like that. I could not believe it therefore when Rosanna chose to DESCEND into the lot rather than ASCEND. Then there was a stunt involving driving the wrong way around because she had seen a nicer spot on the other side. I was a complete wreck once we left that car. We went almost immediately to the tourist office where I got a city map and Rosanna picked up a brochure on a service that operates a locked surface parking lot outside of town (several kilometers outside) and buses you back and forth. Then I saw a poster advertising a hugespecial flea market in that location this weekend, so I gave short shrift to that idea. I decided to make my best efforts to remain calm until after we took Rosanna to Avignon Sunday morning to catch the train, and thought perhaps things driving-related might not look so awful after a night’s sleep.

Drinks were clearly in order. We went to the arty bar across from the Theatre (and near the good cooking store) where we had had drinks with Crystal and Sandra last year. We only had one beer there, though, because I had spotted a bar called “Country Rock” on the major peripheral street of the old town. We went inside because there were good country music videos (Loretta Lynn) playing. Apparently that meant we were there for dinner service. Rosanna ordered a veggie burger. It came with trail mix (and coleslaw) on it, but she happily ate the fries and onion rings. I ordered the magret burger (called Donald (the “o” is long) Duck). It had coleslaw, mayonnaise, brie, slices of duck magret, mushrooms and a slice of grilled orange on it. I got through half and some fries. The food is not to be recommended, but the performing space looks nice. It is down the street from the “Cat Hotel” and across from “Biggy Burger” and “Speed Rabbit Pizza”. I thought I was in Tokyo.

A little digestive stroll and nightcap seemed in order after all these “a little bit off” events. We headed to something called Bar Hemingway in a hotel, because that seemed safe and had been recommended in the green Michelin, but there were so many tour buses parked in front when we got there we changed our minds and went back to a bar I had liked the look (and sound of) in passing. Barroco. I thought it was a karaoke bar but Rosanna thought it was live music. Turned out it was karaoke. We also think it may have been a gay bar. Certainly there was a significant gay presence, but there were a few other things that made us uncertain. First, there was a woman at the end of the bar, who may have been a mere patron, or may have been the patronne. She did occasionally venture (slowly behind the bar). She was a dead ringer for Jeanne Moreau (in her later later years). Then 4 woman of a certain age all made up and dressed up and reeking of more Poison than Rosanna has smelled since the early 80s came in. Much of the singing was fantastic, although we hardly knew any of the songs. I think Guy would have loved it (and perhaps signed up for a little Jaques Brel – or maybe not since he is Belgian). I made Rosanna stay for a second round of drinks since it was the most fun I had had since my 4pm nervous collapse related to the driving (or more accurately the thought of driving).

To the Back of the Back of Beyond and Back

Glenn and I were very excited last year to pick up a real estate brochure and find an entire hamlet near Sault for sale for under a million dollars. Then Pat told us that Sault isregarded as the “back of beyond”. I think Rosanna might agree as she certainly did not enjoy her one trip there last year over the mountain in the Picasso, dodging cyclists and RVs and negotiating hairpin turns for a total of 50km (some up, some down).

Anyway, we came close to Sault on our ride yesterday, and I had already been through once last week. Today I decided to do a ride inspired by Glenn’s studying of what Rosanna refers to as the “cartoon map” – really just a tourist brochure showing popular routes between towns and roughly where some recreational trails are. I decided to do a loop incorporating the northernmost route tracking the Toulerenc. After much hemming and hawing and consulting of maps this morning (none topographical) I determined to cast my fate with the counter-clockwise route.

I went across the fields and up the Veau road to the end, and then along the usual lower Toulerenc route past St. Leger du Ventoux, Brantes, and Savoillan to Montbrun les Bains.

