Party time

On Saturday night we had the pleasure of attending the party for the volunteers who were involved in the music festival in Bais.

As you will recall myself and my good lady wife were employed making crepes of which 2500 were sold and the party was our reward.

The only stipulation was that everyone had to wear a hat so I donned my trusty McLaren Mercedes cap which my eldest son gave me after he had been to a trade fair in Switzerland and Mrs Powerfulpierre took her straw hat and whilst we were having a walk around the lake at Sillé le Guillaume she picked up some autumn leaves to decorate it.  The Lake is a huge man made expanse of water and takes us about an hourish to get round depending on how many times we have to stop for Buster to have a sniff around and leave p-mails.  There is a proper sand beach and pedalos, restaurants and  cafés.  During the summer it is very popular and has a large campsite of static caravans.  It is on the road to Le Mans which is about an hours drive from us with Sillé plage being about 20 minutes drive.

Mrs Powerfulpierre showing off her hat

The Lake and the forest beyond

Buster taking Powerfulpierre for a walk

So to the party, we arrived at 8 and is usual with the French the main course was a long time coming, drinks and nibbles were served, I had the punch assuming it would be the fruity mildly alcoholic stuff so took a huge gulp only to discover that it had been laced with a lot of vodka.  There were pork rillettes on bread which were delicious and cheese and tomatoes on sticks, but I stuck to the pork rillettes.

We met our neighbours there and there children and the other people we had worked with at the stall and then we were invited to watch a movie of the music festival which I have to say was very well done, a mixture of still and moving pictures which really captured the nights frivolities.  We saw ourselves several times in the movie, strolling along the street to the next venue and making the crepes, Mrs Powerfulpierre commented that it caught the spirit of a small French village enjoying itself.

There were about 80 places set

After the film we sat down for the meal and thankfully no sour cabbage, instead it was a North African dish of cous cous with chicken, spicey and ordinary sausages, chick peas, potatoes and carrots and various veg.

After playing various musical games between courses we had the cheese and this was a plateful of very runny Camembert, just the way I like it, it went down so well with the bread and vin rouge and then more dancing followed by a selection of desserts from apple tart to chocolate cake.

Unfortunately there was no after dinner coffee on offer and clearly a number of the guests were none too happy about this so one of the organisers went off in search of some.  Eventually he appeared with coffee and tea, Liptons Yellow not a patch on Tetley but under the circumstances a refreshing substitute.

So a great evening again, and as I have said before that will be it until Christmas or will it?

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St Thomas walk and other stuff

The annual Saint Thomas walk is on Sunday 18th October and commences from the church square at 2pm. The walk is 10 Km and every time we have walked it the weather has been fantastic, so cross fingers it is this time.

The first time we walked it we could not believe the pace that the 30 or so people taking part set off at. The Mayor led the way and whilst I am no spring chicken the ages of some of the participants must have had at least 20 years on us. I remember saying to Mrs Powerfulpierre that they will never keep this pace up but they did. At the end of the walk we were invited to take cake with the Mayor in the Marie building. There was beer and soft drinks and I sat there dripping with sweat and trying to get my breath whilst all these octogenarians sat there looking as though they had not been on the walk at all.

So if you are free and fancy a walk in the French countryside, the walk passes near our house and the temptation to go home at this point is strong, then see you at the church on Sunday next.

Tonight is the meal laid on in honour of those volunteers who helped out on the music festival. Alain our neighbour is involved in the music group that organises it and when Mrs Powerfulpierre went to his dairy the other night to get our 5 liters of full fat, organic, raw milk, she mentioned that we had received the invitation and that we were going and enquired what might be on the menu, the answer has filled me with disappointment, choucroute or sauerkraut, the French version of an Alsatian specialty consisting of sour cabbage and frankfurter style sausages, normally served with whole boiled potatoes and some other veg and I cannot stand it.

