Le Dolium

We celebrated Ellen’s birthday by going to a very nice restaurant in Beaumes de Venise. The village of Beaumes de Venise is located at the edge the Dentelles de Montmirail mountains about 20 km from Vaison la Romaine.

Celebrating a birthday at a restaurant in the winter months (January – March) can be tricky. This is the season of “congé annuel” (annual vacation) for many restaurants. I had suggested a few names only to discover that these restaurants were closed until March 7 or later. I finally made reservations at Le Dolium (Dolium is the word for a Roman clay jar). Sometimes I get lucky. We had an excellent meal.

When one goes to a good restaurant, one expects good food and good service. We were not disappointed! From the “amuse bouche” (appetizer) to the end of the cheese course, everything was well prepared.

The “amuse-bouche” was salt cod presented with a piece of pickled pepper (how many pickled peppers can Peter Piper pick?) and a sprig of fennel. Following the appetizer Ellen had sashimi as her entrée. I had foie gras. Since we share everything (also known as eating à la Ellen), I can say that the sashimi was as good as my foie gras. The main courses were a continuation of what we had begun to expect: excellently prepared and presented food. Ellen had Merlu (hake) and I had a filet of beef.

Often, it seems that vegetables are an afterthought but at Le Dolium, our meals included a nice portion of vegetables. In addition to the veggies, Ellen had a mushroom (morels and asperagus) risotto that was the best risotto I have had. (It sets a higher bar for my attempts to make this creamy dish.)

The cheese course was a round of goat cheese on which they had dribbled some garlic-flavored olive oil served with a small salad of arugula and mesclun.

“You eat first with your eyes”. The dishes at Le Dolium were all very attractive – even the choice of plate styles enhanced the presentations.

Since the restaurant is attached to the Beaumes de Venise wine coop, it is not surprising that they served the wines of the coop. I remember that a French friend had told us that the best of the wine coops in the area was Beaumes de Venise. We shared an excellent red: Terre du Trias 2013.

“I Can’t Stop Smiling” (Love and Theft)

We arrived at our apartment in France last week. A friend from Aix en Provence came to the airport to greet us. Our neighbor had driven from Vaison la Romaine to pick us up and bring us back to our “pied à terre” (“pied à terre” is our term to describe our 400 sf villa <]; > ).

The next day, we were sorting clothes and organizing things at the apartment for our séjour here. Since we rent out our apartment when we are in the states, our return often includes the exercise of finding objects and returning them to where they belong (where I think they belong.) There have been times when I have found a kitchen utensil at a spot different from the one I had chosen and then decided that whoever moved it had made an improvement in our kitchen arrangement.

As I was working at nesting, I found that I was smiling. At one point Ellen looked at me and asked: “What?” to which I replied: “I can’t stop smiling.”

I know that part of the curve in my smile comes from recognizing how lucky I am to be able to live this dream. Another part of the smile comes from how much I enjoy the French language and things French. Being here makes me happy.

Looking at the differences between here and there is pronounced this year. I smiled when I saw that diesel fuel costs less than a Euro per liter! That translates into almost $4 per gallon in the states but I have never seen fuel prices as low as they are now.

The taste of a French baguette is something I miss during our time stateside. I don’t know whether it is the flour or the climate or the way they bake them but I take a bite of a baguette from one of the local bakeries (there are six in our village) and it makes me smile.

“Exotic” foods are not so exotic in France and thus a whole lot cheaper (and that makes me smile). Lamb is affordable and fresh and local but one can also find rabbit and duck and fresh mussels and… and I won’t even discuss the differences in cheese selections.

We have the good fortune of having wonderful friends in the states as well as in France. I am probably being repetitive given other blog post that I have written but friends enrich life and make me thankful and make me smile. In fact, I can’t stop smiling.

Summertime and the livin is easy… (George Gershwin)

We have been back in the states for two months now. I have stopped interjecting French words into conversations. (I find that most people just look at me strangely when I say “voila” instead of “see” or “there you are”.) I try to remember to say “yoo-hoo” instead of “coucou” when I’m trying to get a neighbor’s attention.

We have acclimated fairly well to our state-side lives. Even though we have been living our schizophrenic lives for seven years now, I find that I still get surprised when we make the transition.

·         I lament the fact that I cannot walk to a grocery from our Lansing home. (The City Market is a little over two miles from here – but there remains only one produce stand (and the good cheese shop). There are neighborhood weekly farmer markets but nothing quite like market day in any village in Provence.

·         Americans dress far more casually than the French. Sweat pants and T-shirts seem closer to the norm than the aberration. We seem to have forgotten Jerry Seinfeld’s comment that ‘people who wear sweats in public are announcing that they have given up’.

