It’s a strange phenomenon, but as winter loosens its iron grip and the first spring bulbs begin to feel their way into the exhilarating air of a Quercy February, my mind takes a retrograde step. I start to think of truffles.
I imagine it happens this way. November is too early and often still warm. December is the usual frantic stuffed-bird, fat pudding, vast quantities of everything, festive season. January is devoted to repairing the ravages of the festive season, lean, calm and frugal. By February my usual buoyancy has returned and I’m ready for a little deep, dark, intensely indulgent deliciousness. I don’t think I’m alone either, but whilst most do it with chocolates – around about Valentine’s Day – I do it with truffles.
It all started for me this year when I went to visit a couple of friends of mine – a pair of particularly wise old owls. Their knowledge of botany is a constant source of delight, and I sat in their sunny conservatory sipping my Lapsang Souchong and entering gamely into a profound discussion on a reliable organic cure for Codling Moth. We chatted about this and that, watched a tree creeper mousing its way up their giant oak and thrashed out the probable chances of success for my maiden apple trees. Read More »
Chestnuts
Happy Birthday to You, Squashed Tomatoes and Stew!
Autumn has seeped inexorably into the south in the last few days. I prowled around Prayssac market this morning admiring box after box of fat, glossy chestnuts and tempting over-sized quinces. Cardoons are beginning to appear and knobbly, pink Jerusalem artichokes. All the vegetable stalls have an abundance of late-season tomatoes, and they don’t seem to be diminishing… seasonal tastes are changing and the tomato glut is beginning to tell, prices have dropped to rock bottom and still they can’t sell them all. The café and restaurant menus are undergoing a subtle change too. Earthy soups, spiked with Quercy saffron. Guinea fowl, deliciously pot roasted and served with lardons and chestnuts. Desserts of apple and pear, quince and walnut replace the soft fruits and frothy, frivolous confections of high summer. It’s food to go walking on. Read More »
Ripe Figs
The last of the season’s fêtes drew to a close at the weekend. The early morning light revealed a Coke can rolling casually down the street and tattered streamers flapping gently in the warm breeze. The tourists have gone and the lazy, hazy, crazy days are over, but the hot southern summer lingers on.
The famous vineyards of the region are heavy with fruit, we have had no significant rain for three months and the grapes are cooking in the searing heat. They cannot be artificially watered if they are to produce an AOC wine and there is no likelihood of any rain on the horizon. No other crop could stand the pace. Read More »
Apricots
July heralds the start of the tourist season here in southern France. Markets swell to five times their winter size, chefs sharpen their knives in eager anticipation and the rest of us try to remember where we found that tiny nook that was always available to park the car. But in congested Cahors, things have changed a little, with the opening of the long awaited Parking de l’Amphitheatre. Why is she telling us about a car park for heaven’s sake? I hear you all cry from your collective desks in the grey north. Well hush and I’ll illuminate. This is not just any old car park, it should have three Michelin stars and a mention in every guide book worth its salt. It is a work of art, a day out on its own. You descend into the gleaming depths of a brand new underground parking area, and are confronted by the staggeringly beautiful remains of Cahors’ ancient Roman amphitheatre. There it is, all laid out for you to see, with detailed guide and a plan to show you just how it must have appeared in its glorious past. All this and parking thrown in. Fabulous. When you have feasted your eyes enough, you will want to ascend to the sunlit place, now beautifully landscaped and planted with trees, to stroll and muse and end up in one of the cafes on the boulevard. Read More »
Moissac
Out on the terraces a thousand thermometers boil, cicadas scream from the trees and the oleanders have shaken off their reticence and burst into a riot of bloom. It’s high summer and a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of windsurfing. This can be a fortunate circumstance for me, because the resident man’s favourite puddle for this sort of daredevil activity is the huge lake caused by the confluence of the rivers Tarn and Garonne. It’s just south of the historic city of Moissac, and that happens to be a very convenient spot for me to meet a friend from the Gers, it was time for a highly indulgent lunch. This is one of the perks of the laid-back lifestyle in southern France. When the going gets hot, drop everything and cool off, which is just what we did, in our varying ways, last Thursday. Read More »
Lemons on our Tree
Welcome to spring in the Quercy where the last few days have been as warm and wonderful as May. My lemon trees have been hauled out of their winter quarters to waft their delicious scent over the sunlit terrace; they’re chock full of waxy blossom and in dire need of a few bees. The herb gardens have had an explosion of tender new growth too, creating another fragrant assault on the senses whenever one happens to brush past. Almond trees have shyly unfurled their pale pink petals and, most significant of all, the lizards who’ve spent the freezing winter months holed up in deep stone cracks have started to creep out and sun themselves on rocky outcrops. Summer is just a few degrees away. Read More »
Cahors Market
Whilst England shivered under a blanket of snow, all last week the Quercy languished under sparkling blue skies. They lured me out for the day on Wednesday. It was market day in Cahors and by the time I rounded the chilly corner of the Rue Marechal Foch into the blazing sunshine opposite the cathedral the morning was well advanced. I exchanged some halting badinage with one of my favourite stall holders about the state of the English weather, bought an armful of magnificent leeks, admired the truffle he had unexpectedly unearthed that morning and moved on to the man with the birds. Read More »
Autumn Vines
We were to arrive at 12.30 on a Sunday afternoon – which means at least half an hour later as naturally nobody ever arrives on time in France. We were looking forward to this encounter, but with some trepidation, as our neighbours speak absolutely no English. This is fair enough of course and on its own we would have been able to cope with it quite well, but they add to this minor hurdle by having extremely strong southwestern accents. This means that when confronted with a polite: Read More »
Café Noir
Lunch in this café is a one-menu-for-all affair, and very good it is too. I began with a small plate of shiny, plump violet and black olives, a bowl of cornichons and a slice of nutty, air-dried ham from Bayonne. The bread came from the bakery on the other side of the church, a good chewy, yeasty flute, to be consumed with pace and care. I refused a glass of wine, to the frank amazement of my neighbouring diners. They were workmen in dusty overalls, cold and hungry, their bellies budging the table to and fro as they reached for the bread or salt. Read More »
Wild Fruit Harvest
The last few weeks of summer are lazy. The mercury is boiling in a thousand thermometers and nobody feels inclined to move.