Now the last time this happened was last year when we went to our medical insurers annual general meeting again in Bais. The president of the company locally is our neighbour Robert, he whose anniversary party we attended back in May and is featured in a previous blog. On the occasion of the meeting my wife discovered that choucroute was to be served and told Robert of my problem. Pas de probleme says Robert we will see what we can do and as good as his word when my main course turned up there was no choucroute, instead there was a huge ham chop, slices of pork, more ham and good stuff too, there was also free Alsace beer by the jugful.

So when Mrs Powerfulpierre mentioned to Alain my dislike of choucroute his response was we shall see what we can do. All will be revealed tonight and in the next instalment of our life in France.

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Les Coulisses des Boldifolies

When I started writing these articles, my intention was two fold, one to show to people who were thinking of moving to France how easy it was and the pitfalls to lookout for and as a sort of diary of our lives which might interest the casual viewer whilst dispensing a few recipes on the way.

Whether I have succeeded or not is for you dear reader to decide.  On our 6th anniversary of living here, I would appreciate your thoughts, leave a comment, have your say.

Funnily enough I have been accused by someone of being Walter Mitty.

The character’s name from a book by James Thurber has come into more general use to refer to an ineffectual dreamer, someone with a vivid fantasy life.  Well I would just like to say that everything I write is true, I do not guild the lily or exaggerate,  this really is our life in France, ups and downs, warts and all.

So it was that just as I finished writing the last blog about the village Mechoui, I thought well that is the last event now till Christmas when we received in the post a letter which said and I translate, that on the 27th June you helped us really well and in return we are inviting you to a bon repas, a good meal on Saturday 10th October,  the day we arrived in France 6 years ago. How cool is that?

This refers to the music festival held in Bais, a small town near to where we live, on the 27th June and where Mrs Powerfulpierre and  I helped to make crepes from 10pm to 12pm.  I have to say I was quite proud of the fact that here we were two English people in the middle of France making crepes for the French.  What I also found amazing was that the whole town centre had been closed for the event and there was not a gendarme in sight.  There were huge amounts of wine and beer on sale and being drunk but we did not see anyone drunk or misbehaving.

We were honored to have been asked to help in the first place but when we received the letter inviting us to a meal we were tickled pink.

So as you have already probably guessed the next blog will be about our evening or soirée  with our hosts L’Harmonie de Bais with photos, and apparently we have to wear hats, any style accepted.

Please leave a comment, it only takes a minute and we would love to hear from you, thanks.

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The French paradox

As anyone who reads my blogs will know, I am infatuated with France and all things French.

One of the things about France that has intrigued me for years is something known as the French paradox.  The paradox being why is it the French who consume considerable amounts of saturated fat and drink large quantities of wine, have a far lower incidence of coronary heart disease than in most countries.

Furthermore the French smoke more than is the case for a lot of western countries and yet they live longer.

There are lots of theories put forward by experts, the French eat less processed food, less sugar, more fish.  They drink red wine in particular, more fresh food is consumed, they eat smaller meals and take longer to eat them and so on.

This is evidenced with the population of our commune, people really live long lives, well into their nineties and they are quite often still sprightly and fit.  Of course most have had agricultural jobs and are used to heavy work.

Which brings me to The mechoui or village sheep roast which we enjoyed the other Sunday afternoon.

I have probably said this before but I do not mind saying it again, when I dreamt of living in France I always had visions of living in the countryside  where the locals on high days and holidays would select a field and assemble long trellis tables and we would all get together in the sunshine at  lunchtime and eat home made pork rillettes and sausages, spicy merguez or thick juicy herby ones and frites and drink copious quantities of wine, I have to say I have been lucky to have been part of this kind of get together many times in the nearly 6 years of living here.  October 10th will be our 6th anniversary so look out for a very special instalment.

So it was that Mrs. Powerfulpierre, myself and our good friends Mike and Sue made our way to the Salle de fete which is part of the Marie or town hall.  It was 12.30 when we arrived and due to the weather not being quite good enough to eat outdoors, the tables were laid inside.

