Wow. I'm really behind, aren't I? I haven't even posted a coming attraction in over a month! And I'm afraid this post isn't going to make up for it much, at least in terms of length and detail. But I did want to let you know about Lac de St. Croix, where Johann and I spent the day Thursday.
The lake was created in 1975, when a dam was built over the Verdon river, creating this large and lovely body of water noted, like a high-quality diamond, for its exceptional color and clarity. Surrounded by mountains, the lake has abundant hiking trails, beaches, picnic areas and opportunities to participate in water sports from kayaking and canoeing to sailing.
The village of St. Croix is aware of its tourist appeal but has retained its authenticity, scoring points in the categories of lovely restaurants with lake views and in lack of tacky souvenir shops. But since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm going to let my pictures do all the talking here. More views of St. Croix are at right, under "Photos."
Attention all shoppers! Do you love the smell of commerce in the morning? Can you shop and never drop? If so, a visit to Isle-Sur-La-Sorgue is for you. This little village, just 45 minutes from our house is comprised almost entirely of (pause for dramatic effect...) ANTIQUE STORES.*
Isle-Sur-La-Sorgue is home to 300 permanent antique dealers, that number swelling to 500 during the antique fair that attracts sellers from all over the world every August. But don't worry, non-shoppers.** There are plenty of non-commercial diversions available, in addition to the multitude of lovely bars, restaurants and cafés that make perfect meeting points after a day's shopping.
This charming medieval town is built on the islands of five branches of the Sorgue river, earning it the nickname "the Venice of Provence." Even without gondolas, water adds a special beauty and character to a town. Sorgue has many river branches and canals, huge overhanging plane trees and several large, lovely waterwheels. Even if the many mills are no longer working, some of the waterwheels still turn.
Sites to see or visit: 300 antique stores, Parc Gautier, Baroque church Notre Dame des Anges, rare collection of Moustier faience. Also, magnificent mansions have been converted into art galleries, in particular the famous Maison René Char - Hotel Donadeï de Campredon (18thc.), now a museum exhibiting such great artists as Miro, Mauguin or Dufy and a display area dedicated to René Char.
Leisure activities: Market on Thursday and Sunday mornings, hiking, horseback riding, tennis, 18 hole golf course, fishing, kayaking.
Cultural events: Summer fêtes and music festivals.
More pictures at right under "Photos."
* Tanya, I can almost hear you packing your suitcase as I type these words.
** Al, this refers to you.
I've been in a bit of a slump, writing-wise, lately. So after more afternoons of fruitless web surfing and vacant staring out the window than I care to count, I decided to consult an expert for some inspiration. My friend and neighbor, Jan, is a former editor of the London Daily Mail, a newspaper so influential in Britian that its power has been equated to that of a cabinet minister's. Now a French resident, she has a pretty sweet deal. Whenever inspiration strikes (or she is a little low on cash), she calls a friend of hers who works as an editor at the paper and pitches him a story, which he always agrees to both print and pay her a big wad of cash for. This is clearly a woman who can teach me a thing or two.
Naturally, she doesn't like to give away her best ideas for free, but we are good enough friends that she doesn't mind suggesting story topics that she isn't planning on using herself. And this was one of them: "Why not write something for the food section on Asparagus?" Asparagus? "Did you know that Pertuis is known for having the best asparagus in all of France?"
I did not know that.
But now that I knew, did I care?
I decided I did. After all, it's quite something to discover that a village just one town over has the best something in the nation, even a nation as small as this one. It would be like someone in Brookfield learning that New Berlin makes the best curly fries in Wisconsin, or someone in Hartland discovering that Oconomowoc is home to the state's finest Taco Bell, or a Chicagoan... Actually, this doesn't really work with Chicago, where residents consider anything within the city limits but north of Irving Park Road so far away that it may as well be part of Canada and therefore not worth knowing anything about.
So anyway, I set out to discover what's interesting about asparagus. And here's the verdict: Not much. But I'll let you be the judge of that. Here are some asparagus facts my research has uncovered:
- The English word "asparagus" derives from classical Latin, but it was once known in English as sperage, from the Medieval sparagus, which is from the Greek aspharagos or asparagos, which is from the Persian asparag, meaning "sprout" or "shoot." Still awake? Or did I lose you?
- In parts of Texas it is referred to as "aspar grass," a fact that I find comical, but not surprising, given that it's Texas and all.
