Going to the Butcher, Part 2

Or..."This would never happen in the US"

I went again to the butcher.  This time to get a gigot d'agneau (leg of lamb). We were having our proprietor and his family over for dinner. I figured a gigot would be easy to make in advance and would feed a large group.

I was the only one in the butcher shop this time, so no wait.  I explained what I wanted.  For how many people, the butcher asked.  Ah, the gigot in my case is not large enough for your dinner for ten, he continued. 

So off he went to the back to get a larger one.  He appeared two minutes later, carrying not just a larger leg of lamb, but actually the back half of a lamb. Oh my.   At least the fur had already been removed.

He turned on his electric saw and in a couple of minutes it was cut in half, feet removed, trimmed of excess fat, deboned, and tied with string. 

Then came the cooking discussion. How was I preparing it?  My marinade and roasting met with his approval, but I was under no circumstances to use a temperature higher than 180 degrees Celsius.  And did I want the bones he had just removed?  I should place them next to the lamb, cover them with some olive oil and butter, add a full head of garlic, herbes de provence, and salt.  It would make a nice jus for the meat.

I can now vouch for this recipe.  The sauce was delicious and I received the seal of Provençal cooking approval from our friends.  

vvs

At Home in Provence

9:00 at night and look at how bright it still is - we haven't even finished our apero!

vvs

Fashion Do's and Don'ts

As a recognized expert on men's fashion, I speak with authority when I say that Stanislas Wawrinka needs a new wardrobe.

Wawrinka is currently in the semi-finals at Roland Garros, also known as the French Open.  And while his play is at a high level, someone should have told him to change out of his pajamas before coming to the stadium.  Or is it his boxers?

His shorts are so ugly that the announcers are making fun of them. They even compared them unfavorably to the legendarily bad outfit that Andre Agassi wore at Roland Garros in 1999, which is quite the insult.

The networks are hoping that Wawrinka's opponent Tsonga wins today, not only because he is French but because he knows how to uphold proper standards of style.  We have to set a good example for the young, after all.

KVS

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

The boys played the girls in boules yesterday.  Guess who won?

KVS

Kissing the Neighbor Lady

When our family was here recently, our brother-in-law Jonathan remarked on how friendly all the French people he met were.  He said that in the US, the French have a reputation for being rude.  I think it comes from American travelers who only go to Paris and only in the summer, when it is hot and the city is overrun with tourists and everyone gets a little grouchy.  It would be like a French person thinking all Americans were like New York taxi drivers on a hot summer day.  Or, god forbid, like Texans.

I thought about this when we met a neighbor lady yesterday.

We were visiting our friends Stéphane and Christel, and as we walked up their driveway we met someone else arriving at the same time, so we introduced ourselves.

In France, when you meet people you know, you usually “faire les bises”, that is, kiss them on the cheeks.  Men kiss women, women kiss men, and women kiss women, though only close male friends kiss each other.

But when you first meet someone, you usually shake hands, exchange names and each say  “enchanté.”  It is the equivalent of saying, “pleased to meet you” but much classier – it means “enchanted.”  

So when we met the lady on the driveway, I expected to shake hands.  But I could tell she was wondering who we were so first I told her that we were friends of Stéphane and Christel.  I explained that we have been helping each other with French and English language skills, respectively.  The lady turned out to be Christel’s aunt.  I guess my explanation made us members of the club, so instead of a handshake we got the bises.  Very nice and friendly.

Then we walked into the house and exchanged bises with Christel, Stéphane and their daughter Elodie.  But wait, there was someone else – a neighbor lady who was just leaving.

Normally, this would be when you would shake hands.  But no, she offered up her cheek right away as we exchanged names and enchantés.  

So I kissed her.  Then she left.  And I don't even remember her name.

I guess it was kind of the French equivalent of a one-night stand, except G-rated.

Jonathan would be so pleased.

KVS

Looking for Leon

There is a road near Les Baux that we've been meaning to explore so we took a bike ride around it today.  Val pointed out that the French actor Jean Reno owns a house in Les Baux and we thought we might see it.  Reno is best known as the hitman in "Leon" and looks pretty scary so we figured we'd better be careful.

The ride was beautiful, around and through a valley with lots of rugged rocky outcroppings.  And the road itself, which started off paved, got rougher and rougher and eventually ended up being just potholes and ankle-deep gravel.  But the views were amazing.

While we never found Reno's house, we passed a couple of beautiful estates that were likely candidates. But nobody shot at us so we're not sure.

After this long ride we of course had to fortify ourselves with lunch at one of our favorite restaurants.

KVS

Guilty as Charged

At our lunch the other day with Raphael and Sandrine, we ate at a lovely outdoor café, full of people enjoying the warm spring weather.  One of the specials that day was melon with Parma ham, a dish originally from Italy but popular here in melon country.

And the locals are justifiably proud of their melons.  “You really should try this dish,” said Raphael, “the ham is nice but oh!  The melon is quite delicious.”

“I know,” I said.  “I had some melon at breakfast this morning.”

Suddenly, all conversation in the restaurant stopped and everyone looked at me.  It was like I had farted in church.  Even the waiter, carrying a heavy tray, stopped and stared.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Raphael finally said, “Well, you Americans certainly eat the craziest things for breakfast.”

Who knew?

KVS