Movin on....

No more pastis on the porch. No more self-cooked dinners. On the road again. Susan had a poetic farewell to Ansouis on her blog, and it's hard to improve on the sentiments, so I won't try.

We spent a few days in Arles, at the apex of the Rhone River delta, gateway to the Camargue. Arles is a fine small city, filled with Roman antiquities and medieval streets. It was also full of photographers, as it often is. It is home to France's National School of Photography, and there happened to be the annual exhibition of nudes in six or seven venues. It was great wandering around so many photographers and people that appreciate photography. The other photo part of the trip was a visit to the Cathedral d'Images in Les Baux de Provence, a slide show/movie presentation inside an abandoned bauxite mine, with images projected onto the walls in the 12 meter high rooms.

We timed our visit to the Camargue to match the one sunny day, and had a delightful driving, strolling time investigating the sights and the birds. The flamingos were a special treat. A great meal, too, at a small auberge far from anywhere, with the small local clams their specialty.

In the meantime, we've made our way east, with a quick stop in the maritime village of Antibes (between Cannes and Nice), with it's yachts of the wealthy and the Picasso museum, finding our way to the top of the hill in Castelvittorio, where Susan's sister and sister in law live.  We thought we'd had our fill of medieval villages, but the Italian version were so much different than the French that we were once again spellbound...stay tuned for some pics of the villages and of the terraced rural living that has to be seen to be believed.

Presently in the Nice airport awaiting a quick flight to Dusseldorf to see Susan's brother and family, and then the northern European portion of the journey.

Jumbo artichokes and jumbo mountains

Five weeks has gone by quickly.  It's Tuesday, and we depart Ansouis on Thursday.  Which means we've had to be judicious when visiting the markets, casting aside all sorts of culinary temptations.  Last night was "everything that needs to be eaten jumble". Which tasted pretty good, but still, you can feel the constraint and the underlying message that we'll be leaving here soon.

It was pouring rain and chilly this morning, which meant that the Cucuron market wasn't hitting on all cylinders. Only a few stalls, and not many people. The rotisserie chicken and potatoes cooked in chicken fat seemed like a good easy choice. And there were a few ginormous artichokes. I'd stayed away from artichokes since the disappointment with the little purple ones early in our stay here, but I'd been wanting to try these artichokes that were the size of grapefruits.

Simple steaming (for only a half hour -- I was surprised how fast they cooked). Simple mustard vinaigrette for dip, and we had lunch. There were some tough outside leaves, but the artichoke was as it should be, and the hear was huge. Part of the stem was edible as well.

The highlight of the week was the climb of Mont Saint Victoire, the mountain that Cezanne was fascinated with. Upon our arrival in Provence five weeks ago, it was an imposing presence as we departed the TGV station in our rental car. We'd been wanting to climb it, and finally did so when B&A invited us along on one of their hiking journeys.

It's even more imposing up close.  From this view, it looks like any other mountain (albeit one that's pretty bare), but from the south, you can see that the mountain top stretches for kilometers behind that pointy summit.  The photo is taken near the start of our climb.  It was a hardy two hour climb, with fantastic views throughout.  I loved the view down the west spine, showing the flowing geology of the mountain. And we had great views of Mont Ventoux off the north side. And lest the food theme that began this post be lost, our simple picnic lunches were made even more splendid by the frequent wishes of "bon appetit!" from the other hikers at the chapel near the summit. Everyone that passed us, without fail, expressed this joyous greeting.

Pics from the day!

Of Churches and Lunch

France has lots of churches.  Like the rest of Europe.  And a lot of them are old.  Really old.  And in places that may have once been bustling, but are now on the top of lonely hilltops.  Or desolate forest glades.  Some of these are ruins.  Some are kept alive.  Presumably by the Church (with a capital C).  But it might be the government.  Not sure.  For old times sake? 

The thing is, though, that no one seems to actually GO to church.  They barely go to the churches in the lively cities, much less the ones in neglected ruin-towns.  We were here on Good Friday, but no one took off, and it seemed like every other day.  Ditto Easter, though we did hear some bells ring.  The signs on the doors of the various churches around here say that Sunday morning services rotate among the three or four village churches from Sunday to Sunday.  But all of these are good sized churches that are being kept going.  In the US, The Church is closing churches for this reason.  That doesn't seem to be going on here.  Supply and demand doesn't seem to make a difference.

