The New Appellation of Saumur-Puy Notre Dame

At last, after 35 years of effort the first vineyards have been accepted for the first wine in the new appellation “Saumur- Puy Notre Dame. The initial parcels of vines are all marked with the logo of the “regalade” and the grapes are now fermenting away to be bottled next year with the label of the 69th. wine appellation of the Loire Valley.

The "regalade" is affixed to all qualifying vineyards

The first bottles will be launched in which seems to be, on all accounts, a superb year as all of 2009 has been hot and sunny with just a few showers in September to relieve much of the Cabernet Franc which appeared to be showing definite signs of heat stress.   Vines love hot, dry weather – but only to a point.

The Chenin, our main white grape has, on the other hand, been luxuriating in the sunshine and will undoubtedly produce wines of such depth and complexity that the vintage will assuredly be ranked amonst the best over the last 15 years.

Here is a link to find out more about the creation of this landmark appellation.

à plus

Brian

Starting Again

The time has come the walrus said……to restart the blogs.

Bonjour a tous!

After 18 months of trying desperately to finish the last of the renovations before our busy seasons starts I have, after much determination and expenditure of superhuman effort – given up!   It’ll get finished when it gets finished. Truthfully, much progress has been made, as you can see from the before and after pictures, there is just the balustrade, window seats and bits and pieces to do now

Inserting the Beam

Almost finished

Mezzanine with balustrade to finish

Of course, as usual, I have been handicapped by Sheila having her normal Spring and Summer err…handicap, which means that, apart from the renovations, the garden and all the other normal jobs which one could reasonably be expected to do, is now added the housework, the washing, the shopping and the preparation of our gîtes. C’est trés dur!

This strange problem with Sheila’s back is that it is very seasonal, always starting with the commencement of the main holiday season – she is turning somersaults by the end of October.   It is like watching the great cycle of the seasons; the swallows arrive, the mattresses go on migration, (about more later), and Sheila’s back comes back, as it were.

The mattress migration is a natural phenomenon unique to this part of France. Whenever the days start to lengthen they leap into trailers and atop of cars and can be spotted scurrying all over Anjou looking for their ancestral mating grounds. Every other vehicle seems to have been requisitioned by a mattress. Two of our resident mattresses have already joined the migration, one has just gone over the road to Robert and Jeanette and another has gone up the D960 to St. George sur Layon.  And then, just as suddenly as it started, it is all over and, apart from the occasional sight of one sunning itself on a window ledge, (it is a little known fact that they are actually cold-blooded and cannot survive without the vicarious heat of the sun or a human body), they are seen no more until the lengthening days of spring ignites the primeval urge.  Having said that I have noticed  that they tend to congregate in great piles in the foyers of large supermarkets around the end of September.  Perhaps they are preparing to hibernate.

Life in Le Puy Notre Dame still goes on as it has done for centuries with the normal ups and downs and gossip of village life.  The biggest talking point at the moment being the imposition of a new waste recycling system, which is about as logical as a chocolate teapot.  Instead of our weekly collections, we now have to take everything to local depots where we all spend a pleasant afternoon posting a week’s worth of bottles, cartons and newspapers through a slot about the size of your average postage stamp.  This presumably is good for the soul and is also somewhat of an IQ test when it comes to getting an empty 10litre wine box into the said container.  Of course the commune isn’t responsible says the Mayor, neither is the region says the Prefecture.  Right, so it must have been………who?

Of course you could never expect the bureaucrats who come up with these schemes to see a obvious problem that could be foreseen by a walnut – like what do you do if you are 83 years of age, disabled or live on your own and can’t drive to the containers – sometimes you despair at the way these things are thought out or rather not thought out..

A recent guest has come up with a solution of sorts, telling us he simply removes all the excessive packaging at the supermarket check out and kindly donates it to them before leaving.  I hope it catches on!

Whilst in grumpy mode has anyone noticed how many jokes and morally uplifting messages keep arriving by the internet these days.

Has no-one got anything better to do and, whilst some are genuinely funny and highly entertaining, there are others that are simply cringe making, being along the lines of “Smile and the whole world smiles with you”.  No it bloody well doesn’t – I bet the death camps in Germany and Poland weren’t rocking with laughter every time that Adolf cracked a joke at the annual get-together of the Aryan Master Race Society.

A friend of Sheila’s has just sent a sort of mini-joke book, most of which, I admit, raised a smile, particularly the one about the blind man who had to feed the baby and put the turkey in the oven at the same time – but we won’t go there.  But then it was all ruined by this gem:-

“ Smiling is infectious; you catch it like the flu, when someone smiled at me today, I started smiling too…..”

Uggh, if any smug acquaintance of mine said that to me I am afraid that I would probably have to lamp him one.  Wack! – smile at that you condescending so and so.

Finally, I will leave you with this thought.

I was driving into Doué la Fontaine to meet some friends for our normal Sunday morning charity work of helping the local bars to survive through the economic crisis as I was running late I was giving the car a bit of welly when, from nowhere, a buzzard suddenly appeared just in front of the windscreen.  Because I was driving quite fast the slipstream took it over the car and deposited it on the road behind.  It landed with a crash, looked around indignantly, thought, “what the **** happened”, and then wobbled off into the trees, shedding a few feathers as it went, it then sat there for quite a while, no doubt contemplating the existence of god and/or chance etc.

Now, had I been going slower it would surely have smashed the windscreen, killing itself and probably me in the process, I would have left the road, crashed into an innocent walnut tree and the resulting fireball would have added to global warming thereby causing the death of some poor polar bear in the Arctic.  Thus, the moral is this, in order to save the environment – drive faster!

PS. Having just received my latest speeding ticket and subsequent point deduction, I thought of writing to the Minister of Transport in Paris and expounding this theory to him.

Sheila didn’t think it was a good idea.

But, being as he seems to delight in writing friendly, little missives to me, (in fact it is becoming so much of an obsession with him that I really think he needs to seek psychiatric help, there must be other people he can write to), I feel that I should honour him with a reply.  I don’t suppose I could ask him to donate the sort of money he keeps asking of me but then I have no doubt that the poor bloke is on his uppers and needs to make ends meet!

Bon Journée!

Brian

holiday gites in Le Puy Notre Dame

THE TWELVE DRINKS OF CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

 

Dear Guests and Readers, 

There is no time more fitting than to say Thank You and to wish you all a Happy Christmas holiday and a New Year of good health and happiness.

 The village of Le Puy has looked spectacularly pretty with its street decorations of sparkling lights and Christmas trees. The Church has been illuminated for the whole of the twelve days of Christmas and the Crèche has looked magnificent.  It was created by Robert, our neighbour opposite, who has accepted all compliments with much shrugging of shoulders and dutiful protestations of modesty.

Le Puy Notre Dame

So, now it’s the time for out with the old and in with the new. Have I made any New Year’s Resolutions? Well it is a great opportunity to attempt to fulfill long-harbored ideas, however, hand on heart the answer is no I have not – as I never keep them.  A New Year’s resolution is something that goes in one year and out the other!

