Pont du Gard

I have a love for Roman things, ever since I read the Jack Whyte's Arthurian Saga.  I thoroughly enjoyed his description of engineering techniques to drain a lake, build a road, or protect a village.  On this vacation, we spent some time looking at the Roman influences in France.  One of our favorite adventures was with Philippe, as he drove us down a Roman road constructed around 1100.  It was only wide enough for perhaps 3 horses...which made it a bit tight for our ten passenger van.   This experience made us look for other Roman roads, and some of them were plenty frightening as they got narrower and narrower while we travelled up a village road.  The houses kept encroaching on our path, and the driver...forgot to breathe.

Another thing we made a point of looking at however, was the Pont du Gard.  Built of the start of all our centuries,  it is a fascinating structure.  It was part of a 50 km aqueduct, used to move water from one place to another.  Pont du Gard is a series of arches placed in three rows.  There are six on the bottom, 11 in the middle, and 47 on the top row.  According to the site's website, it would have taken up to 1000 men working on it all, the time, for a period of 3 to 5 years.

I actually started to cry when I saw it.  The symmetry of it appeals to my sense of order, but the realization that it was built without mortar--it's held together only be careful planning and the friction of one stone against another--was one of the most fascinating discoveries.

We could see some faint engravings on the stones, numbers of the stones, mostly.  We could see how a stone from one arch would not fit exactly on another arch, though the construction is roughly the same.  The setting sun exaggerated the yellow tones of the stones, and it was just so lovely.
But, our visit there was not without problems.  We decided to be a bit touristy, and wanted to see the aqueduct lit at night.  So we went to a rather expensive restaurant at the base of it, and quite frankly, while the food was okay, we would not normally have bothered. But we wanted to linger a little longer at this amazing site.

The lights didn't come on. The arches slid away into a darkness so complete that there wasn't even a moonbeam to highlight it.  Not only that, when we finished our dinner and climbed up the stairs to the pathway, we were quite surprised to realize that it was barely lit either.  There was one light about every two hundred metres.

I'm not fond of walking in the dark.  It makes me nervous when I can't see my feet. Nervous enough that if I think about it too long, I can't move them.  So before that happened,  I took a deep breath and started out and in seconds fell so hard that I'm surprised the Pont du Gard survived it.  It seems that I was on a sidewalk that had a curb.  I didn't see it.   There was a little bit of blood.  There was a lot of swearing.  There were a fair number of tears too.

But, I have a unique souvenir from the Pont du Gard ...my knee appears to have a permanent bump. I am writing this post a month later, and it is still there.  I just have to reach down and touch the new profile of my knee and I am immediately transported back to Roman arches and Roman roads in France.

Now how many people can say that?

Cooking School

There were a few things about cooking school that I especially loved.  It was casual (and that made it stress free).  It was in a professional kitchen with a real gas stove (I'm coveting that, a little).  It had a chef who would not let us call him Chef (his name was Pascal).  And we did it together (which was cool, because usually, only one of us cooks).

There were also a few things I didn't love.  I thought there were too many people in the class (but maybe that is because we started out with three, and that was such fun).  Nine people made it crowded.  Also, I don't think everyone wanted to be there (and honestly then, I can't figure out why pay that kind of moolah?).  Ah well.  It can't be perfect all the time.

What I think I took away from it, most of all?  I'm not afraid of certain things that I thought I was.  Like butchering meat.  Deboning things.  Whipping egg whites by hand.   Cleaning artichoke.

This trip was a gift for me, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.  I enjoyed it so much that I would go back to Provence in a heartbeat to do it all over again.  And I would go to Italy and the rest of France and to Spain and to any place that I could find a casual cooking school.  Yes, it was that much fun.  Even since we've been home, I've been trying a few things that I might not have tried before.  I'm failing a little too, but not so much that I won't keep at it.

Here then, are some of the dishes that we made....

Pumpkin Cappuccino           

Quail stuffed with onion, carrot and grapes, 

with potato and foie gras tart

Raspberry tiramisu                                              

Eggplant Papeton, with a fresh tomato sauce

Sea bass stuffed with fennel, poached in wine 

Molten chocolate cake with fig ice cream  

Herb crusted rack of lamb                            

Creme brulee with a macaron cookie.  

Salmon mousse stuffed zucchini flowers  

Pork wellington with ratatouille     

Fresh fig tart with fig ice cream  

Market Day

Let's just get this out of the way.  I love market day.  I really love it.

The first one we experienced was under the guidance of Philippe our host, and at the time, there were just four of us to go.  He took us to a little village called Isle sur la Sorgue, and then patiently led us through the maze of vendors.  The route was determined in part by the many canals that characterize the village.  We went over small bridges and on one, Philippe pointed out that it is the route for an annual boat race.  However, all the people in the boats have to actually lie down to get under the bridge itself...an interesting manoeuvre because on the other side of the bridge are little rapids that they must also get safely through.  Good timing is necessary to be successful.