At this point, I took a wee road in a northerly direction. It was devoid of habitation and sparse of vegetation. (And no eateries, alas, and I was forced to subsist on hammer gel and a fruit bar and the last bag of sharkies for the first 75 hilly km). Also, I only saw three cars, unfortunately one of them was a fire truck. The road follows the gorge of the Toulerenc, and threatens in many places, to subside into the Toulerenc. The rocky outcroppings on either side loom over it . This goes on for about 7 km in an uphillish fashion, and then the pavement improves and there is another 3 or so km of distinctly uphill (but not unbearably so) and then, to my tremendous delight, a sign noting I had reached the Col d’Aulan (elevation 852 m). I knew it was 23 km to Buis les Baronnies, and I knew that town was not much elevated from Malaucene. I tried to keep my expectations low, but, What JOY! Another 20km plus downhill!

I arrived in Buis and went to the first Brasserie I came to and had a croque monsieur with salad and a Jupiter beer (in honour of my having explored beyond my known horizons). Fr

om there to home the route was one I have already written about too often. I arrived just behind Rosanna who had taken an afternoon trip to Villedieu (after visiting the Carpentras market this morning).

Now I am posting (but not this post – confusing eh? – all this post-modernist time shifting) and Rosanna is toasting – it is another “clean out the fridge” evening. We are starting with a course of bruschetta with tapenade and bits of cheese.

Later on – June and Paul came by for a drink and assisted in the fridge cleaning. It was our first visit with them and it was very nice to chat. They are both so lovely and interesting. We got a bit caught up on goings on in the hamlet (the contretemps over the purchase of the traditional threshing ground where no one has threshed anything for several generations – the historical to-ing and fro-ing over the relocation of the fountain and how that affected some property convenants about distance from the fountain etc.). They also talked about the culture shock they experienced in the US and the scale of everything. And we talked about Johanna, and what a gentle bookish one she was.

After June and Paul left Rosanna and I had a bit of a tasting menu of leftover quiche, caprese salad, roasted potatoes, and fresh-picked figs. We even polished off the dregs of the cheap bottle of red wine Glenn bought and opened, and which I did not entirely manage to use in cooking and has been schlepped about since he left.

Rosanna is very pleased to leave unused only the following: 2 ratte potatoes (on in the shape of a peace sign which I declined to cook); 2 lemons; 6 cornichons; a half jar of mustard; 2 half jars of jam; some cheese (with which she is going to make sandwiches for tomorrow’s train ride to Calabria); and some granola (which she is taking to Italy as it is apparently unavailable and unknown there); one box of pasta integrale; one Whaou!

Bar du Soleil

This is the bar at the main intersection (and square with the fountain) in Ville-sur-Auzon. It is always packed with cyclists and locals in the late afternoon. I have been by many times and always been tempted to stop, except for the fact that I have another 25-30 km to ride from there to get home. Except for today (Thursday September 9^th).

Today Rosanna and I got organized relatively early. So early that it was a bit chilly and we had to kill some time. By about 10 or so we loaded the bikes in the Picasso and headed to Flassan, from which we intended to tackle the Col des Abeilles (996 metres) and the Gorge de la Nesque. Once there, however, we discovered a problem with the centring of her front brakes which we could not fix on the fly. We loaded the bikes back into the Picasso and headed to the Malaucene shop for a quick repair. I intended to buy new tires for my bike, but the ones I had my eye on had been sold. At this point, it made sense to come home for lunch and then head out later, after we had stuffed ourselves with leftover pasta and with caprese salad.

In our first foray to Flassan, we encountered huge numbers of cyclists, including a large group of riders in wheelchair-bikes. They were all quite low to the ground (lower than a recumbent), and most of them seemed to be pedal powered, but we did see one woman hand-operating hers. Each rider had a companion in a bright coloured vest on a conventional bicycle with them, for visibility I presume. We also saw scads of other cyclists, many more than usual, and many of them in teams. I picked up a brochure at the bike store while Rosanna’s brakes were being attended to, which I think explains why the big uptick in biking. There is a big cycle event this Sunday, which is both participatory and a race, and includes a category called “handicap”. There are two choices of distance, but both go up and over Mt. Ventoux (from the Malaucene side). One is 101 km and the other is 151 km. The latter involves some extra climbing – the departure and arrival for both is Ville-sur-Auzon.

