tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51429565891684886902024-03-13T00:08:53.320+01:00Laura in...My life as a travelling chefLaura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-65019764002654977642012-06-22T02:58:00.004+02:002012-06-22T03:09:14.011+02:00A different approach<br />
For cooks, ingredients are the building blocks of any dish. What we put in can seriously affect the end result, so we will scrutinise, debate, agonise and obsess over our ingredients. Some have majestic reputations and are heinously expensive (step forward, saffron), while others cost next to nothing yet taste like manna from heaven (pretty much anything very local and in season). But, whatever its beginnings, when we find something good - really, mouth-wateringly, undeniably marvellous - it gets under our skin and stays close to our heart, a well-loved element that we weave into the food we serve. Everyone has their own favourites and, once you start, the list can be never-ending, but here are some of mine: Madagascan vanilla pods (and pure extract), Maldon sea salt, Green & Black’s 70% chocolate, Colman’s English mustard (a condiment rather than an ingredient, but one I cannot be without), premium Canadian maple syrup, organic unwaxed lemons and limes (for their zest and juice, which I put in seemingly everything I make)… To me, these may feel like “essentials” but they are, I admit, luxury items. You could, let’s face it, cook perfectly adequately without them. It wouldn’t be like asking someone to cook without the real basics: butter, eggs, wheat, sugar, meat, milk…<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grilled Cornish mackerel on a bed of samphire</td></tr>
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Yet these and many other ingredients are, of course, exactly what we are being asked to omit from our meals on an increasingly regular basis. The only allergies I was aware of as a child were few, far between and unintelligible. “I’m allergic to X, Y or Z” was usually a kid’s excuse for “I don’t like…” - for example one girl’s egg “allergy” that was very pronounced around omelettes and quiches, yet vanished as she scoffed ice cream (made with raw eggs), real mayonnaise or a rich chocolate mousse. But then I started to encounter the real thing - stories of tragic deaths from anaphylactic reactions to nuts, rampant eczema brought on by cow’s milk, debilitating stomach cramps after eating wheat. You can’t argue with the facts - if something is essentially poisoning you, stay the hell away from it. Then, after allergies, we learnt about food intolerances… and this is where things seemed to get out of control. Some people clearly learnt (or rather taught themselves) way too much. Self-diagnosed food intolerances are the bain of the medical community’s existence - and a real pain in the backside for the rest of us. If you can’t eat it, fine. Please don’t. And - as an omnivore and food-lover myself - you have my sympathy. But if you want us all to coo over how interesting and unusual your self-diagnosed intolerance to hula hoops is… well, as your personal chef, I will smile politely, make a note of it, ensure I work around it and - above all - keep hula hoops out of anything you eat. But, let’s face it, most normal people would just be thinking something along the lines of “shut up and get the hell out of my kitchen”.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strawberries from the garden</td></tr>
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But what about the bona-fide cases of food intolerances? Lethargic, bloated, pasty drips transformed into bright-eyed, bushy-tailed balls of perky zing after they have jettisoned something as basic - and previously considered so innocuous - as wheat or dairy (the two seemingly most common culprits)? Too bloody right you want to stick to the new-found way of eating, and all power to you.<br />
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To date, it’s mainly been professional necessity that’s driven me to learn more and more about diets, allergies and food intolerances - it’s unusual to cook for a group of people without at least two or three dietary requirements cropping up. But it’s the discovery of long-term health issues relating to certain foods that are really compelling me to delve deeper and start incorporating some fundamental changes into my own diet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crab, avocado & tomato salad with citrus & herb dressing</td></tr>
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A recent set of requirements came through from a client prior to their stay that made me almost choke on my cappuccino. Due to a recent illness, her list of restrictions was daunting: no dairy, no white flour, no potatoes, no sugar, no red meat (and chicken only once a week), no oranges, no grapefruit, no mushrooms, no white rice… “Kill me now!” I cried. “What on earth am I going to feed this poor lady? Fresh air sautéed with a little spring water?” OK, I exaggerate, but things seemed pretty grim. Some alternatives were suggested: xylitol instead of sugar, coconut oil as a cooking fat, tofu as a protein. Plus I could include many staples that I love: red, brown and wild rice; lemons & limes; olive oil; fish; and heaps of fresh veggies, salad, herbs and fruit. Main courses and starters were going to be just fine - but what about desserts and tea-time baking? Many people with restricted diets just go without - but what’s the point of hiring a private chef if she can’t cook versions your favourite treats? So I trawled the internet and sent messages to friends asking for help. I found out quite a lot about xylitol and how to cook with it (substitute it in the same quantities for sugar, but don’t expect it to behave quite the same. One bit of advice: don’t bother with xylitol meringues. Total waste of time and resources. Trust me.) I discovered all kinds of things to do with coconut oil and bought about 10 kinds of alternative flours and almost as many alternative milks from a wonderful health food store nearby.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chargrilled broccoli with garlic & red chilli</td></tr>
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By the end of the week cooking for this lady and her family, I had discovered that - with a bit of experimenting and tweaking of recipes - it was possible to cook great food without the usual suspects, substituting all kinds of basic ingredients for things I’d previously never used (spelt, rye flour, coconut oil) or even heard of (xylitol). Most importantly, looking at the long-term health implications of ingredients like sugar and dairy, I have decided that it is definitely worth learning more about these new ingredients and moving away from some of my old faithfuls. I’m hopeful that change will spread far and wide - after all, food is a rapidly evolving culture; 30 years ago, vegetarians (not to mention vegans) were the dinner-party pariahs, provoking panic attacks in hostesses and scorn from fellow guests. But now, our herbivore friends are tolerated - and often admired. The more we learn about the ill effects of meat on our bodies and the environment, the more appealing a vegetarian or even vegan diet becomes (it’s just a deep-seated yearning for a juicy steak or crispy bacon that stops many of us from forsaking meat altogether). While there’s no denying that many have jumped on the food intolerance bandwagon with no proper diagnosis (and therefore questionable rationale), there’s much evidence to show that there are extremely good reasons for reducing our consumption of certain ingredients, or even eliminating them altogether, from our diets. Wholemeal loaves instead of white pappy bread, a drizzle of honey instead of spoonfuls of processed sugar, fresh fish instead of red meat. And, next time I spray my cappuccino all over the kitchen, it could well be made with almond milk.<br />
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Follow me on Twitter @LauraLPopeLaura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0Shores Ln, Wadebridge, Cornwall PL27, UK50.543762981182979 -4.892864227294921950.533672481182982 -4.9126052272949217 50.553853481182976 -4.8731232272949221tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-17828431600939194272012-04-24T18:36:00.001+02:002012-04-24T23:33:18.178+02:00Packing up and moving on<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gentianes</td></tr>
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There's been a distinct lack of blogging over the past few months, but I can sum up the food side of things pretty quickly: the weekend meals for my Swiss family have been overwhelmingly Valaisan (of Valais, the <i>canton</i> we are in) usually involving terrifying quantities of Bagnes cheese, jambon cru, Gruyère, viande sechée, Fendant, Pinot Noir (the latter two aren't even food, but are very local, nonetheless) plus some comforting homemade lasagnes, pies and pizzas, too. But there have also been a few seasonal highlights where I've been able to do something a bit different: roast leg of spring lamb from Savolèyres (one of the mountains that rise over Verbier) with garlic, lemon & herbs and <i>capretto</i> (kid goat) braised with tomatoes, black olives & thyme, served for Easter Sunday lunch (another family tradition from the Italian side) with griddled polenta and roasted Provençal vegetables. For desserts, I've often chosen well-loved classics from all over the world that have now become firm family favourites: Pavlova with berries, apple or pear Tarte Tatin, crème brûlée, chocolate fondants with vanilla ice cream... In the quest for new, it can be easy to forget the sheer brilliance and universal appeal of these wonderful dishes, so it has been good to spend the winter tweaking and perfecting a few of them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pear Tarte Tatin</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh snow up on Bâ Combe</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the glacier at Les Diablerets, 3000m up</td></tr>
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We have just one week left in Verbier and yet, amazingly for late April, the snow still falls, giving us as much as 30cm of fresh powder overnight and huge grins on our faces as we continue to enjoy skiing conditions more typical of late January. This has, on balance, been the most incredible season for skiing... yet already the Big Swede and I find ourselves yearning for Cornwall. For the Swede, I know that the lure of the ocean and his quiver of surf boards are the main draw. Yet, while I long to feel the rhythm of the waves and smell the sea air, it's the anticipation of the Cornish summer ingredients that is getting me going. First of all, the seafood: bass, bream, mackerel, crab, oysters, squid, monkfish, sole... served with salty Samphire, the pure essence of the sea. Endless possibilities for salads and side dishes, with a kitchen garden at my disposal and limitless combinations of ingredients, drawing inspiration from all over Europe and across the Mediterranean to the Middle East, even as far as south-east Asia. There are also the fruits of last autumn's labours to enjoy: the 10 litres or so of damson gin (not just a good warmer for the colder months, but also delicious with tonic water in the summertime), chutneys and damson ketchup, which has spent the past few months maturing and mellowing, ready to enjoy with Cornish cheeses, sausages and local cured meats, not to mention the barbecues (thinking positive here: we WILL have plenty of sunshine this summer!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dreaming of Daymer Bay, Cornwall</td></tr>
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But before we arrive in Cornwall mid-May, we have a few other treats to look forward to: a one-night stop in Épernay to enjoy Champagne's eponymous tipple, a few days at Mother Chef's in Dorset and then a long weekend in London, including a dinner at Jamie Oliver's restaurant Barbecoa, a celebration of wood-fuelled cooking in its many guises. After five straight months of Alpine stodge, our tastebuds will think all their Christmases and birthdays have come at once.<br />
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Follow me on Twitter @LauraLPope</div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-24903245661733504952012-01-06T15:29:00.002+01:002012-01-07T21:22:09.571+01:00The Offal TruthThere are definite benefits to being a private chef over, say, working in a restaurant: cooking for many brilliant people and developing good relationships with them, better pay and working conditions and the opportunity to live and work in some amazing locations.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Champery, Swiss Alps - April 2009</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fochabers, Speyside - September 2008</td></tr>
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As any good private chef knows, the client is usually right - you serve up what they want to eat, not what you want to cook. This doesn't mean asking them to provide detailed meal requests - some guests want absolutely nothing to do with the menu planning, but that certainly doesn't mean they don't care what they eat. This is where a private chef needs to be imaginative, a good listener, pragmatic, experienced, quick-thinking, patient and resourceful. Female intuition has served me well, although I know some brilliant men who do this job. I always say that a private chef is like a certain other ancient profession - work out as soon as possible what your client likes and provide it better than they've ever had it before (yes, this has raised a few eyebrows, smirks and even the odd false hope, but it's an analogy that I continue to stand by). I'd love to say I've continually got it right, but I'd be outright lying... I can think of a handful of cringe-worthy situations where, with hindsight, I would have done things differently - therein lies the importance of experience. I remember my first private job after graduating from Leiths, working for a lovely family during their holiday in the south of France. By the end of the three weeks, I was happily and confidently knocking up lunches and suppers for up to 14 people, managing to fit in waterskiing and jet-skiing with the family in the afternoon and relaxing with them after dinner was over. But the first few days... oh god, I was a mess. I got lost trying to find my way around, the supermarket was baffling (even though I speak fluent French) and I was totally thrown by not being able to source many ingredients I had counted on for my meticulously-planned menu. I made everything from scratch, from vanilla ice cream (the sugar-syrup method I learned at Leiths as there was no ice cream machine) to bread (in France, home of the baguette!) and all the cookies (and there were A LOT thanks to the hollow legs of the many teenagers lurking around). Luckily, a tearful telephone conversation with my mother - a wonderful cook herself and infinitely more experienced - brought me to my senses. Something along the lines of "Why the bloody hell are you making all that work for yourself?! Just buy decent ice cream, fresh baguettes and some packets of biscuits to supplement the home-made ones! Good grief, girl, you'll have a nervous breakdown at this rate, and they didn't employ a chef to add more stress!" I'm so glad I had that wake-up call as I was able to really enjoy the whole experience and I continued to cook for the family back in London.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack the dog, my constant kitchen companion in Pyla sur Mer - August 2008</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My ride in Pyla - a Wrangler Jeep</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going for an afternoon swim in the sea at the bottom of the hill from the house</td></tr>
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Summertime in Cornwall is a real treat, both on a personal and a professional level, with amazing produce at hand and the freedom to cook interesting, enticing dishes for a variety of guests, most of them excited to try new dishes and make the most of the wonderful fresh fish and whatever the kitchen garden has to offer. During the winter, I cook for a Swiss family spanning three generations - though a lovely bunch, the meal options and creative opportunities are rather more limited... suffice to say, I don't think I'll be voluntarily going anywhere near raclette, fondue or pizza for a while after this. The head of the family, however, has a penchant for all things offal and so - being alone in his passion and thus finding it hard to indulge - he was over the moon when he discovered that, not only do I know how to cook the stuff, I also have a source here in Verbier. From lamb's brain to kidneys, veal sweetbreads to testicles (haven't found the latter yet - not trying too hard to track them down, if I'm honest), he goes misty-eyed at the merest mention of offal. While I fully applaud his attitude to nose-to-tail eating, I can't quite share his delight at the end result - apart from the sweetbreads, which I've learnt to appreciate, I am no offal-lover. But sweetbreads, I do urge you to try. They take a bit of time to prepare and they ain't pretty, but they are worth the effort and mild revulsion during the initial preparation... honest. Mark Hix describes them as having "a delicate texture and taste... really well suited to all types of cooking, frying, roasting, braising and even mixing with such delicacies as lobster, langoustine tails and crayfish in either a stew or a salad." Not bad for a lowly thymus gland...<br />
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<b><i>Calves' sweetbreads with Madeira sauce or sauce Gribiche</i></b><br />
