Another day another brocante
Posted: July 14, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About Leave a commentThis time it was Uzes. One of my favourite towns in the whole wide world….and it knows it. I always seem to fall in love with everything I see in Uzes so when we heard there was a 2 day antiques fair and market, it was bound to be trouble.
Had we all the money in the world and an enormous french farm house to fill, it would have been a breeze, but we haven’t and we don’t so we were frugal and careful but still found some treasures.
My finds were as follows : a 6 piece set of matching plates, a bundle of fabulous french stripe fabric and some silver and bone handled cutlery – 6 of each utensil and all in pristine condition.
My husband – having a bit of a thing for milk and glass bottles – found this gorgeous one which will sit on a shelf with the 35 American glass milk bottles he shipped back last year. A man can never have too many milk bottles.
To celebrate our brocante brilliantness we went out for dinner, sans children, to a wonderful restaurant called Le Tracteur in Sanilhac – Et – Sagries. It’s on a little back street of this very sleepy village with no signs, no menus out front and just a small garden with enough tables and chairs to seat 40 comfortably. It’s full every single Summer night and the food is simply a treat. The very clever chef, who works the kitchen with no help at all, devises a changing menu which offers a choice of just 2 starters, 2 main courses and 2 deserts or cheese, all for 27 euros. We come here every year and have learned to totally trust anything which is put in front of us and therefore always choose one of each course to share – or not to share, depending on who made the best choice. Everything is seasonal and local and more often than not, there are foods and flavours I’ve never tasted before but which I wish I could recreate and eat all the time.
We felt a bit silly taking pictures of all the courses and to be perfectly honest, we were too busy enjoying ourselves. Have a look at their Facebook page where there’s all kinds of lovely things to see and information to be stored.
Hunk’s Trunks Sunk by Zebedee Helm
Posted: July 12, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Wear 1 CommentThe problem of bikinis slipping off when enjoying a dive into water is not one that is exclusive to women. As a man it happens too, although it is often not a bikini but the male swimming costume (trunks) which come down and expose the white male rump and ding dong. Don’t think you can trick gravity by pulling the drawstring really tight before diving either, it just makes them harder to pull up again. For those of you who are interested in damage limitation and don’t want to frighten the children, the trick is to catch your trunks before they come entirely right off and then try to re-position them when you are still under the water. Of course this isn’t always possible and if you find yourself starting to drown then abandon the manoeuvre, it is not worth dying for. The thing of it is however, that when your trunks do shoot off you are reminded how much nicer it feels to swim without them in the first place.
I’ve just remembered that this is predominantly a fashion blog and so herewith is a description of the trunks that presently encumber my socks, pants and trunks drawer. Don’t worry this won’t take long I only have three pairs, or a pair of pairs and one more pair, whichever is clearer. Pair one (1) are green and baggy and floppy and I bought them in India for 1 Rupee (for those of you unfamiliar with the currency this is very cheap) Unfortunately they smell very strongly of stale sulphur. This is because I went into a hot sulphur spring in Italy and didn’t wash them out afterwards. People grimace if I swoosh past them wearing these ones, so they are for emergencies only now. Pair two are from a little known fashion boutique called Gap which is in Cheltenham. They are red shorts with white piping. Unfortunately the white piping is now incredibly filthy and grey. I don’t know how they got like this as they are only worn in water, which is what you clean things in, and yet they are dirty and it won’t scrub out, which is mysterious as well as annoying. These are my main pair. Pair three are Burberry ones which I bought ironically. They are very tight and not flattering at all, particularly when exiting the water, or lounging about. Also no one apart from me thinks they are funny, so they rarely get worn. To conclude this essay on the male trunks costume, I would recommend wherever possible to dispense with them entirely and if you are nice and thin, go for a skinny dip, and if you are large, a fatty dip.
