Think of France and you think of cheese.
So much time, so little to cheese (misquoting Mr. Wonka).
The delightful market at Saint Vivian de Medoc. I shopped for food and cooked everyday but you could hardly call this work.
My mornings looked like this…
…and I spent a lot of time in this position:
The first thing I buy whenever I visit France is a tray of petit suisse. It’s a soft, creamy cheese that the French eat with a spoonful of sugar. I ate at least one every day of the holiday which might explain the extra three kilos I carried home on my person.
As might this…
…confit de canard. Oh Dear Lord, this stuff is mighty good. The duck joints must be carefully extracted from the encasing fat and then crisped up in a hot pan. I sautéed potato cubes in the fat for good measure.
Follow that up with a fine apricot custard tart and some chilled Sauternes on the side.
On the anniversary of the first barbecue that Husband made for me, twenty-five years ago, he and Teenage Son took over the cooking (and Teenage Son fired the clay pots he made at the beach).
Those foil bundles are potatoes shmeared with leftover goosefat. Point of information: should you ever find yourself with half a French baguette, a cup of leftover goosefat and a barbecue…go for it, Nirvana awaits.
Not neglecting any opportunity to add cheese:
Our second batch of foil packages contained peaches and cherries. The cake was an almond sponge.
A petit suisse for complete indulgence and the last of the Sauternes. I cannot remember any better dessert. Ever.
I was tipsy enough to wear a daisy tiara and attempt a Titanic pose but stopped short of singing…
…my heart will go on. 🙂