Thursday, November 12, 2015

Roquecave Part II

The second week at this rural French farm/creamery passed by even faster than the first.  Mayu departed early in the week to return to school and Carole increasingly trusted Laura and I to the fromagerie on our own.  We captured this family portrait the evening Mayu left. 


I accompanied Ingo to the Olonzac market on Tuesday.  It's a larger market than Beziers and so it attracts the commercial vendors as well as the local producers.  I am more than a little jealous that folks in France can walk out their front doors and get the kind of fresh produce these people offer.
The next day, a huge storm came through and knocked off all the leaves from the trees.  Overnight, the landscape went from colorful autumn to barren winter.  
Fabulous and simple
French food.

We continued to eat fabulous and simple French food at every meal, and I may have developed a life-long love for salads after eating a new one every day, cut straight from the garden.  I wish that I could grow lettuce like that in Texas!
Laura and I continued to help with chestnuts and saffron all week.  I can promise you that I will never grow saffron in my garden.  The little plants are finicky to grow, give you a yield measured in grams, and require constant weeding.  On the other hand, chestnuts are also a lot of work and are well worth the effort!

Constantly on his cell phone,
I guess teenagers are
the same everywhere.
Mid-week, we were joined by a 13year old boy named Gabby.  The story goes something like this . . . Gabby decided that he wasn’t getting anything out of school.  His mom agreed to let him stop going, provided he did something else productive with his time.  He asked to join the WWOOFers at Carole and Ingo’s farm.  Carole and Ingo agreed to open their home to him for a few weeks.  All of us were incredulous it isn’t illegal to let your kid stop attending school.  


Saving white beans for food and
for seeds for next years crop
Gabby and I found a lot in common with our tastes in music, science fiction movies and video games.  I don’t know what it says about me that I have a lot in common with a 13year old at-risk teenager . . . it’s probably not good.  But it worked in my favor this week because Gabby bonded as we weeded saffron together for hours and he became my personal French tutor.  I bombarded him with French questions and gratefully absorbed new vocabulary every day, even getting pronunciation training from him one evening.  To mitigate the risk of sounding like a teenager, I ran most of the slang I learned each day by Carole and Ingo over the dinner table each evening.  They provided a good filter, and the conversation prompted even further language learnings.  In return, Gabby delighted in peppering me with questions about Texas and the US.  Semi-obsessed with the United States, he was first incredulous and then overjoyed to hear that we really do wear cowboy boots in Texas.  He has clearly seen a lot of movies and our country is larger than life in his mind.

Creme de Marron cooking in the traditional confectioners pan
Spanish tortilla, another 
great salad, and the best 
soup I've ever tasted - made
with chestnut juice left
over from the Creme de
Marron production.
Nothing is wasted.
One of my favorite days was right before I left, because it was all about food.  We finished early in the fromagerie and then cooked all afternoon.  Carole and I made Crème de Marron from chestnuts we’d already harvested, peeled and sterilized.  Then, at my request, she taught me how to make pie/tart crust from scratch, which I then used to bake a lemon merengue pie for the household.  One of my father’s favorite pies, I was proud when Carole asked for the recipe and Ingo specifically gave up seconds at dinner the next night so he could eat pie.  Laura also taught us how to make a Spanish tortilla, the Catalan way.  It’s the same concept as a French omelet – mix eggs with other things incorporated – but much better.  I walked away from my weeks in France with several new recipes! 








The first phase of crust making
I'm taking notes!
Creme de Marron bubbling away
while we prepare the jars for storage


The day before I left was the bi-annual “Foire” in the closest town to the farm.  All the local vendors come showcase their wares.  It had a festival type atmosphere, even if the entire "festival" consisted of  grand total of 15 tables.  The big event is that you could bring your apples to get pressed into juice.  They only run the giant apple press once a year.  There’s even talk of making cider this year.  Laura and I got to visit with many of the people we met over the last couple of weeks.  

The night before I left was the same evening Carole departed to go visit her family in Strasbourg.  She entrusted Laura [with very careful instructions] to run the fromagerie for the week she would be gone.  Ingo could run the joint, but he’s already in charge of the milking, the wood cutting and storage and going to the twice weekly markets.  It is a kindness to Ingo that Laura is willing to stay and help cover the fromagerie.   Not 20 minutes after Ingo left to take Carole to the airport, the electricity went out.  My last night at Roquecave was spent cooking and talking by candlelight.  
Laura and Gabby talking in the kitchen by candlelight
Gabby was hilarious, joking that the situation was perfect for a horror movie . . . Mom and Dad had just left, it was incredibly foggy and it would be dark in less than an hour, both of our cell phones are dead, and the one flashlight we find dies just as we’re going up the stairs!  We alternately joked as we entered one dark room after another, looking for circuit breakers and candles - "Oh no!  I've been eaten!" And, "Oops! He got me!"

I personally love when the lights go out because everybody puts away their electronic devices, or books, or whatever other distractions they have, and comes together to talk.  It makes for an intimate evening.

As I rode with Ingo to the closest bus stop the next morning, I reflected on how much I enjoyed the slow, steady pace on the farm, the focus on food and nature, and the company of the people at Roquecave.  When I bid farewell that morning, it felt like I was saying goodbye to family. 

Next stop: Italy (for 1 day)

No comments:

Post a Comment