Editor’s note : If you would like to know more about the wonderful world of Zebedee Helm then you must visit his website HERE. You can also purchase his fabulous cartoons, drawings and paintings and read his brilliant blog.
Bonkers about Brocantes
Posted: July 11, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About Leave a commentThe reason I like to drive to France is because I hate to fly. The reason my husband likes to drive to France is so he can pile the car high with wine from the local vineyard (the most delicious blush rose you’ve ever tasted) and all kinds of “tat” from the flea markets and brocantes which litter the Gard. The first thing we do when we arrive is make a calendar of all the local markets and stick it to the fridge – this maps out our holiday and if he misses a single one, then on my head be it. There’s a website called Vide Greniers which lists them all by type and region and at this time of year, thank goodness, they are quite literally everywhere.
He’s gone to Nimes this morning. Yesterday it was Uzes and Anduze. We went en famille to the one in Uzes as I’m quite partial to a market bargain too and in past years, we’ve found some pretty good stuff from this one in particular. We generally like the same kinds of things which helps the hunt and are quite good at spotting objects that the other will like too. I tend to go for lovely old crockery, interesting things for the kitchen and linen and fabrics. He goes for an eclectic mix of kitsch needlepoints (don’t ask), vintage enamel and tin pots and interesting old tools, swords and tractor grills. So you can see, we come away with quite a bundle of stuff we don’t really need but with which it was love at first sight.
I bagged the best bargain yesterday, in fact it could just be the find of the holiday. A fabulous wooden board or “planche” about 5 cm thick and used to perfection. After trying to haggle my way down from 12 to 10 euros, I realised the seller was in fact saying “deux” – “are you mad???” I wanted to shriek, but didn’t. I quietly handed him the 2 little coins and tucked it under my arm and walked away, rather quickly and, no doubt, looking a little smug. Here’s a picture of it in full use earlier today. Isn’t it lovely.
So, as I write this, who knows what treasures he’ll come back with but lets just hope it isn’t another bloody needlepoint of Johnny Halliday on a Harley.
Another wonderful week doing Absolutely Nothing…..
Posted: July 10, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing Leave a comment
Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About – Le Clos De La Prairie Mel Moss
Absolutely Nothing To Lick – Apricot Gelato Micki Myers
Absolutely Nothing To Milk Jay Jay Burridge
Absolutely Nothing To Sniff At – Peaches Micki Myers
Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About – Fonvielle Bleu Mel Moss
Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About – Fonvielle Bleu Part Deux Mel Moss
Absolutely Nothing To Wear – Bikini, Tankini or All-In-One-Kini Mel Moss
Bikini, Tankini or All-In-One-Kini
Posted: July 8, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Wear Leave a commentMy children have worn nothing but Indian cotton kaftans since we arrived in France. My husband has worn a colourful variety of Happy Socks with sandals daily and I’ve been head to toe in Breton stripes and Tallulah and Hope. Life is good.
So that’s the coverups sorted out. My husband’s Happy Socks don’t really count I know but at least they keep him smiling and the locals entertained.
I’m still unsure about my bikini situation though. I’ve always been a little nervous of the bikini. You see, I like swimming, I like going up and down the pool, diving in, a bit of front crawl, maybe even some forward rolls if I’m feeling sprightly. Sadly bikini’s do not tend to weather well with all this activity. It results in rather too much unplanned exposure, if you know what I mean. What you really need is a proper swimsuit and I do happen to have one with me, my Adidas blue stripe with razor back, but it’s not really the thing to be worn by the pool. It doesn’t work well for either sunbathing activities or general poolside chic. What’s a girl to do.
I’ve tried all styles of bikini. The halter versions tend to expose from bottom up, especially during that first dive of the day and the bandeaus, well they just end up round your tummy when faced with even the slightest bit of action. There is the Tankini of course and I do like a Tankini, it’s a clever bit of bikini style design and perfect for the post childbirth tummy but I still don’t feel nearly as secure as in my faithful one piece.