- There are three kinds of asparagus: Green, white and wild (the last of which is well-known for its risqué spring break videos).
- Asparagus is prepared differently all over the world, but is most commonly steamed and served with a bit of Hollandaise sauce.
- Hollandaise is a Dutch word and sauce, but it sounds and tastes better when someone French is in charge.
- Asparagus rhizomes and root are used to treat urinary tract infections as well as kidney and bladder stones. Yummy!
- It is also believed to have aphrodisiacal properties (see aforementioned videos).
- Some of the constituents of asparagus are metabolized and excreted in the urine, giving it a distinctive smell.
- Recent studies suggest that every individual produces these odorous compounds upon eating asparagus, but that only about 40% of individuals have the genes required to smell them. No mention was made of who was in charge of smelling the pee or what had prompted them to choose such a career, which, to me, would have been the interesting part of this anecdote. But it did have the side effect of making me feel grateful to be an unsuccessful writer rather than a successful pee-sniffer.
So there you have it, my non-article about the humble (and perhaps deservedly so) asparagus plant. Sure, I may have wasted the good part of a morning researching and writing this, but at least I wasn't playing on the internet or putzing around the house... Or working with urine. On the downside, though, it is unlikely that anyone will pay to read this. Unless each of you agrees to mail me a dollar. Then I'll be the one with the sweet deal. And I'll consider this slump officially over.
This year's guest list is shaping up into quite the all-star roster. Johann and I are looking forward to seeing every single one of you! And uniquely this year, many of you (Erin, Francesco, Leah, Reynald, Daryl, Scott, Nozomi, Kelli) have never visited us before. Of course some of you (Mom, Dad, Al, Tanya, Ken) have been to Provence before and are well familiar with the area.
But for the sake of all our valued guests, I thought I'd give you a preview of what's in store for you here. Of course, you're all aware of the charms of Provence; the rolling hills covered in grapevines, the fields of golden sunflowers, the smell of lavender wafting in the breeze, the hillside castles around every bend, the sumptuous cuisine and the incomparable wine.
But the region has much more to offer than a first glance might reveal. For example, take the ochre deposits in Roussillon and Rustrel. Just 30 minutes or so from our door, it is as if one has left not only France, but Earth itself, as the former quarries resemble a moonscape more than anything else.
Both sites are protected national parks and are accessible via sometimes steep but always breathtaking footpaths. In Rustrel, the River Doa has cut a gorge into the ochre, earning it the moniker "The Provençal Colorado."* With hiking paths from 1 km-5.5 km. and elevations ranging from 10-150 metres (30-500 feet), the area is perfect for hiking.
Sites to see or visit: Provençal Colorado, Ochre Trail, 17th century chateau, 9th century ruins of the Prieuré St. Julien, St. Roman Church, Chapel St. Roch.
Leisure activities: Hiking, cycling tours, man-made lake, fishing and pétanque.
Cultural events: Summer festivals and jazz concerts.
* Right now, my friend in Colorado is reading this and thinking, "Yeah, right. Where are the slopes, man?"
I'm counting on you not remembering the little something that I posted about this festival two years ago. Oops. If you had forgotten, I guess I just reminded you. Anyway, this is admittedly a re-run, but I should amend my earlier critique of the sea urchin by adding that since 2006 I have actually grown to like them. So I hope you enjoy this old story with its new pictures (more photos are at right).
In Carry le Rouet, the first three Sundays of every month are dedicated to the Fête des Oursinades, or Sea Urchin Festival. The Sea Urchin is truly fascinating. Teams of guys head out at two in the morning, decked out in wet suits and scuba diving equipment (I admit, I am only assuming they are guys because I think women are too sensible to do such a thing, but it could be that there are some crazy chicks out there as well). In groups of three or four, they brave the bone-chilling cold of the February waters and collect each sea urchin one by one, from the bottom of the sea, by hand. Then, around sunrise, if they have not frozen to death or had their hands run through by the prickly needles of the oursin, they return to the shore with their catch, presumably to be greeted by loved ones crying, "What the hell have you been doing? Are you out of your mind?"
Only the French would go to so much effort and devote nearly a month of Sundays to honor such an ugly, spiky sea creature. Apparently, this porcupinie-like mollusk gets its name from the Old Englilsh word for "hedgehog" and is like catnip to food connoisseurs, especially when served in Japanese cuisine. So, once again, the French taste buds are the explanation.
