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| Julia has always dreamed of a French bolt-hole. I think I've nailed the perfect location. I can't wait to see the look on her face when I announce the good news. the price is irrelevant , honest! |
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
OK, I think I have this dream nailed down
Monday, 7 May 2012
If you have a mate called TomTom you are in business
TomTom has to be a winner in these parts.
In days past when we arrived to pick up a rental in France we would have come loaded with any number of Michelin road maps to ensure we reached our destination without having first traveled the length and breadth of France in a futile attempt to locate our destination.
Then along came TomTom, a bullet proof GPS application that downloads onto our iPad and iPhones.
This devise is simply brilliant. Just enter the partial or full destination address or even better hit the coordinates button, select if you wish to use toll roads or avoid same, choose a preference for the scenic route and then that's that.
This devise rates up there with screw caps for wine bottles, iPhones and two-for-one deals at Sainsbury's . It's that good.
Last Saturdays foray was a classic example.
Brother David had suggested a great restaurant to have lunch at when we drove north to catch the Saturday market at the regional capital of Perigueux.
By the time we arrived the central city roads were chaotic thanks to any number of streets being blocked off during the morning market trading hours.
No problem, we just cruised around until we found a parking spot and at every turn Katrina, the selected voice of our TomTom system basically kept us up to date about where to from here.
And when we started walking back into the central city area this disembodied voice (courtesy of our iPhone) basically gave us continual updates as to which alley to turn into until we finally arrived at our restaurant, Le Vertigo at 16 Rue des Farges.
If any of you guys are thinking about travelling around Europe and don't want to be burdened down with maps , do yourself a favour and download a copy of TomTom UK/Europe.
It turns the whole travel business into a breeze.
Word from Julia. Before Katrina my experiences of navigating through little towns of tiny streets or back streets of big cities were nightmarish. Adrenaline overload, tension headaches, stressed to max were features of my previous touring life. Now, I could probably navigate through central Paris during rush hour with a paper bag on my head thanks to my trusty Tom Tom companion. Much more enjoyable.
In days past when we arrived to pick up a rental in France we would have come loaded with any number of Michelin road maps to ensure we reached our destination without having first traveled the length and breadth of France in a futile attempt to locate our destination.
Then along came TomTom, a bullet proof GPS application that downloads onto our iPad and iPhones.
This devise is simply brilliant. Just enter the partial or full destination address or even better hit the coordinates button, select if you wish to use toll roads or avoid same, choose a preference for the scenic route and then that's that.
This devise rates up there with screw caps for wine bottles, iPhones and two-for-one deals at Sainsbury's . It's that good.
Last Saturdays foray was a classic example.
Brother David had suggested a great restaurant to have lunch at when we drove north to catch the Saturday market at the regional capital of Perigueux.
By the time we arrived the central city roads were chaotic thanks to any number of streets being blocked off during the morning market trading hours.
No problem, we just cruised around until we found a parking spot and at every turn Katrina, the selected voice of our TomTom system basically kept us up to date about where to from here.
And when we started walking back into the central city area this disembodied voice (courtesy of our iPhone) basically gave us continual updates as to which alley to turn into until we finally arrived at our restaurant, Le Vertigo at 16 Rue des Farges.
If any of you guys are thinking about travelling around Europe and don't want to be burdened down with maps , do yourself a favour and download a copy of TomTom UK/Europe.
It turns the whole travel business into a breeze.
Word from Julia. Before Katrina my experiences of navigating through little towns of tiny streets or back streets of big cities were nightmarish. Adrenaline overload, tension headaches, stressed to max were features of my previous touring life. Now, I could probably navigate through central Paris during rush hour with a paper bag on my head thanks to my trusty Tom Tom companion. Much more enjoyable.
Thursday, 3 May 2012
French Foodie Day
French Cook Class in Pechboutier
The day started with the arrival of two Ozzie birds in our little hamlet to join me and Chef Ian for a day of French cooking. Over freshly brewed espressos Ian announced that we would be preparing the five course meal for twelve guests in the restaurant that evening. Gulp!
Then, with the zing of caffeine still in our veins we were off in his Land Rover to the market in Le Bugue. With the usual buzz and bustle of the typical colouful French market Ian darted about to his regular stall holders with us in tow carrying straw baskets that were quickly filling up with freshly picked produce.