I am quite happy to report that the climb from Flassan to the Col des Abeilles, while long, was not as taxing as I had recalled (of course I was fresh when I tackled it and had not already ridden around the mountain with Glenn nor was it blazing hot which I think it was when I went with Kate). The Gorge de la Nesque was as spectacular as usual, but the descent was rather breezy, particularly in the little tunnels hollowed through the rock. The wind seemed to collect in there and entering one was like hitting a wall. The first one we came to was particularly bad. Nevertheless, even into the wind, a 23 km plus downhill is still a downhill. At the end of it was Ville-sur-Auzon, (and the banner for the cyclists arriving Sunday) and the Bar de Soleil, with a prominent road sign in front of it – Flassan 5. We had two pastis each and watched a lot of cyclists roll in (and by). The road to Flassan was not enjoyable. It has no scenery to commend it, and it is uphill but appears flat (I believe I have already complained of this), and there was a strong wind. On the plus side, it was only about 22 degrees and we only had 5 km to cover. In Bedoin I was sent into the bakery with some very poor instructions as to what I should order, but nevertheless managed to emerge with the correct bread (and a wee cake) and locate the Picasso half a block away. I have already enjoyed the bread (as bruschetta topped with the last of the tomato confit) and am awaiting an artichoke risotto. I am more curious than hopeful about the wine accompaniment – a viognier from Mazan! It was purchased at the grocery store and my cross-examination about the price elicited no concrete information.

Library Takeover Thwarted!

Wednesday I got myself all dressed up in my library outfit (a cardigan featured prominently) and let myself in through the secret passage (and many doors) just before opening time at 11 am to discover, a volunteer library attendant already in the seat I had hoped to occupy! And furthermore, I was informed that the library was covered all day. There I was, with nothing to do, but read my book and perhaps think about a bike ride later, since Rosanna was off to the market and the grocery store and Skyping and who knows what all at the Blueberry.

What I did was, I had a nap. In fact, I had my second nap of the day – the first was from 9:15 until 10 and the second from 12:15 until 1:15. Then we had lunch. Then Rosanna went for a ride around the Toulerenc valley, and I went back to bed for a longer nap (2:00 until 5:30). It seemed inadvisable to ride as I was quite headachey and dizzy. The only event I have to report on for the day (Wednesday this is) is the successful roasting of some ratte potatoes which I then incorporated into a quiche with leeks and assorted leftover grated cheeses. Also, I got up to the Second World War in my current book, La Vie en Bleu, a History of France in the 1900s. I have so far only finished the chapter on collaboration, and have decided never to buy a Renault (unless the firm manages to rehabilitate itself in the ensuing decades, which I hope it will not take me decades to read).

After a great deal of discussion, guidebook perusing, telephoning and internet searching, we have decided to go to Nimes when we quit the mairie on Saturday. Originally, we had planned to go to Arles, but all worthwhile (and reasonably priced) accommodation seems booked up for Saturday. Nimes and Arles are but a few kilometers apart, however, so we should still be able to see a bit of the town.

Stormy Weather

There are many signs on the roads in France. Some you expect to see – telling you when to stop, where to turn for Avignon, how much to slow down for speed bumps etc. Some are more unusual by our standards. There is my favourite, the free-standing portable exclamation mark on a yellow triangle (a generic “watch out” I believe), and there are also many many variations of the signs warning you about the condition of the road – chausee deformee, acotement dangereux, attention aux temps de pluie, inondee après orage, voie inondee. The last two mentioned come up so frequently we laughed at them as representing the work of some otherwise moribund branch of the civil service here. That was before Monday evening.

