I had intended to write about my French weekend much closer to the event itself, but life conspired against me--i.e. grading obligations. Still, I had such a good time it's unlikely that I would forget it.
My hosts for that weekend were so generous and kind. When we arrived Friday night after visiting in Beaune, Nadine had a delicious meal of ham, potatoes and cheese ready for us. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I chose not to eat or drink while traveling, so I was famished. There is nothing like a home-cooked meal to welcome a weary soul. Baptiste, my translator and conversational link to everyone else, also gave up his bedroom on my behalf. The family embodied the meaning of hospitality.
After a good night's sleep, Baptiste, Nadine and I headed in to Digoin for a walk about town (Francois and Valentine had left early in the morning for a motorcycle event in another town). We walked around the village and met neighbors of Baptiste's grandparents. It turns out, little Digoin has its own Porcelain Museum.
It appeared to be closed, so there was no opportunity for comparison with Royal Worcester.
The real pride of Digoin seems to be the Loire River and canals--yet another point of comparison with Worcester.
The village itself is clean; it was relatively quiet that Saturday.
The real focal point of Saturday afternoon was a visit to Baptiste's grandparents. Their home is lovely, filled with beautiful pieces of furniture...but we were there to eat. Baptiste's grandfather is a fabulous chef and I was well-acquainted with his reputation. After a tour of the house, we sat down to this glorious plate of food.
The colors! The flavors! The textures! I don't think I have ever seen a more beautiful plate, and what's more I don't think I've ever tasted anything so good: Cherry tomatoes, steamed cauliflower, Italian anchovy mousse, blue Peruvian potatoes, shrimp, grapefruit sections, roasted tomatoes, endive rouge, tuna steak and salad greens. I tucked in with enthusiasm, but Papy, Baptiste's grandfather, said more than once that I shouldn't feel obliged to eat everything. I was a bit bemused by that as I was quite happy to be eating every morsel on that plate. And then I understood--this was just the first course. There was more to come.
The second course was classic.
The chicken breast was in a delicious herbed cream sauce, peas and carrots, and a mushroom tart on the side. Lest I should forget I was in Burgundy, there was also wine.
Do I have to say it? It was lovely and the perfect complement to the meal.
We weren't done yet. Next, was the cheese course.
Each cheese was better than the last: Comte, Chevre, Brie, Roquefort and another creamy cheese. It was an eater's paradise. Ah...but there was more.
What you see here is a chocolate orange rind tart with chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream. We also had coffee. It's six weeks since I consumed the meal and I can still conjure in my taste memory how those flavors combined. It was beyond delicious.
Papy was anxious to communicate with me directly, rather than having to go through Baptiste, so he decided to speak in Spanish. Mind you, my Spanish is rudimentary at best, but somehow or other, I managed to learn about Papy's background as a chef. Papy had very humble beginnings, but he worked hard and became a master chef. He worked in a pastisserie where Mami was a clerk in the shop. Eventually, he found work as a chef in Uruguay and traveled there three to four times a year. One of his proudest moments was preparing a meal for President Ronald Reagan and serving him the chocolate tart in the photo I've included here. He eventually retired, but continues to cook--lucky for me.
At the end of the afternoon, we waddled out the door and drove to a nearby village--but that's the subject of tomorrow evening's blog.
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