As always the frivolities began wih kir, sparkling white wine with cassis, then came sausages as a sort of nibbles, spicey merguez which I think are flavoured with harissa which is a north African hot red paste or sauce and is made from red chillies and garlic.

sausages and as much wine as you can drink included in the price

Biblical wine and bread

Next up was the melon and port and these guys are to say the least generous with the port.

Now by this time things get a bit blurry, the wine is going down a treat and I think more sausages appeared at this point, chipolatas, followed by the palate cleanser in the delicious and drunken form of a Truoo Normand, apple sorbet drenched with home made calvados which must have been at least 70 proof.

Then came the lamb and chips, and these come in three waves, yes you munch your way through three courses effectively starting with bones to Gnaw on, then better pieces and so on.  This is not for the feint hearted.

mmm lamb

frites anyone?

more lamb

Next up was the cheese course, a very nice Camembert and then dessert, chocolate ice cream a juicy pear then coffee and dark after dinner chocolate.

What an afternoon, the food was unsophisticated and rural but absolutely delicious nevertheless,  just as you would expect as the people who are serving us are farmers or farmers wives.  The wine was highly drinkable and the company brilliant.

At 5.50 pm we staggered from our table, this is an all time record, 5 hours 20 minutes of eating, drinking and socialising and both me and Mrs Powerfulpierre were totally inebriated.  Thankfully Sue had somehow managed to avoid drinking altogether and drove us home.

As I write this I compare our exploit to the French paradox and it all seems to make sense.

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Anglo v Gallic round 2

I got the mail today, it was really hot and I was out in the garden doing some strimming as we had guests coming to dinner and I wanted the garden to look tidy.

The postman commented on the heat and gave me a pile of post before driving off up the road.  It was Tuesday and junk mail day.  However this is junk mail you probably want.  Let me explain.

In my experience in the UK we got about 5 to 10 pieces of what I call junk mail everyday.  They were mainly trying to make us get a loan or a credit card or otherwise get us deeper in debt than we already were.

In France we get what we call junk mail on one day only, Tuesday, and it is a bit unfair to call it junk mail as it is actually our local supermarkets mainly, telling us what the latest promos are for the week ahead and this is great.

Let me give you an example of what is good this week, live crab 3 euros 50 a kilo, it even tells you the name of the boat that caught them, Le Zubernoa.  a kilo of salmon steaks 7 euros and a kilo of fresh prawns are 5 euros.  I will not bore you with my shopping list for the week but this is just some of the fish available, and the same goes for meat and general groceries.  What it means is you go shopping with a list of the freshest and live crab does not come fresher, cheapest and seasonal products on it.

Speaking of crabs, I have eaten a huge amount this year and it is as a result of checking with Rick Stein, his book obviously, I am not on speaking terms with the man,  about how to cook crabs that I have summoned up the courage this year to try cooking one myself.  I have to admit I was a bit squeamish about doing it and consequently used to buy cooked crab which was a lot more expensive.  Anyway, get a very big saucepan and fill with cold water and a lot of salt.  Put said crab in water and then bring to boil, the crab drowns before the heat affects it. For a crab up to 900 grammes boil for 20 minutes.

It is amazing how many of our English friends have said that they love crab but could not cook them whereas to the French it is just cooking.

This goes to the heart of a lot of the differences between the two races, for instance on the fish counter in particular you have live crab, live lobster, live squat lobster, live whelks, live mussels, oysters obviously, clams, the list goes on.  The French are not squeamish about where their food comes from and certainly in the countryside, dispatching chickens, geese, ducks, rabbits et al is no big deal.  They are well looked after, you do not abuse something which you are going to eat, it is treated with respect.

Well the next exciting instalment will be the village sheep roast, and to get you in the mood here are some photos from the first outdoor mechoui we attended.

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A day in the life

Our village in the distance

Another day dawns in our country idyll and the sun is shining although the breeze is noticeably colder.

The only sound is the babble of the river in the distance and the occasional plop of a fish breaking the surface of the lake.