Before I get to Monday evening, however, I might report on the earlier part of the day. It was without any major incident of any kind and involved some reading, some grocery shopping, the making of another soupe au pistou and a chicken fricassee with peppers and onions and a plum galette (portions of which we delivered up the small hill to June and Paul and Rosie). All that was for dinner. Lunch consisted of the leftover pizza from the night before and a nice green salad.

At about dinner time it began to get a little blustery and overcast, then quite a bit more blustery so I brought in all the cushions etc. Sometime after 10 (I was in bed) a great rumbling started and then got louder and louder and kept up all night and well into the morning. It sounded like the storm was abating, and then it was back with even more vigour. The rain came down in sheets. All I could think of was how Fiona told me last year that the mairie used to flood everytime it rained, and this was, to my mind, not an ordinary rain but a downpour of old testament proportions. As it turned out, only the terrace was a bit flooded but the floor inside was dry. There is also a bit of a leak in the roof in the corner of the sitting room. Rosanna immediately wanted to go off and check the voie inondee to see how it looked, but was persuaded to make tomato sauce with eggplant instead. I had a linguistic revelation which those of you who travel with Rosanna in the self-catering establishments might find useful: if the dish is called soupe au pistou, I am expected to make it, but if you called it pasta e fagioli, it is in her bailiwick. Similarly, the same dish essentially might be referred to as clafoutis (mine) or a frittata (hers).

This afternoon (Tuesday if I have not been clear about the passage of time) the sun came out, but it was too gusty to ride. We hope it isnot a mistral (i.e. minimum 3 days duration) but rather something more temporary affiliated with this particular storm, which seems likely as it appears to be blowing from the south. Anyway, in view of the somewhat inhospitable weather, we took a walking path from the col de la Madeleine to Crillon le Brave instead and wandered about more of the town than is accessible in bike cleats, and then we had a cocktail at the hotel bar and read English papers (I only read the headlines as I was without my lunettes de lecture). I almost immediately on commencing the walk wandered into a vineyard (other word choices considered: “stand of grapes” and “field of grapes” – have I been here too long?), and nearly sank into my ankles in the wet clay, and the grape I tasted was not, as I had hoped, of the Muscat variety.

I believe we are about to have leftover pistou for dinner and finish off the last of the Chateau d’Hugues wines. Tomorrow I take command of the library. Today I have also finished off the life of Edith Wharton – rather a long slog at 760 pages (and endnotes in addition!). She did not buy her first French property until she was 57. Mind you, she bought two of them that year, one of which is now owned by the Prince of Lichtenstein and the other of which is owned as a parks office (with the gardens intact) of the French government. My aims (fantasies) are more modest – a terrace, a cave, a not-too-tight parking spot, a stone structure and proximity to a ville toutes commerces. That seems modest, no??

The Long and Winding Road

Fortunately it led us back to where we started, which was about 5 km north of Gordes. We had intended to start our bike ride in Gordes, but with my uncanny affinity for the picturesque, I had selected a driving route that involved quite a narrow climb from Venasque towards Gordes. We soon decided to ditch the Picasso early and ride to Gordes (and beyond).

Gordes is a beautiful village perche in the Luberon. From our abandoned Picasso, we rode uphill about 5km and then over a series of rolling hills down into Gordes, where we promptly stopped at a “rainbow”friendly café for a little lunch (half a litre of rouge; tarte and salade for Rosanna; salade de jardin ( chicken breast and greens and boiled egg and cheese) for me. From Gordes, we headed south across a plain to the outskirts of Bonnieux, from which we climbed and climbed into the town, which was not, after all, very interesting on a Sunday afternoon. Mary Ellen, I fear, has led me astray.

We returned to Gordes via a slightly different route ( which was more pleasant), although it did not remove the necessity of climbing about 1km of a 10% grade. As we approached Gordes, I had two ideas for which it is possible that we shall still pay a price. First, I decided that since the “eau non potable” sign on the fountain had clearly had the “non” vigorously erased, we could probably drink the water (and still we wait to discover if this is so). Second, I decided that on our return to the car, we should by-pass Gordes proper and go via the Abbaye de Senanque. What a climb! Then a descent to the 12^th century site. Gorgeous. Then a climb. Finally a full-out descent to the car park (self-designated). Rosanna wonders how I could turn a sure-fire descent into a climb. I must admit, it is a gift!

