March in Paris is that lovely time of year where spring is no longer a far away dream and the flower beds of Paris are finally starting to show brilliant signs of colour. It also happens to be birthday season for a few of the friends that I have made since arriving in Paris. Thus, on my last night at the Tower, it was decided between two of the birthday girls that a party must be had! And so it came to pass that, near the end of the month, thirteen of us made our way to Crepan - Dan’s truffle farm in Burgundy.
I managed to get a lift with one of the birthday gals, her and her husband in a wonderful tank of a classic BMW. Being in that car always makes me feel very well taken care of. I do love a road trip, it’s a great way of seeing more of the French country side and is the perfect excuse to stop at a small village, a picture postcard one, if you are lucky. Yes, they do vary - stopping at a cafe on the side of a tiny laneway in a medieval village beats a 15 minute pause at a Leclerc petrol station any day!
I rose early that Saturday to make sandwiches for the trip. If I love a road trip, then I love a packed lunch even more. Maybe it’s the anticipation of being able to stop by a river and unpack - no instant gratification. Would the sandwich taste just as good as you hoped it would? I am careful to ensure I don’t make sandwiches that turn into a soggy mess by lunchtime! I had trundled to my new favourite boulanger, called P1 to buy crisp, robust loaves the day before, for lunch en route and also as part as my contribution to the party. They make a great seeded loaf called cui cui and the olive loaf looked so good, I bought that as well. Using the cui cui, I made classic chicken salad and a spicy egg with pickled cucumber sandwiches on slices of the olive loaf.
I also made the trek to La Parisienne on Rue du Faubourg-Poissonnière to bag a baguette. Why? Because Boulanger Mickael Reydellet of this (now) esteemed establishment had just won the annual award for best baguette in Paris. So worth the trip! The prize for the Grand Prix de la Baguette de Tradition Française de la Ville de Paris, an annual competition is 4,000 euros and - so prestigious - become the official supplier of baguette to the Élysée palace for the next year. Whoo-hoo!!! After seven years in Paris I admit I have become a bit fussy about the quality of the bread I buy. Was the award justified? Mais bien sûr! The baguette was the perfect combination of crunch and elasticity. No soggy sandwiches for this little picnicker. I layered it with prosciutto, a smokey scamorza and rocket leaves, with a light smear of smoked harrisa and mustard. We ate all this yumminess on a park bench in a sweet village that we passed through on the way to the party. I felt that I was living the French traveller’s dream!
As we drove up to Crepan, the destination, our hosts were knee deep in preparations. The sun shone on the Orangerie and my friend hung out from the higher windows and yelled out greetings. I do love Paris but the French countryside gives me a sense of calm and I take in lungfuls of stress relieving fresh air and marvel at the plane trees standing in perfect symmetry. We unpacked the car, my friends having bought a generous dinner of quails in a robust cherry broth and potato dauphinoise. We then went for a walk around the property, hints of spring everywhere. The happy chickens and proud long necked ducks were out of their pens, slugs beware! It’s part of the reason that I love coming here, the rural dream is alive and well, a vegetable patch, a menagerie of the ducks, chickens and two dogs. A truffle orchard behind the wall and a mill stream that glides by. And, bordering that, a pétanque field.
On Sunday after a boisterous dinner the night before, I arose feeling a little “tired” and decided that throwing myself in the freezing waters of the property’s stream was the only solution. I’m timid when it comes to these things, if I can gingerly get into the water, taking my time, that is much more preferable. Stripping off, I gradually waded in up to my knees, then dipped my hands and then bravely decided that if I just leaned over and popped my face in the water too, that would be enough. But it wasn’t. I chided myself for my lack of courage and after repeating the mantra, “if I can do this, I can do anything”, under I went! The cold was shocking, stinging, it seized my breath. But, bizarrely, the cold suddenly became a comfort, a relief; strangely you feel warmer and you almost don’t want to get out. Until your lips turn blue. Out I leapt into a cozy waiting towel, and raced back to the château and a hot shower.
Then it was time to get ready for lunch, which entailed a hunt for ail des ours - wild garlic - which grows on the banks of a nearby river. Off we went, rolling around in the back of a friend’s van, until we came to the spot. Well, almost. No evidence of garlic leaves anywhere. Had the season finished? Maybe a little further along? More grass, more mud, more brambles, no garlic. We pressed on, little baskets clutched in our optimistic hands until, suddenly, we were rewarded. A friend had bolted ahead and, following the sound of her very Australian “coo-ee” we discovered a field of garlic leaves hiding in a bend of the river. We filled our baskets and anticipated the ail des ours pesto we would soon be enjoying for lunch, all the more delicious for knowing a small spot of foraging made a major contribution.
The birthday dinner was much later in the evening than anticipated. Maybe the fact that I saw this as normal was a mark of becoming French. I made, with the help of Dan’s son, who happens to be a qualified chef, roast Margret du canard with braised caramelised endives and master stock braised beets. I made a sauce from the stock after the beets were ready, the aroma inviting many questions from the party. A fresh fennel salad with mint from Dan’s garden completed the dinner. There was cake, of course, a simple orange and almond one, made by Dan. The dinner summed up the weekend, it was a lovely collaborative experience, filled with joy.
But I realised how much I missed cooking. A break to take stock is wonderful as is the gift of time but I know that what I need is to cook and have a place to call my own. In many ways, it cant come fast enough. Now if I can only figure out where that is… Life takes you to many unexpected places - let’s see where I end up.
Our group is very much enticed by the creative so the after dinner entertainment was… diverse! There was a drag king performance, the recitation of Australian poems, limericks too gaudy to print here, a few rounds of karaoke complete with dance moves and the night finished with glasses of champagne, well wishes for the birthday gals and gift giving. I rose the next day, throwing myself in that cold, cold stream again. I arrived back at the house, the sun warming me as I walked back and sat down to a breakfast of boiled eggs, supplied by those ducks and chickens. We all gathered on the steps of the Orangerie close to departure time to enjoy the sun and each other’s company. I left being wrapped in the warmth of good friends, happy memories and the feeling of being well and truly alive !
Recipe - courtesy of Dan @Crepan 21
Ail Des Ours (Bear’s Ears) Pesto
Ingredients :
2 cloves of garlic
100g of toasted pine nuts
100g grated parmesan
A generous handful of washed ail des ours ( enough to make the pesto vibrant green) about 200g give or take
200g good quality extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Method :
Place the garlic cloves and 50g of the olive oil in a blender with a pinch of salt and blitz until the the garlic forms a paste. If needed, add more olive oil in order to make a paste. Slowly start adding the ail des ours and nuts, pulsing the mixture, to make a loose paste along with more oil. When all the ail des ours and nuts have been incorporated, add the parmesan and if you need, more oil. The mixture should be slightly chunky, a little texture is a good thing. (see above photo) If too thick add more oil or water. Dan prefers his to be fairly thick. Check for seasoning.
We ate ours tossed through al dente spaghetti, a squeeze of lemon and parmesan sprinkled over the top.
Happy eating and have a great week.
Kathx
Super Kath!! I have so much of that garlic growing in my garden! I never knew i could actually do something with it!