Apples or Cassis ?

with apologies for the late newsletter, tales from Autumn

Paris, the city of dreams. Before I arrived here, I can’t claim that I was a francophile or had a lifelong passion for residing in this wonderful town. Circumstance brought me here and I just fell in love with France. I say France, and not just Paris because those of you who know me well know that I often wax lyrical about other parts of France. My recent experience of living in Normandy, for example - home of the world’s best dairy, apples, calvados and so much more. And sojourns in Burgundy, exploring new areas and discovering new delights, such as local wines and mountains of brocante.

Well Burgundy is now at the forefront (maybe - that internal argument never seems to end!) Two friends have been house-hunting in this quiet corner of France and have opened the door open to me to join them! Join them, that is, finally become a part-home owner in France!! This has been my dream for such a looooooong time. But I had always envisaged myself in Normandy, not Burgundy. Nonetheless, I was excited and immediately boarded the train from Paris to join the hunt.

My friends had lined up five houses to investigate, all of them in the northern part of Burgundy, near the beautiful Crépan chateau. It’s always a joy to decamp to Dan’s fabulous property, the autumn colours were on full display with yellows, reds and greens lining the paths on the river Ourse. The ever eager dogs, Polly and Vespa, leapt and bound around us as we walked through the property and I contemplated plunging myself into the cold waters. It was my birthday weekend, I thought that a bracing cleansing plunge would be just the thing to herald a new year around the sun, but I must admit I chickened out. The water was just too cold even for my Tasmanian resistance!

So back to those houses. The list comprised a former mill, an old presbytery, a belle époque Anglo- Normandy by the Seine, a grand shambling chateau and a schoolhouse. We were all in heaven! There is something so intriguing about peering into someone else’s life - and imagining what yours could be! You open the door to a home and the stories of people’s lives rush at you, of children running and yelling through the house, stories told around dinner tables, parties held in the “good room”. Of the house growing with families to accomodate grandchildren in attic bedrooms. Rooms left suspended in time - one house was a former doctor’s surgery, his offices and examination rooms still intact. It felt as though he had seen his last patient and simply closed the door on a lifelong career spent in the care of others. It seems the French, once the decision has been made to sell, just end the chapter that was their past lives and move on. What were the stories of these people and how were we going to create new ones for ourselves?

It made me dream of what could possibly be. We visited one property that was an old water mill. Oh the romance of that place! I imagined myself in the small outbuilding, holding cooking classes. The students and I then eating outside, by the river, as it rushed by, the sun glimmering onto a table set with love and all my brocante finds.

Brocanting is something that I really shouldn’t be allowed to do anymore, but it’s a fun part of visiting Dan’s and the brocante centre (name of centre withheld on demand of my friend who wants to keep all the finds for herself!!!) that opens at 2pm sharp in an village not far from Crépan. The good people from the area lined up dutifully, as did we, hoping for that one fabulous treasure you didn’t know you needed then suddenly life wouldn’t be complete without it! I had promised myself that I was going to leave empty handed until I spied six lovely dinner plates and matching cake stand within the first thirty seconds. Yes, that promise now lies in the dust, such is the lure of brocanting.

We ate well, we always do. Especially on the night of my birthday. The weather held onto its autumnal gloriousness and Dan spent the day preparing a magnificent bonfire deep in the forest, complete with picnic tables, candles galore, delicious cocktails drunk from jam jars and a slow roasted shoulder of lamb. It developed a deep, rich smokey flavour after its marinade of fresh herbs from the garden and great chunks of garlic reached deep into the meat. We roasted wedges of aubergine and courgettes to deep golden yumminess. Slow roasted potatoes, an excellent almond hommos and a beet and feta salad completed the dinner. Earlier in the day I had bought a sparkly silver dress to complete the fun - it wouldn’t be my birthday without dancing around the bonfire in a few sparkles. Just not too close or that dress would have gone up in a puff of synthetic silver flames and ruined all the fun!

The next day started with a treasure hunt that took me all around the grounds, Polly and Vespa helping me with the clues. The search was on for birthday gifts of my one favourite Australian junk foods, Twisties! Five various flavours later I managed to have just enough self control to not eat them all in one go. It wasn’t easy but I held back because the last of the celebrations occurred at Le Garde Champetre, a lovely restaurant close by that grows its own fruit and veg, where possible; and sources all its proteins from nearby farmers. My kinda place. Several hours later after tacos, beautiful bite size tarts filled with smokey shavings of cured ham, roast cabbage with a lick of quince, a dish of just roasted to perfection chicken with the beginning of mushrooms from the nearby forests, I was one happy birthday girl. The wine, all Burgundian of course, was simply lovely. The red especially: the want to live in both Normandy and Burgundy was becoming a worrisome problem!

What I do know without any hesitation is that after twenty years or there abouts, its time for my own home.

Recipe :

Poached Quinces

Whilst perusing the houses that were for sale in Burgundy, we came across many fruit trees in the yards attached to the houses. Not so surprisingly, many were quince trees or “coing”, in French. I greedily helped myself to many of them as we traipsed around the houses. Back at Dan’s, I set about poaching them in a heavily scented syrup of bay leaves, cinnamon and a few star anise. We left them at a low heat overnight in the oven and were rewarded by glowing rich ruby quinces in the same exquisite syrup the next morning.

Ingredients:

5 quinces, cut into quarters, peeled and cored,saving the cores and peels.

500g sugar

750 mls of water

4 bay leaves

1 cinnamon quill

2 star anise

Method :

Begin by placing the peels and cores of the quince in a pot with 400mls of water. Bring to the boil and simmer for 30 mins until the liquid begins to thicken ever so slightly. Strain. The skins and cores contain pectin and this will aid in not only flavour but will aid in “setting” the syrup, should you want to make jelly from the syrup, once the quinces are ready.

Place the quartered quinces in a heavy baking pan, add the sugar and herbs and spices. Measure out the water, saved from the cores and peels and top up with more water to make a total of 750mls making sure that the quinces are mostly covered with liquid. Cover the pan with either a sheet pan or aluminium foil. Place in a 120 degree oven overnight, if possible, or if your oven is less reliable, or you simply can’t take the stress of leaving it for that long, for a minimum of 6-8 hours. The quinces are ready when they are a lovely rich ruby colour and are soft to the touch (see above). Leave to cool. Eat with ice cream, clotted cream, pop on top of a pavlova, chop up finely and have with some cheese or eat with a game meat of choice!

See you all soon and Happy New Year !