<i>If doing this for dinner, start the morning of the day before.</i><br />
<i>First, soak your sweetbreads in cold water for about 4 hours - this helps to remove the membrane and general gunk that coats them (I'm really selling this, aren't I?). </i><br />
<i>Bring a pan of water to the boil, add salt, then your sweetbreads - simmer for 10 minutes.</i><br />
<i>Drain the sweetbreads and place in iced water until cold.</i><br />
<i>Using your hands, peel the membrane from the sweetbreads and lay them in a single layer in a dish. Place a dish (an identical one, if you have it) on top and weigh it down with a few cans. Put in the fridge for between 12 and 24 hours to flatten the sweetbreads.</i><br />
<i>Dry the sweetbreads with kitchen paper and slice them on a slant, about 1cm thick.</i><br />
<i>Set up three plates - one for flour (season with salt and pepper), one for egg (beaten) and one for breadcrumbs. Coat each slice in flour (shake off excess), egg (again, shake off excess) and breadcrumbs, then lay on a plate until ready to fry (if you wish, you can do this a few hours in advance and leave them, covered, in the fridge).</i><br />
<i>Clarify some butter (melt in a pan and pour off the white curd, leaving just the yellow butter - this burns at a higher temperature, meaning you can get the pan nice and hot) and heat up your pan. Add clarified butter and fry the breaded slices of sweetbread for a minute or two each side (in batches, if needs be), until the coating is crispy and golden brown, but not burnt. When cooked, lay on a warmed plate and keep warm until ready to serve.</i><br />
<i>Serve with some sautéed mushrooms and a Madeira sauce, which I make simply by adding Madeira to some reduced veal stock in a warm pan, simmer for a couple of minutes and finish off by whisking in a few cubes off butter at the last minute. Or you can serve the sweetbreads with a sauce Gribiche, which you make by mixing together the following ingredients to a texture like that of Tartare sauce - if it's too thick, you can add a few drops of water:</i><br />
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<li><i>2 shallots, peeled and finely chopped </i></li>
<li><i>4 gherkins, finely chopped </i></li>
<li><i>2 Tblspns capers </i></li>
<li><i>2 tspns Dijon mustard </i></li>
<li><i>2 Tblspns mayonnaise </i></li>
<li><i>Juice of half a lemon </i></li>
<li><i>2 eggs, hard boiled and grated or finely chopped </i></li>
<li><i>½ Tblspn tarragon leaves chopped</i></li>
<li><i>½ Tblspn chervil, finely chopped</i></li>
<li><i>Salt and freshly ground black pepper</i></li>
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<i>To accompany, I like a salad of baby leaves or lamb's lettuce with a tangy vinaigrette dressing and some crusty bread on the side.</i><br />
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I'd add a photo, but I've never found this the most photogenic of dishes. But trust me when I tell you that they really are delicious and they look a bit like chicken nuggets. Instead, here's a nice photo of my view, taken a few days ago...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunet on New Year's Day 2012, Verbier</td></tr>
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Follow me on Twitter @LauraLPope</div>
</div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1Rue de Ransou 1-37, 1936 Bagnes, Switzerland46.100733118032579 7.229518890380859446.09798061803258 7.2245833903808592 46.103485618032579 7.23445439038086tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-19130584551425287112011-12-26T17:30:00.001+01:002011-12-29T16:51:50.912+01:00From sand to snow and everything in betweenWe've certainly had a month of contrast - after our sun-drenched Moroccan holiday, we came back to find Verbier still behaving like it was mid-Autumn: sunny days, mild nights and absolutely no snow in sight. Worrying stuff for a ski resort, especially after last season's no-snow...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset over Lac Leman as we took the train home from Geneva</td></tr>
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But we needn't have worried - ours prayers and snow dances were soon answered in a truly fantastic way with the most epic snow dump imaginable. The snow started falling in early December... and it's just kept on going, giving us about 2 metres of the white stuff in time for Christmas. In just a matter of a days, more snow fell over Verbier than in the whole of last season. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Cradzet (the little chalet in our garden) in the first of the snow, 5th December</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our apartment after the first couple of days of snow...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Serious snowfall by 16th December - by this stage, some of the chalets on Savoleyres were being evacuated due to the avalanche risk</td></tr>
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Although the season officially starts on 1st December, we seasonaires had the place more or less to ourselves for the first couple of weeks, meaning that we were free to play on the mountain in the more-than-decent early snow before the Christmas crowds arrived...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lac de Vaux before it froze over, 8th December</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and the Big Swede enjoying our first ski of the season</td></tr>
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Christmas has now been and gone - Father Christmas outdid himself this year with some stunning "bluebird" days (when a night of snowfall is followed by a blue-skied, sunny day) - and things are now hotting up in the resort as we approach the New Year, one of the busiest weeks of the entire season. Accommodation prices go sky-high and the parade of high fashion and luxury cars gets very serious - you will never see as much fur, diamonds, shiny chrome and immaculate make-up at any other time of the year in the Alps. Tickets are on sale for New Year's Eve parties in the clubs and bars around town for up to 500CHF per person - for that amount, it has got to be one hell of a party and I'm pretty sure that it'll only be the tourists paying (the strong Swiss franc means that 500CHF is about £340, €410 or the same amount in US$). Perhaps they don't realise quite what they could be doing instead... the smart money is on the locals' plan: armed with a few bottles of booze, some warm clothes and a group of friends, you can head up to a good vantage point to watch the fireworks over Verbier as 2012 arrives in one of the most beautiful parts of the world.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gentianes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cabin Montfort</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading down to Verbier at the end of a day's skiing</td></tr>
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Follow me on Twitter @LauraLPope<br />
<br /></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-89616862137470452922011-12-09T21:03:00.001+01:002012-01-07T01:42:22.354+01:00Hustle, bustle, surf & turf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
What can I say about Morocco that hasn't been said already? 'Discovered' in the 1960s by the beautiful and the damned, it now forms part of most modern travellers' repertoires, keen to soak up some north African sun and immerse themselves in an exotic culture.</div>
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Having spent the summer in Cornwall and with five months in the Swiss Alps ahead of us, we wanted a holiday with plenty of sunshine, bright blue skies, enough waves for surfing and a different way of life - but without the expense or jet lag of a long-haul flight. Choosing to go to Morocco on the hunt for sunshine in November was always a gamble, but thankfully the weather gods were smiling on us (for all but 2 days of our trip) and we did indeed come back bronzed and refreshed, content to be back in Verbier and ready to start the winter season.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Just three of Morocco's many, many waifs and strays</span></td></tr>
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We started our trip in Essaouira, which lies about three hours' drive west of Marrakech on the Atlantic coast. A city by the sea, it is made up of the Medina (old walled town) by the harbour, with the new town stretching (and growing at quite a rate) away from it. We stayed in a small riad in the Medina, an extremely lucky find, where we were looked after beautifully whilst being given many fascinating insights into the local scene, customs, mentality and way of life by the English/Moroccan couple who run the place. They were very relaxed and more than happy for us to use the kitchen... but with only five days and hundreds of places to eat out, I was happy to hang up my chef's whites and be indulged and titillated by what Essaouira's food scene had to offer. With only a couple of duds (one being the over-priced fish stalls on the harbour, hell-bent on fleecing tourists), we ate like kings - but at paupers' prices - during our stay. Having got into our stride on the Cornish coast, we continued our seafood love affair and ate fish for almost every lunch and dinner - bream, sardines, mackerel, red mullet and other species that I couldn't even recognise. The local style is to butterfly the fish, grill over a hot fire and serve with local bread and a salad of tomatoes, herbs, green peppers & red onions - simple, delicious and the kind of thing we long for whilst living in the mountains. But we deviated from fish one lunchtime, following a hot tip from our host: the 'couscous lady' in the little side street of Berber cafés, who only opens on Friday lunchtime - we were warned that she usually runs out early, such is her popularity with the locals, so we were excited to find that she had some left when we arrived: a bowl of perfectly-cooked couscous with chicken and vegetables, all for 20MAD (less than 2€) each.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Side street where we at lunch from the couscous lady of Essaouira</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAiiIYNkEmA-hAbcWGleJFRWaMUB3-fwRsTx9weD-YQEQRX_rP8LVTCgKKCRpFNXHgOcvSmt6picwdupOi0J8S18wo1sZiJHgtHiB12hRtRy1WTyVL9yDwci9QhB8LX9g11OHaLWS_7cDj/s1600/IMG_0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></span></td></tr>
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The rain came the day before we left Essaouira and followed us as we headed down the coast to Imssouane, a tiny fishing village beloved by surfers for its long, rolling waves and laid-back vibe. Our arrival was inauspicious: torrential rain making its way through every nook and cranny in our auberge, which made Fawlty Towers look like a slick, professional operation. The morning after our first night, woken by the sounds of screaming drills and hollering builders, we headed out in search of improved (and completed) accommodation - spying some rather smart houses on the hill, we met Saïd, who seemed to be Imssouane's local fixer: the man with a plan, everybody's friend and our saviour. He led us to a simple but spacious and clean one-bedroom apartment on the second floor with a huge terrace and panoramic views of the bay. And, to make things even better, the rain had gone (for good) and the sun was out in force. We settled in and things were looking up - after a storm out at sea, the waves were settling down into something quite surfable, I had a big (and, quite importantly, private) space for sunbathing and we had found our way around the village (it took us all of 10 minutes). We didn't need a big selection of restaurants - we found our favourite café and, besides, I had some cooking to get down to... with two fresh bream bought from the fishermen that morning, we picked up olive oil, spices, vegetables and herbs and headed home to cook and eat our first ever fish tagine. Following the suggested method of the young chef at Imssouane Café, we put our faith in impeccably fresh fish and a tried and tested Moroccan classic. We weren't disappointed - it was delicious, thanks partly to our efforts and largely down to the quality of what was at hand. Luckily, we'd been warned that Imssouane doesn't have any alcohol shops, so we had bought a bottle of Domaine de Sahari gris (like a light rosé) with us from Essaouira - the perfect match for the delicate fish, spices and veg.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Swell lines coming into the bay, Imssouane</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">High street, Imssouane</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Fish tagine in the making...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">... and the end result</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">My favourite stray pup outside Momo's surf shack, Imssouane</span></td></tr>
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We were sad to leave Imssouane, but felt excited about our visit to Marrakech, tinged with a sensation that we were about to get a rude awakening - after 10 days of laid-back living surrounded by the ocean, we were heading into the lion's den. Gorgeous, dirty, manic, exotic, relentless... Marrakech is a lot to take in, but what a feast for the senses it is. We weren't there to shop, yet within 24 hours we were on a mission to find the ideal Moroccan teapot (having already purchased a wonderful backgammon and chess set made from tuya wood and lemon tree in Essouira), which we continued until we fell up "the one" on our penultimate day. But even if you don't intend to buy, the Marrakchi stall holders will find a way to draw you in - with mind games and cunning ploys that should earn them high-ranking positions in politics, the young men of Marrakech were playing a game that everyone was involved in, but only they knew the rules. Our song for the Marrakech leg of our trip became "I'm a hustler, baby" - and with good reason. But it's all part of the rich experience... isn't it? The mopeds, however, we could really do without - no matter how tiny (or seemingly pedestrianised) the street (even inside the souks), we were constantly jumping out of the way of two-wheeled vehicles bearing anything up to five people, weaving and tooting their way around the pedestrians and each other. Amazingly, we didn't see one crash or accident the whole time we were there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelKK5lX1fAmmp2_0OMDe9se3_vMxMiV_l8jZ-M_SAZ-wJsdY4pS1v3R5nO3WxTgjKESP_VFeC1BA4b8v83lrETdiRY16Fd99EjOYKhMVRSU82eEw-K-1rAyNak_vGoE8mWQW-bOSBc9j-/s1600/IMG_0685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelKK5lX1fAmmp2_0OMDe9se3_vMxMiV_l8jZ-M_SAZ-wJsdY4pS1v3R5nO3WxTgjKESP_VFeC1BA4b8v83lrETdiRY16Fd99EjOYKhMVRSU82eEw-K-1rAyNak_vGoE8mWQW-bOSBc9j-/s320/IMG_0685.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Our Moroccan teapot at sunset on our riad's roof terrace, Marrakech</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Patisserie stall, Marrakech souk</span></td></tr>
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Marrakech is famed for its diversity of restaurants - there seem to be a vast amount of places serving European and south-east Asian cuisine, but if you spend long enough in Morocco, you'd be forgiven for hankering after something other than tagine, couscous, harira and brochettes... wouldn't you? Ah, but you'd be (partly) wrong as there are so many other Moroccan delicacies to seek out, such as briouates (parcels of vegetables, meat or seafood wrapped in filo pastry), pastillas (with a variety of fillings, but arguably the best is pigeon and almonds) and wonderful patisseries filled with almond paste (like marzipan) or peanut butter (much coarser and darker than what you find at home) and scented with orange blossom, rosewater and spices. There are some restaurants, usually to be found in riads, that combine European touches, techniques and standards with a Moroccan team and style, resulting in a seriously special evening - we were recommended a French riad near Place Djaama el Fna (the epicentre of Marrakchi nightlife and craziness) that really blew us away - four elegant, delicious courses served to us by a friendly, charming team in the most beautiful poolside setting.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Place Djaama el Fna, Marrakech</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Spices and stuff, Marrakech</span></td></tr>
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But, inspired by our wonderful bargain couscous lunch in Essaouira, when we walked past a tiny opening in a small side-street with a row of tagines bubbling away on the pavement and enticing smells beckoning us, we were instantly curious - we were seated at a long, narrow table and, within minutes, were joined by a bunch of locals in their blue workman's overalls. Language instantly became redundant as we all got stuck into delicious lamb or chicken tagine - our smiles were saying it all, with occasional tears & laughter when one of us (Moroccans included, I was comforted to see) got a mouthful with a particularly hot chilli. Utterly inspired, now we just have to figure out how we're going to introduce tagines and couscous to the slopes of Verbier...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Tagines cooking for lunch, Marrakech</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Koutoubia Mosque and the Atlas Mountain</span>s</td></tr>