There is a smell of croissants warming and coffee brewing, the cats have come in after their hunting during the night and have found somewhere in the house to sleep for the rest of the day.

The house is quiet now, Mrs Powerfulpierre has gone out to see students some distance away and Buster the daft dog is on his blanket pretending to be asleep, he will not move again until his mistress returns and then he will dash to the door the second the car enters the drive and run at breakneck speed to greet her.

It is a Saturday and I am having a do nothing day even though there are loads of things to do around the garden, somehow the motivation is not there and I know if I go out I will end up feeding the fish or picking blackberries even though we have tons in the freezer already, I just cannot see them go to waste.

We also have a party to go to this afternoon so at some stage I will have to get ready and change.  I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be another karaoke and lets just say that it is not my cup of tea at all.

This time of year it is calving time and every now and again you will hear the strange noise a cow makes as it gives birth, Alain and his wife were running all over the place having had five deliveries already with more to come.

Maternity ward

Yesterday, Friday was a bit of an odd day, we normally have school in the morning, but our friends who are learning French are away in their camper so we went round to another couples house, one of whom is learning French with my wife and who have just been told that they have now got broadband, and I was asked in my capacity as computer repairer and broadband installer to pop round to arrange the fitting of a new router.

In France you sometimes feel as though you have gone back in time, everyone greets one another with a handshake and men and women greet with 4 kisses.  It is a regional thing some are two or one but Mayenne is 4.

Not only that children are so respectful and will always expect a kiss on the cheek even if their parents have introduced them to you for the first time.

Its the same when you go into the Doctors waiting room or the pharmacy or bakery, if there are other people waiting they will turn and say bonjour monsieurmadame, spoken as if it was one word.  It is so different to what we were used to in the UK,  the postman when he delivers the post and you are in the garden will bring the letters to you and shake hands and have a little chat.

There is an olde world feeling about things which is difficult to explain, and yet in some ways the French are so modern and cutting edge.  The trains for instance have been the fastest for years and are so always on time.  Going back to the router I was fitting for our friends, it would mean they could call almost anywhere in the world at any time for as long as they wanted for nothing.  All they paid was 34 euros a month and that includes broadband and as I said free calls virtually anywhere.  I do not know of any other country that has this.

So to the party, it is Pat and Harry’s 50th wedding anniversary and they are a wonderful couple, we bought champagne,flowers and a card, better start practicing my singing.

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Recipes

When we lived in Wales there was a fish restaurant we used to go to on a regular basis.  It was unlike French fish restaurants but still had a charm of its own.

I used to have hake in batter, not fillet but hake being a round fish it can be cut in the same way as tuna, in sections, this with chips, mushy peas, French bread which was baked in the town of Barry just down the coast and the nearest thing to real French bread I have ever had in the UK.  They also made their own tartare sauce using Hellmans mayonnaise and capers.  For starters they had potted shrimp and gravalax, and kippers bigger than a dinner plate.  For pud there was never any contest, it was fresh raspberries and cream with a piece of shortbread.

Sadly despite its immense popularity it was bought by a brewery chain who ran it into the ground and it eventually closed.

Anyway on Sunday I collected a large quantity of blackberries and a few raspberries and as we had some fromage blanc battu, whipped fromage blanc, we decided to make some shortbread to go with it.  We were going to put sugar on the blackberries but they were so sweet and with the shortbread and the slight acidity of the fromage there was no need.

I was particularly pleased with the shortbread

it does what it says on the label

Making the shortbread could not be simpler, you need 9oz of plain flour, 3oz sugar, 6 oz unsalted butter straight from fridge.  Mix the lot in a food processor or with a mixer until it turns into a single ball.  Roll out as thick as you like and cut into shapes.  a glass works fine if you dont have a fancy cutter.  I put the shapes onto a buttered tin tray and prick with a fork then bake at 160c, 325f gas mark 3 for 30 mins.  It works with blueberries as well.

