Palombière pour bons vivants - Gueuleton

Here are Vincent and Arthur hunting, and eating, and drinking again. We're well into the season when huge flights of Wood Pigeons pass overhead on their way South. The aim of these hunters is to get them to settle on the trees above their Palombière.

I've never seen a Palombière as well kitted out as this one; they seem to lack nothing. These guys are serious hunters, and gourmets, and obviously live very well. It's good to see such traditions being upheld; especially in these strange times.

Memories of better times.

Please play the music, then read-on. If it doesn't work, try this.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXQqqd0gQwo&feature=emb_logo

It's high Summer, and a nearby village is holding it's annual Méchoui and dance. The small public 'square' between the medieval church and the ugly 1950's Mayor's chamber is divided in two; an area given to several long alfresco dining tables, and a space given to dancing.

Bunting and fairy lights are strung between the ancient pollarded Lime trees. Aperitifs are served, then the youth of the village bring round huge platters of spit-roasted Lamb, big bowls of Flageolet Beans, and Salads. Wine is replenished as soon as bottles are emptied. The youth of the village have been well trained, and obviously enjoy their work; nothing is too much for them.

The food continues to arrive. Cheese is accompanied by offers of Eau de vie; which we decline.

It's about 11.30 pm, and the accordionist and his band take their positions on the mobile podium, and he kicks-off with his favourite number Reine de Musette (which should now be playing).

I ask Lady Magnon if she fancies a twirl. We dance for about an hour, then the band plays a Bourrée which we can't dance to, so we stand with all the others in a circle and watch the elders of the village spin around; men dancing with men and women dancing with women. The audience applaud as the ancient dance is demonstrated to all present. A few children join in the fun, trying to imitate their elders.

After the Bourrée we return to the 'dance floor' and show the locals how amateur dancing really should be done. We have no shame about our lack of skill; we simply enjoy ourselves, as does everyone.

At about 1 am, we are tired, and decide to head for home. We spend another hour or so saying goodbye to everyone, before taking to the road.

This used to be an annual event.... I wonder when it'll happen again; if ever?

No, it's not a Pizza.

It's not really Pizza season, but this isn't a Pizza anyway.

I was leafing through Rick Stein's book 'Secret France', when I came across his recipe for Tarte Flambée, and it really appealed.

In Alsace, where this tart comes from, it's known as Flammekueche (pronounce that as you will), and I suppose it is a pizza look-alike.

This (above) is the one I made last night. The main difference is that there is no tomato and no mozzarella on the French version. The base of the Tarte Flambée is firstly spread with thick cream, then thinly sliced onion, then grated Emmental, and topped with tiny cubes of fried smoked bacon. About 20 mins in the oven, et voila! Nothing could be more simple.

Lady M complained that there was no accompanying salad, and I agreed with her; it needed something crisp and refreshing alongside. Otherwise it was very good; a bit rich maybe, but pleasant for a change. Below is Stein's superior version which prompted my desire. It's worth a go... you may like it.

A question of fish.

English fishing ports such as Fleetwood, Hull, and Grimsby, used to be wealthy towns that supported not only the fishermen themselves, but countless others who catered to the town's fish-based wealth; jewellers, hotels, builders, wine merchants, etc. These days they are almost ghost towns.

English cooler waters supply 90% of the EU's fish, but England itself was restricted to fishing just 14% of that supply. Brussels still considered this too much, so back in Brussels they came up with a cunning plan. 

To stop the English from fishing their own fish, they decided to pay UK boat owners to destroy their boats (such as the one above); they had to be totally destroyed so as never to sail again. Either burned or cut-up for scrap, leaving the waters dangerously open to EU boats.

Now, of course, as she is no longer a member of the EU, the UK wishes to fish her own waters again, and sell the catch to the EU as 'English Fish'.

M Barnier isn't pleased. He thinks that even though the UK is no longer under the thumb of Brussels, he still wants Europe's trawlers to take whatever they wish from UK waters. He has even offered 15% of the value of fish caught by EU trawlers in compensation, amounting to around £90 Million per annum.

No doubt some deal will eventually be struck, and then overlooked. There's no question that both French and Spanish trawlers will continue to take as much fish from UK waters as they wish. They will do as they've always done; make the laws, then openly flout them.

What a very different organisation it's become. The UK joined a 'Common Market' on Jan 1st 1973, and left the 'United States of Europe' on Jan 1st 2020. 

Lion meat for breakfast.

Garth Leroux is a South African, fast-bowling, cricketer who played for Sussex in the days when I was a member of SCC. Here he is (below) doing what he did best, whilst wearing his SCC martlets jumper.

The Sussex home pitch at Hove was slightly sloping to the South, and often we would see Imran Khan bowling uphill, and Garth downhill; they were both very effective bowlers.

I would often take my oldest to Eaton Road Hove to watch these two playing. We'd sit at the members pavilion from where we'd have easy access to all the players.

When Garth had a particularly good day, I'd tell Kimbo that he had Lion meat specially flown in from S Africa, which he'd eat before the game to give him extra strength. If he got no wickets, I'd say his Lion meat must have been held-up in the post. This became as much a part of the game as the play itself.

Even today, if my oldest, Kimbo, has a poor day with the ball, I will scold him by saying that he obviously didn't eat his Lion meat for breakfast. He usually admits that this was the case!

I've also threatened to send him some, to cure him of his wretched COVID-19.

 

Oranges and Lemons.

In culinary matters, Lady Magnon is best known for her Tarte Tatin, her Lemon drizzle cake, and her Chocolate brownies. She also bakes a mean Lemon meringue pie, fabulous Parmesan biscuits, and her Mince Pies are world renowned. 

Her once-a-year Christmas cake is always eagerly awaited from that very last slice the previous year, right up to the first slice the following year.

She is less known for her jam making. I, personally, tend to make our Raspberry jam, whereas Lady M makes the Apricot jam. There is no logical reason for this; it's just the way things are.

Recently having heard that Seville Oranges were in the (UK) shops, she decided to make some Marmalade. I don't know if she chose a particularly difficult recipe, but its creation lasted a full two frantic days. It required Muscovado sugar, thick cut peel, Brandy, plenty of Oranges, a Lemon, and an assortment of other exotic ingredients.

The resulting Marmalade is particularly good. It has an intense dark brooding Orange flavour, and is, without question, a far superior product to my old favourite Coopers Oxford Vintage 'course cut' Marmalade.

I just hope that her supply will see us through Winter.

The Plank: A Sunday Special.

Save 30 mins of your time today for this. If you haven't seen it, and it's a dull rainy Sunday, this classic bit of 'silent-ish' movie from 1979 could be just up your street. 

It probably has more famous names and faces of the time, than any other comedy short, and is a perfect example of British humour. Be prepared to laugh for the whole 30 mins.