This is the (French country) life!

You can picture the scene; Rick Stein (or a similarly affable francophile foodie) hops off his barge as it ambles along the Canal du Midi (or hops out of his 2CV which has perambulated its way up the drive of an old farmhouse in the Dordogne) and finds himself an impromptu invité as an extended family or group of old friends (preferably wine growers) share a celebratory meal. Have you ever wished you had a bit-part in that scene? Or even better than acting it out, have you ever wished that this sort of thing was part of life, even if it was only on high days and holidays?

As I watched that sort of place-in-the-sun-foodie-in-france sort of tele before we moved, I always wanted that bit-part, but didn’t think it was real life.

But last Saturday Jonathan and I took our places at one of the long trestle tables laid out in the late afternoon sunshine in the garden at the back of the ‘Tour Auditoire’ in Chateauvillain, we felt we really were living the real French country life.

It wasn’t the Midi or the Dordogne, and we weren’t among wine growers, but the late afternoon sun was still strong and the setting was as French as you could get. The ‘Tour Auditoire’ is one of the few remaining parts of the old Chateau – trials overseen by the duke took place in one of the rooms in the tower and it was here that a rabbit was famously tried in the Middle Ages (although I’m not sure what offence it had committed.)

The occasion was a celebratory meal (of course!) for the volunteers who had helped make the first Medieval Fair in the deer park at Chateauvillain a such a success. My small part was to make my first-ever rabbit terrine (I think this particular rabbit was innocent and thankfully my cousin Ed was around and boned it for me) and a veggie terrine Medieval style (lentils, chestnuts and mushrooms) and to help with the serving on the day (you might be able to spot me in action in one of the photos on the Chateauvillain website).

Instead of the estimated 800 people, we think maybe 4,500 turned up. No wonder the “Auberge” was so busy. We sold all the terrine and cleared the town of bread after having to send sorties out twice for extra supplies. I felt quite honoured when in the follow up meeting before the celebratory meal, it was agreed we needed more veggie terrine next time. In such a carnivorous country, that’s quite an achievement!

There were about 35 of us round the table and we were in great company; we ate fish terrine, ham, rice salad with olives, cous cous, grated carrot salad, potato salad with little pieces of sausage, and one of my favourites, beetroot in a creamy dressing – often served here and a million miles away from English-style beetroot in vinegar. This was followed by green salad (of course) served with Brie or Munster, which Jonathan said afterwards wasn’t as formidable as it can be, and then the biggest gateau I’ve ever seen. It was about half a metre square, layered with cream and covered with fresh fruit – melon, redcurrants, strawberries, peaches. I think it was specially made by the boulangerie/patisserie on the high street and it was as far away from English bought-in “gateau” than that beetroot salad was from its English counterpart.

The conversation at our end of the table was the sort of diverse chat I enjoy so much; how to rebuild sections of a stone wall, the unexpected pleasures of picking up hitch hikers and how the young generation have lost the art of being a good hitch-hiker (for a lorry driver it’s all about the conversation so putting headphones on as soon as you get in the cab is the height of ungratefulness!) and the pleasures of living in Tunisia in the late sixties, among other things.

No-one talked very much about plans for next year’s fair, although we’ve already agreed that there will be one. If you want to come, it’ll be on Pentecost Sunday. Let us know if you want somewhere to stay!

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.

Heralds of love – or death – or Autumn ?

Our friend and neighbour Claire came round recently with a basket of wild mushrooms which she and her brother had collected from the forest above the village. They were slaty-grey tubes, almost black, and mixed with bits of leaf, bark and vibrant green moss.

“They’re ‘Trompettes de la mort’”, announced Claire, but just in case we were worried about such an alarming name she assured us that she and her brother, an expert in identifying wild mushrooms, had eaten some the day before. She was living proof that they were the real McCoy. To the untrained English ear the rather sinister name could be mistaken for ‘Trompettes de l’amour’ and maybe this is a more appropriate name for such a precious gift. I was very touched not only that she should be so generous in sharing them with us but also that she’d tried them first before giving some to us!

The next day I sorted out some of the trompettes from the moss, bark and leaves and gave them a quick wash and dry in the salad spinner. Purists would probably be horrified by this but they needed a light wash to get rid of the smaller bits of the forest floor and I couldn’t think of a better way of drying them. Once I’d done that I sautéed a couple of shallots in some butter and added the mushrooms, but as I was lightly turning them in the butter over a low heat I spotted an ominous small grey blob and had to remove the whole lot from the pan very quickly.

Ten minutes later, I’d inspected each trumpet and cooking continued. The moral of the story so far is that the fine tubes of the trumpets make great hiding places for little slugs so if you don’t want to make your guests really think you’re trying to poison them, slit each one open and inspect very carefully.

I kept all this hidden from Jonathan – quite an achievement given that while all this was going on he was with me in the kitchen making his speciality omelettes to go with the mushrooms.

I was very surprised that he’d been so enthusiastic when Claire came bearing her gift as up to now he’d been adamant that any fungus which didn’t come from a supermarket was by definition a toadstool. So I knew any additional protein in his lunch would cause a wobble which might wipe any wild food off the menu for ever.

Once this little hurdle had been overcome I stirred the now-certified-vegetarian trumpets lightly in the butter for a few minutes before adding chopped parsley.

After our lunch, I thought about what to do with the rest of the lovely trompettes. Googling ‘preserving wild mushrooms’ gave me a few options and I decided that of these, open-freezing (sans limaces) gave me the most flexibility for their future use (and also gave me the chance to try out the nifty little tray which came with our new fridge-freezer).

This googling revealed some other useful information about trompettes de la mort. According to l’internaute.com they should start appearing in October and are at their best in November and December. So in this year of decidedly weird weather maybe they’re really trumpeting that Autumn is here.