The next recipe is a variation from a favourite book of mine, Floyd on France which my mum and dad gave me for Christmas in 1987 and whos recipes we have used over and over again, poulet basque being one of them.  However as we do them from memory these days, we do not always stick to them to the letter.  The tomato ketchup my wife made yesterday, made me want bacon and egg for lunch to try it.  We grill poitrine de porc fumé as a substitute for bacon and I think it goes really well, I also fried some bread using vegetable lard.

So a kilo of tomatoes peeled de seeded and finely chopped, half a kilo of onions finely chopped, a kilo of red peppers de seeded and finely chopped, cook the three vegatables in oil for 45 minutes or until they are soft and like a puree.  Strain through a fine sieve put back into pan and add 3oz of sugar,  3 large cloves of garlic finely chopped, 1 chilli finely chopped, we use tobasco, salt and pepper,  1 tablespoon mustard powder, 1 tablespoon paprika, 2 wine glasses of vinegar, we used red wine vinegar and large pinch powdered cloves.  Cook over a low heat for about 2 hours stirring now and again with a wooden spoon until you have a thick red sauce, taste and adjust the seasoning.

Next we have a wedding anniverary, the village lamb roast and then the dreaded karioke evening, I just got a new video camera, there may be moving pictures on my next our life in France.

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Anglo versus Gallic

The weather on Sunday was probably the hottest so far and we were invited to lunch by a couple who are students of Mrs.Powerfulpierre and who have become friends as well.  We arrived a little late,  The Bishop was attending the local church and it went on a bit, they have a modern house in a village not too far from where we live, and we were introduced to a couple we had not met before and who have a holiday home here.

We drank Kier royales on the patio and chatted before sitting down to a fine meal, Sue was a professional chef so the food was always going to be good.

Now anyone who has read my missives will know that I am a bit of an apple and blackberry crumble aficionado as well as a general all round gourmet.  Desert was an apple and blackberry crumble and I was taken to task about my crumble recipe which appeared recently in one of my blogs, because I use self raising flour whereas the crumble should use oats which the one I had been presented with did and very nice it was too.  But it was not a crumble in all my years of eating them I would have recognised as a traditional crumble and having eaten what the French call crumble, neither would they either.  I am tempted to open this up to debate but am afraid that the self raising flour v oats may not go my way.

The French are very pragmatic when it comes to food and particularly if it is something new to them.  They will taste and then deconstruct the meal, itemising all the ingredients they can discern and will ask questions about ingredients they are unfamiliar with or cannot recognise.

We once gave cornish pasties to our French neighbours, did I tell you how good the pasties my wife makes are, they are sublime.  You have to eat them with gallons of gravy, something that our neighbours could not get their heads round, the French have jus and in tiny amounts.

The French are also very much into local and regional food unlike in the UK where we used to eat Italian, Chinese, Indian, Mexican et al, the French have only recently started getting foreign food in the supermarkets and when I say foreign it invariably means processed food something even now that is baulked at over here.

To the French it is all about fresh French products,  you would never see anything other then French fruit and veg, you might see the occasional New Zealand or British lamb but this is rare.  It is also about seasonality, you buy and eat what is in season and this can be quite amusing if there has been a glut of something.  Our neighbours are all keen to get rid of their glut of plums, peaches, cherries, each year is different and there is only so much jamming, bottling  you can do.  If you were to come to our house this year, you would leave with a pot of homemade plum jam or else.

The French do not have the British thing about home ownership either,  renting is far more the norm than in Britain and therefore there was never going to be the problem with mortgage debt  or indeed any kind of debt, credit card ownership is far less than in the UK and interest rates less than a third than credit cards in the UK.

Another difference I have noticed, whereas in the UK we embraced Japanese, German and French cars, probably causing the death of the indigenous industry, the French in the main buy French, if you see a VW or a Beemer here it invariably has English number plates, that is probably why they have still got a car industry.