The German in the family was immediately drawn to the sausage vendors.  Sausage is taken very seriously in Provence, and there are hundreds of varieties.  While there are flavours added from herbs and nuts, there are no fillers. Flavour, not filler.  Don't you think that North America could learn something from that?  I on the other hand was fascinated by the huge cheese wheels and the incredible bowls of olives and tapenades.  And then, there was the awesome array of herbs and spices.

Also at the market, colours, colours and more colours.  The typical Provencal tablecloth fabrics were laid out in rows, just waiting for someone with a serger and the ability to sew a straight line (that would so not be me, by the way).  Vendors selling scarves would flirt with me (that was fun) and some of them were beautiful (and expensive....sixty euros).    There were kids clothes.  There were ceramics.  There were umbrellas and flowers.  It was vibrant and that made me feel oh so alive.

In Isles sur la Sorgue, I loved the canals.  In Aix-en-Provence, it was the art market, in Arles it was everything.  There, we bought a picnic lunch of some finger sized sausages, amazing cheese, fabulous bread and a half bottle of wine.  We sat and ate it near the coliseum and it was lovely indeed.  On the way to Colmar, we stopped at another little market, and we bought candied nuts, apple cider, and lemon drops.  I petted a goat (so cute) and did a little jig (very little) with the local band.

Market days are the best.  I wish we had them here, but maybe I wouldn't appreciate them so much if we did.

Jamie

For most of our cooking class, there were 9 students. On our first day though, there were just the two of us and a young man named Jamie.  Jamie was on the intensive program, designed for those who want to learn all the ins and outs of the kitchen.  His room was not as grand as ours,  for he was truly staying in the servant's quarters, with a separate entrance at the back of the building. 

He did not care.  Jamie is passionate about food, and his "vacation" was spent labouring in the kitchen from just after breakfast, until all the diners had been served supper.  If we were deboning sea bass, and Jamie missed a bone in his, the chef would tell him that he would be deboning fish all day. Jamie would grin and say "bring it on".  A discussion about the different flavours in olive oil would make Jamie's eyes glisten.  He would season his beurre blanc little by little until he achieved the perfect balance...and in that process he taught me a great lesson.  At first, the concoction was really tart from the lemon juice, but with Jamie's attention, it was soon this delightfully creamy sauce.  All that he had done was add salt. Oh, and whisk the daylights out of it.  And when the chef pronounced it good,  Jamie beamed as though he had won the lottery. 

When we became a group of nine, it took only one class before everyone would lean on Jamie to help them when the chef was busy.  We had a few friendly technique competitions...I won the "deboning my fish" and "whisking egg whites" and I came close when I minced my shallot.  I completely lost the papeton challenge (but hey, I tried it at least, and most people wouldn't). But Jamie won everything else. 

And that is as it should be.  I like to cook.  Jamie lives for it.  I like to experiment.  Jamie memorizes every step and variation on a theme.   I like to make a meal, and walk away.  Jamie wants to sleep in the kitchen.  His vacation was as perfect as it could be--he leaned new skills, experienced new tastes, and hung out with the kitchen crew.  

When our week was over, Jamie went and did the same thing in Tuscany.  I felt like I was saying goodbye to a nephew, a new young friend. He was such a  delight. 

Jamie just sent us an email that he's been accepted into the Culinary Institute of America in January.  Watch for this handsome face on the culinary scene.   I can't wait to see what's going to happen next! 

So here is the awesome thing.....

In 2001, when my life was not turning out the way it was supposed to, I took a six month, temporary assignment across the country. A few weeks after I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to see a very friendly face from home.  Her name was Jo, and at 60, she had both retired and became a widow in the span of a few months.  Since her circumstances had changed too, she had taken a short term assignment as well, and we ended up living in the same hotel.

Jo was a delight.  She helped me gain perspective on my situation, and we explored the city and the surrounding area together.  We laughed, a lot.  Maybe a bit of that was helped by gin and tonic, her drink of choice, and one that I learned to enjoy as well.  Mostly though, it's because she was fearless and willing to try just about anything.  In fact, one of my favourite memories is of her trying to rollerblade in a parkade.     Did I mention she was on the plus side of 60?   Oh my gosh, it was a hilarious day.

Fast forward a few years.  Jo became ill, and eventually, we lost her too, to cancer.  That was a very sad time for me, for she had become so important to me. In my selfishness as I dealt with my own grief, I never got around to sending a card to her family thanking them for how she impacted my life.  I regretted that, especially since her last name was one of those very common names that made it impossible to find an address to send a card to when I did want to get around to it.

