Dried flowers at the Lunel MarketLoyalty is something that I try and encourage, both in myself and in others. I like to think that I am loyal to my family and to my friends, but today my loyalty was sorely tested.
I had only recently discovered that delicious confection – the palmier which lay on the shelf in the boulangerie, heart shaped and glistening with studs of sugar. This had almost taken over the place in my heart that had been captured by the discovery of the fougasse, crisp, layered and impregnated with pieces of olive.
But today, out of the blue, in the middle of the bread stall on the Lunel market, I experienced what the French would call a “coup de foudre”. I was struck, not by lightening, but by the foot long icing sugar dusted, almond decorated Sacristan. I hadn’t seen one before, or if I had, I wasn’t in the sort of receptive state that we were in today. We had wandered around a few of the back streets of Lunel, diving in and out of various bakeries, but never quite seeing what we wanted, and it was because of this that we ended up at the bread stall in the busy Sunday market place.
The lady behind the counter looked at me in an almost understanding manner as she wrapped two of them in little sheets of paper and handed them over.
“Quick” I said to Jean as he waited for his change.
“There are some steps just around the corner, we can sit and eat them there”.
It has to be explained that a Sacristan cannot be eaten on the hoof as it were. It requires that the eater be seated with both hands free in order to break off crispy chunks and pop them straight into the mouth before the chin and chest are dusted with icing sugar. With free hands, it is possible to lick the end of one finger and pick up all the bits of toasted almond which fall onto the paper, and sitting in the late summer sun, watching the shoppers choosing their plants and herbs and flowers, there can be no better combination of taste and entertainment.
The Lunel Sunday Market had been rather a disappointment the last time we went there, but then again, it was high season and the bulls were of more importance than the market. Today the bull ring was closed and the stalls were back in place, and with the most perfect weather which followed on, almost apologetically after two or three rather overcast damp days, everyone was out and about.
Talk about a paradise for the potager. Row upon row of vegetable plants were on offer, and it would seem that frost and cold hold very little fear for the gardeners in this region. Leeks are very high on the popularity list followed closely by cabbages and winter salad. Every herb that I have ever heard of was available, and alongside were multitudes of brightly coloured bedding plants, flowers, creepers and indoor pot plants.
We were sorely tempted to buy something that would brighten up the front wall of the house, but common sense prevailed and we decided to wait until next spring and then put in a climber that is already well advanced which will quickly clamber up a trellis. The choice is huge and I shall have to decide whether to go with my great favourite the bougainvillea, or go for something slightly less exotic with a good track record. I think we shall have to resume our evening walks and spy over garden walls and see what is doing well.
I have been reading emails from friends in soggy England and from friends in hurricane haunted Miami and I have to guard against sounding too smug, but Boy Oh Boy are we glad to be living in the south of France.
I had only recently discovered that delicious confection – the palmier which lay on the shelf in the boulangerie, heart shaped and glistening with studs of sugar. This had almost taken over the place in my heart that had been captured by the discovery of the fougasse, crisp, layered and impregnated with pieces of olive.
But today, out of the blue, in the middle of the bread stall on the Lunel market, I experienced what the French would call a “coup de foudre”. I was struck, not by lightening, but by the foot long icing sugar dusted, almond decorated Sacristan. I hadn’t seen one before, or if I had, I wasn’t in the sort of receptive state that we were in today. We had wandered around a few of the back streets of Lunel, diving in and out of various bakeries, but never quite seeing what we wanted, and it was because of this that we ended up at the bread stall in the busy Sunday market place.
The lady behind the counter looked at me in an almost understanding manner as she wrapped two of them in little sheets of paper and handed them over.
“Quick” I said to Jean as he waited for his change.
“There are some steps just around the corner, we can sit and eat them there”.
It has to be explained that a Sacristan cannot be eaten on the hoof as it were. It requires that the eater be seated with both hands free in order to break off crispy chunks and pop them straight into the mouth before the chin and chest are dusted with icing sugar. With free hands, it is possible to lick the end of one finger and pick up all the bits of toasted almond which fall onto the paper, and sitting in the late summer sun, watching the shoppers choosing their plants and herbs and flowers, there can be no better combination of taste and entertainment.
The Lunel Sunday Market had been rather a disappointment the last time we went there, but then again, it was high season and the bulls were of more importance than the market. Today the bull ring was closed and the stalls were back in place, and with the most perfect weather which followed on, almost apologetically after two or three rather overcast damp days, everyone was out and about.
Talk about a paradise for the potager. Row upon row of vegetable plants were on offer, and it would seem that frost and cold hold very little fear for the gardeners in this region. Leeks are very high on the popularity list followed closely by cabbages and winter salad. Every herb that I have ever heard of was available, and alongside were multitudes of brightly coloured bedding plants, flowers, creepers and indoor pot plants.
We were sorely tempted to buy something that would brighten up the front wall of the house, but common sense prevailed and we decided to wait until next spring and then put in a climber that is already well advanced which will quickly clamber up a trellis. The choice is huge and I shall have to decide whether to go with my great favourite the bougainvillea, or go for something slightly less exotic with a good track record. I think we shall have to resume our evening walks and spy over garden walls and see what is doing well.
I have been reading emails from friends in soggy England and from friends in hurricane haunted Miami and I have to guard against sounding too smug, but Boy Oh Boy are we glad to be living in the south of France.
1 comment:
Yum, I think I have just discovered the reason for my unexplained weight gain. Reading your blog. Your descriptions are fabulous. I love the pics of all the plants and beautiful herbs. Want so badly to be there with you. Keep up the great work, love reading your stories.
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