Day 3: we cure

LOOKS LIKE WE SURVIVED, YOUGUYS. Successfully burned the chimney-cleaning log, didn't poison ourselves. I assume it worked, though I don't know how we could possibly confirm that short of sticking our arms up there, which I can tell you I won't be doing, especially since finding a dead bird in the stove when we opened it a week ago. (It has since been cremated, another first. What a great year this is turning out to be!)

Today's adventure: curing salmon! Well, technically it's been curing for three days, but now: we eat! I got a salmon curing kit for Christmas from my awesome SIL Marie and the first one we decided to try was the beetroot cure. Just LOOK at this gorgeous colour:

I don't know why I haven't done this before, it was super fun and easy and the results were spectacular. Just take your salt/sugar/spice combo - in this case, a lovely pre-mixed beetroot one by these fellas -

And then rub it all over yer salmon. Mmmmm, get fresh with it. Then wrap it in clingfilm:

and weigh it down in the fridge with a stack of books for a few days (a delightful, continual surprise every time you open the door if you have a memory like mine: what is this murder mystery doing in here next to the orange juice??) - and voila!

Why this fish so sexy?

I'm now well excited to try the other two cures that came in the kit, especially since I'll be able to source the fish from our local fishmonger in London, who has an impeccable selection AND speaks English, unlike the French woman who helped us in the market here, who - when we used our translation app to explain we'd be curing it - gave us a look like we were insane, which instantly made me question the fillet she gave us. Ah, well, what's the worst that can happen? (IS THIS WHEN WE POISON OURSELVES?)

We're heading back to London today! It's always hard leaving France - well, maybe not this time, I'm ready to relax in a home that has an astroturfed garden - but alas, life and work beckon. I've got a great book to copyedit and Al's got to get back to running Brexit. 

Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow!

Hugs,

Essss

Day 2: we burn

WELLYOUGUYS this day has been full of ups and downs.

Let's start with an up: I got my own pair of gardening gloves! I took an unnaturally long time picking them out at the DIY store. There were just too many to choose from and they all had a series of impenetrable rating systems that I studied in great detail despite not understanding a word of French. At last, I picked the pair with a very very good score at some things and a mildly poor score at some other things (no doubt thorn-defense) and I admit I was swayed not a little by their brilliant colour:

GLAMOUR GLOVES!

The day even started out well: there was a sunrise so rosy it was definitely impervious to the mass amounts of attempted destruction that awaited:

This was followed by the trip to the BricoDIY where I got the aforementioned gloves and a chimney cleaner for ADVENTURE PART TWO OF THE DAY. 

Then: I got to burning. Or rather, I TRIED to burn. And tried. And tried. And tried. And despite my fire-whispering prowess (IT IS A THING) that can ignite our wood-burner in no time, this laurel was JUST. TOO. GREEN. There was not enough lighter fluid in the world that would convince it to burn. No, no, I just smoked heck out of it. It was wonderful, in that headache-inducing, coughing fits, weeping sort of way. 

And so, sadly, I had to give up. BUT WE AREN'T DONE, ARE WE. Because we can't just leave that knee-high pile of cuttings down half the width of the garden to smother the grass, right? So, if I cannot burn it, I must . . . remove it. 

So I started hauling. I say *I* because Al was inside at his computer this whole time, having to do actual work-work that pays bills, not this exciting, futile work that burns lungs and arms. So there I go, gathering one armful of branches and leaves at a time, carrying the bundle down to the foot of the garden to deposit it where we don't mind if the grass goes a little bit dead because that's where the creek runs, and left unchecked, the growth down there would go head-high in a matter of minutes. (We will ignore for the moment the temptation I had to toss it all straight into the water.) Al was able to join me about halfway through and - heartened by my excellent mood - helped me make short work of the rest. So now we have this:

YOU SEE THAT? A big ole dump of branches, like we didn't trim the hedge at all, we merely rebuilt it in a new location. Alas, there it will remain until it dries and we can try to light it again. Or until I sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and shove it all into the stream.

But guys, good news: there is still burning to be done today, which, in the innocence of time, I assume will be a success: we have got a toxic log to burn in our wood-burning stove tonight that - we've been told by local friends - cleans our chimney for us: 

Once again, no idea what this says, but I'm assuming it's along the lines of 'wipes out tar and soot, the way your mother used to!' I do know our friends told us - under no uncertain terms - NOT TO OPEN THE FIREPLACE DOOR ONCE IT'S LIT LEST WE INHALE IT AND DIE. So this is definitely organic. 