Old Alfie got it right:

 “Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true”.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850 

Anyway, everyone will be happy to know that, for the first time in three years, my husband and I have started the New Year with no accidents or illnesses and the subsequent breakneck car journeys to the ‘Urgences’ in Saumur. No excruciatingly painful and throbbing gall bladders, dislocated shoulders, broken wrists or painful discs, causing us to miss out on the Reveillon festive fun and the gastronomic delights of the New Year.  We have had several phone calls and emails this week enquiring about our current state of health and if we didn’t get to the phone immediately it was thought we were once more down at the hospital, (it being generally accepted that we have now established a lasting New Year tradition). But, thankfully, we can confirm we have managed to escape intact – our luck has finally turned – though Brian adds a note of caution, saying that January hasn’t finished yet!  

We had great fun singing a new song at various festive gatherings. It is not the traditional version of course, it’s all to do with drinks and called “Les Douze Boissons de Noël”! and it goes like this:- 

Le premier jour de Noël mon amour m’a donné une bouteille de Rémy Martin.

Le deuxième jour de Noël mon amour m’a donné deux verres de rosé et une bouteille de Rémy Martin.

Le troisième  jour de Noël, trois bières blondes,           etc  Le quatrième jour de Noël, quatre grands Bourgognes,etc.  Le cinquième jour de Noël, cinq verres de vins rouges,etc.

Le sixième     jour de Noël, six flacons de cidre, etc.  Le septième   jour de Noël, sept flutes de champagne,  etc.  Le huitiéme   jour de Noël, huit verres de Beaujolais,   etc.  Le neuvième  jour de Noël, neuf crèmes de Menthe,     etc.  Le dixiéme    jour de Noël, dix verres de Kir, etc.  L’onziéme     jour de Noël, onze verres de pastis,etc.  and then culminates in “Alka Seltzer”  –  err…. yes ……. it normally does!!  

We are currently managing to extend hospitalities with our friends by sharing the traditional cake called the Galette de Rois (everyone queuing up at the local Boulangerie to buy it). It is a sort of cake (King Cake) celebrating Epiphany.  It is made of pastry filled with almond paste called frangipane. Inside the cake is hidden a small gift.. It is accompanied by that refreshing flute of Saumur Brut, such lovely stuff!  I have so far found une fevre (the tiny gift) in my slice of galette on two occasions and hence been awarded the golden paper crown being made ‘King’ for the occasion and with many bravos and hand clapping it has been placed on my head and  worn for the remainder of the evening.  The said person awarded this crown is supposed to invite everyone back to their home to share another galette and so at this rate we will never manage to get back to normality!   

On Saturday evening, it’s time for the annual ‘vin d’honneur’ a la Salle de Fetes du Puy Notre Dame where all the villagers are invited to share an informal and  convivial soirée with a glass or two of the village wine, whilst we are informed of what’s in store for the new year. (Great plans are afoot, together with copious amounts of money, to improve several aspects of the village in view of its newly acquired tourist status as a Petite Cite de Character and Village de Charme).   Of course all the glasses of wine are handed around at the end of the evening and not the beginning, a stunning example of good sense, given that most members of the council are wine makers. It is an excellent tradition, the quality of wine first class and the evening’s conviviality of meeting both old and new neighbours, with customary handshakes, most enjoyable.  In our case the new Maire, Monsieur Jean-Luc Claeys, the village Doctor, is a truly honorable and well respected man who also enjoys a few glasses au bar with the locals, although, in this respect, his predecessor Monsieur Dominic Monnier, deserves an honorable mention.  

Let us express our deep gratitude to all of our faithful guests (now good friends) who return to holiday in our gites every year and to explore the regions wine at Le Clos des Guyons and all those future guests who will be holidaying here for the first time this year in our little corner of the world!  Not to mention as well the many blog readers who send us so many interesting e-mails.

 Sincere best wishes from myself and Brian for this coming year. ‘Thank You’ again for all your support and comments in 2008 which has driven our enthusiasm for what we do here and we are looking forward to sharing aperitifs at the start of the season with you once more.  The sunshine, blue skies and beautiful evening sunsets are already on order for you! 

Time now to start drawing up a list of jobs to be done for 2009 – Oh ….Brian has now just gone through the door muttering about going up to the bar, amazing the effect the word, “list” has on him.  Although, in all fairness, I must say, that his list of work has been endless for the last five years, ever since we arrived here without a habitable room in the place and what is now the garden and pool area, an extremely overgrown vegetable garden!  With a bit of luck we may finally have a permanent bedroom before the holiday season starts in earnest!  Finalement! 

Voeux Sincères pour une très et heureuse année!

Sante! Sheila and Brian

Gites and wine tours in the Loire Valley

Le Concours des Vins de Loire

Le Concours  des Vin de Loire is one of the most prestigious wine events in the region mainly because it consists of local wines from Anjou/Saumur and the Touraine being judged by local winemakers and people who work in the wine industry thus, obviously, the judges know the wines very well and look at them with an insiders knowledge.  I therefore felt rather  proud and somewhat humbled when I was asked to be one of the judges and, I must admit, more than a little aprehensive.

A friend, a retired winemaker, who was also going, saw I was a rather worried and reassured me with the words, “Don’t worry about it, you know the wines very well, you drink enough of them”! -  I think that was a compliment. 

Anyway, the day arrived and 140 of us assembled at the Parc des Expositions in Angers.  On the glass door was  a large printed sheet of paper with everyones names alongside which were the wines we  were allocated to taste.  Until this moment no-one has a clue which wine they will be judging.  Now ,I love the wines of Anjou/Saumur from the stickies of The Coteau de Layon/Saumur through all the reds, rosés, whites, sparkling etc.  There is, however, just one wine with which I have always had a problem and that is the rosé, Cabernet d’Anjou, to me it always tastes of sugar and green peppers and, despite the fact that many people love it, I have always struggled with it ever since I was first introduced to it many, many years ago.  So, when I eventually fought my way through the crush and read the Allocation List I found my name, “Mr. Barcroft Brian”, alongside the words, you’ve guessed it, “Cabernet d’Anjou”.  Bloody wonderful I though, another confirmation of the existence of, “Sod’s Law”. 

Each tasting, “Jury”, consists of three people and each group of three has thirty wines to consider, (555 wines were entered from Anjou/Saumur alone).  Wines are given points out of 30, these points, themselves being given for individual characteristics like colour, nose,taste, balance etc.  On completion of each judge’s card the wines given the highest scores go into a sort of play-of and, in the event of wines with the same score, another tasting is done and eventual the winners emerge.  We never know the name of the winemaker who has entered the wine, each bottle simply having a number.  In our tasting panel the winner was No. 28 which was later revealed to be the cuvée, “Iris”, 2007, from Joseph Verdier at Montreuil-Bellay , this wine later received a special award from La Fédération viticole de l’Anjou.  For me one of the most pleasing things was that my tasting notes and points awarded hardly differed at all from the two life-long, local, professionals who were my associates.  And, I must admit that, having been forced into giving the Cabernet d’Anjou my full and undivided concentration, out of respect for the winemakers who had entered their wines, it has gone up greatly in my estimation and, although I don’t think it will never be one of my personal favourites, on a professional level, I have to admit that almost all the thirty wines submitted were very well done indeed with subtle levels of acidity and, in some cases tannin, helping to blend the sugar and fruit into a balanced whole.   