So here’s what I’ve had to do. The Adidas comes out very early in the morning for my serious swim. When I can leap and splash to my hearts content and emerge breathless but decent. The bikini (which this year is a blue and white polka dot halter from Topshop) makes its appearance for the gentle breaststroke with head above the ripples, complete with the all important squeals as I lower myself in to the icy cold water and finished off with a graceful, modest exit via the steps.
All rather boring but essential bikini behaviour.
Fonvielle Bleu Part Deux
Posted: July 8, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About Leave a commentSo many blues so little time.
Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About – Fonvielle Bleu
Posted: July 8, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Write Home About 1 Comment
I can’t stop thinking about the wonderful Little Brown Pen blog I wrote about a few days ago. The Paris Colour Project have had quite an effect on me and so I dedicate this post to them. I only wish my photographic skills were half as good.
We’re currently in the South of France. At my father in law’s house near the wonderful town of Albi. The house is called Fonvielle and is set in a valley surrounded by fields. It’s beautiful and quiet and teaming with nature, all of which is being somewhat disturbed by our children.
My father in law, an artist, loves blue. All shades. There is blue everywhere you look, inside and out. From the painted shutters to the bathroom tiles and even the perfect hand made playhouse….blue on the outside, pink on the inside to keep all the grandchildren happy! So I thought I’d share some french blues through a few afternoon pictures, taken when all is quiet.
The big blue egg contains a baby dinosaur, says my 3 year old, just in case you were wondering.
Absolutely Nothing To Sniff At
Posted: July 7, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Eat Leave a commentYou probably know this already. That’s because you’re probably very clever. Some clever things, however, only seem that way.
Take, for instance the bright idea that someone had about how to ensure that anyone, anywhere could buy a “ripe” peach no matter how far they lived from places peaches grow: just pick them before they ripen, and let them mature on their journey. Bingo! One way to do that is to refrigerate said peaches to retard said maturity. This is why when you reach out to touch the beautiful dusky, slightly downy fruit you recoil in shock because they feel like marbles: ice cold and just as hard.
Those unfortunate shoppers who buy fruit by sight alone might never have tasted a genuinely ripe peach. This is tragic. Don’t let this happen to you. Occasionally some slip through though. Here’s how to detect them as they hide, visually identical to their tasteless, mealy cousins.
First, very gently touch each one. You will immediately be able to feel which are rock hard, and which have just the tiniest give. Pick up that peach and sniff it. Best yet, close your eyes. If it smells bitter, it is unripe. If it smells like nothing at all, it is unready. If it smells instantly like a peach — a sweet, heady aroma that makes the hairs in your nostrils tingle — then it is a likely candidate and must be placed in your basket.
Once you get home, eat your peach. They do not like to wait around all perfect until you decide you’re ready. No sir. Take a sharp paring knife, your peach, and a bowl, and get to work.
Why the bowl?
Just you wait and see.
Absolutely Nothing To Milk
Posted: July 6, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Eat Leave a commentI don’t know about you but my franglais is rather limited to ordering beer and it seems when I say Bonjour I generally get a Bonsoir reply, and vice versa. So, when it comes to shopping in the French supermarche, I can just about work out the contents of a packet, through a few recognisable words and a cartoon picture. For example, a happy pig winking with a chef’s hat on = pork product and a black and white cow with a bell round its neck = dairy product and so on. When given the task of finding fresh milk – “just like in England” – for my two boys who demand gallons of it 10 times a day, I’m always perplexed with what exactly is fresh milk in France? There’s a variety which comes in plastic bottles with either green, red or blue tops which is definitely not fresh as it’s not in the chiller cabinet and then there are the cartons of some kind of milk product which has certainly been pasteurised and homogenised but also has a shelf life of about 20 years. Not so fresh. The only thing I can ever find in the chiller cabinet are the minute cartons of which I’m presuming is cream…..due to size, nothing else. Generally, whatever I buy is always the wrong thing, that was until now!