Once home, we showered (very hot sticky day) and headed off to the Blueberry and finally got some pizza from the truck in Malaucene. Very pleasantly surprised. Rosanna is off again now Skyping various folk, and I am (seriously) consideringbed as it is 11:30pm.

A Change of Houses

Saturday we got up early and packed and cleaned. I called Isabelle around 11, and we headed off to the Mairie. First I rode my bike there, and then I walked back and rode Rosanna’s bike over. We barely had time to stash our things in the new (but very familiar) location before it was time to head for our luncheon date with Nick and Ellen at the Hotel Crillon le Brave. The non-vegetarians all had magret of duck with roast potatoes and a delicious red wine (following a pastis aperitif). Two of us had strawberries (with lavender sugar) and two had a chocolate dessert. Yummm!

Lunch lasted from 1 until 4. From there, Rosanna and I headed to Avignon. We parked again at the Gare Centrale. A number of purchases were made in record order: a new soap dish (old one left in Genoa train station) for Rosanna; boiled wool slippers from Austria for me and my mother from La Mule du Pape (for pieds sensibles); several items at Petit Bateau. Following this, we headed to the park area behind the Palais des Papes where the new harvest of the Cote du Rhone Villages was being celebrated. There was a parade (which we missed) and a mass (which we missed) and then a degustation, which was extremely crowded and would have been better attended by a large group (some to fetch wine, some to fetch food, some to save seats). We quickly abandoned this activity and headed back to the same square where Peter and Glenn and I had whiled away the time while waiting for Rosanna’s train to arrive.

The trip home (I was NOT driving) was punctuated by a couple of unfortunate giggle-inducing stunts, neither of which caused any real safety concern.

Fridge Cleaning Deliciousness

Things got off to a relatively slow start on Friday. As I recall, it was a 2-coffee pot morning. Then there was some reading and laundry. After lunch (which was a green salad, a confit tomato buffala mozzarella salad and bread), I cleaned and sliced ALL the shallots and two whole cloves of garlic and roasted them in olive oil with a bay leaf at a low temperature for 90 minutes. Thenwe rode our bikes (over the fields via St. Marcellin and Vaison) to Villedieu for a pastis (two in fact) and then home for dinner. Not much to say about this route – it is so familiar by now.

Dinner, if I may say, was delicious. I pureed the roasted garlic, and added it to about 3-4 cups of vegetable stock (with generous salt and pepper) and then reduced it, and added about ¾ cup of red wine ( the very bon marche bottle Glenn had purchased), and continued with the reducing, whilst adding the roasted shallots. Rosanna toasted some sourdough and put it in the bowls. We topped it with the shallot and reduced stock mixture, sprinkled grated gruyere on top, and browned under the broiler. Very very successful. Especially when consumed with a bottle of the Chateau d’Hugues sylviane.

La Gourmandise

What a day of gluttony Thursday, September 2^nd was!

It didn’t start that way. Breakfast was my usual sensible affair of all-bran, granola, yoghurt and fruit, with a slice of toast and coffee.Rosanna decided to go for a short bike ride to Crillon-le-Brave before lunch and before it got too hot. I decided tomake marinated mushrooms and another batch of tomato confit. Then I went off into the fields to forage for some more damson plums (view from there of Les Valettes). By the time I was done with that, she returned, having had only partial success (she got to Bedoin but then I think ended up in Caromb where a pizzeria smelled delicious and never did see Crillon-le-Brave).

