What to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon?

On Friday night we both fancied pizza and made our way to the local pizzeria. He was so busy he told us to come back in an hour! We left and swore never again. So the next day, I made my own. A doddle. Dough and tomato sauce from scratch. Onions, mushrooms, bacon and ham. A quick dash to the supermarket for mozzarella and voila!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

At this time of year, no matter how miserable you may feel, please remember that there are those less fortunate than you.

Happy Christmas! Photo copyright SvD.

I'd rather cook..

Restaurants tend to disappoint big time and after another awful experience  this week, I would prefer in future to cook at home. Food is love, that's why I cook.

Another beef pie. Photo copyright SvD.

Hodge Podge Casserole

By definition a casserole is a compilation of ingredients cooked slowly to develop the flavours fully. Then there's the other type of casserole known as leftovers plus everything including the kitchensink. We're very conscious of not wasting food and will generally eat leftovers the next day. By the third day however the dogs get lucky. We often make a big batch of Bolognese sauce and freeze portions which can then be transformed into cottage pie, lasagna etc. Last night we used the remains of the day before's cottage pie to make another concoction of sorts with the addition of parsnips, chick peas (of all things) and even leeks. Served the lot with a creamy spinach side dish. Not exactly haute cuisine but we're still alive! Waste not, want not.

Photo copyright SvD.

The Golden Goose

Today at the local village market, I ordered my Christmas goose. What a delight to choose between a white fat bird, another variety which is more elongated like a duck or the smaller Guinea variety which is dark feathered and comes in at around 3.5 kilos. I asked about the fat content as goose fat is positively the best for chips and was assured that the fat will be plentiful. So delivery on 23 December just after dawn in the village square. Only in France does one wax lyrical for several minutes about food. And the same supplier sold me a half dozen eggs laid this morning. The chickens didn't lay last week as it has been cold and wet plus they're losing their feathers which means they're generally moody. This week however a few rays of sunshine have worked wonders. Of interest is the fact that with the change of clocks, the birds are losing three minutes every day which is wreaking havoc on their biological clocks. Imagine what is does to us!

I am not a goose. Photo copyright SvD.

One of the strangest things I've seen....

...a 'pigeonnier', or pigeon coop, handcarved out of stone in the attic of a house once belonging to a former President of France. I am told that birds always come home to roost (when I stupidly asked if they did). Humans therefore differ from their feathered friends as many a man and woman don't sleep in the same bed every night...

Photo copyright SvD.

Is there anything more evocative?

Photo copyright SvD.

Preparing for Winter...

...wood is cheap in France due to the plentiful forests. Our trusty wood burner keeps us warm and repels the mice who have all migrated to the neighbour next door (he caught 30 in one week!).

Photo copyright SvD.

La Toussaint

La Toussaint is celebrated on 1st November in France. Across the land, families gather at the graves of their dearly departed and place chrysanthemums, symbol of death. Known as 'flowering of the tombs', generations of families unite in order to remember the dead. France remains a devoutly Catholic country and maintains its traditions which to me, orphan and without siblings, is wonderful to observe. The Catholic faith is also civilising: families abandon their differences for an annual pilgrimage where it is not about them but those who have died.

I went to mass last Sunday and as much as I groaned at the priest's extra long homily, the message of loving one another as Christ loved us was not lost on me.

I don't have family tombs to place flowers upon. Just memories of a far away place, a time so long ago.

Photos copyright SvD.

Savour life the French way...

Today in our weekly village market a new face appeared and the queue at his stall was long. An earthy perfume wafted towards me and the memory of more than thirty years ago sprang back as if it were yesterday. Me poking a stick into foliage at the base of oak trees in forests where hunters wouldn't hear or see you unless you shouted out to alert them of your presence. A ritual after the first heavy rains in October and finally, once the sun would reappear, albeit briefly, off I would go in feverish anticipation, basket in hand. Oh, delectable cêpes, which appear miraculously out of the earth. Local foragers never reveal their secret patch which in some families, has yielded the prized delicacy for generations. The cêpes emerge for a few short days only hence their high price. No one in their right mind would experiment with strong spices or fad recipes on this other worldly delight of the Autumnal earth. Tradition dictates that only salt, pepper, a knob of butter and a fat clove of garlic, the barest of ingredients in homage, in reverence, will do. Elegant simplicity. Perfection. Gratitude.