After the morning tasting came, the thank you, in the form of a gargantuan lunch, several tables heaving with sea food, cooked meats, cheese, assorted salads, saussisons, desserts and of course, as much wine as the myriad appellations of the Loire could supply.  Old friends were well met, the merits of individual wines argued over.  (After your particular tasting is over it is customary to go and plonk yourself at any of the tables where decisions have been made and to sample the wines yourself, it is even more customary to then disagree with the final decisions!).  Some of the tables where the most complex wines were being judged took much longer than normal and discussions were becoming quite heated.  However the proximity of lunch had the wonderful effect of concentrating minds and, before long, the winners emerged.  Perhaps this is the answer to resolving all the world trouble spots.  Lock, for example, the Israelis and the Palestinians into a room and tell them there will be no food until they come to an agreement.  It certainly worked in Angers.

à plus Brian

Wine tours in the Loire Valley.

LE CAFE DES MARINS(au garage)!

 

We have been to see Zandra and Jacques today. Zandra, celebrated her 70th birthday and they had both turned their home into a theme of the sea for the day, because she likes anything to do with it, and so the setting for her party planned to immitate quayside café, “Le Café des Marins”.

 

On arrival, after the short drive to Louzy in les Deux-Sêvre, we found all her family and friends dressed in marine attire of various outfits looking like, Sailors, Captain Birds-Eye, Swashbucklers and even Buccaneers. Others were wearing blue and white striped naval collars and anything else simply blue and white which looked appropriate. Little children were showing off wearing blue berets with red pom poms playing with paper boats made by aunties and uncles to keep them amused! Brian went along in his old sailing clobber and I had spent a couple of weeks searching for a nautical looking tee-shirt.

 

The garage had indeed been cleverly been transformed into a little Quayside Café!  Over recent months, murals of the sea had been painted onto wall hangings, fishermen’s nets draped from the ceiling and sea shells scattered onto the blue table cloths to create an ambiance.  It certainly felt very real and we imagined ourselves transported inside a little port somewhere, it was magic! In fact it felt somewhat odd that the view was of Jacque’s vegetable garden and not of colourful little boats bobbing up and down with the waves but it didn’t matter. 

 

And so, after many, many home-made aperitifs, mainly Pineau, a boson’s whistle was sounded by Jacque and we were slowly ushered from the garage through the house and into the dining room where 30 odd people were to sit around in a “U” shape. Our names had been carefully placed on the tables decorated with blue linen tablecloths and, again, scattered everywhere were sea shells. Another giant mural with exactly the same view of  tiny boats bobbing up and down on the sea, which we saw in the garage, covered all of one wall this time, and we were told it had been hand painted over recent months by Zandra’s friends specially for  her big day.  There were bouquets of flowers and gifts scattered on a side table.

 

After settling down into position, large, decorative, boat shaped dishes, around a metre long, were brought in (one to about every four guests), completely overflowing with Fruit de Mer.  Everyone started to help themselves and much skill was demonstrated with little sharp pointed knives opening the Oysters of varying sizes.  Actually, I felt more comfortable with the, Crevettes and Bulots. Brian and our neighbour, Robert, were doing most of the damage besides helping themselves liberally to the bottles of chilled, fresh, Muscadet which had suddenly appeared on the table.  And when, by some mysterious, magnetic force all the partly emptied boats floated down to our end of the table, they were quickly and efficiently unloaded by our two heroic dock-workers.  The dishes were then removed, kilos of empty shells disposed of, plates wiped clean with huge chunks of baguette and then immediately refilled by poisson sauced with beurre blanc and, when we thought that was going to be it, there was a short pause, mainly used to sample the bottles of Vin de Thouarsais, (this wine is a VDQS, a sort of country cousin of the better known Anjou or Saumur Rouge), but was hearty, rich and  fruity, being ideal for the large helpings of  braised lamb aromatized in a rich, brown sauce which was plonked on the tables in huge cast-iron stew pots accompanied by kilos of delectable, young haricot beans. Following that were wooden boards of fresh cheeses of various shapes, to be accompanied by the Thouarsais Rouge but with delicious Coteaux du Layon, to be drunk with the Blue d’Avergne. Just when we thought that was the end, le glace enrobed in Poire William spirit appeared and spooned into tiny glasses. The climax, of course, was the ‘Grande Gateaux’,  and the popping of many bottles of Saumur Sparkling Brut for the toast and a hearty chorus of ‘Bonne Anniversaire’ then a short silence as I think everyone was wondering how they were ever going to be able to move from the table afterwards!

 

The many hours of eating and drinking  were interspersed with the telling of jokes or a tuneful song! Each contribution was introduced by Zandra’s husband Jacques or his “frere”, mimicking a trumpet fanfare to introduce each song or joke with a, ‘d d d d dah’ before the respective person stood up. Each person spoke or sung simply but movingly and on completion, a courteous bow was given to gracefully accept the many bravo’s  and encore’s which were despatched from the audience.  Then a strange clapping game would ensue in a kind of two slow claps and three quick ones kind of rhythm, at ever increasing speed, no-one quite knowing when to stop and,  of course, it was important to concentrate because if  one didn’t finish on time and you accidentally continued with one too many, then the dreaded forfeit was to perform a  song!!!  Brian  got caught out! His brave contribution? A rendition of ‘’La Mere’’! But he had not come unprepared and had actually learned the song, en Francaise, and,  soon after starting, he had the whole room singing along to this wonderful evocative song.

 

The words are below but, if you want to hear it sung in its original version by Charles Trénet, then clich here .

(Brian reckons it isn’t as good as his version but he is rather biased).

Here’s the words if you fancy singing along: 

“La mere,

Qu’on voit danser le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d’argent
La mer
Des reflets changeants
Sous la pluie
La mer
Au ciel d’été confond
Ses blancs moutons
Avec les anges si purs
La mer,
bergère d’azur infinie.
Voyez
Près des étangs
Ces grands roseaux mouillés.
Voyez
Ces oiseaux blancs
Et ces maisons rouillées.
La mer
Les a bercés
Le long des golfes clairs
Et d’une chanson d’amour
La mer
A bercé mon cœur pour la vie’’.

Or, in English, (although it doesn’t scan)

”The sea
which we see dancing along the clear gulfs
has silver reflections.
The sea
has changing reflections
Under the rain.
The sea
To the summer sky’s confuses her white sheep
With angels so pure.
The sea,
Shepherdess of infinite blue.
See
Next to the ponds
Those tall wet reeds.
See
Those white birds
And those rusty houses.
The sea
Has rocked them
Along the clear gulfs
And with a love song
The sea
Has rocked my heart for life”.-

 

It is indeed a very emotional song, now deeply engrained in the French physic and there was a silence afterwards for a few seconds of contemplation, quickly followed by loud applauds and cheers ‘Vous chante bien Francaise  Monsieur Brian’, tres tres bien, bravo!!! More like ‘brave oh’, I thought…..  My heart had been pounding for him as I was aware thirty French people were concentrating on his accent Française !!!, (On the other hand Brian may as well have been in the Rose and Crown, in our little village back in the Staffordshire Moorlands, for all the concern that he showed.  I don’t know whether it was the copious amounts of wine or simply confidence)!  However, he appeared to have passed the test and Zandra, our host, was truly enchanted by his effort, and came over to give us both a big hug and for some strange reason awarded Brian with a blue cushion to take home afterwards! (Apparently the awarding of a cushion shows appreciation when there is nothing else to give as a “cadeau”)!  I have to say though, that I thought his ever more flowery bows were a little over the top.  I am sure he was envisaging himself milking the applause at La Scala!