Quite a bit of discussion (some had also occurred the day before) ensued about where I might like to have a birthday luncheon. We finally settled on Le Grand Pre (aka the pea gravel restaurant, aka La Wells’ Thursday hangout) and called for a reservation. The parking lot is as pinched as when Guy and I went last year, but this time we picked the primo spot facing the exit so the same kind of delicate manoeuvering as was required last year was happily avoided.

I had a pork cheek terrine with pickled sweet cherries and confit of pearl onions to start. Then I had a beef entrecote grilled (between saignant and a point) with some little grilled baby zucchini with the flowers still attached and some delicious potatoes roasted in animal fat. With the first course I had a delicious glass of white wine from the Coteaux du Luberon (LaCanorgue), and with the second a glass of 2006 Cotes de Rhone Rasteau “La Prestige”. All very very tasty and such a lovely patio and service. As you can see, I wasmaking the most of a non-vegetarian meal, but it initially sat a little heavily, so I had to rest quietly at home with Edith Wharton and thenwith these blog entries for a while to recover before switching into dinner overdrive. Rosanna had a siesta, although it is hard to imagine why that was necessary after a Caesar salad and a risotto with little vegetables topped by poached eggs (although I think they may have been napped in that energy-sapper buerre blanc). Needless to say, La Wells did not appear, or I would have mentioned it by now. All our food (and our persons) look(s) a little orange due to the umbrella fabric.

Dinner overdrive involved cleaning the peaches and plums and making a galette, setting out the tomato confit and rice croquettes (a fresh batch made by Rosanna), and getting the things all ready for the tomato clafoutis to go in the oven and for the salad. We had a very nice evening (until the neighbouring madam with the barking dog yelled at us for being up diningand chatting at 9:30pm when other people were trying to sleep) and drank some rose (finally finished the box!) and then two very nice reds – one brought by Malcolm and Francoise from the Seguret-Roaix vignerons and one of the ones we had purchased at the Chateau d’Hugues. Wehad a nice bit of St. Nectaire and Banon cheese in addition to the things already mentioned.

I had occasion to eliminate two large spiders (both discovered by the arachnophobe Rosanna) from the giteduring the course of the evening, and I had already assassinated a large scorpion with my flip flop two days previously. It was about 1 ½ inches long and looked just like a lobster. Perhaps it is a change of season thing and they all come into the houses

now. I have started shaking out my shoes and clothes before putting them on.

A Perfect Day for Cycling

By Wednesday morning it was quite clear the mistral was over. The day was calm and sunny and looked to be heading for a high temperature of about 27. I headed off in the late morning for a bike ride and went to the Toulerenc valley (via St. Leger du Ventoux) and then past Savoillans and up a short but steep climb to Reilhanette, where I discovered a lovely little restaurant in a panoramic setting – L’Oustau de la Font – approved of by Gault Millau and Michelin and everyone else who rates these things. I promptly sat myself down and had a delicious tomato bavardoise with goat cheese ice cream and drizzles of olive oil, tapenade and balsamic, followed by cod and a variety of vegetables in buerre blanc. The latter was so tasty that I sopped it all (and there was quite a bit) up with baguette, and I washed the whole down with a glass of viognier from Chateau Pesquie, and a (rather disappointing) coffee.

Immediately after lunch I headed in the direction of Sault, which involves about a 5 or 6 km climb out of the valley to Aurel. The buerre blanc did not sit that well for this part of the journey. From Aurel to Sault, however, the road is quite flat, and maybe even slightly downhill so I had some recovery time. In Sault I determined from a brief visit to the tourist information office that the official start of the Cotes de Rhone grape harvest and the blessing of the vendange etc. is being celebrated this Saturday in Avignon. I also discovered (which I realize at least once every trip) that toute droite means straight ahead and not “to the right” as a consequence of which I never did find the public lavatories. By the time I realized my mistake I was well on my way (downhill) out of town, so I simply carried on, and went via Monieux to the Gorge de la Nesque, which deserves a separate paragraph, even though I wrote about it last year.