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Follow me on Twitter @LauraLPope</div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-78981660875374642052011-09-26T13:56:00.003+02:002011-12-29T16:53:59.824+01:00Battening down the hatches and bottling itWhen I wrote my last blog, I knew we were teetering on the edge of summer, ready to topple head-first into autumn... but I had forgotten just how impressive Cornish sideways rain can be, thanks to gale-force winds straight off the Celtic Sea. However, Cornish flora - just like the fauna (I include native Kernowyon in this) - is made of strong stuff and, despite spending storm-ravaged nights convinced the roof would blow off our little cowshed (that's if it wasn't crushed by a falling tree first), Treverra has survived the autumnal storms so far and is looking lovely (no small thanks to the team who keep it all going, with special creds this week going to the boys in rubber who spent two days in masks and wetsuits repairing the magic pool cover).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Treverra after a good ravishing by Katia</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men In Black come to the aid of the Treverra pool cover</td></tr>
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Ironically, given the tempestuous weather, we're experiencing a lovely little lull right now, a calm patch in between the busy summer and October's half term holidays and shooting parties. With the tourists mostly gone (except in Padstow - it seems it's always busy in Padstow), the Cornish roads are emptier (and safer without Rock Mummies careering around in Chelsea tractors and their big-wig husbands taking road rage to new heights) and the beaches are tranquil. But the hedgerows and trees... they are busting out all over the place with apples, damsons and autumn berries. So, what's a girl to do except buy 8 litres of gin and get stuck in? Ahhh, damsons, you sexy little things - eye-wateringly sharp, yet with a wonderful depth of flavour and a velvety, delicously dark hue. With Hurrican Katia rampaging outside, I turned about 4kg of damsons picked from the field next door into damson ketchup (a Mother Chef special recipe) and another 5kg into damson gin, its aromatic, boozy fug enveloping the house.<br />
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<i><b>Damson ketchup - from the Mother Chef, aka Gill Fuglesang</b></i><br />
<i>8 lb damsons</i><br />
<i> 8 oz currants</i><br />
<i> 1 lb onions, chopped small</i><br />
<i>2 oz coarse salt </i><br />
<i>1 lb Demerara sugar </i><br />
<i>2 pints distilled white vinegar </i><br />
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<i>Tie up the following in muslin :</i><br />
<i>6-8 dried chillies </i><br />
<i>1 tblspn black peppercorns</i><br />
<i> 1 </i><i>tblspn</i><i> mustard seeds </i><br />
<i>½ oz dried root ginger, crushed a bit first (I usually just use about 1 oz fresh grated) </i><br />
<i>½ </i><i>oz allspice berries</i><br />
<i>2 whole garlic cloves </i><br />
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<i>To save having to stone the damsons by hand, I just very gently heat them until the juice runs and they go soft enough to put on the rubber gloves and squeeze them through a colander, pushing the pulp and juice through into a large pan and trapping the stones, being careful to put all the pulp back in the pan. Add currants, onions and the bag of spices. Add 1 pint of the vinegar, bring to the boil and simmer gently, uncovered, for about 30 mins or until mixture is soft. Then remove the bag of spices, place contents of pan in a liquidiser and blend until perfectly smooth. Rinse out the pan and return the purée and bag of spices to it, add the salt, sugar and remaining 1 pint of vinegar. Bring to simmer and cook gently, uncovered, for 1</i><i>½ </i><i>- 2 hrs or until the ketchup has reduced to approximately 3</i><i>½ pints</i><i>. (From experience I know that you should have it slightly thinner than you would like it when you bottle it as it thickens as the months/years go on - especially years!) Stir occasionally to prevent sticking and leave to cool for a few minutes before pouring into bottles. The recipe tells you to then sterilise the bottles for 10 mins, I never have done and have never had a problem with ketchup going off so I wouldn't bother if I were you (that's my mother for you - cavalier as ever, and usually she gets away with it, but I'd advise you to wash and rinse the bottles thoroughly and put them in an oven at 90°C for 10 minutes to make sure they're sterile before filling them). Leave for at least 6 months before eating to allow the ketchup to mellow.</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autumn and damsons have definitely come to Treverra</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damson gin - getting eyed up from all sides, I just hope it makes it to next autumn</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damson ketchup - like being a paid assassin, it's a messy job, but someone's got to do it...</td></tr>
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Sadly, due to damsons' tannins, the gin and ketchup need to mature for a while before they are fit for consumption. Luckily, there are a few other Treverra-made treats to sample in the meantime: apple & rosemary jelly, "44" (a Madagascan recipe where you steep an orange, 44 coffee beans, 44 teaspoons of sugar and a few vanilla pods in a litre of gin for about 44 days - if a measure of that doesn't warm you up in winter, I can only suggest a second, third or even fourth attempt...) and raspberry vinegar.<br />
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Typically, this being Cornwall, my cosy, autumnal domestic bliss may be short-lived. Apparently we are getting an Indian summer on Wednesday, bringing blazing sunshine and temperatures well into the 20s (for a couple of days, anyway). Which is most excellent news - my damsons are dealt with, the garden's looking lovely, the pool cover is fixed - bring on the Pimms and a bikini.<br />
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Follow me on Twitter @LauraLPopeLaura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-58228113373889359172011-09-03T21:49:00.003+02:002011-12-29T16:55:32.931+01:00Summertime, and the cooking is easyIn my family, the BBQ season has been known to start as early as March. In fact, as long as there's not actually snow or frost on the ground... GAME ON! Even rain doesn't stop play - just find a bit of shelter and it's all good. (Perfect example was many years ago at my dad's birthday BBQ on 6th July - the rain started at 4pm and didn't stop. Undeterred, my Uncle Rob - Head BBQ Chef for the night - stationed the Webbers in an open-sided, roofed area behind the house and cooked his way through the steaks, seafood and chickens in order to feed the 70 guests. The guests, for their part, felt sorry for him outside so kept the booze flowing in his direction. 3 hours and about 60 units of alcohol later, Rob emerged red-eyed from the smoke and a bit unsteady on his feet, to announce: "I'm nissed as a pewt." Bravo, sir.)<br />
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BBQs have always been a big favourite here at Treverra Farm and this summer has been no exception, but we entered a whole new league with the unleashing of the fire pit for some hardcore Argentinian asado action the other night. The lovely Loftuses arrived with five organic, free-range chickens that had been spatchcocked and then were marinated in olive oil, lemon & rosemary. A make-shift spit was created out of some metal stakes, the chickens were skewered and then suspended over the fire. Watched by his team (fuelled by Dark 'n' Stormies and Provençal rosé), Charlie was a man on a mission, braving the searing heat to baste the chickens, rotating and adjusting them until they were cooked to succulent, smoky perfection. Add a perfect Cornish summer's evening, with some potatoes baking slowly in the embers and some salads from the garden, we couldn't ask for more... the arrival of our neighbours in their helicopter overhead was simply the icing on the cake (thanks to Jo for the fantastic aerial shot).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Joanna Vestey</td></tr>
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<i><u>Dark 'n' Stormies</u></i></div>
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<i>Half-fill a glass with ice cubes, then add a slug of good dark rum (Morgan's Spiced is great here), top up with ginger beer (Old Jamaica has a nice kick to it) and squeeze in a couple of wedges of lime. Most importantly, make sure the BBQ chef's glass is topped up AT ALL TIMES.</i></div>
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But Cornwall is, without a doubt, one of the best places to get seafood that I've ever known and it's at the heart of many dinners here. I am very lucky to get my fish from Matthews Stevens & Son, based in Newlyn, who have supplied me for the past two summers with gorgeous, locally-landed fish. On Thursday evening, with 10 for dinner and the sunny days stretching on, I rode the Mediterranean vibe I was feeling and looked to Ottolenghi for inspiration. One of my favourite chefs, his recipes really come into their own during the summer - fresh, light, delicious dishes that are perfect for relaxed, communal eating. As I prepped the salads, the Big Swede got the BBQ going, throwing fresh herbs onto the coals for added aroma and then cooking three large grey mullets that I'd prepared:</div>
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<i><u>Whole grey mullet for the BBQ</u></i></div>
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<i>You can use other whole fish here, like rainbow trout, salmon, sea bass, etc - grey mullet just happened to be available and particularly good at the time. Ask your fishmonger to scale and gut the whole fish, then stuff the belly with herbs (I used coriander and flat-leaf parsley), slices of lemon & lime - ginger and chillis are also good. Sprinkle olive oil in the belly and season. Cut a few slits in the skin and rub with olive oil, sea salt & black pepper, then wrap in foil. Once the BBQ is ready, cook for about 10 minutes on each side until just cooked through, then you can lift the flesh off the bone onto a warmed platter, scatter with chopped herbs and serve with wedges of lemon.</i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by David Loftus</td></tr>
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<b>Summer dinner for 10</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisYwAFBAivJSpN56f5eA8ExrHeBDAQJKZ88lrXRzzeM7sjGJNGH-BYlKLGVu4S0G-gppq0CqyhehrNSbhvHM87fbMyp2XQOlxeucR6T0x8g7CXGtrzxFgeImkZedguigEgFNBsd456Vbup/s1600/Peaches+with+Prosciutto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>To start:</div>
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<li>Chargrilled nectarines & Prosciutto, with endive & baby chard leaves and a Balsamic, maple & rosewater dressing</li>
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<i>Remove stones and slice nectarines vertically into 6 wedges, then toss in olive oil, salt and pepper. Heat up griddle and char the slices to give them distinct grill-lines on all sides. On a platter, lay out torn endive, the Prosciutto and the nectarine slices, then scatter over the baby chard leave and drizzle with dressing of olive oil, Balsamic vinegar, maple syrup, rosewater, salt & pepper.</i></div>
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Main course:</div>
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<li>BBQ whole grey mullet with lemon, lime & herbs and a tarragon aïoli</li>
<li>Fillets of sea bream with a tahini, lemon & parsley sauce, scattered with pomegranate seeds</li>
<li>Camargue red rice & quinoa with orange & pistachios</li>
<li>Fennel & feta with pomegranate seeds & sumac</li>
<li>Cucumber & poppy seed salad</li>
<li>French beans & mangetout with hazelnuts & orange</li>
<li>Baby leaf green salad</li>
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<li>Blackberry tart with crème fraîche sorbet (blackberries picked from the field next door)</li>
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<i><u>Blackberry tart</u> (recipe adapted from the Cherry Tart recipe in Bill Granger's book "Holiday")</i></div>
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<i>To make the pastry, melt and cool </i><i>125g unsalted butter, then mix in </i><i>90g caster sugar, followed by </i><i>175g plain flour and a</i><i> pinch of salt to make a soft dough. Press the mix into a greased, 24cm round, loose-bottomed tart tin, place onto a baking tray and cook at </i><i>180°C for 12-15 mins until the pastry is puffing up. Remove from the oven and sprinkle 2 tablespoons of ground almonds over the base, then leave to cool.</i></div>
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<i>For the f</i><i>illing, </i><i>whisk together 170ml cream, 2 eggs, 2 teaspoons of vanilla and 3 tablespoons of caster </i><i>sugar. Add 2 tablespoons of plain</i><i> flour and whisk until well mixed. Arrange a couple of large handfuls of fresh blackberries (or cherries - stoned and halved - or other soft fruit that's in season), slightly overlapping, over the pastry base and pour the cream filling evenly over the fruit. </i><i>Return the tart to the oven for a further 40-50 minutes until the filling is firm. Leave to cool and serve with cream or ice cream.</i></div>
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<i><u>Crème fraîche sorbet</u></i></div>
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<i>In a large bowl, whisk together 2 cups crème fraîche, ¾ cup cane syrup (if you can find it - I mix half & half golden syrup with homemade sugar syrup), a good pinch of salt, ¼ cup lemon juice and ¼ cup sugar (I didn't have quite enough crème fraîche this time, so I made up the quantity with a bit of vanilla yoghurt and it worked beautifully - I may be onto something...) Chill the mix in the freezer for about 15 mins and then transfer to an ice-cream machine to chill and churn for about 30-45 mins (check your machine's guidelines). Keep in the freezer - this is best made the day before to give it time to firm up and then it's best eaten within a few days of making.</i></div>
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True to form, I made more food than even 10 hungry mouths could eat, but the great thing about all the dishes above is that the leftovers make for no-effort lunches over the next couple of days, leaving you to enjoy the last hazy, lazy days of summer... isn't that what it's all about?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daymer Bay</td></tr>
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Follow on Twitter @LauraLPope</div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-78327787593453508762011-08-22T10:37:00.024+02:002011-12-29T16:55:19.615+01:00Plus ça change...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggm7Od9EnK9BeD39nZnVwbYnw1pOLAFvGZqGyIsm2tm0HWTMiWT4VX9g4xVqGDQILfuQp_XTMydWJ-8sTAvnDVLM4PQAmbCDmyFFimstuDtsGKLAIliorQtNFlqXcTjfC47vHAlrdPZjfk/s1600/IMG_9528+copy.JPG"></a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our studio on Treverra Farm</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IUy198NXl2yo8vQOFyLc0mULA4ZQENBp57h5FJNB4r1gM6cO3BLGYZsB0qdWIu5dHmkAYOT65NNeob7zH0OUORo9u4lePPe-Bz2inzZXdJSgoiLKit11RrnmUjb0uyatxP6YxeY-uve8/s1600/IMG_9441+copy.JPG"></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span">I woke up to the sound of a small creature clamouring for attention outside my window, followed by a chorus of buzzing: flies. The inquisitive small child has now gone, but the cows are back in the field next door, which means they bring their little friends with them. Joy. Still, one look at my view of rolling green fields, perfect lawn, summer flowers and blue, endless sky is enough to soothe my fly-angst (not to mention a frenzied attack with a fly swat that killed about 10 of the buggers).</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Lundy Bay</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">Sound familiar? There are indeed echoes of my time spent in the Tarn, my busy life working as a chef in a beautiful, tranquil corner of France with many creatures of all sizes to en</span>tertain and infuriate me. But Le Manoir de Raynaudes is long gone and I have moved onto new pastures (and cows, and flies...) My life is still nomadic, but I'm getting a sort of rhythm going, which feels like progress - I've found places I keep wanting to return to. And someone to return with: the Big Swede. Well, actually he's a French-Swedish hybrid, but the name suits him and it's stuck. We met in the Swiss Alps and are set to return there for our third winter together. For the summers, we live in Cornwall, with me working as a private chef and him mostly working on his surfing. Together, we look after the guests staying in a beautiful house and cottage in an idyllic site on the north Cornwall coast, set up away from the swarming crowds of tourists, with an uninterrupted view of fields and the estuary. Life doesn't get much better than this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Treverra Farm House</td></tr>
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Before I get lost in smug ramblings, I must remember the point of reigniting the blog: food. It turns out that my comments and photos on Twitter or Facebook about something I've just cooked are prompting responses along the lines of "Enough with the chat and give us the recipe, woman!!" When I post recipes, I'll do my best to be accurate with the quantities and be clear in my methods, but feel free to ask me if something just doesn't add up. First up: slow roast pork.</div>
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Although I've always been a fan of cured or smoked pork - Spanish jamón Iberico and chorizo, Prosciutto, Salami, etc - and it's true that I view sausages as a sacred food group in their own right, I was never a fan of roast pork. Dry, uninspiring, bland... and I never got the point of crackling. But then I tasted slow-roast pork belly in Spain and things shifted - pork that was juicy, super-tender and almost caramelised. So I experimented over and over again, changing recipes, methods, timings, temperatures, suppliers - everything in the quest to recreate the mouth-watering dish I'd eaten all that time ago. Results varied and, despite a few moderate successes, I was far from satisfied. But then I received a golden piece of advice: forget perfect meat AND perfect crackling - you can't get both at the same time. So I divided and conquered:</div>