Leeks, olives, fresh garlic,aromatic tomatoes, broad beans, white and green asparagus, cauliflowers, golden potatoes, fragrant strawberries and fresh sorrel and on and on. Then skirting around the market again to find the goat cheese lady to purchase fresh baby goat cheeses. Of course there were the usual ' Bonjours' and friendly greetings as our chef was a regular at these markets.
We were given a quick run down on the foods one might find in a French market like the dried cepes, cooked beetroots, artichokes and the masses of Foie Gras and how to cook,prepare or serve such foods. There was even a honey stall with live bees buzzing about a honey comb.
Back in the kitchen, aprons on, chopping blocks out and knives sharpened we started prepping up. We started making the chicken stock, doing it the Heston Blumenthal method by using the protein milk powder coating on the chicken pieces while roasting. Good quality stock is 'liquid gold' in a French kitchen.
The next three enjoyable hours slipped by so quickly as Margaret, Betty, Ian and myself worked as a tight team creating the most exquisite flavours and dishes.
A break outside with a lovely lunch at a long table devouring fresh goat cheese, cured salmon, cold meats, large bowls of salad, coucous and finishing with fresh strawberries done in balsamic vinegar and black pepper. All washed done with crisp white wine.
Back to the chopping boards and the heat of the kitchen for another two hours of cooking and preparing with delicious aromas drifting out and about.
Done! No severed fingers, no burns, no frayed nerves and no yelling. I did break into my Julia Childs impersonation at one stage which one might call a serious accident but it was appreciated. Time to relax a bit and get ready for show time!
7.30pm -and dinner will be served. Bon appetit.
Le Menu
Fresh green tapenade with fresh French bread
Cauliflower volante served in expresso cups, full of intense flavour
Duck confit on creamed mustard potato with green & white asparagus and a delicious chestnut sauce with fresh baby broad beans
Baby goat cheeses in crispy cases on lamb's lettuce with fresh cherry dressing & broken roasted walnuts
Creme brûlée and a few fresh strawberries
The dinner was a winner! Thank goodness it was only a ten metre stumble from the dining room to our apartment.
The day started with the arrival of two Ozzie birds in our little hamlet to join me and Chef Ian for a day of French cooking. Over freshly brewed espressos Ian announced that we would be preparing the five course meal for twelve guests in the restaurant that evening. Gulp!
Then, with the zing of caffeine still in our veins we were off in his Land Rover to the market in Le Bugue. With the usual buzz and bustle of the typical colouful French market Ian darted about to his regular stall holders with us in tow carrying straw baskets that were quickly filling up with freshly picked produce.
Leeks, olives, fresh garlic,aromatic tomatoes, broad beans, white and green asparagus, cauliflowers, golden potatoes, fragrant strawberries and fresh sorrel and on and on. Then skirting around the market again to find the goat cheese lady to purchase fresh baby goat cheeses. Of course there were the usual ' Bonjours' and friendly greetings as our chef was a regular at these markets.
We were given a quick run down on the foods one might find in a French market like the dried cepes, cooked beetroots, artichokes and the masses of Foie Gras and how to cook,prepare or serve such foods. There was even a honey stall with live bees buzzing about a honey comb.
Back in the kitchen, aprons on, chopping blocks out and knives sharpened we started prepping up. We started making the chicken stock, doing it the Heston Blumenthal method by using the protein milk powder coating on the chicken pieces while roasting. Good quality stock is 'liquid gold' in a French kitchen.
The next three enjoyable hours slipped by so quickly as Margaret, Betty, Ian and myself worked as a tight team creating the most exquisite flavours and dishes.
A break outside with a lovely lunch at a long table devouring fresh goat cheese, cured salmon, cold meats, large bowls of salad, coucous and finishing with fresh strawberries done in balsamic vinegar and black pepper. All washed done with crisp white wine.
Back to the chopping boards and the heat of the kitchen for another two hours of cooking and preparing with delicious aromas drifting out and about.
Done! No severed fingers, no burns, no frayed nerves and no yelling. I did break into my Julia Childs impersonation at one stage which one might call a serious accident but it was appreciated. Time to relax a bit and get ready for show time!