 

The hearty singing continued and after several ‘unknown’ French songs ……which we did our best to keep up with, came an old favourite, the Beatle’s, “Yellow Submarine”, which caused us a bit of a puzzle because the words were ‘Nous somme habite sur a Submarine Vert! (a green “vert”submarine was because yellow -“jaune” submarine simply doesn’t scan).  We tried to explain, ‘’No, no, it has always been jaune’’!! Brian, being a bit of a Beatles anorak, insisted that Lennon and McCartney never envisaged a green submarine and it had to be yellow.  At which point he sang it in English, word for word, with everyone joining in manfully with the chorus which, to tell the, “véritié”, they managed very well indeed ‘’Zee all  liffe  on a yellow soobmarenne!!  Well, there you go …..it’s probably a lot better than my French accent!  Apparently the rather confused, elderly gentleman sitting near to Brian afterwards asked, “Et la sous-marin vert, il va où”? (And the green submarine, it went where)?

 

It was late now in the afternoon and time for the customary promenade around the village to stretch ones legs for those who felt up to it. Alternatively, a quick game of Belote for those not so energetic or, just a leisurely viewing of the television for the journal and a quick shuteye!

 

It was maybe a couple of hours afterwards, we had another whistle call from the boson for a second aperitif in the Café de la Marine au Garage, followed by a second sitting at  the tables to continue with yet more plates of food, this time of charcuterie, jambon, rillauds, more cheese, baskets of pomme, and yet more bottles of wine. This took us up to well past midnight, (we had been there since midday)! The evening finally culminated with rich, black coffee which Jacques enhanced by retrieving bottles of his special Eaux-de-Vie from his wine cave, pouring it with great expertise and pride into the tiny glasses!   Zandra gave out little sachets of sea salt tied in white net parcels and pretty ribbons to take home as a little memento of this jolly day, which, for us had been a wonderful phenomenon both gastronomically and culturally!  

 

On looking around I fear at this late hour, sailors and captains who had looked so elegant at the start of the day, were now beginning to look a wee bit worse for wear I thought, although many were obviously living the part or, at least, they were wobbling about on sea-legs. It had been a tough day at Zandra and Jacque’s Café!

 

After thanking our hosts, we say bonne nuit with endless bisous and walking out down the tiny rue, we found the sky peppered with stars. We slowed our pace to enjoy the milky-way, a  broad, sparkling highway crossing the clear sky, but we were not too worn out to appreciate the beauty of it.  Sometimes, after days like this we have to stand back and absorb how privileged we have been.  We forget that we are guests in this country and perhaps we now take it too much for granted; the sociability of everyone towards us, making new friends and enjoying this warm and welcoming culture.  It had been a truly fabulous day for Zandra (and Jacques who had worked so hard behind the scenes for her), but we too had taken away something with us that will stay in our minds for a long time to come.  It had been a “Hard Days Night” indeed! 

 

Viva La Mer!!

Sheila and Brian

Z A V V A T A!

Is Summer in the Loire arriving early this year?

 

Looking out of the window, the courtyard is looking magnificent with all its hanging baskets and tubs of beautiful coloured geraniums, lavenders and herbs sitting alongside the purple wisteria. We are delighted  to be able to hear a Cuckoo singing away merrily reminding us of the season change and we have discovered Wrens nesting in the old wine caves, Red-Tailed Blackstarts nesting all over the place and a large ‘mystery’ bird nesting in the outbuilding that contains the table-tennis.  All are flying frantically to and fro as they endeavour to feed their young!

 

I have to concede I am ready for the start of some hot weather having spent the entire winter cosseted by the warm glow of a wood fire, fit for a king, courtesy of Brian’s relentless use of the axe and chainsaw in the old wood store. I often ask why he doesn’t just have it delivered cut to size, he says he likes belting three bells out of it!!  I think it’s a hunter/gatherer man thing!  I have also spent more time than I should watching television programmes (good for French language skills) and also the English programmes with the likes of  Jamie Oliver’s tirade about the poultry industry proving to be a good topic of conversation for us as our farming life in England lead us down the path of the RSPCA Freedom Food, having 10,000 Free Range Hens besides the more conventional stock.  I read that the programme had an effect of helping local farmer’s demand for lamb as consumers were turned off from eating chicken.  Not for long I should imagine with the existing price differential as people start to tighten their belts!  Whilst the programme tried to explain the benefits of free-range production we didn’t think that it explained the problems inherent in a free range system, (eg. the increased risk of cannibalism, disease etc)., whilst the conventionally reared flock were subject to all sorts of practices which would almost inevitably lead to greater problems than would be the norm, being continually stressed by groups of cameramen and gaping visitors would not have helped.  We both get upset by these programmes but Brian is worse than me and spends his time mumbling and grumbling under his breath, with occasionally strong words erupting from the general background!

 

And so, Monday morning has come around which means I take my regular trip into our local town of Doué la Fontaine, to go to the market for all the usual stocking up of delicacies and fruit. This time I arrived to find there is much excitement and couldn’t believe my eyes as there were camels, both two humps and the one hump sports version, Llamas ….. yes … several on the side of the road!!!  It kind of jolted my mind a bit, am I hallucinating or what? I am completely puzzled, had they escaped from the Zoo?!  There they were as large as life, moving around freely, grazing on the grass verges and then I notice, alongside them, in front of the wall of the ‘builders merchants’, large cages containing real, living lions and tigers. (I feel there is a strong possibility that UK Health and Safety Officers would, at this point, have collapsed in an incoherent heap mumbling something about safety assessments), it’s very strange that France seems to have about two such officers to cover the whole of the country and they probably work part-time in the vineyards - perhaps the lions and tigers have eaten the rest.  So, what was the reason for all this exotic wildlife?  

A treat was in store La Cirque est arrive!  ”Z A V V A T T A” Tour!!   

 

Young men were rushing around with arms full of advertising posters, depicting fiercely snarling tigers, and ‘Rico’, a colourful clown with the customary big red nose! They  were busy nailing these to trees and posts and there was a little white van with a huge loud speaker on the top circuiting the tiny rues drumming up the evening’s customers!! Oh what fun and excitement the circus magic brings with its heart stopping aerial performances and breaktaking gymnastics, clowns and jugglers! Memories of my  first trip to the Circus when I was a little girl came flooding back, it was so exciting watching those big elephants, trained tigers and then there was all that laughing to the slap-stick clowns! (Brian reckons it would be even more fun if you could see the big cats actually eating the Health & Safety Officers – he’s very strange at times)!  The enormous circus tent looked stunning, tall  palm trees in wooden tubs were being busily transported across the road on forklift trucks towards the entrance for an elaborate effect and I suddenly felt the urge to get a couple of tickets (pure childish pleasure I know, but hey, whatever floats your boat as they say)!

 

And so, I searched around and finally got our tickets, hastily finished my market shopping:- large Baguette, hot, succulent Rillauds from the Rotisserie, lots of fruit Cerise, Pomme, Peche Jaune, les Huitres for Brian, Crevettes for me, Fromage and lastly, Melons (carefully chosen with tender loving care by the Monsieur who sniffs each one individually and explains he is marking this one with one cross to be eaten today, and the other with two crosses to be eaten tomorrow – I love his system)!