So today: we still burn. 

Tomorrow, upon survival: we eat.

Day 1: we trim

OMGYOUGUYS. I successfully managed to avoid MyBloWriMo in 2018 but here we are, just one day into 2019, and I'm starting this year off the way I intend to continue: by forcing you to pay attention to me.

This month's theme - an idea that came from my lovely friend Hannah - is Tryanuary, except instead of enjoying tasty new beverages, I'm going to do something new to me every day. Today: I have trimmed a hedge for the first time.

Review: terrible. What even IS gardening? Not something I'm mad about, I can tell you that now. I can't feel my fingers from all the cuts (there were hidden rose vines intertwined throughout so reaching in to grab branches was like a game of Russian roulette; you never knew if you'd get a thrilling fistful of thorns. I wasn't wearing gardening gloves because we only have one pair and Alan had the lion's share of the sawing so he got them. I was going in bare, like the tough I am). My arms feel like jello from taking down tree branches overhead for hours. Just LOOK at what we did:

Making progress.

Entire seasons passed.

SO. MANY. BRANCHES.

My arms are so limp my hands are just flopping on the keyboard.

And now we've got to get rid of them somehow. You can guess our plan:

Tomorrow, we burn.

Should've seen this coming

OMGYOUGUYS. I can't even begin to post today; I woke up with Lurgy 2.0 and have only left the bed to climb into the bath, and only left the bath to curl onto the couch, where I've been moaning/flopping around dramatically all day, alternating blankets pulled up to my chin - WHY IS IT SO COLD IN THIS HOUSE ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME - only to lash them back off again - WHY IS THIS THE HOTTEST HOUSE IN FRANCE OMG I'M DYING WHAT DO YOU HAVE THE THERMOSTAT SET TO? Alan has been a saint among men, making me tea and exchanging the empty tissue boxes for new ones while I groan about my swollen throat and aching ears - pushing and pulling at them in case he doesn't know where they're located - which are all signs to anybody who suffers from chronic tonsilitis that It's That Time Again.

Super thrilled that this year's bout has fallen on NYE, except that we actually had a party to attend and I was planning on trying to make The Big Hair work. I had even packed a dress *gazes mournfully at wardrobe* for the occasion. It was an international affair, too, with friends from Europe and Brazil that we haven't seen in ages, and it would've been a wild catch up.

Ah, well. There's a soup in the freezer, I guess that will be fun, too.

I don't have any pictures for you today because my phone is upstairs and that may as well be Kilimanjaro, but I did take a lot of yesterday's nachos so if you can just please imagine, that would be great.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to tear this cardigan off and hang myself out the window for a second, because I'm pretty sure Al's got us at 26 degrees right now.

Big hugs and lots of love,
Essss

This pretty much sums up how we spend our time here

So far today we've had breakfast (croissants, lardons, eggs), lunch (lasagna), and for a snack - because of course when you do nothing all day, you're mysteriously starving - yet more raclette. Our raclette machine may be the greatest French flea market find yet. For only ten euros, we get to gorge ourselves on melted cheese ALL THE TIME.

This is the raclette cheese we get from the supermarket - it comes in packages like this, already trimmed to the right size - for the laziest of us, natch, which is to say anyone who uses a raclette grill - and in a variety of styles. Here we have regular, pepper, and herbs de provence (my personal favourite). 

Then we just stick it in our super modern machine: 

And WHAMMO! A minute later, GOO TOWN. 

Saturday I'm going to experiment making nachos using it, JUST BECAUSE I CAN.

See you tomorrow! I'll be starting a proofread - because one can't be on cheese holiday forever - and it's a book I'm really looking forward to.

Big love and lots of love,
Essss

Greetings from the French tundra

OMGYOUGUYS. I forgot how cold it gets here at FranceHouse when we haven't been in a couple months and the heater is set to 8 degrees (just warm enough to keep the pipes from freezing, not enough to actually warm the space). Our olive oil and soaps are solids, I can't feel my hands, and I'm wrapped in a coat and scarf while sitting in front of (nearly on top of) the fire. We've got the radiators cranking now, but it's likely to be a day or so before it's warm enough to let a bare foot touch the floor.