Okay so you are probably getting the impression that I am leaning just ever so slightly towards the Gallic more than the Anglo but I am finding it difficult to think of many good things in the UK which affect the general population in a positive way.

The French have radars on some of their roads but they have huge signs warning you and reminding you of the speed limit well in advance and several times before you get to the radar.  Not the cynical tax collecting that appears to go off in Britain.

And then there is the fish and seafood, when we holidayed here which got more and more frequent over the years, I used to look at the fish counter in the supermarkets here and I use to say to Mrs.Powerfulpierre, the French do not know how lucky they are.  We lived 6 miles from the sea in Wales and yet the local supermarket had a bit of farmed salmon, frozen and frostbitten prawns that I used to virtually fight the guy behind the counter for a 100 grams.  Here the guy behind the fish counter starts putting me a kilos worth in a bag the minute he sees me walking towards his counter and they are fresh and a fraction of the price I paid in Wales 6 years ago.

So there you have it, am I pro Gallic, well yes, but ok I still drink Tetley tea and some days I could kill for a hob nob.

I would love to hear your comments, please come back at me if you think I am wrong or if you think I am right.

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Our Commune

The weather has been so hot these last few days that doing anything outside apart from sitting in the shade and drinking beer, has been virtually impossible.

On top of that we have been invaded by moles who seem to have delighted in making hills in every bit of grass they can.  Apart from making the garden look a mess it is also a nightmare trying to mow around them.  Ah but you have 3 cats and a dog surely they must be on the case.  Well no, they seem either unwilling or incapable of catching moles, certainly the odd dead one has been seen but nothing like the number that must be burrowing beneath me even as I type.

So battle has been joined.  We were afraid to use poison in case the cats took it so we bought some what can only be called flares from the local Agriel of which more later.  You find a fresh hill, find the hole, light the flare, drop it in the hole and the smoke drives the little blighters away allegedly.  The war continues.

Going back to the Agriel I mentioned earlier, this is located on the outskirts of the village and across the road from the Town Hall.  It sells apart from things to kill pests with,  things like gravel for drives and also it is where the farmers come to weigh the grain etc on the weighbridge in the courtyard.

Our house is about 2km outside the village along a very narrow and winding road.  We are actually on the edge of a field owned by Alain who provides us with the organic milk straight from his dairy cows.

There are not many houses in the village itself, but the farmhouses, converted barns etc in the outlying area come under the jurisdiction of the Town Hall and are called collectively The Commune.

There are approximately 200 inhabitants of the commune, many are farmers but about 10% are English people who are either retired here or are self employed.  Apart from myself, I run a computer repair service, Mrs.Powerfulpierre who runs a french/English tuition service, there is an electrician, carpenter,  digger driver and a roofer.

Of course even for a tiny village like ours, the Church dominates the square and is prominent at the top of the hill from all around the surrounding countryside which I must say is the most beautiful countryside you will see.  The hills roll down all around you and even though it is mainly farmland, the farmers look after the land and there are still hedgerows boardering the fields.

Mrs. Powerfulpierre is the deputy treasurer at our local environment society, for more details go to

http://www.saint-thomas-de-courceriers.eu

It was at one of these meetings that we were told that we had a 15th century granite cross on our land,  much strimming and clearing of ferns uncovered the simple cross, whose origins we have tried to discover so far without success.

Our life here is pretty well integrated with the locals and as an example and something that would never have happened in the UK was when it was the local elections, we are French residents not citizens yet, so we can vote in the local and european elections but not the national elections.

The local elections here are quite strange in that there is not a list of people from different parties to vote for as in the UK, here anybody can nominate anyone else in the commune to serve the 6 years on the council.  So it was that we discovered that Mrs. Powerfulpierre had been nominated as a candidate.  Now if you do not want to have your name put forward you simply write to the Mayor and ask to be taken off the list, we were so honoured and slightly bemused that my wife let her name go forward.  There are two rounds and unbelievably she got into the second round missing out eventually on a seat on the Council by only a few votes.  However our good friend and neighbour Sonia who is English won a seat, something in fairness some French members of the Council wanted as there are so many Rnglish people here.