What I can't figure out is how someone first determined that there was something to EAT inside this gruesome-looking thing. Maybe the first guy to try one was a fisherman who caught it by accident and figured that if mother nature was saying "stay away" with such vehemence, she must be guarding something pretty good. That's debatable, in my opinion. Have you ever been swimming in the ocean and gotten a mouth full of sea water? When it happened, did you think to yourself, "Wow, if only that had had the consistency of ketchup, it would have been quite good?" If so, then sea urchins are for you.
I think what probably really happened is that this fisherman's friends all dared him to eat it. It's likely that they wheedled and cajoled and offered him money, finally pulling out the big guns and calling him a sissy. Then he ate it and "Tom Sawyer-ed" them, pretending like it was the best thing he had ever tasted. He probably went on and on about its delicate, exquisite flavor until, intrigued, his friends begged to try one for themselves. Then, rather than spitting it out and looking like chumps in front of the other fishermen, they pretended it was great, too. So then more people tried it and pretended to like it, and so on, and here we are today with an entire festival full of people slurping them down and trying not to make a face. That's my theory.
But you don't have to like sea urchins to enjoy the festival, which features stands selling everything from quilts, pottery, jewelry, flowers and artwork to olives, pastries, candied apples and cotton candy. The port is wall-to-wall with restaurants featuring super-fresh fish and seafood dishes and in February, on a sunny day, it's even warm enough to enjoy your lunch outside. It was not, however, warm enough to swim, though we did see six completely insane people giving that a go. There's also a scenic path that winds along the coast, offering opportunities to lounge on the rocks that line the shore, watching sailboats drift slowly by.
I know, I know. I promised you all a holiday card this year. And you didn't get one. Again.
You've probably already crossed our names off next year's Christmas card list. But if so, please reconsider. It wasn't our fault!
The holiday cards I ordered, which would have admittedly been a little late even if they hadn't been lost in the mail, were, in fact, lost in the mail. They showed up in our mailbox today, February 6th.
So here's the card with photos of some of the highlights of our year that you would have received in the mail if they had showed up even remotely on time. Thanks for nothing, Kodak. But happy holidays to the rest of you.
As many of you are already aware, Johann and I go on a purifying, detoxifying, holiday fat-fighting diet every January. This year's diet has been vegan, which means absolutely no animal products of any kind; no meat, poultry, fish, eggs or dairy. Even staple breakfast food yogurt has been banned.
I was pretty happy with the results, until our La Redoute catalog arrived in the mail. La Redoute is the French equivalent of the Sears catalog. It has men's, women's and children's clothing, accessories, furniture, appliances, etc. I was flipping through it when I noticed something that I wished I had seen on January first, before I spent thirty days depriving myself of steak with creamy peppercorn sauce and a side of fries: skinny jeans. No, really. Jeans that MAKE YOU THINNER.
The text in the pink box above says, "The 'slimming' jeans, worn regularly, combat cellulite and guarantee a thinner, firmer silhouette in just 28 days!" The page goes on to say that the jeans have been infused with a solution made from green tea, red grapevines and peaches, micro-encapsulted within the fibers of the denim and proven to improve skintone and circulation, as well as reducing the appearance of cellulite and overall circumference of areas covered by the jeans, up to 20 washes. The jeans have been clinically tested, it says, and its makers guarantee a loss of .7 inches from each thigh. I don't know what "wear regularly" means to them, but I would be willing to sleep in them, even shower in them, if necessary.
Could this possibly work? I could wear the jeans constantly during the prescribed timeframe and then, nearly an inch slimmer, buy a new pair in the next size down and start again! And I wouldn't have to deprive myself of food I love, like french fries. I could keep salt and ketchup packets in any one of the jeans's five pockets!
And just when I thought I had seen it all, I spotted the top on the opposite page, which comes in four colors and claims to hydrate the skin, while giving off the delicate scent of sweet almonds or roses (your choice). Drunk on possibility, I scanned the page to find out what the sunglasses and belt do, imagining shades that add points to your I.Q. and a belt that does your taxes. Disappointingly, the accessories pictured do not do anything special, other than make you look like the type of person who shops at Sears.