Once I'm done with this post, I'm jumping straight into a hot bath and I won't get out until I'm sweating.

I forgot how the village decorates the square in front of our windows for every occasion. Currently this is our view:

Best part: the Santa nearly out of the frame on the top right corner. He's climbing the post with a rope, I can only assume to hang the Star of Bethlehem. 

The rest of the day contains nothing, and then tomorrow we have nothing, and then Friday the landscaper is coming by to talk about decking for the garden this summer, and then after he's gone, we may go to the supermarket for more bread or the chemist for some cold medication - we have both been in contact with young people over the holidays and have the congestion to prove it - and then nothing again. So get excited for a lot of TOP QUALITY CONTENT this week. Thrilling stuff ahead.

Big love and lots of hugs,

Essss

Road Tripppp

And we are home. We drove ten hours on five hours' sleep, entertained by S-Town and Hamilton, and now we've flopped into bed and I am going to share with you the dramatic sky that France farewelled us with. Tomorrow is the last day of MyBloWriMo so this seems fitting.

 It all started off so innocently, clouds as gentle as lambs

 Then they got lower

 and darker

- pretended violence -

and then rolled like the sea

It never acted on its threat though - it was all bark today

See you tomorrow! It's going to be a rough one - the first day back after a long holiday is always so - but I've got my to-do list (so long it reaches the floor like a cartoon scroll) and I'm just going to knock things out one at a time and hope for the best.

Big hugs,
Essss

Cleaning and sleeping and . . . that's basically it.

Since we have last 'talked,' I have done the following:

- Slept. This was the majority of it. I had a dream that I went to a festival with my sister and nieces and they thought it was funny to lose me so I couldn't find the tent at the end of the night but little did they know I have abandonment issues and I LOST MY BLOODY MIND and threw my sister's toothbrush in the dirt when I finally found them. It was excellent (sorry, sissy).

- Scrubbed the toilets, wiped the windowsills, swept the cellar, brought in the outdoor furniture. Wolf hoovered, a strange and unanticipated skillset he has. Man is THOROUGH.

- Ate breakfast, drank some Cantillon apricot juice, wished I had some more Cantillon apricot juice.

Current status: settling in with our books and about to enjoy the last day in our garden. Tomorrow's the big drive back!

See you from the road!

Big hugs,
Essss

Happy Fosse Friday!

YOUGUYS what a day. The sun has come back out in strength after a dappled week and we resumed our splashing in the pool and dusky bbq’ing. We just had a pile of sausages and as we finished, Wolf says, ‘So we’ll have dinner later, right?’ It's 6 p.m. so apparently he’s fully acclimated to European dining hours. He'll be wanting to eat again as I'm climbing into bed with my book.

Here is a picture of a tree in the middle of a patio. Not our tree, not our patio, but I liked it so here you go.

We’re having more adventures with our septic system! We now have a LEAK, where the pipe enters the concrete tank. It DRIPS, youguys. DRIPS. Just imagine for a moment the collection bucket that Al has to empty every day. Our builder was meant to come out and fix it for us but then he got sick so instead he talked us through how to make this special concrete and apply it to the joint via Skype. I did the hard part of holding the phone camera while Al slopped around. The problem was, the leak never slowed down enough for the plaster to dry, so just when we'd get the right amount on, the concrete would get soaked through and then fall off in a big wet glop. So. It’s still not fixed. Phil saw the extent of the problem, though, so will be coming out next week and replacing the whole pipe and fitting. Or something like that. THIS IS NOT A SUBJECT MATTER I WANT TO LEARN ABOUT. (Plus I already have Claire, who knows it all.)

Now it’s Cold Shower O’Clock – I am covered with sweat and grass clippings from mowing the lawn and no way second dinner is happening until I’ve cleaned up.

See you tomorrow for our last day in France! It will be a day of eating the fridge bare, cleaning the house, and packing the car, a thrilling time all around.

Big hugs,
Essss

Should have left it to the pro's

OMGYOUGUYS does ANYone know how to replace a bike tire? BECAUSE I SURE AS HECK DON'T.