Anyway today has been the hottest day so far but as I do every day, I go out and feed the fish in the pond and then collect yes you guessed it, blackberries.

I wanted to make a crumble or to be more accurate two.  It has become a bit of a tradition that every year I bake a crumble for our friends and neighbours Alain and Francoise and there children.  The French have only recently discovered the delights of crumble spoken by the French as crurmble.  We walked the dog round to their farmhouse and the pleasure and delight that was expressed by them defies description.  They say that giving is better than receiving and in this case it just blew me away.

So here is my blackberry and apple recipe.  Put a lot of freshly picked blackberries and thinly chopped, cored and peeled eating apples, I never use cookers, into an oven proof dish, I did sprinkle with a bit of sugar, mix 4oz of self raising flour with 2oz brown sugar and 2oz of unsalted butter.  I chuck the lot in a food mixer with a blade.  Pour the crumble over the fruit and cook for about 30 mins in a moderate oven, leave a bit longer if you like a browner top.  Serve with cream, custard or ice cream.

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Some recipes

I feel I have perhaps been a little remiss with the number of recipes I have published.

This is partly due to such brilliant sites as food stories and leftoverqueen who do a lot better job particularly on the photo front.

Anyway I came across this recipe recently as a result of taking tea at our house with our good friends  Pat and Harry who we have known for a good few years and were once students of Mrs. Powerfulpierre.  Pat brought a homemade lemon cake with her and it was delicious, she let us have the recipe and yesterday I made it and it is so easy.

Now I think I am a pretty good all round chef but I do appreciate things being simpler and they dont come simpler than this.

Ingredients   in ounces sorry

6 oz caster sugar

6 oz self raising flour gateau flour in France

4 oz unsalted butter doux in France

pinch salt

2 tablespoons warm water

Grated rind of a lemon

2 eggs

Now the easy bit, put all the ingredients in a bowl and mix well, I used the food processor and it was ready in seconds.  I put the mixture in a square tin approx 7 inch having lined the sides and bottom with greaseproof paper and bake at 180c for 40 to 45 minutes.  When it is ready, mix the juice of a lemon with a large tablespoon of icing sugar and heat the juice and icing sugar in a saucepan then pour over the cake in its tin then leave to cool.

Please try it and let me know what you think.

On Sunday we entertained our friends from Ireland and  California who both have  holiday homes here.  We do not see them very often so we had dinner before they departed to their respective countries and er work.

We started nibbles and drinks on the patio which was ok for a while then it started raining so we all moved inside and sat to eat.

We decided on a mix of starters, Monique our french neighbour had brought us some rabbit paté which was still hot from the oven, I bought some extra large prawns and mixed them with a creamy Thai sauce and we also had air dried ham with melon.  We had a lettuce from the garden and a pain from the bread van in the village, for wine we had a rosé, well several actually altogether.  Main course I did my famous poulet Basque, chicken portions slow cooked with onions, tomatoes, green, red and yellow peppers, lots of garlic and a good glug of chardonnay for the dinner and me.  The recipe is in one of my previous blogs and it is important to skin the chicken otherwise the sauce is too fatty.  Helpful hint use a paper towel to hold the skin in as you pull it off it comes away a lot easier.  I served it with the red, white and green spiral pasta.

same colour as the Basque flag

Almost ready to cook

Next up was the cheese and we had a blue creamy petit bleu, a Cantel and a Reblochon which was made from raw milk and beats the pasteurised version hands down.

We had 3 puds, Ann brought some tiny cakes, eclairs, rum baba, creme anglais choux buns whilst Mrs.Powerfulpierre made a fruit salad and a blackberry mousse, blackberries hand picked by me.

Coffee and chocolates, great big lumps of praline, milk and dark chocolate and after eights.

By the way, the mousse was extraordinary and I will have the recipe here next time

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