That said, though, I think I am going to give this outfit a try. I'll let you know how it goes. Even if the experiment is an utter failure, this company deserves my money just for trying. I mean, this is the type of revolutionary synthesis of science, fashion and entrepreneurial spirit that one wouldn't normally associate with the French. Jeans that make you skinny and a top that makes you smell like roses are just damn good ideas. Well done, France. You've impressed me. I take my pants off to you.
Saturday we had the honor of being guests at our good friends Erin and Francesco’s wedding. The morning of the wedding was cloudy and… Ciao! Ciao! Va bene? Si! Si! Ciao! Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. Cloudy and overcast.
We scrambled around the apartment getting ready, but ended up having plenty of time for a Champagne toast before Francesco’s friend arrived with the bridal car. No limos for these Europeans, but the tradition is still to show up in the coolest car possible, decked out in flowers, ribbons, and, in the case of this silvery-white 1972 convertible VW Bug, the Italian and U.S. flags.
Ciao! Ciao, bella! Si! Bellisima! Grazie! Ciao! Ciao!
I seem to have gotten off track again. Oh, yes, driving to the wedding. The wedding was presided over by the mayor of the village of Morbello, which is way up in the mountains, so far up that by the time we reached it the sky was sunny and clear. The crowd, including a nervous but beaming Francesco, waited outside the town hall (municipio, in Italian) exchanging greetings, kissing each other on the cheek and lighting one another’s cigarettes.
When Erin’s car came up over the hill and down toward the guests (with the top down, of course), a hush fell over the crowd and all the cameras came out. Erin’s very handsome Italian driver jumped out to open the door for her, and her fiancé approached, presenting her with a kiss and her bouquet. Erin and Francesco proceeded into the building and up the stairs followed by the rest of us, who crowded into the little room where the ceremony was held.
Ciao! Ciao! Va bene? Bellisima, no? Si! Doppo, doppo! Ciao!
Whoops. Sorry about that.
After a brief speech, in which the mayor lauded the virtues of Erin’s homeland, he expressed his appreciation that they would be making their home in Italy instead of moving to the States, which is the more common arrangement amongst international couples. The mayor’s daughter then read a little poem and presented the bride with a bouquet of flowers, which made everyone, even those who didn’t completely understand everything being said in Italian, a little misty. After the exchange of rings and kisses, it was back down the stairs, for a Champagne toast and the ceremonial tossing of rice, which the couple was picking out of their hair and clothing for the remainder of the day.
Then a select few of us were invited to a very swish lunch at the posh Grand Hotel in Acqui Terme. What a lunch! If I hadn’t saved the menu, there’s no way I could have remembered all the courses. 1. Plate of proscuitto and other varieties of thinly sliced smoked meats. 2. Slice of smoked cod in citrus sauce garnished with sliced grapefruit. 3. Seafood salad featuring calamari, shrimp and baby octopus. 4. Mushroom torte with a creamy cheese sauce. 5. Artichoke risotto. 6. Gnocchi with shrimp and tomato sauce. 7. Thinly sliced roast beef with roasted potatoes and spinach. 8. The most delicious wedding cake I have ever had.
At this point, everyone needed a nap. Not just because of the quantity of food that was consumed, but also because most of us were a bit impaired from the evening before when family and close friends spent a very bacchanalian night out on the town.
Ciao! Ciao, bella! Deliziosi, no? Molto bene! Si! Si! Basta, basta! Grazie mille!
Wow. There I go again. After a brief rest, it was time to party once more. Erin and Francesco rented a large and beautiful room at the Grand Hotel where there was a huge buffet, cocktails and champagne, and plenty of room for dancing. A few of the female guests made some timid attempts to get the dancing started, but it wasn’t until Francesco’s friend, nicknamed “Poupi,” got out on the dance floor that things really started to rock. Poupi was clearly a graduate of the Blues Brothers’ School of Dance, and I can only hope that someone got his wacky antics on video. The bar and the dance floor were hopping until around three in the morning, after which, even the most die-hard guests had to call it quits for the night.
I suppose I should explain about all these interruptions in Italian. It’s just that, after spending a week in Italy, I’ve become accustomed to being constantly distracted by Italians saying hello, kissing me on the cheek, offering me drinks, giving me gifts, telling me I look great or trying to talk me into eating more of whatever’s on the table. I’m weaning myself off their hospitality slowly, I guess. It’s not going to be easy.
Congratulazioni, Erin and Francesco!
Welcome to 2008! It's going to be a good year. Do you know how I can tell? It's the gardening we've been doing.
