Walking Around la Roche Posay

On Monday 20 January Simon and I joined Fabrice, Monique, Danielle, Aline, Beryl, Annie, Jane and David on a 5 kilometre walk in 4°C sunshine. The route took us in a circuit from the carpark in la Roche Posay, through the golf course, past l'Oréal's spa, laboratory and magic water collection plant, down to the greenway (Fr. voie verte), across the viaduct and around over the road bridge back into the old centre of la Roche Posay.

 

The former Hostellerie du Prieuré, a wobbly old house at the entrance to town as you come over the bridge. Sadly such a patchwork of materials today that it is rather ugly.

Looking upstream along the Creuse river, from the bridge towards the viaduct.

The Castel, a grand 19th century house built on medieval ramparts overlooking the River Creuse.

Looking towards the church from the bridge.

This sign says you may fish for Black Bass from the bridge and along this stretch of the Creuse River, but strictly on a catch and release system. There is clearly no French expression for this, and they use the English 'catch and release' or 'no kill'.

The bridge and the Castel seen from across a flood meadow.

The viaduct across the Creuse River, once a railway bridge, now part of a greenway.

Looking from the viaduct along the Creuse River towards la Roche Posay.

The Creuse River, with quite high water.

Awwww....an abandoned child's Croc...along the greenway.

L'Oréal's facility, with magic water storage tanks in the foreground, the spa behind. The original spa is the pink building in the distance.

L'Epicure, La Roche-Posay

Last Wednesday was my birthday (65!) so we went out for lunch. We chose L'Epicure in La Roche Posay because it opened just before we left for Australia and our friend Sihan (from the Restaurant l'Image in Preuilly) recommended it. 

It looked like everyone else dining there was with business colleagues. The restaurant offers a three course menu du jour Tuesday to Saturday for €25, and they are closed on Mondays. They have taken over the former pizzeria in rue du Falk.

We had parsnip soup to start, thankfully without the curry spice that is ubiquitious in British versions of this soup. It was the best parsnip soup I've ever had, thick, velvety and nicely parsnip flavoured. Then Simon had whiting and I had flank steak, with mash, seasonal vegetables and pesto. Once again, a perfectly cooked 'onglet', and super tender without sacrificing flavour. For dessert Simon had a crème brulée and I had a pear tartelette Tatin. Crème brulée is a classic and I always like a Tatin of pears as a change from apple. I had a glass of sparkling wine and a strawberry Diabolo, and we shared a bottle of sparkling water to drink.

Check the restaurant out on their website: https://restaurantcaveepic.wixsite.com/epicure

 

 

Thanks to l'Epicure for a delicous birthday lunch.

Things are Changing in France

When we first moved to France 15 years ago sourcing affordable peanut butter was challenging. The supermarkets only stocked one brand, Skippy (which is American), and you found it in the 'weird foreign foods' section. If I remember correctly it was nearly €6 for a 340 g jar, and only came in smooth. French people in those days definitely didn't like peanut butter. The spread of choice, if you are French, is Nutella (or own brand knock off versions of chocolate hazelnut spread). We don't like Nutella, but luckily we have good Dutch friends who were very generous with their regular supply of crunchy pindakaas in big jars.

At my local SuperU.

Then we discovered Noz and to our joy, they frequently had all sorts of end of line, overstock and liquidation peanut butter, for perfectly reasonable prices. So nowadays our approach is to stock up at Noz every couple of weeks.

However, for various reasons, we haven't had the opportunity to shop at Noz for a while, so the peanut butter situation was getting desperate. The other day, on my regular supermarket run, I checked out the peanut butter. I was quite surprised to see, in a small provincial supermarket, four brands of peanut butter, two of which proudly proclaimed they were made in France (albeit from American peanuts)! And they were no longer in the 'weird foreign foods' section, but in the 'spreads and jam section'. They were all smooth though (except for the Skippy, which came in both smooth and crunchy).

Trompettes des Maures

At the market in La Roche Posay.

The name Trompettes des maures for this highly prized mushroom seem to be one chosen for commercial reasons. You often see it labelled thus when it is sold pickled or dried in jars. I suspect the thinking is that 'mort' (death), pronounced the same as 'maures' (Moors), does not sell.

Growing in the Forest of Preuilly.

The name used by anyone foraging for them is Trompettes de la mort, and this name owes its origin to the mushrooms period of growth, around All Saints' Day.

They are black, the color of mourning, which helps their association with the dead. But in fact it seems likely that there was a semantic shift, and originally the name was "trumpet of love"! A nickname that comes from their cornucopia shape, a symbol of generosity. When they appear they are often abundant, another link with the cornucopia idea. 

As well as trompettes des maures, they were sometimes also referred to as truffe du pauvre (poor man's  truffles).  

At Loches market.

Chataignes and Marrons

Last October one of the market stalls I buy mushrooms and vegetables from in La Roche Posay had sweet chestnuts. There were two different sorts, marked 'marrons' and 'chataignes', and they were different prices. So I asked the stallholder what the difference is.

Cultivated sweet chestnuts (marrons) on the left at €7.50/kg and wild sweet chestnuts (chataignes) on the right at €5.80.

According to him, marrons are cultivated, and a premium product, whereas chataignes are the wild ones that are foraged in the forest. But beware -- marrons can also refer to horse chestnuts, which are not edible.

In cultivated chestnuts, known as marrons in French, there is just a single big 'nut' in the husk (Fr bogue), whereas in the wild chataigne there are usually three 'nuts' nestled together in the prickly husk. The popularity of the term marron came about because chestnuts were seen as poverty food and the word 'chataigne' was associated with hard times.

Chataignes are smaller and paler, and traditionally dried to preserve them and kill any insect infestation, then ground make flour. They were important for preventing famine in areas that were too steep to grow grains of any sort. Marrons are used fresh for roasting and candying (the famous marrons glacé that are such a treat at Christmas time) because they peel more easily.

Smelling the Melon's Bottom...

 ...and other top tips for discerning the ripeness of that iconic local fruit, the Charentais melon.

Charentais melon, cut in half.

Some people press the stem or the flower end to see if they give a bit. Some people get up close and personal to smell them. They should be fragrantly melon scented, not boozy smelling (a sign of over-ripeness and fermenting). Others tap them to see if they make the right hollow sound, and a few heft them in their hand to check they are heavy for their size. A widely held belief is that the best melons have exactly 10 ribs and some people won't buy melons with fewer or more than this. 

Melons marked by the producer in the order we should eat them.

Be careful though, touching the melons is often frowned upon by the market traders, and it can be a sure way of indicating that you are a tourist if you pick up a melon without asking first. It's OK to pick up a melon in the supermarket though.

Melons at Preuilly market, sold by the local producer.

Personally, I ask the melon seller to choose me one. They will normally ask when I want to eat it and choose one that is good for aujourd'hui, demain or apres-demain as appropriate. A top tip from the melon growers themselves is to look for signs of cracking around the edge of the more or less smooth circular bit the stalk is attached to. This is a sign the melon is well and truly ripe and about to detach itself from the plant. I much prefer to buy melons direct from the producer, either at a market or on the farm, and rarely buy a supermarket melon. Producers will have their best melons on display for locals to buy and will indicate honestly any that are not such good quality.

Duo of melon and tomato with air dried ham, made by our chef friend Fréd as a starter.

Smelling the melon's stem end to check for ripeness is known as 'sentir son cul' (smelling its bum) and is what most French people would do.