 

Then, thinking about tonight, I start to return to Le Puy Notre Dame. I just love that road as you turn the bend and start to descend down the bank, because you can see in the distance the imposing church on the hill (in the Loire of the 11^thcentury the hill of Le Puy Notre Dame was known as Mary’s Mountain) rising majestically above the surrounding vineyards and patchworks of fields.

 

As I enter the village I see a gang of workmen busily erecting a hugely high scaffolding tower at one side of the Eglise in preparation for some work to commence (Health and Safety Officers spring to mind for a second time, because they are dangerously performing trapeze like antics up and down the poles interspersed with wobbly balancing acts … oo er…I think they have been seduced by the circus acts)!  On getting closer I see there are passers-by making their way through the old church portals and the obvious reason is to view the new bell which had just been transported and placed inside the church next to the sculptured choir stalls and the ornate brass crucifix which dominates the alter.

 

I quickly park my car alongside many others and walk towards the church to join in to have a look as we have been waiting a long time for this moment! Wow … what I found was a magnificent piece of fine artistic craftsmanship, golden coloured and weighing in at 590 kgs – how lovely! It was hanging from scaffolding poles, magically glistening against the sunlight shining through the beautiful coloured panes of glass. On it’s 

side are engraved the words, “chanter longetemps les leures, les peines et les joies d’ici-bas“-”To sing for a longtime the hours, the pain and the joy of those below”.  Marvelling at what stands before me, I exchange the customary Bonjours to a group of people at the side of me, who start to explain how they had witnessed the manoeuvring difficulties of getting it carefully offloaded from the lorry and inside the church, it could not have been easy and I should imagine there had been a fair number of ‘Bonne Courages’ and ‘Attentions’ from the spectators! I am told that it is going to be left there for a few days for all to view before finally being hoisted up into its new life-long position, after all it is a once in a lifetime chance to see it before disappearing up into the belfry!  I thought at long last we will once more be able to hear loud joyous peeling and we will be able to acknowledge the time of day, happy celebrations of marriage and baptism, mass, or, on the more sombre occasions when the bell changes its pace completely to a long, slow and heavy toll, for burials with the sad passing of family members or friends.  As we both have agreed, village life has not been the same without a dong! There is going to be a special service on Sunday  for its inauguration, and so we will be raising our glasses to celebrate the christening of our nouvelle cloche called ‘Marie Louise’ who, once more, will be ‘a ringing’ and bringing life back to the village of Le Puy Notre Dame for many centuries to come and I just can’t wait to hear it!  

 

In fact, talking of raising our glasses, it brings to mind a recent faux pas of mine. I accepted an invitation from our friends to “arroser”, Le Coupe du Monde.  This was intriguing, because as far as I knew the verb, “arroser”, simply means to water, as in garden.  We promptly arrived at the said time to help to water their garden thinking they had suddenly become stricken with a maladie of some description overnight and had been incapacitated and needed our help, where the world cup came into it I had no idea!  On arrival I could see I had unwittingly caused a faux pas as they were both looking very much okay, and after puzzled looks and much questioning to establish if they were both indeed well and didn’t need my assistance with the watering can, hiliarious laughter broke out between us as the situation resolved itself and the different meanings of the word was carefully explained.  Arroser also means to “toast”, something, as in have a drink to. In fact, this story is continually being told to their family and friends over aperitifs, so needless to say to this day I have never lived it down, but one thing’s for sure I am now on serious ‘Red Alert’ when the word ‘that calls for a drink’ is ever mentioned and I don’t rush off for my watering can anymore!

 

Now I am back home I find Brian enjoying a welcome respite from renovation work, by tending to his newly created herb garden (which started out as a few plants but is now becoming a serious hobby and taking over vast pieces of the courtyard at a fast rate of knots, typical of him, it starts as a few plants and now there are more plants than in the herb garden in Montreuil-Bellay)!  I tell him about the morning events (…not absolutely sure he shares quite the same enthusiasm as me about Zavatta this evening but never mind! …) and he has decided to have his ‘bell viewing’ which will, I imagine, finish up with him disappearing into the little Bar/Tabac in the nearby rue de la Collégiale, just alongside the church, where he always enjoys good company with a few of the local celebs, to drink a café/calva or two. Or, if not there, then to someone’s cave, to share their moonshine Pineau for an hour whilst they put their collective heads together to try to find a believable reason to explain to their wives or partners why it was necessary to disappear for so long in the first place!  Probably the best and most believable reason would be that they had decided to, “Arroser” the arrival of the new village cloche.What else could a *Ponot do!!* (A ‘Ponot’ is a word used to describe a male inhabitant of Le Puy Notre Dame, ‘Ponette’ is the feminine version).

 

 

Bonne ‘Arrosage’!

Sheila

 

Bits and Pieces

It seems like ages since my last post, this is no doubt because it is.  So here are a few bits and pieces to catch up.

Both of our gites have been full, more or less, from mid-March onwards so we have not had a lot of time to spare and, in addition, I have been trying to finish the renovations in the old part of the building having had to curtail the work for months on end because of my dislocated shoulder.

People often ask us how we relate to all our various guests throughout the year,  in fact, we take great pleasure in the diverse nature of the people we meet through the business and have made many friends. The funny thing is that it is the fact that we get on with so well, particularly with the ones that have returned for the second, third and fourth times which can cause the problem.  The reason is that they are no longer guests but are now also friends with the result that, inevitably, one finds oneself feeling on holiday with them and the net result of that is that I manage to pass the summer months with a glass of wine almost permanently in my hand, (to refuse would be most impolite of course)!! Couple that with the simple fact of living in a wine producing village where having the odd drink is as natural as breathing and it is as easy to spot the potential problem as it is to spot a train hurtling towards you.  Oh it is a hard life but verily someone has to do it!  I also feel very lucky to be able to spend a week or so talking to an American pilot, the next week a Canadian judge who settled many of the Indian land claims, then a coach for the New York Yankees, an Australian couple who are “doing” Europe without a car, a retired American Doctor now working for the poor, who cannot afford health assurance, a Scottish hill farmer, a Welsh journalist etc. etc. It really is most interesting for both of us. 

Of course, in between servicing our guest accommodation and looking after our visitors, life goes on as normal or, being in France, not so normal.  I’ll just give you two examples:-

Having returned our French tax form I was staggered when the “resident terrorists” at the local Depôt des Impots in Saumur sent us a tax demand fully three times what we expected!  On investigation I discovered that the idiot who had filled in the tax form had put a figure on the wrong line.  As the idiot in question  was ’yours truly’ I decided to take all the tax documents to an Accountant and to ask him to do it.  I found one in Doué la Fontaine, explained the situation and he said if we came back tomorrow he would  fill out a new form correctly, prepare letters for all the numerous ”functionaires” involved and basically sort out the problem.  This is exactly what happened and, on returning the following afternoon, all we had to do was to sign and send the letters to the appropriate offices.  I thanked him profusely and then asked him to confirm that he would send us an invoice.  ”No”, he replied, “I have done practically nothing, there is no reason to pay me anything”.  “But you’re an Accountant”, I stammered, rather lamely, thinking he would be likely to be struck off if he refused to charge.   But, he adamantly refused and that was that. (I later took him  a Magnum of superb, Sparkling Saumur Brut from the Domaine de la Paliene in our village of Le Puy Notre Dame). The question is, could you imagine an Accountant in almost any other country not bothering to charge, I leave you to answer that question.    

