Lapin Chasseur (Rabbit)

In an attempt to get the imagery or "taste" of last week's blog out of your minds, I thought I would share a recipe that my dear friend Colette taught me last week and I also thought it could be a perfect dish for the upcoming Easter holiday. Now, you've got to be willing to try preparing rabbit which is in abundant supply over here; but if your local butcher at Vons isn't carrying it this week, this recipe works almost as well with chicken. And since I'm not quite yet ready to buy the whole rabbit and have to remove the head (complete with a little face that resembles a bad facelift) and cut the rest into morceaux (or pieces), the following recipe is based on using legs and thighs, although if you can find the derrière, Colette swears that it is the best part. Lastly, although she provides me with her recipes in neatly written French, between the translation barrier and the fact that she typically ballparks the quantities of ingredients, you might need to improvise slightly to suite your taste (i.e. for the liquid used, she used a small bowl rather than measuring cup, so I'm guessing here). Although in this recipe, I have found that it is nearly impossible to go wrong. And better yet, it is really easy to make.


Lapin Chasseur (serves 4)


4 legs with thighs (or 8 pieces)
1/2 cup flower
1 T vegetable oil
4-5 Shallots, peeled
8 1-inch size sliced pieces of thick, smoked bacon (ou 2 doigt potrine fumée cubed)
1 Bouquet Garni with parsley, thyme & bay leaf
1 1/2 - 2 cups chicken bouillon (or any other "aromatique" cube diluted in water)
1 1/2 - 2 cups dry white wine (Colette says Sauvignon Blanc is the best to use)
1 can mushrooms (champignons "de Paris")
4 - 5 garlic cloves without the germ, or sprout thingy removed to prevent bitterness...comme ça:

Heat the oil and saute the bacon and shallots for about 10 minutes. Remove from pan. 

Roll rabbit in flour and brown on all sides. 

Put bacon, shallots, rabbit and all their juices into a large pot. 


Add bouillon, wine, bouquet garni, garlic and heat to boil. 

Then add mushrooms and lower to simmer with the lid on and cook for 30 - 40 minutes. 

Add fresh, parsley and serve with steamed new potatoes or pasta. 


While we were preparing lunch, speaking half French and half English as we typically do, Colette entertained me with more interesting tales of her life. On this day she told me about how two German soldiers lived in her grandparents house a year and a half during WWII. I asked if the villagers were resentful as the French Resistance was very active in the area. 


"Oh, not really," she told me. My grandfather was the village butcher and he made sure to save the best cuts for the villagers (that the Germans later told him they knew about but chose to allow it because it kept the people from being more antagonistic toward the soldiers). He was also instrumental in ferrying the locals across the river to the village since all of the bridges had been destroyed.


She went on to tell me how she had actually done a little resistance work herself, carrying messages back and forth in the basket of her bicycle when she was only 12 years old. I can just picture her.


So, after my weekly language, cooking and history lessons, I headed home so glad that I took a break from all the nonstop work at home to enjoy some quality time with my 82-year old bonne amie.

.

Printemps (Spring)

Ah, the spring. We knew it was coming early when we witnessed the Grus (stork-like cranes) making their beautifully coordinated V-shaped migration back to northern Europe late last month. Then the wild daffodils and tulips bloomed in full force a few weeks ago. The weather started hitting the mid-seventies on a regular basis, making working outside a must. What better time to start cleaning up and prepping the old weed-infested kitchen garden so we could begin planting in early April?


So, that was one of the many projects I decided to tackle last week. First, I decided to start with clearing the large pile of ashes adjacent to the old outhouse in the garden. Seemed like a no-brainer. Just shovel the 3-foot pile of ashes into the wheel barrel and take about a dozen trips over to our burning pile (we can burn garden waste on our property). Only problem was, after the top layer of ash had been removed, my shovel hit something much harder and it was not so easy to shovel it anymore. "Ah, this must have been an old compost pile," I think to myself and at first I thought it was just dirt, but upon closer inspection, I knew it was something more than dirt, but could just not pin-point exactly what. It was brown, but not dull, dirt-color brown like the clay soil we had dug up recently for the trees. It was glossy, kind of a slick cocoa brown...wait a minute; if I didn't know any better... I would think it was, "Holy shit! Hank, come here quick!"