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<b>SLOW ROAST PORK</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slow roast pork, salads and roast potatoes & red onions</td></tr>
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This recipe and method have worked for me with both pork belly and a shoulder of pork - the former is better for smaller numbers, whereas a whole shoulder of pork (bone in) is a great way to feed about 20 people. The paste recipe is adapted from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Aromatic shoulder of pork ‘Donnie Brasco’ and the method is thanks to Jamie Oliver and his brilliant advice, which he based on much experience and many conversations with "meat geeks"...</div>
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<b><i>For the paste to rub on the meat</i></b></div>
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<i>In a pestle & mortar or a coffee grinder, pulverise:</i></div>
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<i>2 star anise</i></div>
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<i>2 tsp fennel seeds</i></div>
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<i>4 cinnamon sticks</i></div>
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<i>4 cloves</i></div>
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<i>1 tsp black peppercorns</i></div>
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<i>Add 1 tblspn of this powder (you can keep the rest in an airtight jar for future use) to the following (if you've got a stick blender with a mini chopper accessory, this is ideal - if not, you can grate the garlic and ginger and mash everything in the pestle & mortar):</i></div>
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<i>5 large garlic cloves, peeled</i></div>
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<i>5cm piece of fresh ginger root, peeled</i></div>
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<i>2 tspns dried chilli flakes</i></div>
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<i>2 tspns ground ginger</i></div>
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<i>1 tblspn brown sugar</i></div>
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<i>4 tblspns flaky salt</i></div>
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<i>1 tblspn sunflower or groundnut oil</i></div>
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<i>1 tblspn soy sauce</i></div>
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<b><i>Meat</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Pork belly (it's tricky to give weight - best to ask your butcher based on how many of you there are and use your eyes to gauge how much you want to eat - and remember that the meat will shrink by about a quarter during cooking), OR</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Whole shoulder of pork, which weighs between 5kg and 8kg</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Cooking - bearing in mind cooking times, you will need to get things going up to a day in advance</i></b></div>
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<i>Turn your oven to 110°C.</i></div>
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<i>Take the skin off the meat, using a small, sharp knife, causing as little damage as possible to the meat, the skin and your fingers. Score the skin with a sharp knife (a stanley knife works best if you have one), chop into strips or squares and put it in the fridge.</i></div>
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<i>Line a roasting tin big enough to hold the piece of meat with two layers of tin foil that are big enough to wrap around the whole piece. Put the meat in the roasting tin and rub the paste all over it, then wrap the meat up and seal up the foil around it.</i></div>
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<i>Put the meat in the oven for about 6 hours for a piece of pork belly or up to 24 hours for a big, whole shoulder of pork. That's very approximate, by the way - it should be wet at all times and you cook it under the meat is falling apart - check it a couple of times during cooking and turn it over once or twice.</i></div>
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<i>When it's finished cooking, remove the pork from the oven and turn it to 160°C, transfer the meat from the foil into a roasting tin and strain the juices into a saucepan. You can smother the meat in a jelly of some kind at this point (I used a homemade red- and white-currant jelly) and put it in the oven for about 20 mins (belly) to 45 mins (shoulder) to dry out a bit.</i></div>
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<i>Heat the juices in the pan and reduce to a nice saucy consistency - add a teaspoon of jelly if you want to sweeten it a bit and a squeeze of lemon often doesn't hurt if it needs a zesty kick.</i></div>
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<i>Meanwhile, for the crackling, sprinkle salt on the skin and lay it in one layer in a roasting tin in a searingly hot oven (250°C-ish) for about 20-30 mins until it is crunchy, but don't let it burn. Sprinkle with more salt if you fancy before serving.</i></div>
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<i>To serve the meat, pull out any bones and discard them then, using two forks, tear the meat apart and put onto a warmed platter. Put the sauce in a jug to serve on the side.</i></div>
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<i>What you serve it with depends on you and your guests - my favourite accompaniments have been sticky coconut rice, chargrilled broccoli with chilli & garlic and Jamie's free-styled salad of finely diced carrots, cucumber, apple & coconut with tarragon & parsley and a dressing made by tempering oil with mustard seeds, ginger & cumin, finished off with a good squeeze of lemon - a bit off-the-wall on its own but AMAZING with the pork and coconut rice. Last night I was feeding 16 guests, some of whom had more conservative tastes, so I did balsamic-roasted new potatoes & red onions, a marinated green bean salad with a Dijon & shallot dressing, a crunchy salad of carrots, fennel, cucumber & courgette and a simple green leaf salad.</i></div>
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We ate leftovers at about 10.30pm last night and I am still rather full, so have managed no more than a cup of detox tea so far this morning (pathetic, really). The Big Swede, however, got up at 5.30am to go surfing (the buzz on the Twittersphere tells me it's the best swell of the season so far, so there is method to his madness) so he will probably return soon, absolutely famished, and I can attempt to assuage his hunger with a sandwich of torn, slow-roast pork, some garden lettuce and a bit of English mustard and mayo. Ooh, is that my appetite I can feel returning?</div>
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</div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-44640187141277604362010-06-01T18:03:00.001+02:002010-07-21T21:10:17.347+02:00Belated tales of Alpine adventures<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRaxAO8v74QmZU6qTql9k5pqf2W5hyphenhyphendZlEiMDDL4rv4UG4TvuAJGHoaQjHi9Jv29K3Hz5PiSpkKSP_MhSG2gqinn_mwKV4R2WgaB4BNH6L8Ty2JAzdxCkDQTzwZw0K_sPSj0rDsQfBpuV/s1600/IMG_6794+copy.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDix5NwS91pqvxlRorL6X2uFsQVCFoFZzSxoOUH8IfTkLXgfWOWbWLiK6afSqvmI8WQRMfEWYJ7ajXKJUO9gKbWVeFCgayZVcuaURYlUmbFr4RntjN0W_yoJyFZ_Fptpj1k9vzSd7pt1pw/s200/IMG_4948.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477842059050157394" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNe0SvVIklcUwxWddZnMFtpf4NeLM7ten_hMhVaF3TD_RG4GSO4A40GibDEUbqpd-0u-GHvr8a3z566_Drj1ApCDgZ_DxJL53yEN8hEyOcBxnyOojsdM5W3-4JaJRPMgmc_Kxv9NrqgXa/s200/IMG_6244.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477842236289922706" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyhGChbDXcUasm9IP6mWNHvfoBPDtNfJHRS-_YRAw83bllor5qJ__vc_C0QYH7t5lxtdG9fsRanDnE1pCTQJ1MEligOviJG3YwjG49IdREUmLf48cIp2WJNGm2cek-ozadUlT2jepczcx/s200/IMG_5849.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477842543034842114" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I guess I should have started this chapter of the blog about five months ago, when I first came to the Alps. But, here I am and here I blog... </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">First, a quick update: after six months cheffing in the Tarn, I went to California to follow my dream of working at Chez Panisse. I then found myself in Verbier on 26 December, ready to spend the next week cheffing for CK Verbier, cooking and skiing my way into the new decade. As often happens, those seven days became four months and I did my first ski season - rather unexpectedly - aged 32. I couldn't have planned it better if I'd tried...</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Anyone who has ever been skiing will know that there just aren't enough hours in the day - with all the skiing and partying to be done, sleep tends to take a back seat. Well, try fitting all that around working six days a week for an exclusive chalet company. But, we managed it pretty well (this goes some way to explain the lack of blogging - solitude and spare time are rare commodities during a ski season). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhteSKZMKNH0-dmXpVwA98jVNClyEqvTvybIPR8IULwIM2nH5BuREOpOk8cyiQM8IzOCTMM8Y2N1ElUVQNK71cPiU5bL3JcrX3VcumPph1SmD5C32XyhZAsoqimBo0as7rx67hnmCtLAs_j/s200/IMG_4954.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477842062893927650" /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99y1pTF_40zf5aR7cJZfXW1Of719Y46SaQDX7OF7MQZp_eyyev6TlwA-AS_7d47pikH2bYofSpcFGM8DlvQkPsWZG4ihivBwLtZmU6-fgj9rWJYfBf6mxJH0J6HUSDtcohPwYgkWCZ0aG/s200/IMG_4960.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477842067792218818" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In my life as a nomadic chef, I have been able to come back to Verbier for June. It feels a bit like a ghost town, but it's extremely beautiful and tranquil. The snow and ice have melted from all but the highest slopes, leaving acres of lush, green grass and delicate alpine flowers. The blueberries bushes are looking promising and - if the weather ever makes its mind up - we may finally be in for some lovely summery days (May was a wash-out and over the past week it's been oscillating between sunshine, heavy mist and torrential rain...)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBw5EWRVYb221LUNzUMddu6zCTg_9CG_PsGR4gveT8kmgW73STcdX5OmJrRGnrOQ7Rgn3PUsgpN_FtRSuO7s-_WT-cGcqeafgul-3oK9ggcEO6nAZaufPaGACWJtwjyA8Qv2tL1OWWzXxp/s200/IMG_6786+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477837448094106754" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRaxAO8v74QmZU6qTql9k5pqf2W5hyphenhyphendZlEiMDDL4rv4UG4TvuAJGHoaQjHi9Jv29K3Hz5PiSpkKSP_MhSG2gqinn_mwKV4R2WgaB4BNH6L8Ty2JAzdxCkDQTzwZw0K_sPSj0rDsQfBpuV/s200/IMG_6794+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477871850516056210" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Although the mist has once more enveloped the mountains, the sun was shining hazily earlier today, so I strapped on my hiking boots and made my way from Verbier up to Clambin, where I even managed to find my friend's chalet - the last time I came here, we arrived by snowmobile at night, so it was breath-taking to see it in the daylight. Finding my way around is always a confusing process (I wasn't blessed with the best sense of direction), but I've already discovered that exploring on foot, unencumbered by ice and snow, is a revelation - at this rate, I might be in danger of knowing where I'm going...</span></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdydtTjkjFu-AV1HhHiEYskxqPeop5M497xwcBkSbTQ-4D3V2uLU9A14npr-6kHMDXzpt1YreYb-Mnrayuhzl5p5_Ihyphenhyphene0N-uHAaF4tQ0YyhJFp8xaa23j_vHCvxjcaUNomn_7pp2DfL6/s200/IMG_6795+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477837456433344930" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-44239901802599334802009-11-24T19:31:00.000+01:002010-07-21T21:01:25.101+02:00Back soon...I have to leave San Francisco earlier than expected to go back to the UK, but hope to be back in 2010 with more food, photos and news...Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-55312515590682834092009-11-11T09:26:00.004+01:002010-07-21T21:01:25.113+02:00First course...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Chez Panisse continues to amaze and teach me more than I could have ever hoped. The chefs I work with are utterly inspiring, making the most incredible food night after night, with smiles on their faces and minimum fuss. Why aren't all restaurants this way and how on earth did I get lucky enough to be here? I have been really fortunate that they have so much faith put in me, as they not only let me help prep the meals with them - teaching me about the fantastic produce they use and showing me lots of great techniques - but the head chef Jean-Pierre and and sous chef Jerome (yes, I am back in with the French) have put me on the line each night, which means that I am actually part of the team of cooks getting to execute and serve the dishes to our guests each night.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSQm29k0Ukzg-PIXAWN4q_kR3vZNKvK_pxmeEL2DThs-TDDqSoepIQPiRoxnnBKzj50_VfLcxumaCq5ZhdPt6VZWUYfpq06fnn5D3OURpW3VMPAhkIHRNyeaBmIoa4gYF8f2JQoPnjKdY/s200/30+the+restaurant+team+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402764649478769490" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcBg732kRvr-207TphUkC76PkdhennTGrWXql0V76JAukOWM2hk6Pyd0MroPaL_b5Z_XaIruILKYE9xcRXwcaunNNDBtj5cblvRdXc35L0twWQ1ikbkAuBUzwfprKf7MeSSAcZGF5B3l8/s200/38+Amy+and+Ryan+down+the+line+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402764651166448226" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">As the set menu changes every day, I am constantly seeing new dishes, from amazing fish such as Catalina spiny lobsters served in a ragout with leeks and chervil or grilled Monterey squid and scallions with grilled peppers, aioli and salad, to wonderful locally-sourced meats, like grilled Sonoma duck breast with roasted fig relish, green beans and turnip and potato gratin or grilled rack, leg and loin of Elliott Ranch lamb with autumn vegetable tian and rapini. It's a masterclass in the best of Californian-French cuisine. Although I don't work on the pastry section, the girls work alongside us, always happy and proud to show me what they're making and offering samples. I didn't think I had a sweet tooth, but they are doing a good job of changing my mind...</span></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLcn7VA5KzamCCWi1lLgMyFKcDwwe4XDDqJ7OLHZuG-aKxzcjQtb2v2B1Xd9m4MUf_kD6ruOL7O78sbtXkail2Jc71xJDNmwWqhLe2MPvAwBCpTgAXbFnEWWcFwZSkAQVESN781eAFc8A/s200/41+grilling+the+Monterey+squid+and+spring+onions+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402764665824511714" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaE-i0jpNAw0UT78VZle2fRiNT9H2-HbaYSO0vsXreg_iPnDdiwJ-onSHAAqSfFjEleclvVocgYkI-CV7WwDqcsS3xSL-F83N2Xm_NnBp2Do3-N5AKEA874jxlylcoOfm3gNbqaV57FE/s200/24+autumn+vegetable+tian+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402764645681963874" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SxySXXF8uluiioiXP-YrtfbmqxFq2bCfARG9guHmVZ01drWxAB_k2CKsmx8zPimOWNULQvNIzv3rkBx5aiJeFo8GYy4dinQIv5-jiu0Vn8uajwGpcZR7jrmiwdUhrLwc2_LA5LNUwik/s200/42+grilled+squid+and+scallions+with+grilled+peppers,+aioli+and+salad+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402764814277256146" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwD05ufG-m_vrKp8EopTImm7lMqr_eCkLW3eCyLNb-4Px53p3-trHF1-YASu_n5t8NgxdCakKg2T3hhH7IdQTDb82aVkdbdKdiiftT4wBTHEVUsxXAKnTtR8flzw31HSzLx-ETWr8nEE/s200/39+Kerry+in+the+pastry+secion+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402764662554316914" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But it's the core restaurant family to whom I will be eternally indebted: patient, wise, talented, brilliant and gracious (even with the relentless mocking of my English pronunciation, which seems to cause constant amusement, especially to the boys when I am calling out orders to the front-of-house team). Only a team of cooks as devoted to great food, to each other and to the restaurant that they love so much - and as confident and secure in their collective ability and experience - could be so generous with their time and energy. I am one very, very lucky line cook right now.