Rallying Round the Bend

Not many people know about the annual Historic Reims Monte-Carlo car rally. Even fewer know that pretty much every year it passes through our village, so only the Mayor and one of the local farmers were there when Jonathan and I pitched up on the bend by the Mairie just after 10pm last Friday.

It’s only by chance that we know about it. We were sitting in the front room one evening at the end of our first January in residence a couple of years ago when we realised there was an astonishing amount of very loud traffic going by for a late Friday evening. More than likely we were huddled up on the sofa wrapped up in blankets as that was before we had the wood-burner installed. It was a snowy night and neither of us could be bothered to leave our snug spot to go and have a look outside - one disadvantage of shutters is that they stop you sticking your nose through the curtains to see what’s going on. We just put it down to the local youths, who are usually pretty inaudible, being noisy for a change.

The next day the local paper filled us in. The town of Langres, about 50 minutes south of us, is one of the rally control points so the correspondent there could take pictures (much easier when the cars aren’t moving) and talk to some of the drivers, especially the ones from around here. It’s always been a mystery to me why the Journal of the Haute-Marne keeps so many events secret until after they’ve happened. Anyway, this belated coverage enabled us to find more details on the web and we realised that we’d missed the sight of old Porches and Ford Capris, among others, skidding in the snow on the D6 as it makes a wide curve round the Mairie.

After missing last year’s rally because of events back in England, we were determined to take a look this year and Jonathan was equally determined to take a few pictures. Just after ten pm we heard the window-rattling, throaty roar of the first cars picking up speed as they got round the bend just beyond our gates. That was our signal to don several layers of fleece, hats and gloves and head down the road. Circé very wisely decided that it wasn’t worth the effort.

It took a while for Jonathan to get the hang of photographing moving objects in the dark (the street lights in the village go off at the end of the evening) but after a few attempts he really got the hang of it and we’re both pleased with the results.

As the 127 competitors had left Reims in batches, watching an event like this is the polar opposite of the Tour de France. In that case you wait ages, being kept amused by the so-called ‘caravan’ and then, if you’re lucky, the front runners have separated from the péloton, so you get a good look at them before everyone else whizzes past in the space of 10 seconds.

Most of the cars on Friday night went past on their own or in ones and twos so Jonathan usually had plenty of time to cue up the camera, especially as they could be heard long before we could see their headlights. Seeing the camera and the little band of unexpected spectators, most drivers took their foot off the accelerator and flashed their lights. As you can see from the pictures, some even waved. They probably thought we were waving and jumping up and down because this was the most exciting thing that’s happened in Cirfontaines in a while. That might be true, but the fact is that it was well below zero and I for one had only put on one pair of socks, and I’m sure the other spectator was wearing his slippers.

While Jonathan adjusted important camera settings in between cars, there was plenty of time for me to chew the cud with our fellow-spectator (the Mayor having decided to call it a day at about 10.30). Among other things we talked about septic tanks, the wild boar population explosion, and, inevitably, how much better life is here than anywhere else. Every now and then we admired the latest fruits of Jonathan’s labours.

Just after midnight the cold finally got the better of us and as the gaps between cars was getting longer we decided to head home. It was quite a surprise to me how much I enjoyed myself. We’ll certainly try and do the same thing next year, hopefully encouraging a few more people to join in. What’s certain, though, is that I’ll be wearing at least two pairs of socks!

In the meantime, we’ve got even more sport to look forward to. Stage 12 of this year’s Tour de France is passing very close to us.

King for a Day

Last Saturday marked the first event in Cirfontaines’ 2009 social calendar – the annual serving of the traditional ‘Galette des Rois’ to the citizens of the village, with the compliments of the council. The local paper, ‘the Journal of the Haute-Marne’ is always packed full of pictures of happy people participating in whatever’s the current seasonal activity, be it catching an over-sized pike during the fishing season, kissing Père Noel at the children’s Christmas party or winning at skittles on the quatorze . The consumption of ‘galettes de rois’ is no exception and over the past week or so the journal has already been witness to the eating of many a galette in the area.

Although the ‘galette des rois’ party is the time when local Maires give their communities best wishes for the new year, traditionally it was served on twelfth night to celebrate the gifts of the three kings (hence the name).