In Italy, at least, we saw people praying in the churches.  Among the tourists, there's always be someone taking a few moments for themselves.  Not here.  Strictly tourist attractions as far as I can tell.

This morning (Sunday morning), we went to the grandaddy of all the outdoor markets in Provence at Isle sur la Sorgue.  Blocks and blocks of produce, clothing, nic nacs, soap, lavender, sausages, and the thing that makes this one special -- antiques.  It was pouring rain when we left the house at 10:00, but cleared by the time we got there at 11:00.  Spent a good hour wandering the stalls, thankful that we have no room in our luggage for anything of substance.  (That's me talking -- I'm not sure if Susan is thankful or not).  The place was thronged.  I can only imagine how busy it would be if it hadn't been pouring rain just an hour before.  Or in the height of tourist season.

Roundabouts 12:00 we started to feel a little hungry, so scouted out some lunch opportunities.  Which were plentiful.  Plentiful.  But they had to be.  Because Sunday lunch in Isle sur la Sorgue, as in any other bustling place in the south of France, is like a game of musical chairs.  You can't wait too long, or you won't have a place to sit.  Because everyone eats at the same time.  At noon, you can have a table, but some have already been reserved.  By 12:30, the pickings are slim, and you might be eating off the pizza truck.  Since lunch is a two+ hour affair, there are no second chances.  (Though, at the place we ended up, there did seem to be a small throng of people looking hungrily in our direction.  I didn't think anything of it until I realized they were waiting for our tables!.  Which I hadn't seen for so long I didn't know what to make of it.)  We settled in at about 12:15, just in time to snag an outdoor seat, under an umbrella, that wasn't behind a market vendor's truck or on an awkward tilt.  Perfect. 

Lunch was good.  Very good.  Three-course "menu" for 15 euros.  (The last time I was in France, there were Prix Fixe menus everywhere -- I haven't seen that phrase at all this time.)  Mussels gratinee to start, duck-leg confit for the main dish and isle flottant for dessert (floating islands of meringue in a vanilla flavored sauce).  With a shared 0.5 liter picher of rose.  No one was in a rush.  Not us.  Not the kitchen.  The waiter seemed a little flustered, but I'm not sure why, because the attitude of the French waiters seems to be "you'll get your food when you get your food", and "I'll take your order when I'm good and ready -- you're going to be here for a few hours anyway, what's your rush?"  And unless we're starving, we're generally fine with that.  The other night, we waited a half hour for our menu.  We think it was punishment for not ordering apertifs. 

It would be nice if they thought to bring the little basket of baguette out when you sat down, rather than waiting for the first course.  Take the edge off a little?  No one seems to have thought of that.  Maybe it's illegal.  Did you know that the government fixes the price of baguettes?

By the time we'd finished our first course, we noticed that the streets had emptied.  EVERYONE was eating lunch.  Shopping's done.  Lunch begins.  This happens regularly here, even on weekdays.  Businesses close at least from 12-2.  Some from 12-3, and the grocery store from 12-4.  Plan accordingly.  Do not get between the French and their lunch.  Interestingly, though, more and more stores are open "non-stop".  We noticed many such signs in Aix en Provence.  And the Hyper-U is open non-stop.  I wonder what those negotiations with their labor force looked like?  I'll enjoy the convenience of non-stop shopping, but if the idea catches on, something larger will be lost.

No one's in church on Sunday, but everyone's eating lunch.  I can't complain with that set of priorities. There was a lot of family together-time.  And friends enjoying each other's company.  Good wholesome activities.  Maybe if they served lunch at church? 

That lunch you see at the top?  Not today's -- I didn't take a single picture today.  But it was yesterday's lunch, so it fits the topic.  Beef brain salad.  It was worth trying.  And inexpensive.  Like any cold cut really.  Susan's choice was much better -- shrimp sprinkled with grapefruit juice and cilantro.  That was worth reverse-engineering. 

Vibes of History

When traveling about Europe, you can't help but be entranced with the remnants of the past that are everywhere.  In the US, we have the occasional historical site, some less than 100 years old.  Here, especially in the tourist areas, but really everywhere, everything has a long history.  In Ansouis, the village where we're staying, there is a Chateau at the top of the hill that was built a thousand years ago. And ownership had been in the same family until just a couple of years ago.  I sometimes wonder when I see villagers and farmers how long their families have lived in this region.