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-3250962732803500432009-11-03T08:17:00.000+01:002010-07-21T21:01:25.127+02:00Back in the Bay<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm back and have found San Francisco (and its inhabitants) as gorgeous as ever. Sunshine, beautiful views, wonderful people, great food and a few days of rest and fun before heading into my first stage at Chez Panisse. One of California's best-loved and most-respected restaurants, it has an impeccable ethos, serving the finest sustainably-sourced, organic, and seasonal ingredients, prepared with love, talent and unwavering care. Simple, yet brilliant - and representative of everything I admire and aspire to as a chef. So, it wasn't really a surprise to find myself shaking with nerves and excitement at the prospect of spending a fortnight in their kitchens. I had been assigned to work in the restaurant, which serves a set menu each night (as opposed to the upstairs café's more informal, à la carte menu). At 1.30pm, I arrived to meet the restaurant team, who were relaxed and friendly, whilst awesomely knowledgeable and passionate about food. With one chef off sick, I was truly thrown in at the deep end - Jerome, the chef in charge that night, assigned the starter to me, which - under his guidance - I prepped and served up to 100 guests:</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Monday, November 2, $60</span></b></div><div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Frisée and rocket salad with confit gesiers, hearts, pancetta, green beans and liver toast</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Poulet à lestragon: spit-roasted Soul Food Farm chicken with tarragon, crème fraîche, wild mushrooms, and fried potatoes</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Meyer lemon meringue tartlet with huckleberries</span></li></ul></div><div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7oDA6lTdtXcVvScKANhQxPTIc3SHQm1OK9MnLBuT2_lyuZOoY8VuFPa7M2ZQRwQGqBd4hly_nds32Kz8NKrmNzsbzDd1N8KG2CvGqv3LpNaxqo_2kyYsquUWu_BUSvVklIb0eCIt2H4/s200/IMG_4203+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399774351089377986" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1676IUOlWBK7AFjF9ZOtn3Qkza8_Vr8n3q1RyIXlu9iSklt-IJYR-Jmn217Gy9lmGzga7PPXjp19TtepdF6KXQhNCcDV8J0bJZ6avecwNJfDF_rNJF1fkn1YGh1x3-FgCEmr5FrlFV0/s200/IMG_4212+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399774364620593250" /></div><div>I'm learning that Chez Panisse not only makes its customers extremely happy, but it seems that you'd be hard-pushed to find a happier workforce, too. Unlike the grim-faced, ashen, exhausted creatures who inhabit some of London, Paris or New York's leading restaurant kitchens, the cooks here genuinely love their work - this isn't some ordeal to survive in order to bolster their CVs and to prove they can hack the worst that can possibly be thrown at them. Many have been Chez Panisse for two decades or more and obviously take enormous pleasure and pride in their work - and each other. I didn't here a single raised voice or cross word - just encouragement and gentle, constructive criticism where needed, which was always received with grace. Split shifts (where you work two shifts back-to-back with a short break in between) are totally frowned upon as it's genuinely understood that cooks working longer than a 9-hour day are too exhausted to work properly - and, more importantly, to have a life of their own outside of work. All very sensible, but sadly, all too rare in most restaurants. (The café chefs doing the early shift start at 7am, but go home at about 4pm, handing over to the evening team). Too perfect to be true? Time will tell, but it's not just the food that they seem to be getting completely right here.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmMbpHW-bW_TfqQVB02Blxx1A0EyMiMjXnuBBNwrNc08u7JSVkTKYF0iLBtYsat1YOvrhBOefTHLmJd04FcySmBwSO5Y3wkTltfrVP4PNzDdhmYGsyuIjUnSfugtlkknzJWJol_53_kmc/s200/IMG_4208+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399774360583003298" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzb-soQjmcBL6xSeHZvFXZkhEWI9VU5kWLVOEU7skcdEi76O5eg-U8qrpo4iKxlfEi16EML6iO1HwvmtKOqcMKrBSj2yMTnkzsDaexOp9ss5E0pvEGQ6kphZP7as8BTyZHhdvHJyLEm0/s1600-h/IMG_4206+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzb-soQjmcBL6xSeHZvFXZkhEWI9VU5kWLVOEU7skcdEi76O5eg-U8qrpo4iKxlfEi16EML6iO1HwvmtKOqcMKrBSj2yMTnkzsDaexOp9ss5E0pvEGQ6kphZP7as8BTyZHhdvHJyLEm0/s200/IMG_4206+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399774353605261778" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></span></div></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-5619141542505333182009-10-02T13:00:00.009+02:002009-10-02T18:08:48.643+02:00La Fin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJYI8V0Bp-NjfWKUXmj7LFaPZA471JY5IpwsXLK10qICliDYCCt_Iptb3iIp801K2XR3qb9oMBoeng60yUASoSpSRzCzCWfTu4NeW3yh4rvryoULXx1fiG0jr3kbn04cKOcFKkgC4nE73/s1600-h/IMG_8680+copy.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6SG7YrzYJI3SezLiUnOjntMROGug-rpDUz8a6HGSchGtOZN23TqHFHjfvLOIj6QduXTNYWe12UCTB0wxwgGtOErbzNRr4MfRA_VGUm2N_C2GA3rAeLBTkQ_vR-3_Umqv0TuixPjt5KTj/s200/IMG_3556+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386952681206193042" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNcDkM0WkuwSxrNkU21N1V3U9NS79-o4sGSBluxVgTE7eUQix5dMDrFDFLdKe7z-qsk7Oi46qpLQv6e0GUx_i8dnGuZF1MJj6iijuKhE2teSlrdUYpQDeAFz4crX6ONtve7K5ZYVJbQsM_/s200/IMG_3568+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386952685610931378" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After 182 days, 1,000 dinners, 700 breakfasts and 1,800 hours in the kitchen, my stint in France is coming to an end. I'm looking back at the past six months and trying to sum them up... but I just can't. I arrived not really knowing what to expect, yet it became strangely familiar almost immediately as Peter, Orlando and Monique swept me up into their extraordinary Raynaudes existence. For six days a week I've been up early to make breakfast and have fallen into bed sometime after dinner is over, leaving me so tired at times that I could fall asleep standing up. That kind of exhaustion can leave you feeling raw and was sometimes made worse by intense loneliness - life can feel pretty empty when living somewhere so isolated, the only contact with friends and family is over the internet or phone and the excitement about a brief visit from someone is tinged with the premature dread of saying goodbye. But since leading this active life in the middle of the countryside, I've been healthier and fitter than ever and - for much of the time - happier. I have laughed more in this job than any other, as Peter oscillates between dry wit and high jinks and Orlando relentlessly regales me with his hilarious anecdotes and observations (when he takes a break from teasing Jude, who has popped back throughout the season to help with front-of-house. Her calm, warm charm has not only worked wonders with the guests and the team, but our girly chats have played a big part in keeping me vaguely sane). And I've never felt such a sense of achievement, amazement and satisfaction - and that makes it all worth it a hundred times over.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxVzSq3xXvAcpYsTwAg_CIQvU09nyIlAxGAxK_1CjeGbZL9mHxgUyC29dlx88pAjo3ZdZZk0rart6DC5PtYH22iLG64WLWa10_s_xT861HYgPK_t2TT4mZdWpvrt4VlbtrX_MeaanKtrG/s200/IMG_8612+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386952705377178818" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq0rEMgLk66XFoXRySI2IDH3NjxhXmo-MWzaTGTqy82NC3_xwyhtnQqIzrV837qYNaXVbqslZDqYSalt1ShoCiPCSwf5am2w8k2vFBZ1Nh8GeTf60RlBSIEJoP5HmUJZjKSn1ypayieNE/s200/IMG_8605+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386952697690323794" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The visits from friends and family have really shown me how lucky I am to have lived and worked here - whilst also making me appreciate the people I love all the more. I had my youngest ever visitor in September - what he lacked in years, he made up for in extreme importance. Hunter Jefferson Crawford, my heavenly godson, born to my dear friend Cat on 4th July, made the journey from Edinburgh via Paris, accompanied by his gorgeous mummy, aunty Johnnie and Gus (over from Chicago) and Gus' parents, Richard and Leonee. Staying in the Cévennes meant they were almost a four-hour drive away, but distance was not going to get in the way of coming to dinner at Le Manoir. Cooking for close friends is a nerve-wracking experience at the best of times... doing so for a fellow (and more experienced) chef (Cat) really ups the ante, but they made it one of the most special meals I have ever cooked and I was so proud and touched that they came all this way. We then drove all the way back to Valleraugue, arriving at the house at 4am. The next day was perfect - Johnnie, Cat and I made up for months of missing each other and catching up, with Hunter a peaceful, much-adored focus of all our attention.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwow9Tx1Ih1wIFLExULfMtvZPWK_RTuhErvJGQCqYmmgO4jyaluQ7UczyMdHiFowed8gava9p_6iQdBHQSIvW61LE-IjdCOtMQfkeIed0uyU1Z3tM1aTCo5ohrY8_p6CtDbUNazlr0Xko/s200/IMG_8678+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386955213889464354" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; font-family:Georgia, serif;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdOqyxTie4pUOi3LDDtwqDekwltFY33ee3KhiFb6UGbfgSu3Becnn1kWjsA_K2iKhyK3pOSEGJEpXg3FlnBr_liSByhqwntp-ejFukQT-wmWEIxSwdD8ZV7X9FoEnn1puR_uANdzJYTShI/s200/IMG_8741+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386955226866367058" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_caKNh5zs5Zwl1oV9U4cGjYSL3LTVKyuugAO5s9ozMIcAzaPXTrbhTAe4zB6mt84usZhtotY25Rw0ySq6j25YsG2-IIlzgWwC3asO_VGQIe3T2x-m5dj8Lc_mBYg3LeHLyhLRnsabXH3/s200/IMG_8728+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386955218436646498" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJYI8V0Bp-NjfWKUXmj7LFaPZA471JY5IpwsXLK10qICliDYCCt_Iptb3iIp801K2XR3qb9oMBoeng60yUASoSpSRzCzCWfTu4NeW3yh4rvryoULXx1fiG0jr3kbn04cKOcFKkgC4nE73/s200/IMG_8680+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387992491070805874" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px; " /></span></span></span></span></span><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8g7GdOOwUTwXadeeaW7egMMoh7H77mOQjWovoWNWOpppVsIc9Dl2GMVt_1w55rFa_Ecy1jjq6aQr-qwKah7omAYKWNYp2HT1LCopb-htw_lHhsbOtAbOvo-9nKpSW6XdMISIbBlmHp_b/s200/IMG_8659+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386952710567190834" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXq0rEMgLk66XFoXRySI2IDH3NjxhXmo-MWzaTGTqy82NC3_xwyhtnQqIzrV837qYNaXVbqslZDqYSalt1ShoCiPCSwf5am2w8k2vFBZ1Nh8GeTf60RlBSIEJoP5HmUJZjKSn1ypayieNE/s1600-h/IMG_8605+copy.JPG"></a><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNcDkM0WkuwSxrNkU21N1V3U9NS79-o4sGSBluxVgTE7eUQix5dMDrFDFLdKe7z-qsk7Oi46qpLQv6e0GUx_i8dnGuZF1MJj6iijuKhE2teSlrdUYpQDeAFz4crX6ONtve7K5ZYVJbQsM_/s1600-h/IMG_3568+copy.JPG"></a><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6SG7YrzYJI3SezLiUnOjntMROGug-rpDUz8a6HGSchGtOZN23TqHFHjfvLOIj6QduXTNYWe12UCTB0wxwgGtOErbzNRr4MfRA_VGUm2N_C2GA3rAeLBTkQ_vR-3_Umqv0TuixPjt5KTj/s1600-h/IMG_3556+copy.JPG"></a><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then back for more Toulouse fun to say goodbye to Jude... rather worryingly, I've now been back to my new favourite city there a few times and - despite walking around it for hours at a time - I still can't get my bearings and spend half my time happily lost. We have, however, found a fantastic wine bar - I have no idea what street it's on, but it's called "Au Père Louis". If you come across it, do stop in for a "quinquina" - their house apéritif that has something to do with quinine and wine. Whatever. After a couple of those, you won't be able to get your bearings either, but you probably won't care...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMTnZa4CjJoskYyu0TkJgZA5SQSdcH6zyk8t1KFz0I3NCQP5KA6Ev1ar8vdhnkyeeon_amaMyNQ2CFnyQv-tRHB-xdL2I1lRbcrKbFMW0EXfw-Mi-uROON8iqWRfCUa8Fhmj7XH2Rw3fLx/s200/IMG_3581+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386955240150721298" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPypQsk181RlAQ61Fhkj6zsLpbZy8v6jOAgM0QewOfAhDeH9l94pdegiME39VThuCobjM596rCYPGWhSdQFgxl6NPqdd22LMrT5fi88H7hADPi6ZVTwwNop72NM5e7AdOF2i_ktE2SHuEJ/s200/IMG_3579+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386955229487029794" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1nE1EuY7KSqkD8Suk6Mm5_19bSv7x8hujyNu5aJcUEbs4eZ1_yyEbVhjZyHd-qHAkjTpuxyNZAiri918OuK2fgpRRuEZUAc927iVeDEMPzmVraKWTbWPmV5_o2s7Wzht6TXu-z59CL_K4/s200/IMG_3587+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387000966522561026" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What next...? London, southern Italy and then California to do </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">stages </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">at Chez Panisse in Berkeley and Zuni Café in San Francisco. I'd love to tell you what the plan is after that, but right now I have absolutely no idea. Watch this space...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-90280565117596040052009-09-09T21:02:00.018+02:002009-09-10T15:54:06.014+02:00"C'est normal"...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfMhlzKeK_CtwymK_FsGF7IieBqE_IhpJwJJLJFuMM29LHs8oXDB3P50s8fNFHMm7Jf7WLIhL9wondmFLW5A2BGYPIX_N3xbTDGEVT-gTyDA6lClu2COnLSKLD1jkstJMSv02KXf471QW/s1600-h/IMG_2846+copy.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">... a frequently-heard phrase in these parts - but it doesn't mean exactly what you'd think it does. For the French, it's more a way of saying "of course" or "don't mention it". But I hear it so often that it has made me realise that what I hold as "normal" has taken on a whole new meaning since I've been here...</span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SqjX2CZNGTI/AAAAAAAAAVY/WlB0XqCSBDM/s200/IMG_3522+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379787078249552178" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SqifvpdIzrI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/gmMu00evyt8/s200/IMG_3506+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379725395824791218" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SqifvdTbJHI/AAAAAAAAAVI/bl8STgO5_J8/s200/IMG_3504+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379725392562824306" /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After being so accustomed to the hubbub of London, I'm now quite used to the tranquility of Raynaudes (ok, admittedly punctuated by the odd bellowing animal), although the stillness continues to captivate me, even after five months - I could listen to the cicadas for hours at night, their chirruping a continuous, soothing presence that I will sorely miss when I leave. And the bone-chilling, face-numbing, spirit-dampening cold and rain of home seems unimaginable as I am warmed every day by the blazing Occitan sunshine. I can't imagine how my daily routine used to involve a cramped commute on London Underground into work, where I would then spend most of my 50 working hours a week sitting in front of a computer screen or trying to stay focused during a three-hour meeting. Now, of course, my working hours total more than 80 a week and are mainly spent in an infernally hot kitchen, trying not to give myself third-degree burns or chop any fingers off, but that's my chosen life now - and I wouldn't swap it for anything. I honestly can't think of a better day's work than one that involves cooking the produce I've selected from our local market and suppliers with vegetables, fruit and herbs that I've picked from our garden to create food for enthusiastic, lovely guests to enjoy. And then, of course, there's the pool and sunshine to concentrate on for a couple of hours in the afternoon...</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05cPn1uk25Usz-3bB4bdd47Oec8A_D2aQ2rqPkGaVoG__hsMh1YuPBo10IJjVgXOmM3vMqRiqNXrel9iySWvSLJlkKhCz719kxUfJv1fiU-iTUoSmNLe_gwbJHJ8gZia6G2e9CtXFPxeH/s1600-h/IMG_3537+copy.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05cPn1uk25Usz-3bB4bdd47Oec8A_D2aQ2rqPkGaVoG__hsMh1YuPBo10IJjVgXOmM3vMqRiqNXrel9iySWvSLJlkKhCz719kxUfJv1fiU-iTUoSmNLe_gwbJHJ8gZia6G2e9CtXFPxeH/s200/IMG_3537+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379787094406582098" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But the "norm" around here is not all pastoral, idyllic perfection. Despite the Brits returning from their French holidays full of praise for the more relaxed approach to life taken by our Gallic cousins, they can seem like a bunch of absolute slackers when you've got a short amount of time to get a lot done. I'm sure we'd all welcome the idea of a two-hour lunch break every day, with a working week capped at 35 hours, but trust me - it simply isn't practical. Not an awful lot ever gets achieved around here - and nothing is ever open when you need it. After London's 24-hour culture, where you can get almost anything anytime, we must now grit our teeth and bear rural France's more "relaxed" attitude to business. Not only do many shops and restaurants close daily from 12-2pm - as well as all day on Sundays and Mondays - but many don't open on Wednesdays as French children have the day off school in order to received the religious instruction of their parents' choice (it isn't provided as part of the secular school system. Of course, they don't do anything of the sort - Wednesday is unofficially "teenage-loafing" day around town...) And, on the subject of shops - how on earth did the store-planners for our local supermarket decide that the dental floss belongs in amongst the condoms? The locals might have a good explanation (as did Jude, although I'm not repeating it here), but I'm still trying to figure that one out - and am rather worried about French attitudes to both oral hygiene and contraception...</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TNVbNmLhfuT-oLanLvI-ebNYuHeVNLAsnDgza7CWUqKl9jpyPuaZNyNwgKBM411qgUuSUb05RnRhZXZfRSlj1LaYGMva_0dJ5-NfAZ1pyV6HuiGCICAAIGUMoXFdehhl0j06IvuFvdUT/s200/IMG_3526+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379787085136050626" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfMhlzKeK_CtwymK_FsGF7IieBqE_IhpJwJJLJFuMM29LHs8oXDB3P50s8fNFHMm7Jf7WLIhL9wondmFLW5A2BGYPIX_N3xbTDGEVT-gTyDA6lClu2COnLSKLD1jkstJMSv02KXf471QW/s200/IMG_2846+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379788693706795234" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And yet... if we think the local ways of life are a bit unusual, what on earth must Le Manoir's guests think when they see Orlando paddling around the lake in a red kayak, hurling white powder all over the surface (and himself) or catch sight of Peter on the back on a tractor being driven around the field? And it's not every hotel owner who sits down at the piano after dinner to sing "I am 16, going on 17" to the chef while she's dressed in a candy-pink dirndl, doing her best Julie Andrews twirls? (Yes, there are photos. No, you can't see them). If you think that's a bit unusual... well, I never promised you normal, did I?