Our supper tonight. Photo copyright SvD.

Sometimes we get squashed by life..

...and it can finish us off. But if we have an ounce of life left, with the strongest will we can bounce back. It ain't over 'til it's over.

For Rikki and Sita. Er....you lost. On my morning dog walk near my home in France. Photo copyright SvD.

How to make a Spinach and Ricotta Pie

Photos copyright SvD.

Anyone who loves Tintin...

...will love this guy.

Photo copyright SvD.

One of those weird moments...

I take a lot of photos but I can't remember taking this one. According to my 'phone, it happened at 16.38 today.

Photo copyright SvD.

Vegetarian for a day

Sometimes we go off meat and fancy being virtuous. This was our supper last night: macaroni pie made with milk, cheese, eggs, peppers, onions, tomato, chives and a hint of garlic. Add a few slices of courgette on the side. A thrifty way of using up veggies.

Photos copyright SvD.

Nothing makes me happier

Than seeing my old dog brought back to life by having his two younger 'brothers' racing around him. My family.

Photos copyright SvD.

From the farm to my table

We visit the local market on foot every Thursday where a couple have been trading their farm produce for years. Such is their reputation that the queue is long for fresh lettuce, peppers, parsley, melons, peaches, apricots, anything which is in season and even their own honey. The taste and value are in incomparable. The same applies to fresh chickens, eggs laid that morning, ducks (wild or domestic), handmade unpasteurized cheeses, freshly caught local fish, even oil made from grape pips. So the carrots are a bit wonky and not that glorious irradiated Chernobyl orange. But the flavour! Thank you, God, for letting me return to the land of my soul.

Photo copyright SvD.

Preparing for the village fete

...by making buntings. Took us three hours!
#ILoveFrance

Photo copyright SvD.

How to BarBQ chicken in 38 degrees C

Use a wood fired stove and stay cool by starting to cook when the punishing sun  goes down. That, unfortunately, means eating at 9.00pm, later than I would like.
Today at my house in SW France. Wood collected on dog walks. #savethefuckingplanet Photo copyright SvD. #ILoveFrance #Buggerbrexit

Happiness is....

...babies snoozing on mum's lap.

Photo copyright SvD.

They died so that millenials could be free

10 June 1944, Oradour-sur-Glane.
Look it up:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oradour-sur-Glane

Photos copyright SvD.

Newest member of our family

Photo copyright SvD

Porridge days...

...after a long, dry, sizzling spell, the oats are ready for harvest.

Photo copyright SvD.

Wasps or hornets?

Photo copyright SvD.

Unfortunate names...

Please, no silly jokes.

On a recent trip to France. Photo copyright  SvD.

Country fun...

....known as 'darting' here in the countryside. We keep ourselves amused.

Photo copyright Ian C.

How the ordinary can be extraordinary...

We're enjoying the sun at the moment, a rare commodity in Northern Europe. The field where I walk every morning and evening is bustling with vibrancy and activity. Within all the turmoil of life at its summer peak, we take the burst of life which this season brings for granted. Just like in our everyday lives we forget that the ordinary is equally extraordinary. We may too busy, too harassed and too self-absorbed to recognise that small gestures can be reassuring, calming and life affirming. A smile could make your day for example and equally, just smiling at someone else could lift their spirits too. I was reminded of this by watching the grass this morning, the seed heads standing like sentinels. In fact, they are very small and so many hundreds of them that they seem irrelevant. But an individual seed head will release hundreds of seeds which will burrow into the sodden autumn soil and will germinate next spring. This field will always be full of grass as a result. Small things and small gestures can change a landscape.

Photo copyright SvD.

Love is....

....sharing pyjamas...

Photo copyright SvD.

Cooking is for the birds...