Yep, what I had just shoveled into was what I have now learned was called "night soil." Or, more precisely, a combination of human excrement, compost, soil and ashes. How do I know such a thing? It's weird, but I just happened to be reading Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers" at 3am the night before and in it he describes the stories of successful rice farmers who have been using night soil for oh, about a 1000 years (gonna think twice now about not doing the extra rinse of your rice now, aren't you?).  Plus, Colette nonchalantly confirmed that the practice did indeed exist.


It was then that I finally had a major, "ah ha" moment as I flashed back to the prolific tomato plants in the garden last September and current sprawling strawberry patch. And then remembered how we always used to joke about how healthy the plants all looked near the septic tank in Topanga...


So another what to do French moment? Go with the flow and use the ancient wisdom and practices and just plow the "merde combo" into our garden or try finding the closest toxic removal professional? Seeing that the outhouse had not been used in at least 50 years and the fact that no one had lived here in the past two, we figured that the special compost could not possibly contain any potentially harmful bacteria now. But still, "in my garden?"
No, I'm not quite that organic yet. I'll be sticking with the bagged amendment found at the local Gamm Vert this Spring.

Oeil de boeuf

Last week we had the tv crew out to record some "during" footage of our renovation and one of the days was spent with Isabelle shopping brocantes in search of our "oeil de boeuf," or "bullseye" window. It's typically a small, round window that allows you to see who's coming up your drive or walkway and since Hank drew it in his kitchen plan, we have been determined to find one. Only problem was, it was becoming clear after a half dozen attempts to find it, that they were not so easily to be found.

So, we search another 6-8 places with Isabelle to no avail but ended up having a very nice day together, something that neither of us had previously had the time to do. In fact, it was on this day that Isabelle gave me the go-ahead to address her with the familiar "tu" rather than the more formal and proper, "vous." I'm so excited about this except for the fact that I am not at all used to conjugating this tense so it's sure to slow me down again in my attempts to speak french. But, it's so worth it as I've considered Isabelle very much a "tu" in my life for quite some time.

Even though we did not find the window on this outing, Hank and I did have a backup plan and were able to purchase an arched window the next morning at a used window shop. The film crew scheduled the mason so they could film he and Hank knocking through the stone wall, but what they failed to mention was that he was not available to put the actual window in for two weeks. And as luck would have it, the weather changed for the worse right after they left, and yes, voila, more freezing cold winds blowing through the kitchen just when we had finished the insulation and drywall on the ceiling and thought our conditions were improving.

We also had some more bureaucratic tasks to deal with as well and were fortunately put in contact with a local financial advisor to assist us in getting through it all. First of all, I had had this brilliant idea to "get into the system" right off the bat and think I wrote about going down to CPAM in Marmande about three different times with all of the required paperwork. The goal was to acquire french healthcare, but we incorrectly assumed that we would be charged a reasonable fee as foreigners. A few weeks later, we received the "we are pleased to inform you" letter stating that yes, we had been approved and that it would cost about $7000 euros a year to cover just Hank and I (just under $10k U.S. dollars). Oh, and the letter further stated, Caleigh would not be covered because they discovered that she was not actually in France legally..."What?!" So, we drove down to the main Prefecture (government office) for our department in Agen with all the papers I am assuming will be requested and impossible to believe, but true, we had every single one that they required and did not have to return the next day with something we had forgotten (I think I am actually made for this stuff as much as I detest it). The kind woman who helped us told us to come back in two weeks and we would have what was essentially a document (called a "DCEM") stating that Caleigh was here legally so she wouldn't get detained in let's say Spain or Belgium if on a school field trip.

So, another near catastrophe averted except for the healthcare issue which was quoted nearly as high as COBRA coverage would have been in the U.S. Thus, the financial advisor, who will hopefully make this all go away for us as she obtains private coverage and helps up set up our business and make it into the system as tax paying residents (versus the rich lay-abouts that I think they incorrectly assumed we were).

Hank has almost completed the mechanicals in the kitchen and he and our very nice, young electrician/plumber are soon to get us up to this century's codes. We hope to purchase our lower cabinetry this week and are meticulously trying to utilize every centimeter of space because storage will be challenging.