So imagine my surprise when we are sitting around our 'welcome' dinner with the rest of the students from our course.  We did the usual round table--who were we, why were we there, where did we work? One of the ladies said "Actually, my sister and I think you worked with our mom".

Truthfully, I didn't exactly register that their mom was Jo.  I mean, how could that be?  I was in a little town in France.  Our group had 9 people.  We were two of them.  And Jo's two daughters were two more.

I cried.  And we laughed.  And we told stories, and laughed some more.

It was one of the most singularly spectacular moments of my life.

I have some catching up to do

Boy, do I wish I took a computer with me on our trip.  I've had a few people ask about it, and I find that already I am forgetting things.  Frankly, it isn't as much fun to play catchup as it is to write my thoughts when they occurred.

Nonetheless, my aunt has asked.  My friend has asked.  My other friend has asked, and my husband has asked.  I promised, and so, I'll do the best I can over the next few days to tell you everything that happened.

When we arrived at the airport, of course we were tired, and a little bit confused.  There were some familiar things with the language, but it wasn't all computing for me.  We made it through customs, had our passports stamped and walked through the door where most people hoped to collect their luggage.  That was the first time we were grateful that we only travelled with carryon.

No sooner had we been ushered through those doors when we were faced with a really big crowd of people, all trying to figure out what was going on.  There were two soldiers with lightweight rifles doing their best to usher everyone to another side of the room.  We took our two bags and moved outside, as it seemed there would at least be a place to run to if we needed.  We didn't know if there had been another terrorist threat (there had) or if there was a problem with the building.  We only knew that there was a whole whack of people all trying to move in more or less the same direction.

Outside, we welcomed the opportunity to breathe a little easier.  But that didn't last long either because there were lots of flashing lights coming our way, and I do not like flashing lights.We needed to find a way to leave the airport.  We had planned on taking the train, but how to get to it was the question.

And Martin found the answer.  He is the one who realized that the other side of the airport seemed to be open still.  So we dodged a bit of traffic, moved around a number of people as confused as we were, and walked over there.  From there, we found our way to the train station, which was located in the airport.  I bought tickets, and away we went.

Did I say how glad we are that we just took carry-on?

Oh yay...an English keyboard!

Oh, I shouldn't get so excited but I can type more than a hundred words in English, and less than 50 in French.  So yeah, I'm a little excited.

I have stories to tell!  And I only have until Martin comes to find me to tell them.  Where to start, where to start?

I could tell you about the beautiful mountain views--and the amazing, and somewhat frightening precipices we saw on our way from Greoux en Bains to Grenoble, where we are today.  Wow, it was stunning.  It was also lovely to pull over and have a little picnic with local cheeses and bread and wine.  We found a table of sorts, watched birds that are unknown to us and spent a nice hour there.  It is brisk and a bit chilly up there, but still our weather is holding at about 15-20 C. 

I could tell you about how my French is starting to fail me.  Yesterday it didn't seem that I could be understood by anyone.  The accent is different here and my ear is not so tuned.  I felt stupid too actually, because I am missing the hard questions like "d'ou venez-vous?"  (where do you come from?),  But I can make a hotel reservation, make small talk with the friendly servers, and some of the harder things.  Oh well.

I could also tell you about how we found a place that let us have a spa for 10 euros each.  We had private use of a whirlpool, a steam room and a sauna, as well as some lovely chairs to relax in and some full body COLD showers.  At home, it costs around $50 for a visit...so this was a treat for us, and very relaxing.

We haven't really done much shopping, but the markets are great fun.  We have found a few small treasures, and there is one thing that I wished I picked up but didn't.  I saw them before I knew what to do with them...small creme brulee dishes in the most gorgeous shade of red.  There was something different about the glaze.  However, we learned how to make creme brulee two days later, and as soon as we did, I wanted the dishes.  Unfortunately, there was not another opportunity to go there, and I've not found anything else as nice.  Ah well.

Oh, I SHOULD tell you about Joel Durand chocolates.  Now, it is true, I am a chocolate lover, but this man has taken it to a whole new level.  He has combined flavours like szechuan pepper and dark chocolate, lavender or thyme or rosemary and chocolate, and they all work brilliantly.  It's complex and interesting...he is my new favorite chocolatier (sorry Bernard!).  I'm going to try and order some more.

Well, that's all the time I have...but I have appreciated the chance to share some things.  I fear that I will forget all about it by the time I get home, and there is so much more to tell.   For example, I think my mom would be quite surprised to learn that I have butchered my own rack of lamb, handled the cleaver and still have all my fingers...but that is for another day.

bye for now...we are on our way to Geneva.  Can you believe it?