Every December 4th, on Saint Barbara's* feast day, Provençal families fill a low, flat dish with some cotton balls and a generous sprinkling of seeds. It's the custom to buy the seeds from organizations giving the proceeds to charity, thereby honoring Barbara's fabled dedication to helping the poor. If watered often and given enough sunlight, the seeds sprout into wheat, as seen in the picture at left. And the better your wheat grows, the better luck you'll have in the upcoming year. Sounds quaint and charming, right?
Here's the kicker. The downside to this little tradition is that they say if your wheat doesn't grow, or dies before the new year, a member of your family will also expire before the upcoming year comes to an end. Now call me crazy, but that's a lot of pressure to put on a little horticulture project, isn't it? Forget to water the thing for a couple of days and bye-bye great-uncle Walter.
Well, Mom, Dad, Julie, Dave, Jackson, Mary Lou, Aunt Linda, Uncle John, Cousin Becky, Grandpa... You can all breathe a sigh of relief. As you can see, we have a bumper crop this year. I hope you're not upset with me for risking your lives like this. After all, you know how hopeless I am with plants.
Whether it's over-watering, under-watering, too much sun, too little sun, leaving them outside on the windowsill during a frost or just forgetting they exist, my plants never seem to last long. I once had some pots of basil growing on the windowsill that I found smashed on the ground below one morning. Johann says the wind blew them there, but I know the truth. They saw the way things were headed and they jumped.
But by the grace of some kind of Christmas miracle, this year's wheat is thriving. So until next December, you guys can take it easy. Don't cancel your life insurance policy or anything, just rest assured that I'm doing everything I can over here to keep you healthy. That's all.
* Interested in the shocking and violent tale of Saint Barbara? Click here: Saint Barbara
Well, it’s time to say goodbye to 2007. And what a year! Let’s review: Trips to London; Paris (twice); Port Grimaud; Vienna; Salzburg; Acqui Terme, Italy; the U.S. and Aruba. Not too shabby.
Of course, none of it would have happened without our wonderful friends and family, who made this all possible. Thanks to Leah for loaning us her lovely London flat while she was in the States. Next time, let’s plan a visit when you’ll be in town! Thanks to Yannick for totally vacating his apartment in Paris and staying with his brother so that we could stay at his place. Johann is still talking about the Bordeaux – Lyon match you saw together. Thanks to Adi and Frits for inviting us to stay with them in their gorgeous house in Port Grimaud. What luxury! You’re too good to us. We miss you.
Thanks to Air France for their miles program, which allowed us to fly to Austria for free, and without which we wouldn’t have had the pleasure of Ed, Cindy, Bunny, Ed Sr., Terri and Charlie’s company for a whole wonderful week. The hills were alive with the sound of music… And the clinking of beer steins.
Thanks to Erin and Francesco for
hosting us in their new little love nest in Italy. We’re counting the days until your wedding, our dear friends! And I’m looking forward to standing up next to the bellisima bride! Thanks to Mom and Dad for coming to visit us in Provence and taking us with them to Paris (and springing for the hotel!). We had such a blast with you guys, as we always do. You’re the best.
Thanks to Jenni and Colin for a fun-filled weekend at their place, which included gathering together a houseful of people that I hadn’t seen in ages and was really happy to catch up with. Missing you all so much. And last, but certainly not least, thanks to Ed for making us part of Cindy’s birthday present, which was a free week in a beautiful house in Aruba. What an unforgettable trip! I have new wrinkles from all the laughing we did. I can’t wait to see what you get her next year. We’ll discuss it in Spain this May.
Bring it on, 2008. We're ready for you.
Recent Comments
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Lisa Pepin said:
[this is good]Tara, this is hands-down the BEST embarrasing moment story I have ever heard. Extra points for creativity. I'm torn between... read more
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Tara S said:
[this is good]Apologies, I can't bring myself to read this post. The last time I got interested in sea urchins I accidentally... read more
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teledude said:
[いいですね]HAHA, I guess I'm in the golden 40%...so to speak...yep, I'm one of the few, the proud, the pee sniffers.... read more
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karen said:
[this is good](the last of which is well-known for its risqué spring break videos) you crack me up. so glad you found... read more
on Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Asparagus but Were Afraid to Ask
Ok, but I'm probably going to regret this... read more
on The Sea Urchin Festival