Approaching from the Sault side (as I did both this year and last) there is a not-very-steep climb of 1 or 2 km just before and after Monieux (which I did not actually visit) and then begins what I had thought last year (because I did not know what was coming and paid no attention to my odometer) was a 23km downhill, but in fact, lasts 30km! All the way to Villes-sur-Auzon I need not have pedaled at all, but I did pedal, primarily to save face with the multitudes of poor planners on two wheels who were labouring up those same 30km from the opposite direction. Did they know that once they got to the end of that stretch they would have to ascend the Col des Abeilles (8% grade from Sault to Villes-sur-Auzon) to complete their circuit?

Once again I had to head towards Flassan (this time it made sense to do so) from Villes-sur-Auzon, and once again I did not enjoy the sun-baked climb even though it was not steep. From Flassan to home via Bedoin was quite straightforward, however, and I had a large plate of pasta with grilled artichokes for dinner, having finally digested all the buerre blanc!

Visitors from Canada (and the Pays Bas)

On Tuesday morning it still seemed somewhat too cool (and a tad blustery) to head off immediately on bikes. We went into Malaucene for a few things and stopped by the pottery place in Crestet where I bought some beautiful blue oven-proof dishes. At home I made individual tomato-chevre calfoutis (scentedwith herbes de provence) in them and we had those for lunch. They will be served again on Thursday, as they were an easy winner over the tomato tart, and also because that means there can be fruit galette for dessert.

In the afternoon we went for a little bike ride and took the Entrechaux-St. Marcellin route to Vaison and then the cyclotouristique road to Seguret. It is the one Kate and I took in the other direction last year. It was passable, but there were spots of broken pavement and loose gravel and some steep climbs. It involves quite a bit more climbing when attacked from this direction. In Seguret I hobbled around in my cleats a bit until we found a terrasse on which to enjoy a pastis. We took the main road home and it was brutal. The wind was so strong that the tall grasses growing in the ditches were horizontal. At a couple of points I thought I might be joining them in the ditch.

We eventually made it home safely and had just finished showering and devouring some leftovers, when Martin called from Orange. I had spoken to him earlier in the day and he and Michel and their two friends had planned quite a busy sightseeing agenda which was going to bring them in our direction, but we were not exactly sure when. By the time they got here it was probably about 7:30 or so, and we managed to scrounge up some bruschetta, some sausage and cheese (with condiments) and some croquettes for them, along with an assortment of beverages. We had a nice visit and heard from Ben, who owns a farm near Grignan) all about the unforeseen difficulties of transacting with the French builders. We also heard the common wisdom hereabouts that the mistral lasts either 3 or 6 or 9 days. Some lively discussion ensued as to when it might be anticipated to end, but this was a question incapable of resolution as no consensus emerged on when it had, in fact, started.

Cooler Heads Prevail

The mistral was really roaring along on Monday. No bike riding occurred. We went to the Bedoin market by car and ran into Nick and Ellen and made a lunch date for Saturday. Once home we had lunch. I made a tomato tart with a bit of crème fraiche and herbes de provence, which was quite tasty, and we had a green salad. The tomato tart was one of the proposed menu items for our dinner guests on Thursday.

After lunch we went to Orange, where everything seemed to be pretty much closed, except for the Orange mobile phone store, where once again, the micro-sim search was fruitless (but where my mobile account was topped up!) At this point we headed towards Chateau d’Hugues, which is in a rather remote part of the massif d’Uchaux, but which I managed to get us directly to by reversing the path I recalled taking last year with Guy and Kate. I was quite pleased with myself, and especially when I got us home quite directly as well. We did not taste any white or rose, but concentrated on the reds, the lighter, more approachable, of which they now sell in 1.5 litre boxes!! We were home by 6:30 and since it was still blustery and chilly we had leek risotto. I made a huge quantity, but we planned for croquettes.