So what is this French gastronomic delight? Well, it’s a round puff pastry pie with an almond filling, more creamy than frangipane and more almondy than confectioner’s custard. Between new year and the end of January you can find them in most supermarkets, though you’ll get a better quality galette from a patisserie. Wherever you buy your galette, it will come with a golden cardboard crown (more on that later). If you’d like to try making one there’s a recipe here .

We’re particularly lucky in Cirfontaines that one of the commune’s councillors, Hervé, trained as a patissière in the nearby town of Chaumont. He made the galettes we enjoyed on Saturday, just as he does every year, and very good they were, too. Lovely flaky pastry, not too buttery, with a shiny crisp glaze, and a moist almondy mixture inside. Incidentally, the patisserie where Hervé learnt his skills has gone the way of many others with the advent of in-supermarket bakeries (yes, it happens here too), and is now a dry-cleaner’s.

The thing that makes the galette de rois more than yet another fantastic example of French patisserie is the tradition of putting a ‘fève’, or charm, inside, a bit like the sixpence in a traditional British Christmas pudding. The word ‘fève’ also means ‘broad bean’ and I wouldn’t be surprised if in less prosperous days it was a simple bean rather than a fancy charm which went into the galette. The fèves in our galettes are usually tiny china figurines but according to the foodie froggy the poshest Parisien patisseries hide crystal or even gold charms in theirs. If you get the fève in your slice of galette, you get to wear the crown!

At our first Galette des Rois party three years ago Jonathan won not one but two fèves (giving away the fact he managed two slices!) and got another the year after, so he’s getting a bit of a reputation. As you can see from the picture I took yesterday, he was wearing the crown once again.

Lunch by the pool and seven jars of mincemeat

Yesterday was rather a special day. After a week or so of heavy grey skies and rain, during which we felt as if we were spending most of our time wiping Circé’s feet or washing her undercarriage, the sun shone, we opened the shutters and Jonathan cut the hedge in his t-shirt (look, no fleece!).

Although there was a bit of a breeze we had to have lunch outside, so we briefly got back into our summer routine of loading up a couple of trays with bread, cheese, and salad, put on our sunglasses and headed for the pool terrace. Even though the pool was closed a couple of months ago it really did feel like summer. Actually it was even better than most days last summer. As I munched on home-grown salad, still growing strong in the veg patch, I was thinking how awful it would be if we were only on holiday and would have to pack up and go back ‘home’ tomorrow. Jonathan broke the silence; “I’m really glad we moved here. Aren’t you?” Great minds think alike.

Meanwhile, Circé was enjoying her usual pastime of getting into trouble. In spite of our emphatic shouts of “no” and “come”, she was having great fun walking on the pool’s winter cover. The best thing is that it’s made of a very fine mesh which means that as she walks over it, the pool water wells up pleasingly between her paws. I can understand why she likes it so much because it takes me back to childhood memories of watching the sand wash between my feet as the sea came in and out at Waxham beach. While the cover holds her weight at the moment as a huge dog who’s temporarily a reasonable size, things won’t be the same when she’s a big girl, so this palaver had to stop.

Actions speak louder than words, all those puppy training manuals would have us believe, so after a couple of episodes of pool-cover paddling and shouting “no”, we banished her from the terrace, very pleased with our decision to go for a fence rather than a pool alarm when the legislation came in. We half expected (and feared) that she’d spend the rest of our lunchtime either whining or peering in accusingly with her pink nose stuck between the bars of the fence. The so-called punishment was obviously not effective, though, because she simply wandered off to amuse herself with the watering can.

It’s no surprise we’re having mixed success with her training because she’s far too clever for us. She sits nicely before we present her with her food and she understands ‘stay’ when we put her in the back of the car and pull down the hatchback. She’s also got the hang of toilet training, and has worked out how to outwit the stupid humans by pretending to wee or poo so she can get extra treats. The worst, though, is that when she’s doing something interesting she wilfully ignores everything we say. What chance a miracle next week when we’re off for her first proper training session?

And what about the mincemeat?

What really made this an exceptional day was that this surprising treat of a lunch outside wasn’t in April or October but today, Tuesday 5^th DECEMBER. The day I also made seven jars of mincemeat (far later than if I had been an organised cook with no Labrador puppy, I know) AND we had our first two Christmas cards in the post.

Of course today, it’s raining again.