I got a bicycle repair kit and watched a youtube video and thought, 'How hard can it be??' and then I tried to take it apart and like so much glitter off a unicorn's tail, everything dissolved magically into the wind. Pieces. Just pieces everywhere. I successfully managed to take out the old inner tubes and put in the new (using a tire lever took two more youtube videos) but the reassembly has simply proved too much. I eventually got so frustrated I just crammed the tires back on - forcefully, too angry for anything like a gentle touch, no, no, this bicycle needed a safe word - and then went about chasing down every nut and bolt I could find littering the pavement and wrenched them onto wherever I could find a nut and bolt hole. While it's all *technically* in one piece now, everything is sort of . . . crooked. Like it wants to be sobbing in the shower, like it will need therapy to feel whole again. Also the brake pads are hanging out all footloose and fancy free, and those seem like a piece that SHOULD be secure. The only solution I can possibly think of now is to throw the whole thing in the bin and call it a day. I'm sure it will thank me for it.

We did have ONE tire success today! We at last got a replacement for the chipped death trap. So we can safely make our return drive to Engrand this weekend. 

Tonight we are having yet more foie gras for supper (I have a jar, it is open, it is going on everything) and a glass of barrel juice has been poured. It's a quiet one, perfect for one of our last nights here.

Big hugs,

Essss

Bastides and brocantes and still no tire

YOUGUYS know what's happening right now? Garlic bread in the oven, except in addition to the garlic, we've inserted slabs of foie gras. WHY IS FOIE GRAS SO GOOD. The gout is going to overtake me at any turn.

You know what made our day super special? Tire Place #2 also pbbbbt'd our request for a new tire. Apparently taking money for tires is just not a thing tire places here are interested in. They sent us to yet another shop, one even farther away, where we arrived in a delirious humour, fully expecting another rejection of goods and services. But when we arrived, and waited through a massive queue - in hindsight, a sign they are the only ones doing any work - we met a mechanic who took one look at the chip in our tire, took out a tool and poked at the cords fraying out, laughed, and proclaimed: 'DEAD.' What a good time! They did, however, put in an order for the tire we needed with a request to return tomorrow, so WHAT A RELIEF WE ARE FINALLY ABLE TO BUY A THING WE WANT TO BUY.

Our day was not a COMPLETE waste of driving around mechanics' shops, though. We got to hit another brocante! There are not enough words for how much I love these markets. They are like a flea market's classier, more refined uncle. Sure, you won't find anything you can afford, but OH THE SELECTION. It's just step after step of swooooon. And when you DO find something, watch out. Today's haul included a beautiful set of stemware and an ancient ice bucket, a clear and unnecessary indication of our priorities.

Pictured here: outdoor furniture that is not in our future

Today's was in one of the Bastide* towns, Beaumont, which we inexplicably love even though it only has some overpriced antique shops and a basic bistrot to recommend it. I think there may be a football pitch, though, which would explain Al's affection.

I SMELL BREAD I GOTTA GO. Have a lovely night, and wish us luck with Tire Drama, Part IV, tomorrow! 

Big hugs,
Esssss

*I think this means 'hilltop' or 'fortress' or 'medieval English' or 'brown' or something like that. Look it up if you care.

Sweet nothing Tuesday

Youguys know what we did today? We slept in til ten (TEN! Previous to this I was waking at the 7 a.m. bells so this was thrilling), then I took a bath, then we read our books, then we napped, then we ate pasta, and then we went out to the garden and read our books and napped some more. Next up we're eating a pizza and watching a movie.

Needless to say, this is all very photogenic activity. In lieu of actual content, I will share photos of last Saturday in Sarlot and the drive through Cahors.

They have a market! Of course. Iz France. Theirs is Wednesday and Saturday and I'm telling you because this blog is my brain-dump and this is a thing I will forget.

I could easily imagine intrigues involving monks and dark alleys here.

More market! V touristy, natch, but they have EVERYthing.

My favourite part was my lunchtime tagliatelle, that came with duck gizzard, smoked duck breast, and foie gras. NAILED IT YOUGUYS. Did I mention the obsession with duck around here? IT'S DUCKTOWN DORDOGNE

Drove around, saw more more windy river

It was a nice day. Would do again, 9/10

Remember that chip on our tire's sidewall? Took it to the tire guy and he looked at it and indicated - with hand-flapping and that ppbbbt sound that they must teach all French males - that it was fine, we wouldn't die. We drove off in some trepidation and just got a second opinion from our mate Phil who said FIX IT OR IT'LL BURST TURNING A CORNER. So that's excellent. Thank God we didn't just spend all weekend driving hours around the French countryside. Woooooo! Livin' recklessly!