...so easy. Our supper tonight. Anyone can do this. Bake haddock fillets in knobs of butter with salt and pepper at 220 degrees C uncovered. On the stove, fry one bunch spring onions, coarsely chopped in dash olive oil. Add a ton of chopped garlic, one blanched, peeled tomato cut into cubes and a dash of dry white wine. Simmer. Add the juices from the fish. Add cream. Simmer 'til thickened. Add the fish. Serve with roast potatoes or chips and a salad. If you want to learn how to cook, get an old French cookbook such as Escoffier. Modern celebrity TV 'chefs' have simply ripped off traditional European cuisine as their own and they can't actually cook.

Photo  copyright SvD.

Pretty Poppy

In the field this am. They are everywhere this year and lasting longer than usual. Oh, so pretty. This wild variety does not have a sinister side and bees love it!

Photo copyright SvD.

Missssster snake made himself comfortable...

We had been watching the tadpoles grow and had even swotted up on when their legs would appear and how long it would take before we had little frogs racing to freedom from the safety of their pond. Unfortunately as is often the case in life, there are those who lie in wait as sworn enemies. Enter Mr Snake who was seen slithering into the pond and then basking in the sun looking somewhat pleased with himself. The tadpole population is currently zero and the carp are starting to worry. Mr Snake has taken up residence in the compost where his wife/girlfriend/mistress has given birth to several eggs. We're assuming Mr Snake shed this skin, how he found the time we don't know!

In the compost. Photo copyright SvD.

Guess where porridge comes from...

....oats.

Ten steps from my front door.
Photo copyright SvD.

The bleeding obvious

Helpfully, the fish counter at my local supermarket advises me that the raw turbot on sale contains fish.

And this is the finished product. I'm still alive, in case you're wondering.

Photos copyright SvD.

In memory of those who died for us...

...THANK YOU. You will never be forgotten.

#DDAY75 #LESTWEFORGET
This evening in the field. Photo copyright SvD.

Lambless...

We're both feeling a bit blue now that the lambs have begun their final journey. The farmer told us this morning that the first lot went to market yesterday and that the price is lower than last year. We observed that the ewes had been shorn on Tuesday which is usually a sign that they are no longer feeding their lambs who have reached the required age and weight to go to market. We had started walking past the fields and telling the lambs to eat less as we could see that they were quickly reaching 40kgs or the 'death' weight.

The fields will be quieter and less interesting without seeing the lambs climbing onto bales of hay and pushing their mates off with a mischievous kick. Our terrier will miss barking at the lambs too.

This year we didn't have a big freeze unlike March 2018 when many new-born lambs died. The odd lamb did succumb to the local fox but luckily this year the lambs were born into a warm Spring which meant they thrived quickly and the crows left them alone. I have seen the crows sit on the fence watching the lambs. As soon as the lamb shows any sign of weakness and falls to the ground dying, the crows don't hesitate to move in for the kill. It is a type of natural selection that many will find upsetting but the farmer will remind you that there there is livestock there is 'deadstock' too.

What I have observed about lambs from living in the countryside:

Some will simply give up as soon as they are born. Farmers tell me there are those lambs that don't try to live and will just give up once out of their mother's womb. There is nothing that can be done for them.

Lambs can survive extreme cold but will struggle in the first two weeks of their lives. The ewes will do their best to keep the lambs alive and the entire herd will encircle a dying lamb huddling around it to keep it warm. Unless the farmer is watching 24 hours a day, it is impossible to reduce these deaths in an open farm.

Lambs will continue suckling their mums until the thirteenth week when the mum pushes them away. This is identical to dogs- I observed the same with my Labrador bitch and her pups. I hate the idea of puppies being taken from their mums before thirteen weeks because THEY STILL NEED THEIR MUMS. Seeing that lambs are the same just breaks my heart for puppies crying for their mums.

Lambs are incredibly beautiful with blue eyes and angelic faces. I can understand why the lamb represents innocence and purity as depicted in the Bible and in art throughout the ages.

The local vicar helpfully says that lambs are born to die. This is true of us all but for some, sooner rather than later.