</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 13.0px Georgia"><br /></p></span></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-53106548779667864022009-08-23T19:30:00.015+02:002009-08-23T23:35:33.150+02:00All creatures not so great and small<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Mother Nature has a funny way of reminding you who's boss... For any city-dwellers imagining that the countryside is the place for peace and quiet, think again. Once the hotel gets full, we ship out, so I have spent a number of nights staying with our lovely farming neighbours, Monsieur and Madame Regourd. They live next door to Georgette Cayre, a plump, no-nonsense widow with a living larder - not, as some of our guests innocently think, a bunch of pets. She keeps them for food, plain and simple. I used to feel sorry for the poor little things (non-sensical, I know, as I eat and cook meat), but having been woken up every morning at quarter to five by her pair of competing roosters, if she doesn't do something about them soon, a new dish of "coq au vin" is appearing on the Raynaudes menu...</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yH0W17iht2dYiTPd8-mr8btUGAhEqwfUnlrlWkOMVpefhwdi_OjDqvcTok8FzxWRyIXp4zp71gmpaJ7TcX-x9e_QUEN88OzZ4Y4fKdvVQ0LuD6umVOr0wZTMKOy6RHYBHR01pXlgtKqA/s200/IMG_3464+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373225238347614610" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0roAc6PR6O7wnlrJeFCFLIm3eUk8RkfAWkkshktzB2gca5MGMfUpoMG5Sc4Y99GMkevo9OcnJ6tVs84srAhpV2ffArdweauFw5ywpBYmMgAVRuDl6pknRFvBVXIRXE48j2vItbFuOfFHj/s200/IMG_3462+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373225244138749010" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxx4JF7jAgYEH0t5zlhc_GpDF_rbJqY3ht8XJblBXh0k45WuO9rbVbsy4PswX5yR0nwm0IYIngUk3p5wBR84h4tRAuvUEMw1NK3IbZ4G7teo6Hr7mfrvkpSfxOPJly2-BwV2FkdUHJSzD9/s200/IMG_3468+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373220398972732418" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And once the roosters have had their early-morning crowing competition, the woeful braying from the Regourds' donkies starts up - apparently they're not deeply distressed, as we'd all feared - they just do it for the hell of it... Or maybe they, too, are being subjected to regular nibbles from the mosquitos? But nothing has come close to the recent fly infestation - the worst in living Raynaudes memory and of quite biblical proportions. Thankfully, as the heatwave has passed its worst (we hope), the flies have abated a bit - in the nick of time, as we were being driven completely insane by the constant buzzing and swatting. Teetering on the brink of insanity is not the time for shocks - luckily when I discovered the lizard having a swim in the loo, I was too exhausted to bat an eyelid....</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhInwtoqd4ZYVOFK5PSpPQfHzHnNoYeUtBDkqIqDYLv2THq5jv-ftT6V7FObk5UucGVuw126XedAoD9PPeA8sfD8LviOy2WkLmkH3MXusUzxsJuUXo_Vn6bvgRPYMMfTX_YSbJ8YxCi0_YY/s200/IMG_3460+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373225252992996754" /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There's definitely mischief in the air - the Regourds' Red Setter Sam has a new favourite nighttime"frolic": he waits for the front door to open when I come home and then streaks out and off into the night, with me giving chase all over Raynaudes while he antagonises all the neighbourhood dogs, eliciting much snarling and barking from the dogs and much cursing from me. He comes back </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">eventually, with a smirk on his face and a Mutley-style snigger...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">To escape the crazy animal kingdom that is currently ruling Raynaudes, I went to the Sunday market at Saint Antonin Noble Val on the River Aveyron - a touristy kind of scene, but with a buzzy atmosphere and some lovely food stalls in amongst the over-priced, ubiquitous tie-die creations. I had a leisurely lunch in the dappled sunshine of the courtyard at Restaurant Beffroi - the staff were busy and I was happy to take my time, which meant that I spent more than two hours enjoying a glass of rosé, salmon with couscous and chocolate fondant. Apparently being patient and a French-speaker helps, though - after just a brief exchange with the waiter, who had expressed amazement when I told him I was English, my bill only listed the main course - "the pudding and wine are on me", he said in perfect English, with a little smile as he sailed past me. I left with a big grin on my face. Never mind the discount and light flirting - he'd thought I was French...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqMLjO0rfJSOsnHtaVySzQegnE2LMnOQtPDJT8CKcremwhiT8flvR3b1l2Kf-2_bnsNdCoCO7TRo2QGrvcfEGQcaiV_Fv-O-T3cMvFT8_nuOGjnYPDcWm_n0OB3Eazl_eMk9xwj5dfK02/s200/IMG_3500+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373220372999877986" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpijpyoPtcCEPzGPZx6iMoQ2beLC2JwWsKYPF1N1oiQQ2XDm4tINGXHRo2aw9Nto8JLg5gpn76B1KmOlIu4QjcHvdua6OsXR8SJQuQ8ID0jlBM4GXI6PgMctNqlbPPZaQvbUnwWzmlKFY8/s200/IMG_3495+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373220373710508354" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3Rg-JJ9fe9oehCPt2B2D4WD3ITbOf3w8WDcKkz5AZtWoNgwANEGIgnJkjg0nj8O1eM8Eyk6wQltDQLZM2qMwBayAXXKVCH1t6Tcb1pPa06J7wwaQ4hdosDaTsPp0hVkS7pwVjLP8wagn/s200/IMG_3473+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373220392285872498" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjSxCscZfOH8jq3xTf_VLTdTXlBcL5OO6BHizmOLsFlzRalUSRwtOGx3I2KaLWN6S3OMcSJggKGnHb7EGAr95ccySa0AvKOF55HRJMxZxItfJ4WPlYDI7UtWj4F_ZbpSTdyu74ppnBDZAV/s200/IMG_3491+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373220384858727858" /><br /></div></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-91052864571065602362009-08-02T17:40:00.013+02:002009-08-02T19:08:44.098+02:00The end of the world? No, just the start of August...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SnXFu7XSpuI/AAAAAAAAATo/PaAHDWUj3hA/s200/IMG_3383+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365411941081851618" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhic8Vwv7H5uFbKxlBIJMA-Bn00VuHMTtSX2fNrV1YbUDu7gZl2RvNH6HyXxbMhpIdkx_hdUf365FdP2KhZPOzaADa9iujs2EfRngxrKanBsbBy70OGd-tpUmW6Kl-_8YOTkot378mk4waA/s200/IMG_3385+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365399771858576178" /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nx0CT1aDbcOoamDRbMSt5ER_zlvEO55UXtHo3uMokpgRb4Vse9ilPxlhz3V-ffT4mDnpeYbO2bReZT_ClSBAQSSHpUokBa-jgIoYvB0LPjcUmQqBGFmxpB7N6hMEHm8OKxzYz6QOBVy7/s200/IMG_3390+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365399776458238514" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH63xQD8E_XHz53oTczZ0hKPLztAkFbC-elW_0on6egd0LWW7RLyhD7h6g6CXTbS9Ck-c6JYoi5K6MFcqjLGYbD9qCEK7yntXnrM0Pe9SyqobYogFxTWvvuCDq1pH20dhBJByadspd4vw/s200/IMG_3379+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365399763566871090" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></div><div>So, I'd been told that the weather can get a bit unpredictable in August, but this is truly ridiculous... Having been lured back to Toulouse, I spent the day roaming the city in glorious sunshine. When day gave way to dusk, it brought a change in the weather as the clouds rolled in and the wind picked up. By the time I was in the car driving home, the rain was falling hard - and then things really got interesting... Lighting bolts lit up the sky as I drove through the vineyards of Gaillac, but the full extent of the storm was wreaking havoc closer to home. My first hint was the foliage covering the road approaching Cordes-sur-Ciel and, by the time I reached the town itself, I was swerving to avoid whole trees that had fallen across the road.</div></span><div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNVzj72v7LqVSePbTOuMXJZTVDUTFnEaMRBJpiNXQNFxqkRG2lqRj_jcJO9kZV2ZSMEcEkdZFvEPBlIDVbA2ajGem2nL-NekRJ_jajOt4yuuToKElHmM5r5cxb0iwc2HWkIxt3sN0Rd9i/s200/IMG_8520+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365405296040721730" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Numerous diversions and a white-knuckle ride later, I finally made it back to Le Manoir de Raynaudes, trying not to run over the frogs hopping all over the driveway. I ran through the rain into the house, where Orlando, Peter and the guests were intact and jubilantly recounting the evening's dramas and heroics, including chopping up trees that had fallen across the driveway (one guest even fell into the lake in the process), dodging flying roof tiles and giant hailstones, cooking dinner through an hour-long power cut and chasing after airborne pieces of garden furniture.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DRcA57W4VG2_rGDyAXVyJvtNm_kNr8JIbTRAwywxkB0eGk_jWt2kK3mowFf20BIQAvFKd5vE4Zswj8I2O2XwINmWml6jdycCWxNuT2ES6l_-daQ8reB9CeeJ4Cu-8Djy2o1L7x_YI_AT/s200/IMG_3400+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365404415036246946" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUyvjwngiC3ukkKSntuuKZ2l9QnnvSdTq7SgEJyAo9PEcOoQ13B3aCynobhiEu_tijOoDfGKShewteIWHO2MTwPBq6a4ghmTIRGERHBAjxdVMKpXnS7UmJ364YZ4g4Q9kRTSAM637uttAr/s200/IMG_3399+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365404409819087026" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuV7Z0ALsr5WzyTf-U0EOg6XbCU5jPrt8wrgPxQlumIyg1f1aRbraD31r0UOvi2YIPsrdabIX5ssFEKG5ez7lgkk7Z-lJiomOWqcOPiJDFTYvGmaaeOQBV1Jgiy2OoV9MVjIkPGT-d3b6E/s1600-h/IMG_3396+copy.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuV7Z0ALsr5WzyTf-U0EOg6XbCU5jPrt8wrgPxQlumIyg1f1aRbraD31r0UOvi2YIPsrdabIX5ssFEKG5ez7lgkk7Z-lJiomOWqcOPiJDFTYvGmaaeOQBV1Jgiy2OoV9MVjIkPGT-d3b6E/s200/IMG_3396+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365404408617918626" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></div><div>This morning saw another hurricane take us by storm: our housekeeper, </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Monique. A force of nature in her own right, she came to us on her day off to help clear up the mess. Within hours, we had returned the place to a near-normal state, with no more lasting damage to the buildings than a few shattered roof tiles. However, many of our plants are wrecked and we'll never be able to prove to the doubting French that you really can grow seedless grapes, since our especially-imported vines were destroyed. But we survived, the guests thought this was the best entertainment they'd had in ages - and life goes on. As planned, we're still on to serve dinner in an hour's time, but I think we'll be eating indoors tonight...</span></span></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-53287753127575625202009-07-15T14:26:00.007+02:002009-07-15T16:13:08.985+02:00The heat is on<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Chefs have a complex relationship with heat... Too much and the food burns, too little and nothing ever cooks. A few degrees out and a dish can go horribly wrong - especially true when tempering chocolate or taking sugar syrup to the right stage, but also the difference between deliciously pink or overdone meat. The source is also highly important (most cooks prefer gas, but I've been forced to convert to induction hobs here and they're slowly seducing me, especially when it comes to cleaning). A powerful fridge-freezer not only preserves our food, no matter how hot it is outside, but it can save a pastry dough that needs rapid chilling or set the perfect sorbet for that evening's meal.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4YSFaJvQDTJZfXoLLUrt7CrThP7FtG6i4RajIIQCNJQHAMUfQuFj3JQpj02jc6pvnSLP_jUExjR2PRKV1sczEzwVFLlShzqpJ0USjrmVYhwhXTPTxXiPNngJlAN9xWOhDlF2XAkjo3YX/s200/IMG_8436+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358669572613834930" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCbpy3GSpYcGm5HWxzVa56riNLzkQ7rlWlrK-xa-qgNXSQRJ9jaOvkdrkNK5PKciC3ii0_2vxMyRGYnt9TzR2QGVnncDw56PKUsNA6nu_7kfo8gIYchHM5fT69QBy8EzVSD-_Aeo9SWQ0/s200/IMG_3075+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358668513651340514" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUphOtKkxThkmz1sV6VQzSwXrIxLpgjTK1swyNeGXivB8-eBI9EUbV-jZU_CrEwbrufN_UvUDV4E7Y0RhRfad_9zRH2LsQnqVhO76LQ9wmohcge6GEiAmj9viQiOK8GDFULLW_lkMqR_2/s200/IMG_3058+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358668511852158946" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But the most interesting effect of the heat here isn't on the food... it's on the people. The sun is high, the days are long, the evenings are balmy and our guests visibly start to relax and glow as the sunshine takes hold. Given half a chance, I tend to gravitate towards a patch of sunlight, stretch out and read, my basking punctuated by a few lengths in the pool. But the deeper we get into summer, the more guests come and therefore the more mouths there are to feed... so in the kitchen I must stay. "Hot" doesn't even come close to describing the Manoir kitchen midway through service on a busy July night. Foie gras slides, salads wilt, the flies go crazy and ice cream doesn't just melt, it disintegrates if left out of the freezer for longer than a minute... Only when service is over do we stop, exhausted, panting, a bewildered look and hopefully a satisfied smile on our faces. I half-stumble, half-fall out of the kitchen - usually straight into the pool, which has become my sanctuary, especially when tempers rise along with the mercury. We're now mid-way through the season - nerves are frayed, sleep is scarce and cabin fever is setting in. Tough, but only natural in a team of just four people striving to provide perfect service whilst working and living in such close proximity to one another, with no time and little opportunity for a life beyond these walls.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMbovSn-ku7aACpXzm9edQkuoEiJBOstN2ZBSE24lNjDE1NPE9c5CWRR6YrWqEUW9BdFxOgxb0d70U4OR0bEJGCjbujIeyCTly9szqdVea2FGp2hQ6ToZXSijgqdt0KmYtzB8ZIjPw2tz/s200/IMG_3210+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358668518066391602" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlD8KVmbNezewYGCounXkvgbwBd_ex7l-527yuC1xFvbzgyUMEGAMTQNFw-VidCT55rJy3dhIfiuUd7uDRVfe1vgRZO-zAMW6ZZvuUHyIIqgSiX8Rez3vly5qUE7NOF1qi3DxYsqL896t/s200/IMG_3220+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358668526558582882" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhy2km7Rq_S3bGHAYJyvkMd3uUvKwnJNswgxE25y8Ootin_0iL46xbfqe-lTEbnuufNrjIW5IAbD3o6UyqWs69zPRfdvf_lhyphenhyphen0gFzNUUjdvImGF4W-hgd28R8mrwIOg159SCTpgJ2rhtSJ/s200/IMG_3216+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358668525030685090" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thankfully, though I may not have much time to get out into the world (although I did manage two speedy trips back to the UK for weddings), occasionally it comes to me. My latest visitors were Pete and Maggie, who made it to Raynaudes for a couple of days in the middle of their European extravaganza. Having come all the way from San Francisco, I did my best to ensure that they saw the majestic cathedral in Albi, the castle in Najac and the ramparts in Cordes - yet I swear that Pete took most of his photos when I snuck him into the kitchen...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpXPWxPV8k8Ia1gZUiJCGeojN9X7JiNN1JHxrzPMihzotDRLnAAillxC757fBGHiCz7WjW9wS_s8mpJwSk6U4_bteU4UP1JZxEHqiCwGddGCbl0IyY2M3nAtssbvN7GeURCDGwqKbeKIVB/s200/IMG_8455+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358669576576548546" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/Sl3RljmhzOI/AAAAAAAAASc/HDyIllL4iCQ/s200/IMG_3349+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358669574782962914" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; ">The guests have been particularly entertaining lately. Although they don't have to sing for their supper, they seem more than happy to, with Orlando accompanying anyone game enough on the piano, be it to "Cabaret", "The Boyfriend", Abba or "The Sound of Music". The high camp continued with the arrival of Peter's youngest son, Andrew, whose stay happily coincided with his father's birthday and Bastille Day, which of course necessitated Champagne, candlelight, poetry reading, dancing and skinny dipping. Not sure that our noisy renditions of Julie Andrews' songs at 1am in the depths of the garden were quite so necessary, though...</span><br /></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-74168554388475554182009-06-17T12:41:00.029+02:002009-06-17T15:58:51.782+02:00Fast bike, big city<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/Sjjz2RQTqCI/AAAAAAAAARU/Dh5ICJiWJbQ/s1600-h/IMG_8400+copy.JPG"></a><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaCTnmyFLUcaiY1jazqbyOWNXz0XWl-gxM_omYxZ-maR1f695NapKHCDl4wghbyrjORaY2rZbRZFE1RD_XFKa16EXZak3DbSlaOAbE-ghntIkT-M20agq4W2aTHm6l0cDO1mnvC80zrb9/s200/IMG_2942+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348248317908936690" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I ♥ Toulouse. It was a brief romance, but I'm smitten. Just 24 hours in the "pink city" (so-called because of its distinctive brick architecture) was enough to make me fall for its cute cobbled streets, blue skies, unusually beautiful graffiti and great atmosphere. Maybe I've been in the depths of the countryside for too long, but the city pulsed with a sense of excitement and the Toulousians seemed friendly, flirty and fun - and why wouldn't they be? They have great bars, restaurants, shops, weather and culture at their fingertips - and the Pyrenées mountains, Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea aren't far away. And if that wasn't enough, Toulouse was the home of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (OK, so that may not swing it for everyone, but he's a bit of a hero of mine: the author of one of my favourite books, "Le Petit Prince", and a French flying ace, who mysteriously disappeared in the African desert during World War II). I don't know when or how yet, but I can really see myself living there one day...