Carcasonne

After the oh so lovely visit from Eddie and Phil to Aix, they were total sweethearts and gave me a lift back to Bordeuax. It was such a long drive, but Phil had some killer tunes and I rolled along the French countryside listening to Jeff Buckley and Nina Simone. I do need some sugar in my bowl, Nina, yes I do. We stopped for a refresher in Carcasonne. I had no idea that the city was so old and beautiful. It was a wonderful surprize.

I've seen other fortified cities before and they are impressive. But I have to say this one was stunning. It's really huge, a whole little village surrounded in stone walls with tall towers. It made me feel like Sleeping Beauty; I expected a dragon to be perching on the tower behind me and a dashing knight to come rushing to my rescue at any moment.

But of course I did have two dashing heros, my buddies Phil and Eddie. They delivered me to Chateau Brandeau again to have a little work in the vines again before I fly away for the states. Their humor and kindness have saved me many times before on this trip.

I think that Eddie was looking for his Prince Charming in Carcasonne....

Bistrot des Philosophies

While Eddie and Phil were visiting, we took them to a lovely dinner in my favorite square in the city, Place Forum des Cardeurs. (We really needed the sustenance after a long day of potonk tournaments.) The square has recently been renovated and is so lovely at night with all the pretty lights and pretty people. Elly had discovered this little gem of a place, Bistrot des Philosophies, and took me there for the most delicious appetizer I've ever had: foie gras créme brulee. We went there earlier on our trip and fell in love with it. Of course we had to return and share this amazing dish with our dear friends...we ordered two. Creamy and savory and smooth with a little sweet crunch on top. I must learn how to make this dish. The atmosphere in Philosophies is chic and casual, the prices are totally reasonable (for Aix) and the lighting was divine. I'm always surprized at how the right lighting can transform a good meal into a great experience. We sat and drank some bubbly and enjoyed a piece of fabulous piece of cote du bouef (a slow cooked hunk of steak that is seared and then baked). The best French meal I've had since I arrived. Parfait!

The night was topped off with a hilarious encounter between Elly and a random young man on the street. Since my arrival in Aix Elly has had me convinced that there are these small toilets on the street that rise up out of the ground for festivals and other times of high tourism. You see the little portals on the streets all over town. I kept seeing them everywhere and never really thought too hard about it, just a passing thought of how odd it was to have these elevator bathrooms. On our way out of dinner a young man was lowering one of the units back down and Elly struck up a conversation with him about the uniqueness of this particular town feature. He explained in patient and rusty English that they were not toilets....they are trash bins. Lowering them underground keeps the unsightly mess off the posh streets. I really have no idea how or where her theory formed, but we had a good laugh when we actually stood over supposed bathrooms and realized that the unit was far too small to turn around in, let alone sit down. I have to credit Elly's enthusiastic nature with having me so unquestioningly convinced. It is sometimes a joy to be a clueless tourist.

More Provencal Cheese

My goodness, it's been too long since my last post...and there's so much to tell! First, let me catch you up on the cheese news. After Roquefort, Elly and I went back to Aix en Provence where she and her French boyfriend were settling into their new "country house." I really do feel more comfortable away from all the plus posh hustle found in the center of Aix, and it gave me a chance to learn the finer points of a fabulous French lawn game called potonk, similar to bocce ball. I also had the chance to visit a local goat cheese farm and try out a few new recipes of my own the quiet countryside.

Elly and I visited a small goat operation just outside of Puyricard. Sandrine, who runs the farm with her husband and makes the cheese daily, was kind enough to allow Elly and I to watch her make the specialty of the farm and pester her with questions. We watched as she prepared a very rare and delicious ricotta style goat cheese called brousse du rove. It is made from the milk of the Rove goat, a breed that used to be found commonly in and around Marseilles. Nowadays you find mostly Saaen, Alpine and some others, but the milk from Rove goats has a special grassy quality that is super tasty. Sandrine prepared the yogurt style cheese by slowly bringing the milk up to 90°F and then adding a little vinegar to help the small curds form. Then she very carefully spooned the curds into tall, thin plastic tubes and sold them to us right away, no draining necessary. Usually the cheese is served as a dessert with jam or sugar and it was divine. The consistency was much more delicate and moist than ricotta, but much cheesier in flavor than yogurt. We took a bunch home and had some for breakfast each morning. You can learn more about the history of the cheese and the traditions of thier cheese making style here.