The ewes and lambs are gathered together to begin weighing. Photo copyright SvD.

My idea of Heaven...

....has always been proper food. I would rather cook a lovely, nourishing meal and open a bottle of vino than go to a restaurant any day. Apart from fine dining in France, I generally feel underwhelmed when I go to restaurants. I can tell that the meat is not the best, the chef has used shortcuts and the dish is overpriced for what it's worth.

Food is also love. You cook for those you care about because you want them to stay healthy. I remember my late mother saying that she put her heart in her cooking.

My idea of Hell is to eat processed food which is not satisfying or nutritious; food that is cooked from scratch has an energy or vitality that nourishes the body. Processed food that has passed through a machine is energetically dead.

The French still revere food which they elevate to an art form. Who could walk into this bakery and not be salivating? The baker would have started preparing the bread dough at 2.00am in order to fill the shelves by 7.00am. The belief in France that all illnesses begin in the digestive system was written about long before Western scientists linked dementia to the gut. I remember reading Saint Simon's Diaries written in the 17th century and Chateaubriand in the 18th century, and both having remarked about the connection. Today's headlines that processed food is linked to shorter life expectancy is therefore nothing new. And it goes without saying that happiness is a buy product of good health.

Finally, good food does not have to cost a lot of money. A bowl of lentils and bread will set you back a pound or two but the benefits far outweigh the cost. I think everyone can afford a packet of lentils but not necessarily the will to cook them. As the French philosopher Malebranche theorised, there is will and there is understanding. A horse cannot be forced to drink just as one chooses not to understand but to enforce one's will instead.

Photo copyright Ian C.

Meadow at last!

Where we live, the countryside has been cruelly plundered and year after year for example, the farmers will replant without letting the land rest. Wheat or rapeseed are the preferred crops or sheep, and plenty of them! Sheep farming is particularly popular on otherwise arable land and talking to our local farmers, it is a wonder they make a living considering that last year, all they got per lamb was £75.

I've noticed a decline in natural meadows in the past few years and this is a great shame. Our native orchids and other flowers such as buttercups, plantains, marjoram, fennel, dandelion, thrive in meadows and I fondly remember when I lived in Surrey being able to count dozens of different flowers within a 20m² radius. My darling doggie used to be up to his neck in wild flowers. This picture taken last Sunday shows the dearth of wildflowers in an uncultivated field near a sheep and crop farm. At least my doggie who is now very old is still with me although he can't do long walks anymore. Neither the meadows nor my doggie will be around forever, sadly.

Photo copyright Ian C.

Waste not, want not...

Last night's supper was a hearty soup (more of a potage) made from Sunday's leftover roast lamb. Sauteed chopped onions, carrots and garlic. Add lamb cut into cubes, the lamb bone, leftover gravy, potatoes, 1/3 cup red lentils, half a Swede, chopped, a teaspoon dried thyme, teaspoon chili flakes, salt and pepper. Simmer for 45 minutes stirring often so that lentils become creamy.  Delish!

Photo copyright SvD.

Walking off The Full English....

Good walk in beautiful England. Covered 4.5 miles. Only hiccup was my foot went down a rabbit hole and it could have been a broken ankle but wellies saved me!

This morning. Photo copyright SvD.

Has Brexit happened yet?

Or shall I go back to sleep?

This morning. Photo copyright SvD.

We're still being controlled by the Germans and the French!

The town of Falaise in Normandy was invaded by the Germans during the Second World War. From accounts of townspeople, three German trucks rolled in, a number of German officers dressed in black descended and declared they were now occupying  Falaise. The surrender was immediate.

Ironically, the castle overlooking the square in Falaise is where William the Conqueror grew up. William became Britain's first Norman King.

And more ironically, The 'Falaise Pocket' was instrumental in ending the war and liberating France. This time, the Germans were forced to surrender.

Like William the Conqueror and Hitler before them, the present leaders, Macron and Merkel are intent on controlling us.

The white dove appeared out of nowhere as I photographed the castle.

Photos copyright SvD.