Pleasures of the Season: Line Dried Sheets

“Pleasures of the Season” is a series of posts which appear from time to time.  They focus on something special that occurs only seasonally, often fleeting, and something we anticipate.  In some cases, the season is quite short, other are longer, like the post below.  The posts are sometimes food related, sometimes not, but highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

Up until last year, we did not have a clothes dryer.  This is nothing special for the region; in fact, most people in Southern France don’t have clothes dryers.  Those who do are English.  Most of the year, we can dry our clothes outside, but we were getting fed up having our living room filled with drying laundry on rainy spring days.  So, we finally broke down and decided to buy a dryer, and we quickly discovered our living room is much bigger than we thought.  We were thrilled.  In the course of a single day, we could wash and dry our clothes just like much of the civilized world.  This was great until we tried one thing: sheets.  Sure, they tumbled softly in the drier and no longer cluttered the laundry basket just like everything else, but something was missing and it took me several turns in the dryer to figure it out.  They no longer had that outdoor smell -  it’s not even a smell, it’s more of a perfume.  I can never really say what it comes from, but I’m guessing it’s from all the blooming flowers and trees and it is clearly more pronounced in the spring and fall.  I don’t get that when I put the sheets in the dryer, and ‘Mountain Breeze’ scented fabric softeners don’t even come close to it.  It sounds crazy, but I really, really love that smell.  I love the day I change the sheets and get excited about going to bed early.  I even plot out my day so I can.  I take this small thing as a luxury, even though I’m sure many people would see it otherwise.  It is a lot easier to simply put things in the dryer, but I’m willing to work a little more for line dried sheets.  Don’t get me wrong, I am still thrilled with the dryer, the clutter free living room, and the almost empty laundry basket.  I didn’t think I would revert back to line drying anything, but the sheets convinced me; line dried sheets really are a pleasure of the season even if it means stepping back out of the civilized world momentarily.

Strawberry jam, Part 2: A success story or knowing when it's time to ask for help

Last week, when I wrote I asked everyone I know about making strawberry jam, I was fibbing a little.  I never asked Madame Gousse, our dear friend.  She knows everything, whether it be about plants, the cuisine, or her new hobby, cultivating bees.  So why didn’t I ask her for help when I was making strawberry jam that would be better used as mortar?  Shame.  As small and simple as that might be: shame.  If everyone kept telling me that making strawberry jam was that simple, how could I build any culinary trust between us if I couldn’t get this first step right?  I’m trying to learn all I can from her about the Catalan cuisine, so I needed to show her I could get the little things right.  Like, who’s going to show you how to make a soufflé if you can’t crack an egg?

Boy, was I wrong for not asking sooner.  She gave me no blank stares, no bulging eyes, no jaw dropping – she just simply told me how to do it and what I was doing wrong.  To sum up the lesson: I was Americanizing the process.  I was thinking too big.  I was hording the berries in the freezer so I could make a batch as big as possible to say how much I’ve made and how efficient I have been.  Wrong.  The process is small; use only the berries collected that day to make the jam.  Most of the time, it means only making a jar or two at a time, no more.

Since my lesson, I’ve made strawberry jam twice now, once creating two jars and once just a single jar.  Each time, it has come out perfect.  It’s clearly more time consuming, but I can be proud of the product I have created.  In fact, I can actually eat it. 

It’s all about adapting.  I’ve learned that sometimes applying what you know to something new works, but knowing when to step back and try a new method is even more important. 

The Best Craftsmen in France

I watched a documentary the other night that was just amazing.  It was about the Meilleurs ouvriers de France or “The best craftsmen in France”.  It’s a competition, held every four years in any manual field, where professionals compete for the title of the year’s best work.  The program I saw focused on the Meilleurs ouvriers de France in cooking, and it is an extremely grueling concourse.  Whoever wins gets to wear a blue, white, and red banded collar on his chef’s coat for the rest of his life, that, along with the admiration of the rest of his colleagues in the field.  It is a huge thing.  Veteran chefs go into training with previous Meilleurs ouvriers de France winners for years before entering the concourse.  For years, on top of everything else they have done – that’s commitment.  Then, once the concourse starts, previous winners stand over them and judge quite harshly, while taking notes on the whole process.  This is not your reality TV program, this is the real thing.

Outside of my love for cooking, what really drew me into this is the passion that each of the chefs have.  They wake up thinking about their work and are inspired to do better by everything around them; a simple walk turns into inspiration for something new.  They are awe inspiring as they try to achieve absolute perfection -  not just in the finish product, but in the process of creating.  There is a transmission of ideas; these chefs share their techniques with each other so the profession as a whole will continue and get better.  How’s that for teamwork?  They collaborate for the patrimony of art, so the French cuisine will continue to be what it is.  Watching this makes me want to make the best dinner possible every time, even if it is just spaghetti.

It's not your onions, and other great French phrases

Just like in English, the French language has lots of popular phrases.  Here’s one that I like:

Ce n’est pas tes oignons

A literal translation would mean:

“It’s not your onions”.

Useful translation:
It’s none of your business.

I first tried using the phrase, “Ce n’est pas tes business”, but people only shook their head at me.  The language doesn’t work that way, got to stick to the phrase with no modifications.

I’ve asked around as to the origin of this French phrase, but no one seems to know.  Perhaps it is because I didn’t grow up on a farm, but I can’t come up with an American phrase that is rooted in agriculture like this.  I think this shows the profound influence culture and history have on popular vernacular.

Here’s another I like:

Arrête de me raconter des salads

Or:

“Stop telling me about salads”.

More useful:

Stop lying to me.

I love the image this one creates, like a salad is going to takes your lies anyway.