Just before that, I had taken our car to the garage in the village because of an irritating squeak on the brakes, particularly obvious because, even in this summer, the worst in living memory, the roof has been down more often than not.  They spent several hours checking the whole system, cleaned it and put it back together again.  Once more, no charge, this time because they could not find anything in particular.  It really does make one feel very grateful.

We have had many guests from New Zealand this year which, of course, coincided with the Rugby World Cup and which led, as you can imagine, to much banter. So for all our Kiwi guests, now that they cannot answer back!, here is a joke I picked up on the internet.  “What’s the difference between the All Blacks and a teabag? Answer………A teabag stays in the cup longer!!”…………….!  

I had very mixed feelings when England defeated France in the semis.  On the one hand I was delighted that England had won and, at the same time, I felt utterly devastated that France had lost.  It was a strange feeling I have never had before and hope I never have again.  But I suppose I will, as sooner or later, France will meet England in some major sport or other.  This is what living in France for so long does to you.  At least the two are not going to meet in the European Football Championships due to England’s pathetic failure to qualify!!

In the village our new Wine Bar is finished and will be opening this Saturday, (10th. November), allegedly!   It must be a thing in France that you only open bars and restaurants when there is practically no chance whatsoever of doing much trade. The village restaurant, Le Bouchon Ponot, also opened in November (2006), carefully timed to avoid all the tourists who flood into the area in the summer months.  

Monsieur Le Maire, Dominique Monnier, has announced that he will not be standing again in next years elections.  This will be sad for the village as he has worked very hard to obtain various grants and subsidies and he is always on hand to resolve problems and help the Ponots and Ponettes, (male and female residents of Le Puy Notre Dame) over anything whatsoever.  The clever money, in the bar, is on the village doctor to be our next Maire.  I would think he would not have many people voting against him.  You can imagine him standing over you with a huge syringe the size of a grease gun, ”I understand you voted against me……..” 

In November we had a visit from our two dear old friends from the Staffordshire Moorlands, David and Janet.  Dave and I argue like cats and dogs over just about everything.  Last time we met we lay on two sun-loungers at three o’clock in the morning under the clear, starry sky, disagreeing about which direction ’The Plough’ moved in the firmament.  I even went into the house to run an astronomy programme on the computer in order to find concrete proof.  Unfortunately, I was, as is said politely in the House of Commons, “tired and emotional”, several bottles full of tiredness and emotion in fact.   Thus I was incapable of operating the programme and by the time I did manage it I had forgotten what I was looking for.  So had David!   This time the main subject of contention was evolution.  After several hours we finally reached a consensus on one thing; that it was quite clear that our respective ancestors could not have emerged from the primeval slime at the same time, as we would still be lying there, on the edge of a muddy pool, arguing about what direction to take!! 

For the last year or so Le Puy Notre Dame has been ‘dongless’.  The church bell wheezed its way to an early death and, since then, there has been no dongs to mark the passing of the day.  It has just not been the same.  I had even got out of the habit of wearing a watch whilst at home or in the village, relying totally on the bell.  “Ding-dong”, oh, it’s midday, I’ll pop in the bar for an aperitif, “ding-dong”, oh, it’s 2pm. I’ll pop home to see if lunch is in the dog!!  Anyway the good news is that, with a combination of local contributions and grants, the metal for the new bell will be poured into the mould in early December.  The village is arranging a trip to the foundry in Normandy to watch the hot metal being poured, I just hope we get out of the village before the first wine bottle is emptied.  The bell will be baptised “Marie-Louise”.   

Well that’s about all for now otherwise the Blog will go on forever.  May I wish all our friends and guests a truly Merry Xmas and a Happy and Prosperous New Year!

Bon Courage et Bonne Chance!!

Brian and Sheila      gites in loire valley

A Morning Stroll Around Le Puy Notre Dame

                           

 For the first time this is a post by Sheila.  The style is a lot gentler than mine and has made me realise that whilst searching for the offbeat and quirky is always a good thing, sometimes it is just as good a thing to quietly appreciate the value of what is around you. 