Le Mistral Commence

It began to get a bit cool and windy on Saturday afternoon. Sunday morning in our valley, however, seemed fine. Rosanna wanted to ride her bike to the L’Isle sur la Sorgue market. I was going to go along, but then I recalled how crowded that market is and that I had no cleat covers with me so I did not fancy clip-clopping along in my bike shoes on those cobbles. I rode with her as far as the Pernes-les-Fontaines cut-off and then I headed in that direction. I must say, we simply flew down towards Carpentras, which I only later realized was, in addition to being a downhill journey, also a wind-assisted one.

In any event, I went to Pernes-les-Fontaines and then to St. Didier and then to Venasque, which is perched on the Plateau de Vaucluse and is a very popular town with artists. There are many galleries and one good restaurant, where I had lunch and they put my bike in the cave. I had the French version of a ploughman’s lunch, which included some chevres and some pate and also two delicious-smelling little grilled balls, sort of like meatballs, but a bit more irregular (frankly lumpy) in shape. They were highly spiced minced meat wrapped in some sort of membrane and grilled, and I now think they are the famous regional dish – pieds et paquets. I am not sure I would order them specifically, but they were fine washed down with a little rose.

After lunch I took a notion to ride to Methamis and from there toward Sault until I got to the road that cuts over to Monieux and the beginning of the Gorge de la Nesque. After two hours of solid uphill, I decided to cut my losses and turn around. Had I gone all the way to Sault I think it would have been a 30km uphill. That is not really my cup of tea (although I do know someone who might like it). When I returned to Methamis I headed towards Mormoiron and from there towards Flassan. That was a bit of a mistake as it took me further east than was optimal. Also, the road was devoid of shade and it was by now quite warm, and it was uphill north, which was unfortunately the direction from which the Mistral (having now picked up a bit of energy) blows. What a tedious 7 km. From Flassan I fairly flew along to Bedoin. I would like to say I scampered nimbly up the hill to home, but I must confess it was not that nimble.

L’absence des micro-sims

Saturday looked to be a very busy day. We went for a short ride from Malaucene to Suzette and Lafare. The last portion was dramatically downhill for us, but we encountered a family heading uphill. First, papa, pedaling away on an upright bike, then one young adolescent pulling off to the side for a rest, then another adolescent (helmet askew) fighting what looked ultimately to be a losing battle with gravity, then maman, not 1 km out of Lafare, off her bike and pushing. We speculated that the lunchtime conversation among the group might be chilly. We went on to the Roque d’Alric and then home via Le Barroux (where we failed to find a spot to enjoy a pastis). We were home by 11:30, which was good because there was still much to do.

After lunch we headed to Vaison to look for a telephone store because Rosanna had it in her head she wanted to liberate herself from the Blueberry by purchasing a micro-sim from a French mobile phone carrier for her iPad. First we had to wait for the store to open after lunch, which seemed a perfect opportunity for the pastis we had not yet had, but, alas, Vaison caters more to touris

ts and we did not find the kind of old men’s bar where pastis is served (without the necessity of ordering a meal). Once the telephone store (that was its name) opened, things became very confusing. Photocopies of passports were made, contractual documents were generated, and at the end of it all I left with a turbostick for my macbook (49Î) and Rosanna left with nothing, except the partial success of being able to check e-mail without going to the Blueberry, but still having to go there (or close by) to Skype a landline. And now I have discovered there is but one spot on the terrace where the network is strong enough to pick up the signal.

All of the above to-ing and fro-ing with the telephone people took so long (there were difficulties posed by my QWERTY keyboard) that our next agenda item – a trip to Chateau d’Hugues had to be put off and we had to race back to Beaumont du Ventoux for the 4 pm start of the annual Antonini family concert, which was, as it was last year, very good indeed. It was only marred by the fact that some not-very-sweet-smelling locals sat next to me and the woman shifted endlessly on the pew. I finally had to go and stand at the back of the church for the last two numbers.

Afterwards we had a glass or two of rose with Malcolm and Francoise and invited them for dinner on Thursday.