Do you have any favorite botanical based phrases? (Keep it clean, please…)

Stick to your ribs strawberry jam

Strawberry jam: one of the basics of jamming.  It’s the starter jam everyone begins with before moving onto more complicated ones.  It’s the first hole in miniature golf, the kiddie hills of skiing, the splash pool, the old mere horse, the beginner’s stage of everything, you know: the easy stuff.  And each time, I mess it up.

I just made my first batch of the season and I have created stick to your ribs strawberry jelly, not jam, but cement like jelly.  The kind of stuff that would be better sliced and served like cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving dinner.  Yep, I messed it up that badly.  Each and every time I make strawberry jam I have a problem; it’s way too thin, the berries don’t cook right, or, I get mortar.  I can make the more complicated jams.  Chestnut jam is firmly set in my repertoire, and I quickly mastered quince jamming, which is not easy, but there is something elusive about strawberry jam to me.  I just can’t get it right.  Maybe I’m too impatient since it’s also the first fruit of the season.  Maybe it’s because Chantal, who showed me how to make all the other jams, only explained this one to me.  I’ve asked everyone I know who makes jam what they do, and everyone tells me the same thing, “Oh, it’s easy”.  Then, their eyes get wide when they hear how badly I’ve messed it up.  It doesn’t bother me, but I’m getting worried as bags and bags of strawberries are starting to accumulate in the freezer.  Maybe, just maybe, I should turn to tarts - but they seem like such less of a challenge for me.  At least this way, I won't have strawberry scented cement at the breakfast table. 

Le Canigou

I’m a little late for my Friday blog, but I was having technical difficulties.   Can I do that?  Yes, I’m going to call that card: technical difficulties.  I guess you could say, “Just go to a hotspot café, they’re everywhere”, but let me remind you where I am: in the middle of the mountains.  There are no cafés.  Luckily, I found a computer guy not too far away, so “Mr. Computer” got the machine and the connection up and running again.  Since mountains and the challenges living near one is a timely subject for me, let me share some information about the most popular mountain in the region: Le Canigou.

Once thought to be the tallest peak in the eastern part of the Pyrenees Mountains, the Canigou is a sacred mountain to the Catalan region, the Southeastern most part of France.  It has been loved, feared, and honored for centuries and is the subject of numerous folkloric songs and stories.  It towers 9,137 feet in the air and is an ever present backdrop to life in the region.  In fact, on June 22, the summer solstice, a festival is held there, called the Flama del Canigó.   Each surrounding village brings wood to create an enormous bonfire that burns all night long.  Then, the flame is brought back down to the plain and used to light other festival fires.  I’ve never been to the Flama del Canigó, but if the night is clear, I can see the flame on the mountain from the terrace.

Growing up in the Chicago area, I was exposed to lots of corn covered flat land.  I’ve never lived near a mountain nor had the desire to; I was a Mid-Westerner.  Meat and potatoes, and corn, and lots of it.  That was of course until I moved into the middle of a mountain range in Southern France.  No corn, no flatland, and no gently rolling hills.  Now, Le Canigou has replaced the corn fields and I watch snow drift off its peak from September to May.  I like looking up and seeing if it has a new layer of snow or if the last of it has melted away for summer.  It’s a gage for the season, a lot like the height of the cornstalks in the field.  I do miss the Mid-West, and I think it takes a born and raised Mid-Westerner to say that, but I’m okay with the change.  The mountains are not an easy place to live, and sometimes, things like the internet can be elusive.  I’ve learned to role with the changes; besides, I guessing a hotspot café in the middle of a cornfield isn’t easy to find either.

May Notes: A Review

It’s June 1^st, so you know what that means: May Memoir has come to a close.  I’ve had a great month sharing excerpts from my memoir, Ca va?  Stories from Rural Life in Southern France.   I hope it provided insight of life here and gave you a few laughs about our adventures.  The manuscript is not yet published, and my search for a literary agent continues, but once all those pieces fall into place, I’ll provide more information as to how the writing process and transformation go.

A lot has happened over the last month, so let me give you a rundown:

The trumpet vine we planted is growing an inch a day.  We planted it last fall, but then were immediately hit with a cold snap, so we thought it died; happily, it didn’t.  At the rate it’s growing, it will soon be covering the whole garden.

The potato plants have started to bloom.  We planted two varieties: Charlotte and Rosabella.  So far, both varieties look good and receive a regular watering, but it’s always a surprise to unearth what is underneath when it comes harvest time.

Tiny, tiny green threads have pushed their way up in our herb patch: dill weed is on its way!  This was my addition to the garden; Christophe never planted it before I arrived.

Christophe finally got around to fixing our small, fiberglass greenhouse.  It sits on the ground and is smaller than a refrigerator, but it’s great for seedlings.  I’ve started some basil and pumpkin in it minutes after he was done.

Early May was cool and sunny which was great for the strawberries plants.  We impatiently waited for the first strawberry, but were sorely disappointed to discover it was eaten by a fox.  Since then, we have been extremely vigilant about gathering them before he has a chance to eat his evening dessert.  Ten pounds of berries have been collected so far, and we’ve noted the fox has moved to digging in our compost pile.

One hundred sweet onions are rapidly growing in the garden, but won’t be ready to harvest until late August.

Sadly, one of our elm trees became infected with Dutch elm disease and had to be cut down.  It started last year, but we had hopes it would pull through since younger trees can bounce back, ours didn’t.

Our saffron has gone dormant.  Its wispy green shoots have finally yellowed and withered.  Now, we wait until September for the plant to spring back to life bringing with it amazing purple flowers and its world’s most expensive and awesomely delicious spice.  

That’s all in a quick nutshell.  I’ll be back with regular posts on Friday.