Located outside the entrance to the local Intermarche is a vending machine about the size of a photo booth and next to it a slightly smaller one which dispenses empty, plastic, one litre bottles. It was quite clear from the ginormous winking cow, that this was a milk product and to my joy, and a handful of euros, it was indeed the freshest of chilled milk.
Getting the bottle was pretty straightforward, 20 cents in the machine et voila. Then, I hovered for some time clutching my 1 euro piece in front of the cow vending machine and finally plucked up the courage to slot in the coin at which point I was greated with the audio of a cow mooing it’s heart out at full volume. Thankfully this is a familiar sound to the passers by so not too many heads turned and stared. Once the mooing had begun, a latched door popped open revealing a tap, spout sort of thing which, when the green button was pressed, dispensed me a litre of the coldest, freshest milk I’ve tasted in years.
Of course the first time I came home with the new milky treasure I was quizzed for some time by my constantly sceptical wife asking how I knew it was definitely safe to drink and in fact definitely milk. But once tasted and even after translating the label, she seemed almost convinced. So no it’s not pasteurised but it’s fresher and more delicious than any milk I’ve ever tasted and not a single tummy is complaining……yet.
Absolutely Nothing To Lick: Gelato
Posted: July 5, 2011 Filed under: Absolutely Nothing To Cook Leave a commentA very kind neighbor recently gave me a big bowl of apricots that had flirted with ripeness and were now ready to be consumed or settle into apricot ennui, patiently awaiting the inevitable coarsening of flesh and wrinkles. Just a little bit too much like me, I thought, wondering how on earth to eat all eighteen immediately.
As they sat there smiling up at me with their golden glow in the evening sunshine, the answer hit upon me: they have to stop being apricots, and start being apricot gelato. Now they reside happily in my freezer in a couple of quart tubs waiting to be scooped out onto sugar cones and sprinkled with toasted almonds or served in a glass with a wafer and some raspberries.
Homemade gelato is absolutely worth making and it’s easy. It starts with a plain custard base to which you can add almost anything; in this case, a big dollop of pureed apricots. Here’s my recipe:
In a heavy-bottomed pan, pour 1 pint of whole milk, and half a pint of double cream.
Place over a slow heat and cook until tiny bubbles start to form and the temperature reaches 175 degrees F. Do not let it boil.
Meanwhile, whisk together the yolks of 4 eggs with 5oz of caster sugar until the mixture is thick and pale.
Now you have to temper the eggs by slowly introducing the hot milk to them. Do this with a balloon whisk: go back and forth between the milk and the eggs with it a few times so that the eggs understand that heat is coming. Then very very slowly pour the milk into the eggs, whisking furiously as you go. The aim is to not scramble them!
You should now have a lovely pale creamy liquid that needs to be returned to a low heat to become custard. Stir gently until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon and the temperature reaches 185 degrees F.
Remove from heat and pour into a cold metal bowl. Let it settle to room temperature then refrigerate, overnight if possible, because the colder it is, the faster it will freeze.
When you are ready to turn this into gelato, simply mix in your chosen flavor; all stoned fruit and berries are good, but so are nut pastes, such as pistachio, hazelnut and chestnut. The sticky seeds scraped out of a long pod would be all it needs to make an exquisite vanilla. Pour into an ice-cream maker and watch for it to become aerated and fluffy. Scoop into a freezer-safe container and freeze for a few hours to achieve the proper texture.
This should provide up to two quarts of finished gelato. Most ice-cream makers have drums that can only take half of this, and the custard keeps very well for a few days in the fridge while you make one batch after another, re-freezing the drum in between.
Here’s the finished product. This apricot gelato is so vibrant with the fresh fruit that it literally zings on your tongue, a bit like the sparkles of a glug of fizzy-pop. It keeps you young, I swear.
Absolutely Nothing To Wear 