There are also ruins everywhere.  Some from the Roman ages, some from medieval times.  The Roman ruins are stunning, but they're generally bits and pieces lying around, that don't give a sense of what life must have been like.  Some of the medieval ruins are well preserved.  For example, the village of Oppede le Vieux is a place I'd seen last time I was here, and was eager to show Susan.  The main attraction was the old village topped as usual by a chateau.  Although this chateau was in ruins, there was enough left to give some feeling of the time.  It had been a stronghold of a local ruler who had made it his business to seek out and destroy the Vaudois, the renegade Christians that were trying alternative approaches the the Pope's church.  Oppede le Vieux is perched on a hill on the north side of the Luberon with a commanding view of the valley below.  On the day we were there, it was crystal clear, and we could see Mont Ventoux.

But this was one chateau in one medieval village.  Then we visited Fort Buoux.  Pronounced beyu-ouks we are told.  Near the village of Buoux, a village of a little more than 100 people, this fort is on a promenade overlooking the Vallon de l’Aiguebrun, it has been inhabited for millenia, and there are archeological remnants dating back that far.  What you see most obviously is the 13th century fort that was ordered dismantled in the 17th century by Louis IV.   It had also been a place of refuge for the Hugenots (same as the Vadois?  I'm not sure).  There are several ramparts, guard towers, storage bins for grain and water, dwellings, and a Romanesque church.  Plus a secret staircase down the back. The vantage point makes this place impregnable.    An assortment of pictures on my Flickr page.

These were not the dwellings of the privileged that we see most places in chateaus, castles, schloss, pallazo.  These were people struggling to get by in homes no more ornate than caves, protected by several layers of trenches and walls, up on a hilltop promenade.  Though clearly impregnable to attack, it seemed to us very vulnerable to siege.  Where would the food come from if surrounded?  The sheer cliffs nearby must have provided hiding spots for defenders of this fort. (Apparently, this is a favorite spot for rock climbers, too).

The fort is the property of the commune of Buoux.  The caretaker lives on site and sells tickets in exchange for your 3 euros.  While visiting "up top", we were surprised by his head popping up from under a cliff -- apparently free-climbing up the wall.  He said he goes that way when he's in a hurry.  We chatted with his wife (well, we assumed it was his wife) for a bit, and found that they've lived there for 40 year.  Their home is graced by spectacular gardens, which they must have time to tend between groups of travelers.   Sneaking a peek inside, we were surprised to see a substantial pile of books on the table -- not your average ticket taker!

The Swifts -- Our Feathered Neighbors

We sit on the deck here a lot. A lot. To eat. To sun. To read. To knit. To chat. To check e-mail. Especially now that it's warmer, if we're at the house, we're up on the deck.

To keep us company, are the Swifts. They're a pack, swarm, family of small birds that cannot be ignored. One moment their floating on air currents, high above, subtly tipping their wings one way or another to steer. Next, they're swooping and diving, wings aflapping, making banked turns just over our heads. They get close enough we can hear their wings whoosh by, and when they're flapping, we can hear the flaps.

They fly independently, but often dance with their buddies, in twos, threes, fives, sixes. At any one time, we might see fifty or more, but sometimes there's only one or two. They tend to be out at our mealtimes (and theirs!), especially dinner, when the bug population must be highest.

We learned from JAdR that they spend virtually their entire lives in the air. The only time they come down is to nest. 80% of their lives in the air. These are not your average bird. Through some other internet sources, I've learned that they can (and often do) outrun thunder storms, flying hundreds of miles to avoid being rained on. They sleep "on the wing", up in the air currents. They were once thought to not have feet at all, but it turns out that they just have small feet. Why have feet if you're up in the air all the time?

We've come to enjoy the company of our friends, the Swifts.

As a side benefit to the Swift experience, I've discovered a whole new side of my cameras, that is the video piece. Now, I may be the last person on earth that's discovered this, but the video quality of these cameras is pretty swift. Susan and I also discovered a new use for the video. When we're out an about, and we want to remember something, and it's not something we can take a picture of, we can just record the other person saying it out loud. In a video file. Most people use the video for more creative things, but hey...use what you got.

Gnovel Gnocchi

 

The markets here abound with surprises. In Pertuis last Friday, Susan found some basil gnocchi, and she's a sucker for gnocchi any time. I'm generally less excited about gnocchi, rarely finding the potato-based pasta to be anything other than a gooey disaapointment. Susan made half the gnocchi last Friday for lunch, right after we got home. She enjoyed it, but wasn't overwhelmed. I demurred, figuring why bother.