</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "></span></span></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCTjpn2QQtuAqpBMbART2dwMEDRNRqqZZIHNpeUB3xzVPBpmKDABbTct3g6fyzkarZ8Hc9XHqG4hnGzXyCY3_Bp2ujrKtLLTIvY6oMlHSHnAg4gplHFuAhnJkbMSX4jmuEVOAT60nJVQv/s200/IMG_2940+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348248313447205442" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0r32pmUq-5vxJOzA-WPLKEWFpPrkbyo5G3DCh2HNPiSO5tQPjS7F9FB4y_ObU4UF4MCaip1eZQu58ddWSngMao1BVePXsr3m1C_EWJlFAgLOBUDooMkOq-o0AnuF7DJsJLhCQTptDCuRY/s200/IMG_2957+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348248321967693250" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2XyUoQnsJOFgp7KM0hRU4igiKH8Z6X4l9XC2aRtQrCZ3uyIkZwvx0m2wkEeOALW0vy2mMLXCUt1mLHTTGEVzaMGFuZ8Vfry3TwL7E-KtIwE3y5ueoHdZf05dTSi5XNgTEpAwm1WimhNP/s200/IMG_2930+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348248312232138018" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaCTnmyFLUcaiY1jazqbyOWNXz0XWl-gxM_omYxZ-maR1f695NapKHCDl4wghbyrjORaY2rZbRZFE1RD_XFKa16EXZak3DbSlaOAbE-ghntIkT-M20agq4W2aTHm6l0cDO1mnvC80zrb9/s1600-h/IMG_2942+copy.JPG"></a><br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY2XyUoQnsJOFgp7KM0hRU4igiKH8Z6X4l9XC2aRtQrCZ3uyIkZwvx0m2wkEeOALW0vy2mMLXCUt1mLHTTGEVzaMGFuZ8Vfry3TwL7E-KtIwE3y5ueoHdZf05dTSi5XNgTEpAwm1WimhNP/s1600-h/IMG_2930+copy.JPG"></a><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Back to Raynaudes and straight into the kitchen to prepare for our annual dinner for the Raynaudes villagers - all 12 of them. They are not only incredibly welcoming and supportive of us, but they also greet our guests with big smiles, sometimes incomprehensible, patois-laden French and impeccably-maintained gardens, so we like to invite them over once a year to say thank you. After a Vietnamese-style soup to start, then fillet of beef, we brought out the pud: hazelnut, berry, chocolate and caramel meringue cake. If you think that's a mouthful to say, just try eating it... Not that it fazed our neighbours - they demolished the lot, which just goes to show what an outdoor, active lifestyle does to your appetite, whether you're 9 or 99. Impressive stuff.<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNaQsX33Si7lMh5IPEsKEIyRKE3c7j6MKxLAV4yOJFf7PiKNxzg5ugXD0hjccECl1Oct0KSUUmpY_0aBV-mPRwGMyktF1M3Mf2dUdEKiG0odJ-WlYU5bsDbze9PGJ5E9GcUdtvuu-CvCsy/s200/IMG_8408+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348249307318628450" /><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/Sjjz2RQTqCI/AAAAAAAAARU/Dh5ICJiWJbQ/s200/IMG_8400+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348292671172749346" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SjjuNa-p42I/AAAAAAAAAQ8/lh7EDNnhNyw/s200/IMG_3033+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348286471850287970" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Speaking of impressive, how many people would get on a motorbike and cross France (from Zurich and via a wedding in Provence) for a visit lasting less than 48 hours? Voila Ben, fearless explorer and old Paris buddy from 10 years ago, who arrived on Saturday night on a Triumph bike and just 2½ hours' sleep, plunged straight into a 6-course dinner, followed by a nighttime swim. Legend. After a good night's sleep and Raynaudes breakfast, we went off exploring - the Tarn had never looked or felt better than it did from the back of the bike, as we sped from one bastide town to the next. I think I'm now spoilt - there is no other way to travel...</span></span></div></div></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-19646752154544926432009-06-06T14:09:00.012+02:002009-06-07T23:01:45.187+02:00Mother Chef in the Tarn<img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0Pj8Hv-pUr9x9zQvW4Q_KWcVlsQ526X90QIopwlDI8x5VBGQb6o9tz3tOSevvqI4jZ8mdGMTzZ6E0_Mu_iDGb6ZX_01XHnc76kmIMt_UAuopGrjqQhLSpupa1Iuc65EyueawgG7gBDnN/s200/IMG_2753+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344191409350516866" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hAqKGZ9h4xxAe1MNTNSof_gSYv9kd22dj1AVWBJsqEaxk5YLl39tW3sU5MDpC7E9flLgfnTkGjU2Z4nUA-LAy25COdlXJvjBsITDy0QJLhwhj8IHazXIy68keHQsKGn0YwqSjWd0QRPq/s200/IMG_2864+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344192769930198338" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHR1KKPEWDfDmR5NyExmRtRObu9yHVQXwaOItAA82yuoUptiw-3iJKKXNxDdVjtBPRX4ngF7Fxc8n2vJFPmmTCZc1lJyW4PIx_WnYMQ4V977yf1ceQHRdT7mpI-Afo3CwsTKnvHt20zD0b/s200/IMG_2850+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344191413616614530" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 198px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNStmnajBlNMLFHQX6Rp-nIMg46NKeO1BlyWKHwR313E3ajGVwySEDCTC96lhQlpQYctq11brFpaLUUXgFb5NoYyME07vxpfHzjB0a1pHBOSm_QOVso_3tcF-paevTAojAZhljjCZ13uCO/s200/IMG_2727+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344191403236180674" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ladies and gentleman - may I introduce the lady who made all of this possible: my mummy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Not only my mother and undoubtedly my biggest supporter, she's also the greatest source of cooking knowledge throughout my life and a humbling reminder that no catering challenge is too much (who else can single-handedly throw a gourmet birthday party for 110 without batting an eyelid?)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In addition to being a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen (not to mention other talents), she'd give Apollo a run for his money in the sun-worshipping department and, on her first morning here at Le Manoir de Raynaudes, she had turned towards the sun and stripped down to a bikini before I could utter "Piz Buin". Between murmers of "Uh! It's heavenly here" and "Ooh, my wine seems to have gone down rather quickly" (and this from a supposed lightweight), we did manage to fit in a bit of culture (Albi, Cordes, Najac - you know the drill - plus Puycelsi, St Antonin and St Martin-Laguépie) and some lovely food, including a loooooooong supper at our local, Auberge Occitane.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3P5kjwiN59xpqHJQuS7U4wJWwcLE1zu8tL909gwkkBiCWXF39m5mizkyjYnZD6XKKk_YD14vbGRBfn3S6EX8RitSFnXc8E5odDvImKmQPwsttLQ604kibIQWBfBbfkRb5o0RO3bODI3d/s200/IMG_2852+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344192201693485074" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnCssciLt1R6T9LTEetlx2UtYX7dVixSZgf-cVXEoGckA4lQq66gOthorCC-ICdfy25yACOb1QA6AS38Ch2__h6FlB5jNLnOOB7PYsUWlD6phcZAtjABaybNfPB8rhyHpgXcuDcqvn8uhL/s200/IMG_2731+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344191407281146242" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQhw58f2k6njtKdetM1IsLrlhS-RuYZq2vE3cBs5GSRcgE8y8GdYhoW7TqJXFBnYnXgS1P7nfn2L5b0TYcsiUZJNSo5i67T61zPi8FLyX613bn9j6xb2WpyTwY6_vlLhVh3DM5C-c1F-b/s200/IMG_2896+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344191399109404482" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrx06Hjfm1wjJO5PgkQjbFubjHpR-8-r08d2wv8jU_LwsVllxXH4eIgAuUmXNiNqBTJJ-stBii1Ok9kR4wSpF-bd-jzFbnXDLKL0UgdgYvlvicPexUcAqOIWWoXDpeZkB3oTMcnXaam45w/s200/IMG_2894+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344192201667375122" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After six glorious days, she was gone, leaving Peter and Orlando in awe of my brilliant mother and me missing her hugely. I climbed one of our cherry trees the morning she left and, as I remembered the kilos and kilos of cherries she'd stoned for me while she was here and I looked out across the fields towards the Pyrenees, I thought of her oft-used phrase: "It's not a bad life, really." So true. Come back soon, Mummy. You fit perfectly into my idyllic little Raynaudes existence.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-69230066844494872832009-05-23T15:31:00.009+02:002009-05-24T07:48:41.429+02:00Home alone and in charge<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, I must be getting things right as Peter and Orlando left me in charge of all things culinary - and the small matter of looking after the Manoir and our guests - for a few days while they went to the Jesmond Dene Food Festival, where Orlando was hosting a big dinner and doing a food demonstration for the guests...</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Menus planned, crisis management in place and off they went... Luckily we have a new recruit: Debbie from California, who came here two years ago for her cousin's wedding, is taking a career break and has come here for three months over the summer to help out. After the mother of all crash courses from Peter on running front of house, she threw herself into looking after the guests. They didn't disappoint - taking the "smother them with kindness" approach, we steered our charges through their stay here and everyone came out smiling. Well, Debbie and I emerged absolutely knackered, but in a good way...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Oq0yhuvpi8pGzx_6EjcbnCdc2gEEo_cJgQZr8k6WYr3c8FVB9l2WZ9g4Ae1wwoS3X_mulSk3bqLUwuAb2RXnvYhFP4VHvKXHrLxI-Fhnpuq2M2Lv_E6feSHZkycw1K3Z_XYcOL5ZrOGM/s200/Laura+and+Debbie+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339014226650435682" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And praise be to Saint Lawrence (patron saint of chefs) - everything turned out extraordinarily well. We were actually getting a bit freaked out because, let's face it, despite constantly mumbling "I am not at home to Mr F*ck-up" under my breath, I was pretty nervous about maintaing Le Manoir's high standards... But I turned out food that I was truly proud of, Debbie and I chatted the guests up a treat and I even managed to fit in a swim every afternoon (a sure-fire way to clear even the most befuddled brain and stretch the most knotted muscles...)<br /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkfSEy24Cqr7Bn5pcziHS9ySW7m6ojb7jEw3fnkR34RlEc59VLDN5QWiInoJwIwXtgDQyhe2zyO2otV-aRn-jm4n0liA36iOknQueALZWHcypCsesbk4cUkVb0IIWMEF-_mfVEqpypkqXX/s200/IMG_8306+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339014235086794242" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ93bwLqD71pRwX0jKZ4YYGnS8NubxMsEbk0Yre-k1Ekcpp2lPTU9ksJ7JoLewiK0gKD2bA0cmWi24-7wxfCk-pSNOET3w72OLNR77S00cF7vF6SCTIIAv9lhSf3YGiBL9mxHPcPbNwZ7_/s200/IMG_8324+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339014237559684914" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 180px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyl25nnwEnfaBYjVexCSnXh8N0JC-qh-t4CO8JvwaCeSzpFZuZmul5KWLCIX1fX5JIayEGm9Hz88ZU4vHyDQgDsa-2ldqNpJFIX1bz5V815TjXcc7EBupwX-HTsYZbrj_nMpT9Ujq9yjZa/s200/IMG_8292+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339014228259685394" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJs_lXpQry6Llb0He6dkWV0fa4MYuo43rUJ5radRhVkLkHQv6ietTmMt_3-WYZIlae7ihyMdBe4rn0AIPhgsAzBrgAuKdeZR6SanRbaOmWXt3D18C-UWDucYQvA0nFXiTPabdaJZv6fmQ/s200/IMG_8297+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339014228836372994" /></div><div>Here are photos of a few of the dishes (all starters and puddings as the main courses always seems to be on the plate and raring to go before I have a chance to point my camera at them): salad of cherries with Ecir en Aubrac cheese and hazelnuts; chocolate and cardamom torte; the blackurrant leaves I picked at 4pm to make the sorbet for that night, served with an almond tuile and rose and pansy syrups.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, now Peter and Orlando are back, the place is still intact, the guests left happy and promising to return. Final score? Laura and Debbie: 1; Mr F*ck-up: nul points.</span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-31955670096458638002009-05-13T21:45:00.012+02:002009-05-17T15:41:44.842+02:00A taste of home and a bit of culture<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Although life here is about as good as it gets, what I really miss are my friends and family, so I was seriously excited about the arrival of my great friend Gaby and her lovely mum - my first visitors since I arrived. After all the photos and weeks of hearing about where I'm living, what I'm cooking, who I'm working for (and, let's face it, the pool I'm scrubbing), it has been wonderful to actually have somewhere here so they can experience it for themself. And I think Le Manoir did itself proud - I certainly hope so, especially as Gaby was hear to write an article about us for the Telegraph. So, as well as feeding them to within an inch of their lives, we thought it was essential to fit in a bit of local culture, too...</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SgsniJZ3kSI/AAAAAAAAAN4/6QZ-FX6d6zw/s320/Cathedral+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335401651143938338" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 134px; " /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/Sgsoixs9BrI/AAAAAAAAAOA/FK66pbBBMoU/s200/IMG_2657+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335402761473033906" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">First stop was Albi, to visit the huge, brick cathedral and the Toulouse-Lautrec museum, as well as lunch at Epicurien, a wander around the old town (confusingly reburbished in the mid-80s) and a browse of the shops.</span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlxyDhl-GrlPZRtOdyqXTPkXyRK9R7WikoG9qbj3RogSi2d8s6QRSb0uQeeS6lxBKkVuUs-SuyI3EpQ02stNXKf3t56JPF5odLY2VzS3RaH07QmIEFbWfHgRTgjlAGuiMetvfZCiw1Gry/s200/IMG_2674+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335398826198991570" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br /></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_jkPNZnruKHbqpG62JNkSv9wsaD9sE_HPADEPX0JKcuKdnKHg4qXdHKuxUFM1Ypz264-RrDX99icIEPZabiHPmaUWvPoifhSyRwxCT7b5AEnIohUDtmX2KaBX5wiFcrnQ06_PUgnuwJs/s200/IMG_2671+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335398819493778146" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 156px; " /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir158yet8-T-JfL8ybVZpafJfUepuHgQj4FK-aTiUiFP6hlpWoTxr3VM3a7wERcxCTl_iqC8mMblnohexJmi-lcqqk6iQaCK7qRLZUNCfhkt7aCVO9s0NAHp13kBDbECtEm6QBxKwlN4d7/s1600-h/IMG_2709+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir158yet8-T-JfL8ybVZpafJfUepuHgQj4FK-aTiUiFP6hlpWoTxr3VM3a7wERcxCTl_iqC8mMblnohexJmi-lcqqk6iQaCK7qRLZUNCfhkt7aCVO9s0NAHp13kBDbECtEm6QBxKwlN4d7/s200/IMG_2709+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335400402511259586" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNOgOBUmyDTJibq_oF0iVvTOzHhPUHZV6dqOJO97H0y0652jr5309OYc89mnUSOhgHr15Co0YkWv4opWvgqNAE5rySza_2KiPUZzu_CrTNY_DMFnex_14E0i_6mYk4JmMCtdJ_uhYmPMU/s1600-h/Cathedral+copy.JPG"></a><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The next day we visited two of the prettiest local bastide towns: Cordes-sur-Ciel in the Tarn and Najac, in the Aveyron. Amazingly deserted, we had the place to ourselves, which made for an eerily quiet, but very peaceful stroll.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/Sgsoix6sx8I/AAAAAAAAAOI/Q1QhajrgsSE/s200/IMG_2681+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335402761530689474" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBemHqMqm6Qf7fDOLDJK6A4gtKXNcbYx7-tCez_BPEsdJDJY8875CYpWEY6TPtMwlgXRul19aUpZkK0pcTgHbOJ2HSJskMCEicAvlMk5s_jKMUj5pXY0Sfi9-usWw4uhm1CCQX2gyJuBh/s200/IMG_2705+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335400403020317586" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBK6Uxrm7siB7Xukp7BCxq2GV4Yi5EZsY0aw5ceTEevuGS7LolVJWkc7uwboBN9HNbc3n2ezhtTfrNp9p-QiuHj8BEANoODvFt7YwTrkaZ7XewdVERyu40kWE5opuY3114j-GD1_rKeBL/s200/IMG_2710+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335400405524111074" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir158yet8-T-JfL8ybVZpafJfUepuHgQj4FK-aTiUiFP6hlpWoTxr3VM3a7wERcxCTl_iqC8mMblnohexJmi-lcqqk6iQaCK7qRLZUNCfhkt7aCVO9s0NAHp13kBDbECtEm6QBxKwlN4d7/s1600-h/IMG_2709+copy.JPG"></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir158yet8-T-JfL8ybVZpafJfUepuHgQj4FK-aTiUiFP6hlpWoTxr3VM3a7wERcxCTl_iqC8mMblnohexJmi-lcqqk6iQaCK7qRLZUNCfhkt7aCVO9s0NAHp13kBDbECtEm6QBxKwlN4d7/s1600-h/IMG_2709+copy.JPG"></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A visit to Le Manoir wouldn't be complete without a lounge by the pool - and then came the only miserable part of their stay: it was time for Gaby and Dixy to leave. Rather appropriately, it didn't stop raining for 24 hours after they left...</span></span><br /></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-58811832765102545822009-05-11T08:26:00.008+02:002009-05-11T15:03:57.339+02:00Country tales<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My day off ended in our local <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">bastide</span> town, Monestiès, built in Medieval times and complete with a castle, an old stone bridge over the River Cérou and the Saint Jacques chapel, which used to be a stop-off for pilgrims on the way to Compostela. It's not exactly bustling on a Sunday evening, but I wandered into the Auberge Occitane for an apératif and was greeted by its owner, Davide - a coffee balanced in one hand and his 6-month old baby daughter, Clara, on his hip. One of the great things about living in the country is that the owners of the local restaurants and shops recognise and greet you - and seeing a new face provokes enough interest here that people make sure they get to know you if they didn't already. After going for a stroll round the town, I bumped into our local shopkeeper, Bernard, who is president of the local football team, in the middle of celebrating a victorious final match of the season. Reassuringly, 11 drunk, French football players really aren't that different from the ones back home...