 It was the beginning of July and the day had started dry and hot.  I felt it was time to take my morning stroll around our village of Le Puy Notre Dame, in the heart of the Loire Valley, a beautiful part of the world we have been lucky enough to call home for the last seven years or so. I imagine all French villages have a character unique to them, but Le Puy too has a certain quirkiness which I find delightful for many reasons (not just because of its reputation for making fantastic wines)! As I start off, I hear a cockerel’s serenade accompanied by hens clucking contentedly from a nearby shed, obviously enjoying telling the world what clever creatures they are in laying their eggs, as hens do! I walk along the narrow Rue St Jacques, just a one minute’s walk from Le Clos des Guyons, it’s such a tiny rue with no real significance, except, that is, until you start to reach the top and then you get it … the lovely smells drifting from the boulangerie.  Smells that get your taste-buds into overdrive, you know the kind I mean, of delicious croissants, pain au chocolat, brioches and warm dough, all en-route to the shop counters from the kitchens where Franck, the village boulanger, is beavering away by the hot ovens ‘tres content’ and proud that the villagers are happily buying his bread.  People are to-ing and fro-ing armed with little paper bags, ornate cake boxes and loaded with armfuls of baguettes, probably not all for themselves, orders are for neighbours, sons, daughters and husbands who will be arriving home for lunch very soon. I call in, take my place in the queue and finally reach the counter to greet Sylvie, the wife of Franck the boulanger, to order my own baguette and then placing it under my arm I bid the customary ‘Aurevoir Monsieurs/Dammes’ and everyone reciprocates.  Now, with hot bread under my arm, I begin to feel the day has begun. As I walk on further, I begin to experience the rhythm of this relaxed village. There are ladies still in dressing gowns opening their wooden window shutters. I see the postman, unlocking the post boxes to distribute the mail, (no-one here has an individual post box – we all simply walk to the cluster of boxes at the end of our rue, where our names are printed on them). Such a good idea because we all know his arrival time and then we head off to collect our letters knowing it is time to converse with neighbours, to talk about the weather perhaps or state of health, especially in my case over the last year when I have made many friends enquiring as to my progress, or Brian’s during last year, when he dislocated his shoulder.  Today the conversation will be about the iniquities of the French Tax system because it is those that Monsieur Le Facteur is placing in each post box. I pass by opened windows and hear conversations of family and friends, the clattering of  pots and pans and drifting smells from kitchens as they are preparing dejeuner – of course the most important part of their day!  They see me and shout ‘Bonjour Madame’ as if I was a long lost friend.  Of course, I respond accordingly, smiling and think how friendly everyone here is and how happy I am to be so well accepted.The pleasantries in France are a delight which I always enjoy.  I am prepared for the normal ‘Bonjour Madame’ or, wickedly, and said with a cheeky grin, ‘Bonjour Mademoiselle’, as the French love to joke, but then I wait to see what else they will think of next.  There is ‘Bon Appétit’, of course, but it will then depend on the time.  Almost every greeting from about 11.30am. is ‘Bon Appétit’, a simple assumption that from midday onwards everyone will be eating.  In my case it can sometimes be ‘Bon Sante’, or on  passing a friend who is working it will be ‘Bon Courage’, then after lunch it will be ‘Bon Apris Midi’, or even ‘Bon Peinture’ if you are working with paint, ‘Bon Jardinage’ if you are working in your garden or ‘Bon Arrosage’ if you are watering plants, it goes on, always finding something to wish you!  Sometimes it is just ‘Bon Ap’, which kills two birds with two stones covering ‘Bon Appétit’ and ‘Bon Apris Midi’ at the same time! And everywhere a pause for a handshake or, from people you know well, four kisses, two on each cheek and then a little chattering to follow! As I approach the top of Rue Notre Dame I reach the Eglise, our lovely church in Le Puy Notre Dame, an incarnation of angevine gothic architecture with its tall triple steeples, seen from far afield because it is of great size and importance, being on the route of St Jacques de Compostelle.  I hear music and a choir singing, pushing the never-locked door open I stand on the top step and for a few moments watch the people inside practicing for a concert at the weekend, it brings alive this old building, and makes me wonder what was it like when the pilgrims flocked to it on this very road, many centuries ago, to see the sacred treasure brought back by the Crusaders from Jerusalem in the XIIth century. The treasure is the Holy Virgin’s Waistband  made of linen and silk.  The story is that Anne of Brittany, and Anne of Austria, who later bore Louis XIV the future King of France, borrowed the relic which they believed encouraged fertility.  Even now, young mothers can be seen in their praying for a safe childbirth and each year there is a pilgrimage to Saint Ceinture with an evening of prayers and singing.  It is important for this village not to forget its treasure and the many centuries of history.  It is also typical of this most complicated of people, how they seem effortlessly to combine the aggressive secularity of their state with a deep if undemonstrative reverence for the Catholic Church. As I enter La Poste to take my letters and cards for posting, I find lots of people patiently waiting their turn and, in the meantime, wishing ‘Bonjour’ on entry and ‘Aurevoir’ on departure.  And, because time is now ticking on, the odd ‘Bon Appétit. The time has come now to start thinking of returning home for dejeuner, in fact, I decide to return by a different route and head down a small, narrow road called Rue Sainte. On walking down this steep old road, with its marvellous vista of fields and vineyards, framed by a tall turret at the side of a small Chateau, I pass little houses and some residents here have their duvets and blankets dangling casually from the bedroom windows (a custom you see so often over here in villages – giving the bedding a blow of fresh air) and there are many opened windows, again with fine cooking smells pervading. As I get towards the bottom of the hill I quite unexpectedly start to hear someone chiselling, probably at the old tuffeau stone, and then I hear a man singing an old French song in time with his banging.  His deep voice is just a delight to hear, so tuneful, and I have to slow my pace so I can enjoy his repertoire; little does he know he has an admirer! The flowers either side of the old tuffeau walls are hollyhocks buried deep into the ground and are waving high above my head.  Blue, pink, maroon, white, yellow, then there are the little orange poppies and blue cornflowers attracting colourful butterflies interspersed with bees skilfully and single-mindedly collecting their pollen. The sun is now shining strongly as we approach midday and I see a tiny brown and white dog with remarkably pointed ears tranquilised in the sunshine, sitting on the ledge of an upstairs window, watching me curiously as I stroll by. There are other dogs too, either sleeping contentedly in the heat or barking in their courtyards and gardens, letting you know they are bored and waiting for the owners to arrive home for lunch – after all it has  been a long morning for them too since they were given their petit dejeuner! Finally, I have reached my home in Rue du Moulin, the last house in the village that rests at the side of a walnut grove and a sea of vines. All is peaceful here and our neighbours Robert and Jeanette, with their little grandson, Joshua, are wishing ‘Bon Appétit’ as I pass their door, Joshua makes the sound of an angry lion and threatens to eat me, a repertoire taught to him by Brian when they both got bored over a particularly long meal the other week.  With my baguette still under my arm, I am finally greeted by Meg, our border collie dog, jumping for joy that I have returned. Brian too is eagerly awaiting my return, after all it is noon and our turn to eat! As I make our lunch, I think how strange it is that chores like buying the baguettes and posting letters can become such a pleasure and delight. Soon our lunchtime hunger will be sated and, in a spirit of solidarity with the rest of the village, there will be time for a short siesta.  That’s the way daily life evolves here – and we’re not complaining! 

Bon Appétit Toute le Monde!

Sheila Warren-Barcroft (alias Madame Brian souvent) !

accommodation in loire valley

Restaurant Review, Le Baccarat – Doué la Fontaine

The Chinese are opening one mammoth, coal-fired power station every month.  Apparently each one of these emits more carbon than the rest of the known universe. And then some. 

Which is why I decided to replace my ancient electric razor with a traditional wet one, thus doing my bit to combat the peril from the east.  All we need to do now is to stop cows farting and we are on a roll. 

So on, one of my rare sorties through SuperU Hypermarket in nearbye Doué la Fontaine, I purchased something called a Gillette Mach or Macho Razor or some suitably masculine sounding thing.  Surprisingly; it appeared to be the only item in the Men’s Hygiene Department which had no picture of David Beckham or Zinidan Zidaine stuck on it, (thankfully), but it did have a futuristic ultimate war machine on the front, or perhaps it was just a razor painted like a futuristic, ultimate war machine.  Anyway, the razor did the job excellently although, the first time, it left my face looking like the back of a self-flagellating Opus Dei monk.

(Incidentally, whilst typing this I missed the k out of Beckham and Microsoft Word told me I had spelt it wrongly. After inserting the “k” it gave me the all clear.  How did it know this?  Is David Beckham now so famous that even a computer software programme knows of his celebrity?  There must be people called Becham, without the “k”. So how did Word know I wasn’t talking about Mr. Becham and was talking about St. David of the Goldenballs himself)?!!!!  Bloody weird if you ask me.

Eventually, of course, one has to buy new blades for a razor but it is at this point that one realises that although SuperU sells the razor, by some sort of convoluted logic, they do not actually sell the replacement blades to go with it. Don’t ask me why.  It is beyond all human reason.  I havn’t bothered to ask in case the answer causes me to lose the will to live.

Now Sheila, on one of her Voyages of Discovery, or ‘shopping trips’, as they are also known, actually found out that the replacement blades were sold in Intermarché, the other large supermarket in Doué la Fontaine.  They do not, of course, seem to sell the razor!! 

But the problem is that I rarely enter through the portals of Intermarché as I find the interior dismal, their foodstuffs lacking in range, not offering the variety of goods that the discerning buyer may expect in the early years of the 21^st Century and the staff/customer ratio seems to be totally out of balance…..Oh, and it hasn’t got a bar either.

I could ask Sheila to buy me a packet but she would forget and bring me a banana.

So I have therefore been reduced to buying packets of disposable razors from our local shop in Le Puy Notre Dame.  These razors are perfectly functional when it comes to shaving the hairs on the front of my face but, surprisingly, are about as much use as a chocolate teapot when it comes to tackling  the softer hairs under my chin.  Thus, over a period of a few weeks, I acquired a noticeable layer of thick felt under the jaw, which serves no noticable purpose whatsoever, except for hiding the odd malignant mosquito, and also looks decidedly odd. 