Alright, time to put the pizza in! More tomorrow, when we try to convince a different tire place to take our money, go to a brocante, and quite possibly hit some barrel juiceries to stock up for London.

Big hugs,

Esss

Gardens and lardons

I should've blogged before breakfast and black pudding languor set in, but hunger called and my stomach rules over brain. I had some extra onion and red pepper and fried them up with some lardons and boudin noir before whacking the whole rich mess into a tabasco-splashed omelette that was then crammed into a croissant smeared with garlic soft cheese.

I'm pretty sure this is what they call a power breakfast.

Today I am going to walk you through the gardens of Maqueyssac, where we went for a candlelight stroll last Thursday at sunset.

The Dutch go for candlelight jogs. Explains so much about early exploration.

The above is the most-photographed part of the gardens, so we mistakenly went in thinking it was the ENTIRE garden (research is not our strong suit). Imagine our surprise when they handed us a map with a variety of trails and at least an hour of walking ahead of us (it could easily be two if you had one of the following: a desire to see every nook and cranny, a child in tow, or a personality that lends itself to a leisurely stroll). 

All of the paths and their offshoots had something to merit them: a gazebo, a statue, a lookout, or in this case, a . . . building. (I could look it up in the informational booklet but it's so far AWAY in a DRAWER. Let's just admire it ignorantly together and move on.)

The view from the belvédère (a new word! Means 'scenic viewpoint', and I am determined to use it daily: 'Excellent use of duck in this restaurant, now can you please point me to the nearest belvédère?')

 

The Dordogne, winding its way through the countryside like so many Dutch children in a labrynth

A hot air balloon, just when we thought the gardens were overdoing the whole 'beautiful moment in space and time' thing. When we first saw it, Alan - usually scared of heights - exclaimed, 'I'd like to ride in a hot air balloon!' 

Until it did this:

'Nvrmnd.'

Speaking of heights, part of the garden had a net-tube you could use to climb through a section of forest. We considered giving it a go but we were getting hangry and knew there was a sandwich shop hidden somewhere down the path. We promised ourselves we'd come back to it but then twenty more minutes of scavenging occurred and we never made the return journey. (Hunting for food in the forest is HARD, youguys.) I def want to play in here, though, so next time friends come down with us, let's do it:

As we paused to snap a pic, Alan goes, 'Are they walking over HEADS?' I look down and WHAT THE:

 Is this entire activity a metaphor for the history of France? 

Probably the best part of this particular path were the pictures they had installed throughout, by some artist that is also mentioned in the booklet. 

Artist: 'But you said you wanted MAGICAL. That's what I DID.' Director: 'Indeed.'

'I just didn't think it would be quite so . . . literal.'

'FFS'

Then we found the sandwich shop! We were thrilled, even though FRENCH SANDWICHES.

Baguette sandwiches are the WORST. Tearing this bread with your teeth is its own drama (nothing makes me feel alive like crust shredding the roof of my mouth), let alone how anemic the filling always is. So DRY. A single sliver of ham, perhaps a slice of cheese. No moist-maker of any kind, not even a smear of butter. It's a chewy desert of a sandwich. 

France, you do so many things right, but this is not one of them.

Refreshed by stomachs filled with bread-sludge, we kept going. 

I'd like to say this tree tunnel was so long that night fell, but we actually returned because there was a jazz band hidden in a clearing and we had to find them. 

Come on, this isn't funny, where are you

OH IN THE BIG MANICURED CLEARING. THAT'S FINE WE KNEW IT ALL ALONG IT WAS SO OBVIOUS YOU'RE TERRIBLE AT THIS

And last but not least, a sunset aperitivo

The whole night - most likely because the art set the mood - was enchanting.

We have a stormy morning ahead so the plan is make some plum jam (our garden came with a plum tree! Our tiny London garden did too, come to think of it . . . bizarre) and replace our bicycles' tires so we can take an afternoon ride when the sun returns. (WHEN, Sun, you hear us? Not IF.)

Big hugs and lots of love,

Essss