The second half remained in the fridge, in the ubiquitous small paper bags that they give here at the markets that ensure that you can't see what you have on hand.

In the meantime, I saw a post somewhere about an alternative approach to gnocchi -- pan frying instead of boiling -- that really got my attention. Now, I'm a sucker for crisp, browned potatoes of any sort. Roasted potatoes, home fries with onions, whatever, and I'm a fan. (I wish I could give you a link to the inspirational post, but alas, I can't find it. I'm pretty sure it was Bittman, but the Times now has a new Diner's Blog replacing good ol' "Bitten" that I don't know where it is, despite my valiant few minutes of googling).   Update:  it was 101 Cookbooks.  Of course.

We had scored some asparagus from the honey lady at the Cucuron market on Tuesday.The thick bundle became part of lunch on Wednesday to accompany a charcoal-grilled chicken (first BBQ of the season!), but still had a bundle of the thin ones. The honey lady said the thick ones were best for stand-alone use, while the thin ones were good in things like omelets. Omelets, gnocchi...hmmm.

(By the way, I'm having a great time typing the word gnocchi. Gnocchi, gnocchi, gnocchi. Susan's even teaching me how to pronounce it properly -- think the transition between syllables of "banyan" or "canyon" to handle that awkward "gno" start.)

So. Couple of glugs of olive oil in the skillet. Couple of cloves of garlic minced, sauteed for a minute or so to flavor the oil. Add in the asparagus, sliced into three or four pieces each, on a bias. Add in the gnocchi at the same time. Cook on low for a few minutes to get them both cooked through, then crank up the heat to brown. A little salt and pepper before serving, and we're done.

I was in heaven. I'll eat gnocchi like this any time. with any kind of accompaniment. The texture was firm, but not mushy. The slight crunchiness added some interest. Like eating potatoes! Susan was disappointed that the basil-flavoring of the gnocchi (it was basil gnocchi) wasn't coming through, but I didn't care.  I have a feeling that sitting for almost a week in the fridge didn't do it any good on that score. The garlic/oil was enough for me. And the asparagus cooked this way was perfect as well.

Bring on the gnocchi I say. As long as I can use my skillet. Gnocchi, gnocchi, gnocchi, gnocchi.

To market, to market....

Well, the weather's turned from being cold at night and first thing in the morning, with a chance for cloudy/rainy/cold during the day or bright blue skies and crispy, maybe creeping up to 60 or 65 if we're lucky, to warm evenings and mornings, and stellar middays.  Today was supposed to reach the mid-70s, and I'm pretty sure it did.  But, dramatic stormy skies are way more interesting in photos, so that's the lead photo in this post, despite the title.

We spend a lot of time thinking about food and how/where to get it.  Each town has market on a different day.  Our little town of Ansouis has a small Sunday market, with one vegetable vendor, one charcuterie/ (salami, etc)/cheese vendor, one chicken/rabbit guy, and some jewelery.

The next small town over, Cucuron, is on Tuesday, with a larger market, boasting several vegetable vendors, honey/asparagus, cheese, salami, olives/tapenade and various dips, prepared foods, and clothes.  And, a couple of bar/cafes to rest after the effort of making decisions about what to buy.

You can also fill up your own bottles with your favorite wine at the wine filling station.

The little city nearby is Pertuis, and it's on Friday morning.  It's big.  Blocks long.  Anything and everything.  Lots of clothes and nick naks.  The paella I raved about the other day.  Competing with Pertuis on Friday is Lourmarin -- a small, chic town also with a large market, higher end stuff, and higher end prices.

Without a car, we've been fortunate to have friends offer to take us one place or another, but the market event can consume half the day.  Then, there's the Hyper-U.  Pronounced Eeeeper ooo.   I refused to say this for a while, when it's clearly the hiyper you, or as some of the expats we've met call it, the hyper-tension.  Think Walmart.  Always busy.  But they actually have some pretty good stuff, and I'm sure they've given the little markets a run for their money.  They rent cars too.  And cut hair.  Develop pictures.  Do laundry.

Anyway, it seems like we're always strategizing our next few meals, trying not to over-buy, which is easy to do, and trying not to go hungry.  So far, we've succeeded pretty well.

Eat to live.  Or live to eat.  My Uncle Walter always used to ask.  Here, it's clearly the latter.  We understand that the French spend a considerably higher portion of their income on food than others around the globe.  Unsourced information (well, sourced from Bjorn and Anne...not sure where they got it from), and it sounds about right.