Cherries and what they tell you

Anyone who goes to a marché in Paris always knows what fruit or vegetable is in season because there will suddenly be stand after stand of green beans or asparagus or peaches or plums or …
The same is true of the supermarket – those items are usually the promos.
And the same, of course, is true of the marchés in villages all over France, ‘tho the produce there may indeed vary by region. Normandy has apples; the Midi has apricots.
But what separates those who live in a village or who know someone who lives in a village from the tourists is that they will rarely buy the in-season produce at a market. They either know someone who grows the stuff and always has extra or they know where to find it for free.
Since it’s June, cherries are a classic example.
Just before I left California, I was shopping at Whole Foods – the first cherries of the season! Only $4.00/lb. Who could resist? Somehow my little bag of cherries was $6.00 but they were worth it.
Then, I made my first trip to a market the day I arrived in France, what did I see but the first cherries of the season. Only 4€/kilo. I knew a bargain. And this time my little bag of cherries was only 3€ but with the exchange rate, I wasn’t sure that I had made out so well.
Then, once I got settled down here, it hit me. Why did I buy cherries?
My afternoon walk on Tuesday confirmed my suspicion. I came home with a bag full of white cherries. At least I hadn’t bought those!
The next few days, however, were worse. Not only did I gather a good quart's worth, this time of red cherries (yes, the ones I had bought), but when I dropped by a neighbor’s to say a quick hello, I was sent home with another kilo or so -- they, too, had taken a walk and had no room in the fridge for their bounty.
So, what do you do when the unthinkable happens – too many cherries.
That’s why clafoutis were invented.

The Curse of the Pyrénées - 2

Well the good news is that the weather today in those elusive mountains was just as bad as yesterday and the weather here was splendid.
But I did get a question about the “Lourdes sidebar” so this seems as good a time as any to provide some closure to the latest Pyrénées fiasco.
Back to Marguerite de Navarre. After carefully noting all the places mentioned in the prologue to the Heptameron, I did what literary nerd would do: Google them to plot my pilgrimage route.
It was then it became clear how strange this pilgrimage was. Marguerite’s geography was a reflection what was politically important to the French royal family, especially dealing with the lords of the Béarn. My map notations for the area had the Gave de Pau, the river that blocked Marguerite’s travelers as they tried to regain Tarbes. Perhaps that was a metaphor for an obstinate opponent. Of course, that river runs through Lourdes.
So, here I was planning on visiting obscure abbeys and seemingly inconsequential towns (unless, of course, you ski). Then it hit me, to do this I would have to drive through Lourdes, where Bernadette (later to be sainted -- see the 1942 film “the Song of Bernadette” ) saw the BVM some 19 times in 1858. Lourdes hit the miracle map and pilgrims began flocking there the next year. Now the Holy Grotto is a site visited by millions of pilgrims and tourists each year.
And, I did exactly that, drive through, noting that this weekend was the bikers (as in motorcycles) pilgrimage to Lourdes. I wonder what they will ask the Virgin for.

The Curse of the Pyrénées

Imagine your vacation house is about 100, 150 miles away from some of the most dramatic mountain countryside in the world. You know of course that ski trips (especially if you don’t ski) always have winter weather hazards but when the snow no longer covers the ground, you can have access the a national park that can rival Yosemite or a network of castles that simply rise out of the rocks. It should be a snap to take a long day trip or a quick over-nighter and take advantage of all the Pyrénées have to offer.

It should be but that’s where the curse of the Pyrénées comes in. On a clear day, you see the mountains from the town and you think, let’s go to the Pyrénées. Sometimes when it rains where you are, the mountains are bathed in glorious sunshine. You know you should never trust the weather reports – Google tells me it’s sunny despite the fact I ‘m getting drenched. But how many times have I headed up to those mountains only to be turned back by a raging storm … truth be told, in 20 years, you can count the successful Pyrénées trips on one hand.

But,you take a leap of faith and say, go for it. After all, it’s June, how bad could it be?

Everything goes well until you hit the turn-off that goes up the mountain pass.

Now, at this point, what I need to say is that about 540 years, Marguerite de Navarre, sister of François I, king of France, wrote a novel about travelers stranded in Pyrénées by the torrential downpours after they had visited the spa at Cauterets. I had always wanted to see Cauterets and the Abbeys of Saint-Savin and Notre Dame de Sarrance where the group eventually stayed. There they passed their time telling each other stories while waiting for new bridge to be constructed that would allow them to cross the river and return home. (There’s a funny sidebar to this about the town of Lourdes but that will wait for another time.)

Nonetheless, I headed up when almost every other car was coming down. And, I did reach Cauterets but by that time rain had increased so I was faced with a no-win choice: stay over-night and hope that the weather would improve or go back home.

I opted for the latter, took a few photos, found the Abbey of Saint-Savin and paid my homage. Then, reluctantly back to the autoroute.

Did I make the right decision? I’ve never had a worse storm when driving in France. Patches of the autoroute were flooded, hydroplaning in a Corsa is no fun. But, I made it home and when I did, I checked a webcam in Cauterets. Not a pretty sight.

Curse of the Pyrénées strikes again!

Un Tramway ...

There's a grape called folle blanche used in making armagnac. Generally it's blended but some producers, Domaine Boignières for example, are brave enough to make an armagnac wholly out of folle blanche -- and they do it well.
The grape is often criticized for being too brash and creating an armagnac that lacks subtlety and finesse. The same might be said of another folle blanche, that is Isabelle Huppert's Blanche DuBois in the production of Un Tramway nommé désir, currently playing at L'Odéon. Huppert is impressive -- in fact she's basically the whole show. There are other actors but they can't compete with her in this production.
Yet something's missing. William's Blanche DuBois has a frailty about her that elicits the spectator's sympathy. Yes, she's delusional but you wish she could find the happy ending she's looking for. Perhaps it's the mise en scène or the St Laurent and Dior clothes, but Huppert's Blanche left me wanting something else. As the play ends, Blanche reminds us that she has always depended on the kindness of strangers.
View her kindly ...

Paris Calls

The annual trip for the SDSU Paris Semester is coming up ... looks like early February is the plan.
Hopefully Paris will have come out of its subzero January doldrums and the tree branches will have a few leaves beginning to peek out.
Strangely, San Diego is blustery and stormy today, just to give me a hint of what may be to come.
I've gone to Whole Foods and picked up some French cheese, overpriced and not nearly as good as what I'll be able to enjoy next month but it's good to get in practice for a different type of food regime.