7.30pm -and dinner will be served. Bon appetit.
Le Menu
Fresh green tapenade with fresh French bread
Cauliflower volante served in expresso cups, full of intense flavour
Duck confit on creamed mustard potato with green & white asparagus and a delicious chestnut sauce with fresh baby broad beans
Baby goat cheeses in crispy cases on lamb's lettuce with fresh cherry dressing & broken roasted walnuts
Creme brûlée and a few fresh strawberries
The dinner was a winner! Thank goodness it was only a ten metre stumble from the dining room to our apartment.
Tuesday, 1 May 2012
Sunday, Aquitaine, it's time for lunch
First Sunday lunch in Aquitaine
Friends suggested the village of Tremolat was a winner so on Sunday we drove over to check the place out.
Driving through the village we came across a restaurant that looked like it was full to overflowing with diners so we thought why not give it a go.
For those of you who haven't experienced French restaurants at lunch time all I can say is that in respect to operating hours they operate with military precision.
If the hours are advertised as noon to two and you attempt to get a table at one minute past, then you are out of luck.
It's maybe one thirty when we walk through the entrance of Le Bistrot d'en face.
A waitress is rushing past and Julia asks about the chance of a table for two. The immediate response is "we are full, very full".
Julia thanks the woman and turns to walk away when suddenly the waitress breezes past and says "let me see what I can do".
Lots of noise of tables being moved, patrons asked to shift, a table for four split in two and bingo , we are in business.
Our table is in the middle of a row of three tables for two.
First things first. Just as the English have a thing about apologising at every turn , when it comes to greetings the French are in a league of their own.When we arrive at our table we know the drill and Julia immediately turns to the table on her right and says to the couple "bonjour ". In turn each of these guys looks at Julia and says " bonjour".
Now it's my turn and I turn to the left, let rip with a bonjour and get a couple of bonjours served back at me.
Now Julia turns to her left and repeats the process, they reciprocate , I follow , they reciprocate again and eventually after no less than twelve bonjours we take our seats.
No, the introductions weren't quite over as at that point the aged proprietor , resplendent in hunting attire and scarf to match approached our tables, introduced himself and then went to great lengths arguing for and against the merits of all food options his restaurant had available for this particular lunch. It has to be said that this chap was a PR genius and in no time flat had us all ordering the upmarket Menu at an extra €3.50 per head.
Time for stuttering small talk
English? No, New Zealanders...Kiwis.
Aaah!! Les Blacks....Haka.....Jonah Lomu......Sheep?
Yes, that's us.
Where's that waitress. I need a vino before this conversation takes a turn for the worse.
The couple to my left were a bit older than us and were immediately notable as they were the only guys in the restaurant not drinking wine . This is very odd, as in really very odd.The woman was dressed to the nines yet the guy was wearing the sort of sweater post war mums used to knit for their kids using variously coloured wools That sweater was hard to look at without laughing out loud. The guy was a piece of work, as when he wasn't trying out his English skills on us he was reaching across the table grab his wife's hands , pull them over to his side of the table them proceed to caress them at length whilst at the same time whispering sweet nothing's into her ear in a tone that vaguely sounded like the sort of language you would hear on a Dutch porn channel. All very interesting.
The couple on my right were eighty if they were a day and came scrubbed up in their Sunday best.
Things started getting lively after the old couple had knocked back their first 50cl of white wine , which on reflection was probably 49cl more than their fragile bodies could cope with.
The woman managed to hold things together quite well however by the end of his second glass the old dude was at a stage where whenever he attempted to put his fork loaded with lettuce anywhere near his mouth it ended up hitting his flesh about one inch below his lower lip. Highly entertaining stuff . His wife had a good laugh whenever he managed to hit the spot without having to first negotiate entry via his chin.
When this guy ordered a second 50cl carafe of red I thought he must have had some kind of death wish. This guys attempts at pouring a drink straight out of the carafe into his glass was also a bit of a mission by this stage. If my French wasn't so poor I would have offered to help as at every attempt vino was splashing in all directions . What a waste!
Meanwhile we were dining on fantastic tasting white asparagus and Parma ham for starters followed by the best Boef Bourguignon that has ever past our lips.
A couple of hours on and we exit left and walk back to our car.