Vignerons prowl slowly round the vines, squinting anxiously at distant clouds. Holidaymakers prowl round the little villages, cameras at the ready, squinting curiously through ancient stone doorways and posing in front of the old chapel; the rest of us do as little as possible in the heat of the day, and wait until the cool of the evening to conduct any serious business. Eating, drinking, flirting and partying are the most serious, naturally, but even the more sober pursuits, such as harvesting – the combine-harvesters work all night – and of course shopping, are done in the evening. Read More »
Prayssac Market
Glorious August in southwest France lures tourists as a buddleia in full bloom lures butterflies. The heat, the holiday atmosphere that pervades every little town and village, and the outstanding food and wine available at every turn, have all contributed to make this once neglected little rural backwater one of the holiday hotspots of Europe. For decades the overworked masses have swarmed down from the frozen North to the beaches of the Mediterranean, but gradually, very gradually, tourists have worked inland. They’ve stopped en route, made forays into hitherto untented territory, and discovered to their amazement that the beautiful Quercy holds more attractions than they had believed possible. Now, during the two holiday months, the population more than doubles and nowhere is this more obvious than in the markets. They swell in season, to four or five times their winter size, jammed with lithe blondes in skimpy shorts (much appreciated by some of the locals) and enormous bellies in lively shirts. Read More »
Picture Window
High summer in the Quercy and the skies are as blue as the wild cornflowers that line every field. Scarlet and pink geraniums foam from every windowsill, whilst on the limestone cliffs helichrysum and santolina bloom riotously on bone-dry outcrops of rock. Out in the immaculately groomed vineyards grapes are beginning to swell. Dogs lie panting in the shade; cats lie dozing in the sun and lizards scuttle hither and thither with newly minted energy.
I haul myself lethargically round the throbbing markets. Courgettes are proliferating faster than the Quercynoise can eat them; the stalls are overflowing with slender green and yellow fruits, jostling for position with the ubiquitous heap of haricots verts and napped by a sturdy column of tomato crates. Read More »
Cherries
A month in which the residents of the Quercy prepare for the long, hot summer season. All along the boulevard in Cahors the little cafes and boulangeries that fringe this wonderful street have laid tables and chairs on the wide pavements. The established restaurants and bistros billow out in all directions screened from the road by strategically placed oleanders and potted olive trees. Short-sleeved waiters shimmy back and forth with trays brimming with the evocative drinks of summer, Perrier menthe and Coca Cola – in a bottle of course – cool foaming beers, Orangina and delicious iced tea. A deft hand removes the bottle tops whilst still balancing the loaded tray on the other hand – how do they do that? Read More »
Market Flowers
Welcome to lovely May in the Quercy, perhaps the most beautiful month of the year. It’s the month of flowers – and indeed fabulous flower festivals are being held in tiny stone villages all over the country. In my hillside garden the oleanders are in bud, the olives are putting out their new silvery leaves and chilly lizards are sunning themselves on numerous crumbling walls. The vigorous old Gallica rose by the stone steps leading to my kitchen door has burst into a thousand fragrant blooms and the many cistus’, not to be outdone, unfold their delicate, papery petals each morning, only to drop them all again each evening. Read More »
Paques en Quercy
It is going to be an early Easter, and in the Quercy a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of food – the other matter being on his mind all year round.
All the markets are stuffed to bursting with bitter spring greens, tender and delicious; points de chou, broccoli de pays, navet and colza. The fabulous poultry stalls are lining up duckling and guinea fowl, pigeon – still considered a delicacy in this land of gastronomy, and correspondingly expensive – and delectable little quail. It’s a family time, and feasting is what most families will do for much of Easter day. We will have family visiting too, and we will take them to one of our favourite little restaurants, tucked away and almost anonymous – as most good restaurants are – in an old converted house in Castelfranc. Read More »
Welcome to the Quercy in the sparkling springtime!
Cowslips
We’ve finally shaken off the last of the winter clouds and spirits are soaring. All along the grassy banks little darns of lemon yellow have suddenly spread to become huge patches of glorious cowslips. The willows are a delicious lime green, the almonds and wild cherries laden with delicate white blossom.
In the towns and villages café tables have spread onto the pavements, overflowing with people enjoying the first few outdoor lunches of the year, their pale faces raised to the sun, the clink of glasses a fitting celebration.
In the markets the produce has changed completely. Gone are the stalwart cabbages and leeks, elbowed aside by the glamorous drama queens of spring, asparagus and strawberries. The first of the new crop of broad beans has appeared, there are exquisite new peas and potatoes, sprouting broccoli, herbs and a dozen varieties of new spring greens. Read More »