·         Dining out in the states usually includes taking home a doggy-bag – more accurately, a styrofoam container – for the second portion that was served as part of your meal. The size of the portion served here is much larger than what we expect in France. (There are now some French restaurants which have begun offering take-away containers.)

·         For a long time, we have thought that food in France was more expensive and wine in France was less expensive than here but my perceptions are changing. Meats, cheeses and local vegetables seem to be equal to or less than American prices. For instance, a log of goat cheese that costs almost $10 in the states sells for about ¼ th that amount in France. ‘Exotic’ meats, e.g., duck, quail, rabbit, even lamb, are far less expensive in France and more often locally produced. Eggs are more expensive but bread – a baguette – is about a third of the US price. (Clothing is more expensive in France.)

·         We are fortunate to have a home with a backyard large enough for my vegetable garden. Many fewer houses in our village have enough land for a garden and at our apartment, we can manage only a few herbs grown on the balcony.

·         It seems easier to find a good craftsman/mason/carpenter in the states. We have heard horror stories about craftsmen and their work here but not nearly as often as we hear the stories of poorly done work in our village. not sure whether Angie’s List covers France…

This past weekend, we went to the christening of our godson’s first child. While the baptism was the main event, driving to North Carolina permitted me to reconnect with a high school friend and to see my sister and beau frère who drove from Wilmington to meet us in Raleigh for lunch. The events and gatherings were all fun: what beats family and friends?

Nesting (Nidification)

We have been back in the US for about 18 hours now. We have spent most of that time “nesting” – taking clothing items out of our storage bins and putting them back in the dressers and closets where they will remain until the next round of house-sitters arrives.

We have done this enough times that it is a fairly routine activity. “Nesting” is a whole lot less stressful that getting the apartment ready for renters. It is an activity that we can perform at our leisure. Except for the occasional item that I NEED RIGHT NOW, most of it can take place over the days and weeks ahead. Leaving the apartment and France is stressful because: a) we are leaving France and I drag my feet on getting things packed and put away and b) a renter arrived the same day we left, so we had a specific window of time to get everything ready for renters.

Our house and lawn (British “garden”) are in great shape. Our house-sitters took wonderful and meticulous care of our house while we were away. They even prepared (tilled) the vegetable plot and planted garlic last winter!

After noticing and admiring the house/garden/vegetable plot, the next thing I noted was how much earlier darkness arrives in Lansing when compared with our village in Provence. When one follows the latitude lines, Vaison la Romaine, FR is on a par with Traverse City, MI, 200 miles north of Lansing. The further north one goes, the longer the summer daylight hours become. This morning when we woke at 6:00 (after an early night of jet-lagged sleep), the sun had not yet risen. Provence can support tropical plants and long growing seasons thanks to the Gulf Stream and the trade winds that bring warm air to southern Europe (until climate change shuts down the Gulf Stream and Provence becomes cold like Traverse City in the winter…)

There is a real comfort from being back in our neighborhood. One of my French friends wanted to know why we continue to split our time between Vaison la Romaine and Lansing. The easy and honest answer is friends. We have wonderful friends – many of whom are also our neighbors. Hearing the description of the circle of wonderful friends and family, my French friend had to admit that he admired the American style of open front yards and porches where one can easily encounter neighbors. (The French usually construct high – 8-10 ft. – walls around their properties.)

Now that we have put away enough things to feel comfortable, it is time to go to see/talk with neighbors and friends.

Civility

This morning, as I was about to enter the bakery to get my daily baguette, a young boy ran past me and into the shop. He asked for a baguette, handed the clerk a 5 euro bill, took his change and darted out of the bakery. The clerk looked at me and shook her head. “Il est entré sans dire ‘bonjour’, il a pris sa baguette et il est parti et il n’a dit  ni ‘merci’, ni ‘au revoir’.  Les enfants ces jours-ci!» (“He came in without saying ‘hello,’ he took his baguette and left but did not say ‘thank you’ or ‘good-bye’. Kids these days!”)

I suppose that worrying about kids and their lack of manners is universal – and the older I get, the more I worry.