So, finally, it  became necessary to either call a carpet layer or to go to the Intermarché to buy replacement blades for my Macho Turbo Thingy.

Well, on arriving on the car park you could have knocked me down with a pain au chocolat.  Not only had the whole store been renovated but someone has bunged a brand new bar/restaurant on the front of it.

I am sure it wasn’t there when I passed it last week.

Now, at this point, may I thank all of you who actually thought this posting was about a restaurant  for staying with me!  We have now arrived at the establishment itself. 

It is called the ‘Le Baccarat’ and is cleverly situated so that you do not actually feel that you are in the supermarket itself.  It is brand, spanking new and has a sun terrace in front, together with tables and sunshades.  Service is pleasant and attentive and the quality/food ratio is superb.

We chose the €11,00 four-course Menu, (€16,00 over the weekend).  This consisted of a self-service salad/entrée bar followed by a “plat principal”, followed by cheese and dessert.  The entrée included things like crevettes, spiced sausages, prawns, boudin noir, fresh salads, dressings, etc., etc. The main courses had about six choices including fish dishes, beef goulash, roast beef and braised ham.  I had the ‘Beef Goulash’ which was subtly spiced and very tender.  Sheila had the ‘Roast Beef’ which was done to perfection; rosy/red in the centre and, again very tender. The round dessert table was groaning, under a very large selection, sitting on a bed of ice.  Sheila chose a huge slice of Lemon Meringue which, Harry Potter like, she magically made invisible, (only House-Elves can do this without a wand)!  I, being of much sterner stuff, chose to have neither cheese nor dessert - Well, it gives you a certain feeling of moral superiority.

With a perfectly acceptable half pitcher of Anjou Rouge and Coffee, the total bill was €25,00. I didn’t even bother to negotiate a lower price to acknowledge the fact that I had not had the last two courses from the fixed menu.  I thought it was pretty good value as it was.  

They also do an à la carte which includes grills, (steaks etc.), enormous salads and there is a choice of ten different pizzas.

So, in short, excellent food, incredible prices, pretty good choice and clean, pleasant surroundings. Ideal for a family lunch, without breaking the bank.

You can also do your shopping there.  That is, of course, unless you want to buy a Gillette Mach II Turbo Razor Thingy with the Ultimate War Machine on the front.  You can get the replacement blades though!

Bon courage et à plus,

Brian

Loire Valley Gites

Do I Cause an Allergic Reaction?

I’ve always thought that we have fitted in quite well around here but now I think people are developing an allergy to me.

J’explique.

Normally on Bastille Day we toddle off to Saumur where we eat a gargantuan meal in one of our favourite restaurants and then afterwards watch the firework display over the Loire. We then retire to the square in front of the theatre where we dance a bit or, at least, Sheila dances a bit, whilst I twitch and jerk for a while, waiting for someone to come along and ask Sheila to dance. This always happens and I then promptly retire to a nearby bar when I normally fall into some esoteric conversation with someone whilst keeping an eye on Sheila in case she is dancing with a holidaying Belgian mass murderer, (even psychopathic killers need a holiday).  Incidentally, last year, I passed a pleasant hour or so trying to convince a local gendarme who had once holidayed in Cardiff, that it was situated in Wales and not near Edinburgh as he was insisting.  I think I agreed with him in the end, he had a revolver!   

Anyway, this year, Bastille Day fell on a Saturday.  This is always difficult for us as we have to prepare our gîtes for new guests arriving and welcome them with aperitifs, thus we are never quite sure when we can get away.  Not that we normally do want to get away you understand, we quite like our guests.

By coincidence we had, in the village, for the first time in twenty years, a Bastille Day Fête, held alongside the Church.  It was quite late when we got there, together with Gemma and Nick, our two guests from Manchester.  Whilst they were sitting down at one of the trestle tables enjoying a very talented live band, I was standing by the bar talking to one of my acquaintances in the village.  I first became aware that there was a slight problem when he was telling me about the difficulties his parents were having in the nearby village of Chavannes because a neighbour had moved in with seven dogs. Or, as he continually put it, his seven parents had a problem with dogs that had two neighbours.  He then promptly fell over and collapsed at my feet.  I helped him to his feet, told him the bar was closed and gently pushed him in the general direction of his house.  He staggered off through the crowd, receiving helpful support and slight corrections to his course, rather like a billiard ball bouncing off the cushions, until he finally disappeared down a side street.  Ah well, I thought, C’est la vie, after all he had been drinking for about ten hours,…. On reflection,  in his particular case, make that about ten years!

A minute later I was joined by someone else and, as I leant forward to emphasise a point; he simply fell over backwards, as if I had displaced a mass of air which had rushed up against his body and propelled him backwards.  I helped him to his feet, gently pushed him in the direction of home etc. etc.  I was getting quite good at this by now.

I then started to get a bit worried, was it me?  I even sniffed under my armpits, they were reasonably OK, in fact a rather fetching odour of Brut I thought (Special offer from SuperU, 20% Extra, just on that one variety, it was obviously one that they were not particularly proud of and were trying to sell off).  But, being that all deodorants smell the same to me, I was quite happy to take them up on their largesse. Now, if they did one, like, for example, essence of ‘Cabernet Franc with a hint of oak’ perhaps…….  

I had a bit of a wander round and passed a few words with various friends and neighbours. I was pleased to note that no-one keeled over again at the sight of me and eventually finished back at the bar.  There were three young lads there who I vaguely knew through my perambulations through Doué la Fontaine. We shook hands, and the lad in the middle immediately started to wobble, spilling Calvados everywhere and, in what was an obviously well rehearsed move, was grabbed by the other two before he hit the ground.  He we go again, I thought.

They half carried their friend out of the square to the car park and returned in a few minutes.

“Is he OK?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’ll be alright, it happens all the time”

“Two glasses of wine and that’s it’, said his friend.

“Will he be OK in the car?”  I asked.

“Oh, we haven’t put him in the car, it’s new, we’ve left him alongside it.”

“We put him in a big dustbin the other week”, added the other, matter of factly.

“A dustbin”!! I said incredulously. Sounding disconcertedly like Lady Bracknell saying, “ A Handbag”!!!

I was really starting to enjoy this conversation.

“Yeah, and then we lost him”.

“In the dustbin?!

“No, not in the dustbin, he just wasn’t there when we went back for him”.

“He was alright though; he was back home before we were”,

“How did he do that?”  I managed to splutter,  in between gusts of uncontrolled laughter.

“They emptied the bins and one of the bin men knew him and gave him a lift home”.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask whether being found in a bin was a regular occurrence.

Given that by now I had laughed so much that I was in danger of collapse myself I shook hands, wished them good evening and started to head back to Sheila.  Suddenly, a thought struck me. I returned to the bar.

“If he collapses after two glasses of wine, why was he drinking Calvados”?

“Well, it happens whatever he drinks; wine, beer or spirits. So he says he may as well drink the good, strong stuff and enjoy it”.

And we all sagely nodded our heads in agreement at the incontrovertible logic of this statement.

à plus

Brian

Loire Valley Gites