At the same time the elderly couple also exit the restaurant . Oh, I forgot , this guy also ordered a third 50cl carafe. 1.5 litres over lunch split between two eighty year olds. These guys were legends.
It was the funniest thing as we watched these two old guys clinging onto each other as they staggered off home. I'm confident if the slightest of winds had blown up these guys would have fallen over on the spot.
Friends suggested the village of Tremolat was a winner so on Sunday we drove over to check the place out.
Driving through the village we came across a restaurant that looked like it was full to overflowing with diners so we thought why not give it a go.
For those of you who haven't experienced French restaurants at lunch time all I can say is that in respect to operating hours they operate with military precision.
If the hours are advertised as noon to two and you attempt to get a table at one minute past, then you are out of luck.
It's maybe one thirty when we walk through the entrance of Le Bistrot d'en face.
A waitress is rushing past and Julia asks about the chance of a table for two. The immediate response is "we are full, very full".
Julia thanks the woman and turns to walk away when suddenly the waitress breezes past and says "let me see what I can do".
Lots of noise of tables being moved, patrons asked to shift, a table for four split in two and bingo , we are in business.
Our table is in the middle of a row of three tables for two.
First things first. Just as the English have a thing about apologising at every turn , when it comes to greetings the French are in a league of their own.When we arrive at our table we know the drill and Julia immediately turns to the table on her right and says to the couple "bonjour ". In turn each of these guys looks at Julia and says " bonjour".
Now it's my turn and I turn to the left, let rip with a bonjour and get a couple of bonjours served back at me.
Now Julia turns to her left and repeats the process, they reciprocate , I follow , they reciprocate again and eventually after no less than twelve bonjours we take our seats.
No, the introductions weren't quite over as at that point the aged proprietor , resplendent in hunting attire and scarf to match approached our tables, introduced himself and then went to great lengths arguing for and against the merits of all food options his restaurant had available for this particular lunch. It has to be said that this chap was a PR genius and in no time flat had us all ordering the upmarket Menu at an extra €3.50 per head.
Time for stuttering small talk
English? No, New Zealanders...Kiwis.
Aaah!! Les Blacks....Haka.....Jonah Lomu......Sheep?
Yes, that's us.
Where's that waitress. I need a vino before this conversation takes a turn for the worse.
The couple to my left were a bit older than us and were immediately notable as they were the only guys in the restaurant not drinking wine . This is very odd, as in really very odd.The woman was dressed to the nines yet the guy was wearing the sort of sweater post war mums used to knit for their kids using variously coloured wools That sweater was hard to look at without laughing out loud. The guy was a piece of work, as when he wasn't trying out his English skills on us he was reaching across the table grab his wife's hands , pull them over to his side of the table them proceed to caress them at length whilst at the same time whispering sweet nothing's into her ear in a tone that vaguely sounded like the sort of language you would hear on a Dutch porn channel. All very interesting.
The couple on my right were eighty if they were a day and came scrubbed up in their Sunday best.
Things started getting lively after the old couple had knocked back their first 50cl of white wine , which on reflection was probably 49cl more than their fragile bodies could cope with.
The woman managed to hold things together quite well however by the end of his second glass the old dude was at a stage where whenever he attempted to put his fork loaded with lettuce anywhere near his mouth it ended up hitting his flesh about one inch below his lower lip. Highly entertaining stuff . His wife had a good laugh whenever he managed to hit the spot without having to first negotiate entry via his chin.
When this guy ordered a second 50cl carafe of red I thought he must have had some kind of death wish. This guys attempts at pouring a drink straight out of the carafe into his glass was also a bit of a mission by this stage. If my French wasn't so poor I would have offered to help as at every attempt vino was splashing in all directions . What a waste!
Meanwhile we were dining on fantastic tasting white asparagus and Parma ham for starters followed by the best Boef Bourguignon that has ever past our lips.
A couple of hours on and we exit left and walk back to our car.
At the same time the elderly couple also exit the restaurant . Oh, I forgot , this guy also ordered a third 50cl carafe. 1.5 litres over lunch split between two eighty year olds. These guys were legends.
It was the funniest thing as we watched these two old guys clinging onto each other as they staggered off home. I'm confident if the slightest of winds had blown up these guys would have fallen over on the spot.
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