The incident made me think of a list that I saw recently at Matadornetwork.com. The list was: 11 ways to humiliate yourself in France. Number one on the list was: “Fail to say ‘bonjour’”. (To see the list of 11 no-no’s to avoid in France, go to: www.matadornetwork.com/life/11-ways-humiliate-france/ )

I have gotten better about being sure to say ‘bonjour’ no matter whether it is at a shop, a box store or a social gathering but I am far from perfect. For instance, the other day, when my American friend Ray was with me, I could not find something in the grocery store, so I stopped a clerk and asked where I would find X? He stopped and said ‘Bonjour’ and after I replied with my own ‘bonjour’ he took me to the aisle where X was located. – and yes, I was embarrassed. I am most often guilty of failing to say ‘bonjour’ to everyone at a social gathering. If there is a roomful of people, I will often say ‘bonjour’ only to the host or those close by…

A little civility goes a long way. It takes almost no time at all and shows a level of respect that we have lost or have forgotten.

And if you think I have bad French manners, think about the kids these days!

Musings

Have you ever wondered why, if you have an American or English book and you set it on a coffee table with the front cover showing, you can read the spine? But if you have a French book and you set it on a coffee table with the front cover up, the writing on the spine is upside down. Can anyone explain the idiosyncrasies of the French book press?

You know that it is spring in Vaison la Romaine when :

·         there are wonderfully sweet strawberries from Carpentras

·         there are spring melons – about the size of a soft ball – but with enough sweet flavor to fill a room

·         the price of asparagus drops to a point where it is affordable (it started at 12€ per kilo or about $6 per pound. It is now under $2.00 per pound).

·         the Tuesday market is almost at grid-lock if you shop after 9:30 AM.

·         when walking around the village or sitting in one of the cafés, one hears almost as much Dutch and English as French (lots of tourists!)

Miscommunication. On Tuesday, we saw that one of the cafés was having a “Cajun/Creole” night with live music. Right below the line about live music was the word: “Jambalaya”. We made reservations and showed up at the appropriate hour. When the waiter finally came to take our order, we said we wanted jambalaya. The waiter looked confused and asked: “Quoi? Vous voulez quoi?” (What? What do you want?) We repeated “Jambalaya” and he started looking irritated. We said that the word “Jambalaya” was on the center of the menu board in front of the café. He gave us his best French shrug (implying that he didn’t know and could care less) and then asked again what we wanted from the menu. We couldn’t let it go and asked if “Jambalaya” was the name of the group that was playing. (Another shrug) We asked for a pitcher of wine and said to bring the wine and we would then order from the menu. By the way, the two musicians who made up the group called “Jambalaya” did a lot of covers of American songs – only two of which were Cajun… 

The end of an era

After seven years of being part of Vaison’s foot traffic, we took the plunge and bought a used car. Our newer-than-our-Lansing-car is a 2010 Peugeot 207, diesel engine, manual transmission.

While it has been seven years that we have not owned a car in France, we have not been deprived of transportation. Thanks to the kindness of good friends who have shared theirs with us, we have been able to use a car when needed/wanted or go to the “Super U” grocery and rent one. On the other hand, I do not expect that having a car is going to decrease my walking in the village. I still plan to get my 12,000 steps every day.

Buying a car is one of my least favorite activities. In fact, the only time that I got a good deal on a car was when I did not want to buy one and the only time that I enjoyed buying a vehicle was when I bought my ’50 Chevy pickup.

We had started our search before going to Spain. We had stopped at the Peugeot dealer in Vaison and told the manager what we were looking for. He said that his assistant would search the internet and give us a call. Three weeks later and no calls from the dealership, it seemed the dealer did not care about finding us a car. Some have told us that their lack of initiative is normal in France. Normal or not, we were surprised.

We expanded our search and started looking for used cars on “leboncoin.fr” and visiting other car lots. Ellen saw a model (a small Subaru) online that she liked and we went to look at it. Our friends came with us and since Allan is tall, we had him test out riding in the back seat (for knee space as well as head space). The Subaru ‘Justy’ was small, with a three-cylinder gas engine. Ellen had trouble shifting the manual transmission and the ride was bouncy. It might have been a good car for the village but not for long trips. We noticed a Peugeot on the lot and liked it. There is plenty of space in the passenger compartment and a large trunk. Since diesel is cheaper in France and much more efficient than gasoline, we were pleased with the engine.

The process of registering a car in France involves getting “la carte grise” (the gray card) which you affix to the windshield. You don’t have to change license plates as, since 2009, the license plate stays with the car, not the owner. You can drive with an American driver’s license. Insurance is required. You must also keep a fluorescent green vest and a warning triangle in the car. (You must wear the vest and place the warning triangle to alert on-coming traffic if you have to repair your car alongside the road.)

Now that the car is parked outside of our apartment building, I think I hear it calling to us saying: “Let’s go to Nyons and see Catherine or to that restaurant in the next village that you have heard so much about or the chateau in Grignan or… You now have wheels!” I know we will answer the call. Watch out, Provence. Here we come!