</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiSfiDrhhFJoOmki-26VgjKt7M-ftwKeEwjqC-BwrORASHS35HAiuZZzOcM9xkLoTmo85C26hQWQCFCoPfKhctsO-iXB-wjMmWfP4Qt6wQxsDVVV8lz4rM13iTqY3C1gwurEQIJxEjUSv/s200/IMG_2626+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334451127762532370" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfcE2twdsvoOgn3qzDzs547hfa-kQlywVFst6dq2DAwaSfRevJwgj1I5nU8Ac9efIYIbzdsCg2Ylhy0o1CxS61lY2l7MlGC1-BI949lztUVjSafl0ZWOIgBIVxlyctnDlVVqjNt27R70L/s200/IMG_2620+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334451122901001954" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYo5CRuQIWjp8_3G06S91-mR7JdPXJKomXHWzTOVCRthg6CX4K_fRChg5z3CmZiYoWPp4HRhW-d-Un6BGMb-Jeeui_ZOekCIpWN4TyJczGscFjjRqXMy2V_LvJQe74ZZrVjYSKthzNqkZJ/s200/IMG_2614+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334451119014307778" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div><div><br /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVqA2eDgNlemjw8vmNS8WW_zBULW9SstKHU0CmBwfF-GC0NBmdM9bCDRjmw2aFID_5J-r9fB3pVLVXEMj8DszdfvoRCWruqHKPtPS0ChB2qE8CECk-BgxBRNxHmPg5JAW-DteTPdTTyJk/s200/IMG_2629+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334451129305619666" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkejJEmGxiZnM1lx3ue3inTtab7Bo0HSIY4lBYr_wWQ2zBeLdoVWAVhf6666YDUjMdID6E_KBitTBwRWa85eNPjj0uiYbNljG_BfXbIolp4zbRZHIoMlzkUmP9AaVTKaHmEFJi75xf6Cs/s200/IMG_2632+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334451130329178802" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The sun was setting as I drove past a local farm - it's nothing special to look at, but it has a great story... Many years ago, the farmer's wife decided that she'd had enough of clearing up after her husband and three doltish sons, so shipped over a servant from the island of Réunion to do all the housework. The young servant possessed a dangerous combination of beauty, grace and brains. It took her under two years to pick out the most promising of the three brothers (not a great selection, admittedly, but she had to work with what was available) - and married him. She then became the new <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">chatelaine</span> and they had a son, Francis, who now runs the farm with great success. But as for her two brothers-in-law? Well, our neighbour Mauricette (source of all the best local gossip) tells us they have never married or left the farm and still sleep in the barn with their 200 cattle...</span></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-84892023403782561682009-05-10T14:30:00.015+02:002009-05-10T17:27:23.803+02:00Full of the joys of spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SgbmXkstr1I/AAAAAAAAAMI/BRsV4Ms685c/s1600-h/IMG_8170_2+copy.JPG"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I've gone a bit "hello trees, hello flowers" today... Everything's coming up roses - literally. The garden's starting to bloom, the field is full of flowers, the insects are buzzing, the frogs are flirting outrageously with each other...</span></span><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATDvqwZy4lab2Su7ToR432MFl3f4qtSwKXCnRkICFLDEIxNuR3I7RIYEn9OAIBV-19ZaV3MjnLczXtzVvEZ54wMXXWeYajP4LSjt5wnMCf82Bf6fXksri9gYFwGEvrL3RC_ztVXf9EHcF/s200/IMG_8192+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334176415877383058" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xN_EFsxpCkzIwtGFMFCwRdvY_rvpJj5CcbUwX93DJ0bkjVKKu5M6dXKC7V-SnAKhegFmM7ZqpRngIE8qjx9pP_EooYg1jVQSeX0iipDcuN5cWhFV7GCwU2RUiym4BOxTch-Eh30HyU0n/s200/IMG_8223+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334176426522907890" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6fPbPqJLCYsqAx7GUA9u6V2qJewZw9N1jXIatWeTVWmcDuwpYkEsOJYWO6LH_Y8nar_RFBInQOo0nJizPwsFowt0kZQ_IPJcyWXnp0-T9rfi-16uwyNwxf96E8ppgM-5vkfn1Df33iBj/s200/IMG_8173+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334176415806298898" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px; " /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGHFfhxUjztmC0IL8yUcoLJReeNxtaYwo99zPGoM8tom8Far1Lj-6AT-nRUvKECX8DkA7O2cskS602BEM8oc2xG11WlCJea0oWHOzRZzGHkFL7ZmPNz51-X628IU_YxQ07tbUnApjCwAp/s200/IMG_2610+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334178163823889330" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4x1v9hyphenhyphen5cmveB74q22CUk_QNl-WmcwBQyWp_HSb9qJfHVax0-vuneHEg8GvsOrdTegZRiWDcZU32W7xe2Gkn5rdq5eAMQWtojMWJwpg1GoG5HRo1EKg2usxmEtwoNXPChF4p4qGdR1_VH/s200/IMG_8232+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334194807089336770" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3M6fq_jTgc4ydd3qnWgnAVDv3EXdI7UzNNpWm83LOfxM6LemAiHzZ8nWF9MZOumVp8zY4DO3JhMofrRBZqu2gwQyysIG_6bjCcDd4qJMBoSuzp-1qBEnhCjPYcG-OPB9K7PYv_dG-Kgn/s200/IMG_8229+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334194803804279058" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCze9xW3yi2mZ3S01aqC4MggMEoC4FUtiVBgwHLY1CSpBS0O3lz0v-E9T5CPLZ_wSL26kVCyqsVepXgH1qqJeIk4Z9VwKB1jk5ZxLzLD0i-d_n2vcmpZFZ4EpMmtElAm6jQ5y9E0aNqNsB/s200/IMG_8226+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334190737103494594" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0lanYNpvJ597f6kwH1Mf6HbXfFpYkagJzkOGoFK-kFrEoYKPRyRv_Gm4JVw5he3fbhqjEmuT-rriwj-GVIdrMruM2rbEflq-h5dJC3hUn3jvI2XxjnhAU3EBZcd4d47NNvtY1LqoTigW/s200/IMG_8215+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334190726105815842" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAmlssNEZ8wtzCRq0nYozprwfYINPZwK-KT28rMEH-U42tYid8xuuM2oGxpRUJ3JzpiL4pFPGKKK3i8N5n-fKEhjCJvVSuFwUQROQUhEqnJ-JwSXaVYsjgx9DEYVbnXdIjfvC_K3twAqi/s1600-h/IMG_8216+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAmlssNEZ8wtzCRq0nYozprwfYINPZwK-KT28rMEH-U42tYid8xuuM2oGxpRUJ3JzpiL4pFPGKKK3i8N5n-fKEhjCJvVSuFwUQROQUhEqnJ-JwSXaVYsjgx9DEYVbnXdIjfvC_K3twAqi/s200/IMG_8216+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334190726668815170" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In the spirit of properly getting back to nature (or, more accurately, getting </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">into</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> nature as 9 years of living in London hasn't exactly qualified as a rural existence...), I even swotted up after my ramble and found out the names of (almost) everything (well, I asked Orlando, but he </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> the horticultural oracle). So, my apologies to those of you who could identify these in the blink of an eye, but if you're as mystified by these things as I was, I'll name the flora and fauna, starting from the top left photo: Ragged Robbin; Buddha's Hand (lemon tree); iris; orchid purpurea, ie lady orchid; rose de Docteur Jalmain; white wisteria; lizard; fumitory; clover; the view of Le Manoir de Raynaudes (with Camillière church in the background) from the top corner of the field; scabius; tongue orchid; rosa odorata; wild flower in the woods (but we don't know it's name); frog sunbathing on what he </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">thinks</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> is a lily pad in the pool; the chive flowers.</span></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMkfiqh23KXJZ-LhNwBbG0Qmt6bSc0Vx1iR1QMUiZQB9G14jhWqSdh4Mw6o3rA_93o9ObuhC6vWIQ51QxDUN4o_sahnwEgu_WLonT4kRFj0OZLuhlZMP2vzu013zkduSpIB5UZsekDWRdJ/s1600-h/IMG_8212+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMkfiqh23KXJZ-LhNwBbG0Qmt6bSc0Vx1iR1QMUiZQB9G14jhWqSdh4Mw6o3rA_93o9ObuhC6vWIQ51QxDUN4o_sahnwEgu_WLonT4kRFj0OZLuhlZMP2vzu013zkduSpIB5UZsekDWRdJ/s200/IMG_8212+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334190724755663554" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlunwjI7w41JST8CiqFVrc07hyphenhyphend9DDTSzpqR8_FpmwCCOwxWnPFhQz4S00XFoJxC_gdRtKb_2RyLcUYuN2K7_lJlgC4iO9UmJ_SZUHGdEVzvzSidoECjNyXiCA4_8fXG2vBSfLhLD8bSp/s1600-h/IMG_8205+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlunwjI7w41JST8CiqFVrc07hyphenhyphend9DDTSzpqR8_FpmwCCOwxWnPFhQz4S00XFoJxC_gdRtKb_2RyLcUYuN2K7_lJlgC4iO9UmJ_SZUHGdEVzvzSidoECjNyXiCA4_8fXG2vBSfLhLD8bSp/s200/IMG_8205+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334190723757132002" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After all this being at one with the elements, I am steeling myself for a dip in the pool - if the frogs can stand the cold, then so can I. And, as it's my day off, I shall then go and warm up with a glass of Gaillac wine in a local bar, watching the sun go down and listening to the sound of crickets and amorous frogs...<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKxZfQNJo_w1rxozHZpcSfl9fww6mYB0VSx78gLwh21beNvi4GYKTj_nZ54WH3lzcl3-19qix95f_QpAaLMEc4-rimem0i-AZTwd39mENRnwIvnfralBF9yeVL59Uzyu9POqaZ0VFCsNC/s1600-h/IMG_8200+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKxZfQNJo_w1rxozHZpcSfl9fww6mYB0VSx78gLwh21beNvi4GYKTj_nZ54WH3lzcl3-19qix95f_QpAaLMEc4-rimem0i-AZTwd39mENRnwIvnfralBF9yeVL59Uzyu9POqaZ0VFCsNC/s200/IMG_8200+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334180449252367234" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><div><br /></div></div><div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLahGifwKunv1m4tYz4A3_t8NA1aLBKkcyCO0z60U9A9X4V3Rt7f6O49D_SU-9ITiHlVgPXckKXuBYy8CX3ZowLIHnqVgaQJZPkKNAQnx3pZuoP8sRwSF-wsrP5moR1sC-IG1W1XZVqJT/s200/IMG_8177+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334180439350590082" /></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5etbLBMOFDMG1y7C7yG7LAiNitAlu0aHkwA6ap_ofAHcln93w9Og__WD7PcsyORKqzxj3EPSxtAXoJXgErff-i8TtGywkNM-ym3Fv34CVkFdP7IwHrMjxajijCyLJi3poI32D3VMG9-O/s200/IMG_8186+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334180445921418146" /><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SgbmXkstr1I/AAAAAAAAAMI/BRsV4Ms685c/s200/IMG_8170_2+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334204101329530706" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px; " /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1UMDEQDdTxJsOcitinsc2OtXfbUbZ7W3tnPtOo6HMPG-UjDCVTqPSQFIzEaPx7HZLkPIwBEviBKsfXrOraO-4xneNixuVSxQzKErBy4C7Ms612Pfk1Ile-otXM_Xie_4oHUCqpqFgOVq/s200/IMG_8182+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334180441179077986" /></div><div><br /></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-49319870366778789292009-05-02T22:37:00.014+02:002009-05-02T23:52:39.951+02:00The view from here<img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo2cvmSPAKy5y8Wr41Pd7Rh14Ftl9FZxXZBYev_LaGDK2vWsU5kYASJt4bisDBZZ1CherdMTAXTbbhyphenhyphenv0krQNao-EOesqVtIAGP5TcB5j-ZIzyix4Hfw1hp9-uEJb-yUmDbYugCq17DBI/s200/IMG_8088+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331335763867433458" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfvtPrzwDUOIe4FA7G9chTpvxbbUW1i3HVIy0-y-uN76nNGMng5u8kgYYpr5zv1B7BHBnd-nghxYZHB0TFJEcnD6n93Qc8ANGRjHM5UAT47LOQ30TCkZTz-wQ2eC0kaNqiZ5wkuvXnIog/s200/IMG_8082+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331339449845393522" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWivTLy9FvxwoZ2agSa8qhXO3NK81SVvxvu7tuMmoAecc3t14GzVfjX0m0sqGxxkyJlHKH9zzmaT1k8dJZtiaLluV0jcidwJBMU8viWOh83SJYO8rjEgZIt8aFFHIbC8-MODutSUxgR0g0/s200/IMG_8085+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331339451028693986" /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">All in all, it’s not a bad life, really… The sun’s out, the guests are happy (they gave up worrying about their waistlines a couple of days ago- it’s best just to go with it, really) and the food’s working out nicely. Orlando and I did our weekly cookery demonstration this morning - we showed them how to make confit of guinea fowl leg (tonight's main course with saffron risotto), introduced them to tonka beans, got geeky about a few handy kitchen gadgets, explained the bread-making process with mashes and sourdough starters - and let them try their hand at sugar-spinning (thus turning our kitchen into the inside of a candy-floss bowl).</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZB4-9fuIkPpYDNI4lZCLzhyV348b0rd_t3mmHY5Ix2RP_LIHvHBXtR160vz13j6Mnq0g8Q3dUXOriLDTrSK7Z795nxZ_jDmebIIptgwuWv3DJ8o3RMhL3xMnkjKxlJu1YwEWXMoj94pu/s200/IMG_8443+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331335768968811074" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/Sfy1o0P2eBI/AAAAAAAAAJI/u026HmNN8fE/s200/IMG_8466+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331335771724347410" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0mp1xymnMnsbZIERund-w1NjUUu2uUev4sxS9dREx_nkEzirFhaVJQQjzKygnM7nR-xNypuENgukzMI-_X9fZgHoJi7cphh1gExkXv_OvqXkv8hEl9E3yleeUa1knASKwPYhzpgV4yIny/s200/IMG_8462+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331335768227049506" /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I then returned to the pool for more scrubbing. And fell in. Classy. Peter and Orlando thought this was brilliant and have asked for a repeat performance - but when they and the guests are there to watch me. And probably half of Raynaudes…<br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Despite my afternoon soaking, Orlando put me in charge </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">of dinner tonight. The menu was:</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Canapés</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: asparagus, black olive and tomato cake; fried quail’s eggs with cured ham on toast; Bloody Mary cherry tomatoes</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Starter</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: pork, duck and prune terrine with mâche and watercress salad and watermelon marmelade</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Main course</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: confit of guinea fowl leg with saffron risotto</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Cheese, seeded crackers and quince paste</span></b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Pudding</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">: tonka crème brûlée with walnut powder puff biscuit </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Petits fours</span></b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And…? The kitchen’s still in one piece, the food looked and tasted how it was meant to and the guests all loved it - in fact, they’re currently working their way through the house’s homemade liquors. Breakfast should be amusing tomorrow… </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Georgia"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguLEUG-zhi4K1b2JbULPgUSp1sDxoPg6ZDjenGK_IbJfRazVwkVn9_LR4wMrIUu_8Cjq5lYlfThJ7UWya44NsktR3KYP6GJBd2L9Gd-JIYfXZNiJj91qi80nKAyJhO47Yj73cXJcykld5i/s200/IMG_2388+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331339452831509778" /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEMzubMr_2nGYhN8WaVUrTfvugyIgLBvoYChY7FeHHNUp6mwVF_KhLDV2SVAI7hyphenhyphenVwmbtxYZb2OamJbA8ByCSnwWHHlGIORTex3DH5P3pIVpLzgcyIyN60jrMBRchcMDJXs-h0-uf4i5H/s200/IMG_8474+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331335775256333954" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5142956589168488690.post-23819435046767460892009-04-23T19:36:00.011+02:002009-04-23T22:53:59.707+02:00Here comes summer<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZ9Zwm9RfHnREDvkVluE8gQ5C82BOYlxak4Bk8CEkL2mhfvZJ9GLXva-l6vRmXtqDvagngu7_xStoHuY45t7rZ48TuYp4oYukCwcLf_gdQrHep0qPNIf-2E97lTKwHIRTVljSrzgYXAOM/s200/IMG_2328+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327944977885357186" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SfCxpwzjOdI/AAAAAAAAAHo/KF2o-ox8jnI/s1600-h/IMG_2337+copy.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 199px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SfCxpwzjOdI/AAAAAAAAAHo/KF2o-ox8jnI/s200/IMG_2337+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327953690213169618" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Summer has arrived - and so has a colony of wasps. Big mistake. Big. Huge. Cue Peter pulling out the big guns and spraying the little sods into oblivion...</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">With no guests in the hotel or for dinner tonight, today has turned into a pre-season blitz of the garden, courtyard and pool. While Peter was exterminating insects, Orlando has been digging in the herb garden and - as I write - is in the courtyard, pulling the pansies out of the wooden tubs to replace them with white geraniums.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SfCzAYW_KeI/AAAAAAAAAH4/PJM_6KUKgAk/s200/IMG_2339+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327955178299533794" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SfCzAMU-hEI/AAAAAAAAAHw/Dt-umQMfyYw/s200/IMG_2340+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327955175069877314" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And me? After a few hours experimenting in the kitchen with new ideas for starters, I have become the Manoir's pool girl. The water is still on the chilly side (make that near-glacial), but I cannot wait to get in, so have been putting the little robot pool cleaner to work (is it me, or does it look like it was made by Fisher Price?) and scrubbing the bottom and sides of the pool. Who knew that many bugs could fit in one swimming pool? Anyway, the plan tomorrow is to actually get in there myself to access those hard-to-reach corners. So, please think of me, freezing in my bikini and goggles, scrubbing brush in hand as I make my way around the pool, beautifying it in anticipation of your visits...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mOQNdfyZBgM/SfC0ADRi_OI/AAAAAAAAAII/tDhGtWHJKLU/s200/IMG_2335+copy.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327956272151198946" /></span></div></span></div></div>Laura Popehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03075483967457243795noreply@blogger.com0