With no Hermes store around the corner to distract me, I was able to try out a few recipes I'd dreamed up on Bob Dylan's farm and had the perfect excuse for such elaborate creations; our friends Phil and Eddie from Chateau Brandeau in Bordeax came down for a weekend visit. You may remember this fabulous couple from my earlier posts. Eddie is a deliciously over the top Kiwi and Phil is his quiet, delightful companion from the UK. These men have the most wonderful bromance I've ever encountered and share cheeky rapport that instantly puts a smile on your face. I knew they would appreciate a little culinary experimentation, so I put together some dessert cheeses to try. The first a sugared rose petal with a dollop of fresh chevre rolled in sponge cake crumbs and topped with a healthy smear of dark chocolate. The crunchy petal with the soft cheese and smooth chocolate made for a really dynamic little bite...totally a winner. The next experiment was soaking some slightly aged chevre in various liqueurs. The first was soaked in a fruity, syrupy Minervois red wine, the second in a dry rose and the third in violet liqueur with lavender. The result was an Easter basket of colors and some lovely delicate aromas infused into the little pats of chevre. I loved the presentation but would like to try soaking them longer next time to get a stronger flavor.


That's all for tonight, but stay tuned for wine adventures in Bordeaux, an underground cathedral and a sand dune that swallows entire buildings!

Blue & Smelly

After Elly came and broke me out of goat jail, we decided to take a good old fashioned American road trip to the cheese mecca of the entire country of France: Roquefort. I like to think that this pungent, difficult cheese is what separates the men from the boys in the world of cheese lovers. There's not a whole lot about Roquefort that's accessible or easy.

Roquefort is a protected region and the regulations about its production are strict and specific. The cheese can only be made and aged in the town of Roquefort, an area about 2 miles square. The sheep, from which come the delicious milk for the cheese, must be pastured on the mountainous land surrounding the town. The shepherds have formed a co-op for milk production, helping to organize the 2100 sheep farms, which each year contribute material for the 3 million cheeses produced in Roquefort.

The production of this famous cheese is a happy accident of geography. A fault line runs underneath the town and this has produced a network of underground caves which have steady, cold temperature...perfect for the ripening of large cheeses. Native to these caves is a very special bacteria called penicillium roqueforti. The bacteria is collected by putting under-baked loaves of bread in the caves and allowing the p. roqueforti to proliferate on it. It is then collected and inserted into the core of the cheese wheels and allowed to develop for several months.

And oh how tasty the result is. Having it directly from the source really changes the experience of eating it. First, the cheese was far more delicate and moist than varieties I'd had in the states. It was also far stronger than anything I'd ever tasted. It actually burned my nostrils as I exhaled, the same sensation as the few times I've had grappa or grain alcohol. To balance out this super strong flavor, we ate it with fresh figs, honey and mint. It was divine.

Bob Dylan Broke Up With Me

Frustration. I was scheduled to stay in La Caunette making cheese for the whole month, but it seems that the fluffy, jovial, drunken god that rules my life is trying to teach me a lesson about the best laid plans. I need to let go. I need to be flexible. I need to stop being so attached to my expectations. (God, I sound like I've joined the Oprah book club...) I also need to get a better grip on the nuances of living in a foreign culture. My mantra for the last year has been this:

Let go

Let go

Let go

Let go

Let go

I still have not let go. But I'm getting better. And I'm getting slightly better at understanding the mind of average French person.

Yesterday my host, Bob Dylan's French cousin, told me that she would not be needing my help for the rest of the month. I could say that it's unfair that she was upset that I didn't help her as much as she thought I should....on the weekend...while I was in bed sick with a horrible cold. I could complain about the lack of instruction and hospitality. But instead I'm taking the lesson that I need to better at communicating my expectations and perspective, and that I'm trying my best to be graceful and kind and helpful even though I am severely frustrated. I am leaving today to go back to Aix-en-Provence with Elly to regroup. And buying a plane ticket back to California, because the cheese in my beautiful home state is pretty damn good too.

Daily Prayer

Let my heart be where my feet are.

Mindfulness

Maybe

Sweet Jesus, talking

his melancholy madness,

stood up in the boat

and the sea lay down,

silky and sorry.

So everybody was saved

that night.

But you know how it is

when something

different crosses

the threshold--the uncles

mutter together,

the women walk away

the young brother begins

to sharpen his knife.

Nobody knows what the soul is.

It comes and goes

like the wind over the water--

sometimes, for days,

you don't think of it.

Maybe, after the sermon,

after the multitude was fed,

one or two of them felt

the soul slip forth

like a tremor of pure sunlight,

before exhaustion,

that wants to swallow everything,

gripped their bones and left them

miserable and sleepy

as they are now, forgetting

how the wind tore at the sails

before he rose and talked to it--

tender and luminous and demanding

as he always was--

a thousand times more frightening

than the killer sea.

--Mary Oliver

Today

I

Do not

Want to step so quickly

Over a beautiful line on God's palm

As I move through the earth's

Marketplace

Today.

I do not want to touch any object in this world

Without my eyes testifying to the truth

That everything is

My Beloved.

Something has happened

To my understanding of existence

That now makes my heart always full of wonder

And kindness.

I do not

Want to step so quickly

Over this sacred place on God's body

That is right beneath your

Own foot.

As I

Dance with

Precious life

Today.

--Hafiz