One of the things we have found to be both challenging and endearing are the many visits we have throughout the week by kind friends and neighbors. It's almost like clockwork when we just get started on a project, some kind, helpful visitor decides to pay us a visit and is usually bearing gifts or loaning us tools. What can you do, other than invite them in for tea, coffee or wine depending on the time of day or afternoon. In fact, I now make sure now that I am always prepared with either biscuits (cookies) or nuts, crackers, etc. for these unplanned visits. But as much work as we always seem to have to do, there really wouldn't be a point for living in France if we did not take the time to enjoy these special moments.

I've continued stripping the wallpaper and am close to being done. Next, I'm onto stripping old paint from doors, windows and built-ins and then hopefully something rewarding, like new paint and hanging curtains. We continue shopping for antique beds, armoires and vanities for the upstairs bedrooms and I plan on painting, glazing, whitewashing, you name it, just to lighten the old pieces up. We have received some great recommendations for some fun (and affordable) shops like Troc d'ile in Bergerac and Flash in downtown Bordeaux.

Caleigh seems genuinely happy for the first time in months. Her friends, JoJo, the horse and the possibility or a scooter or small motorcycle in her near future seem to have brightened her outlook of living in France. Because many of her new friends are french, her comprehension and conversation have really improved. I'm also hoping to hear back from a tutor who can also help her get up to speed at school even quicker.

The weather has improved (very California-esque) and I've begun planning our kitchen garden. We actually took the morning off today and enjoyed the nearby Sunday market in Issigeac and shared delicious roasted partridge, porc pie (british influence), olives, bread, saucisson and a few local cheeses with fresh bread with a glass of rose with our Scottish friends, Thomas and Audrey. Must say that today felt very "joie to vie-y" and withstanding the financial restraints and the fact that there's still a hole in our kitchen wall, I was terribly thankful for all that we have.

70 Years to Celebrate

Today is my father’s 70th birthday and and since he is primarily to blame for us moving to France in the first place, I thought it would be only fitting to dedicate this blog to him (not to mention the the fact that I failed to send a gift off in time and he'll be tres disappointed). First of all, my dad has always loved to travel and especially to meet new people and experience other cultures. So much in fact that he actually absorbs their mannerisms and changes his accent according to what language is being spoken. When I joked about Hank’s “Pepe Lapieu” accent in an earlier post, my father’s "talents" with multitple accents put my husband's to shame. And even though very little is usually understood by the kind, foreign victim of my father's attempts, the communication of humor and kindness has always been successfully conveyed.

In 2007, he and his wonderful wife, Ginny invited us to France to share a week with them in La Roque Gageac in the southwestern, Dordogne region of France. Since this was not their first trip to the region, my dad was an amazing tour guide (sorry Ginny, I cannot credit you as you deserve because as anyone who knows my dad can attest, he will expect this entry to be entirely about him) Anyway, they took us to Sarlat, Dome, Beynac Castle. We canoed, visited the caves where prehistoric man once lived and ate fois gras, walnuts (some of us actually went to a walnut museum if you can believe it) & baquettes until we had massive muffin tops.

In fact, we were so inspired by this trip that we began our decent into francophilia over the next few years and when we decided to put our house on the market and move to France two years ago, it was Wylie who said, "That's cool. Go for it!" So I listened to him for once and we did indeed go for it albeit not exactly as planned as anyone who has followed my blog knows.

And purchasing our farm probably would not have happened as smoothly had it not been for my father (and Ginny bien sur!) as I had inadvertently miscalculated dollars vs. euros right before the final transaction. And to think that I was a business manager for 25 years...no wonder that I often felt like it was the wrong calling for me.

Anyway, so, now it's your big day Pops and unfortunately, I am not there to celebrate with you. But, as you can see now, it is actually your own fault if you really think about it. You taught me to venture out and embrace other cultures or I wouldn't be putting myself up to the embarrassing encounters I have with the locals every single day. You were right though. People are just people and as long as you try, they'll usually react kindly and most of the time, will even help you.

So, although I am very sorry that we are not physically there to share in this great (and tres vieux) celebration, we do plan to celebrate your 70th in style, in France, ensemble (together) in the Fall.

A santé Dad!

Busy Week

I have little time to write these days (if you'll notice, Hank's writing has been prolific lately :), but everything has improved since my last entry. First of all, we have hot, clear water that doesn't shake the whole house down when we turn it on. Our container arrived and even though we cannot unpack a whole lot yet, we've made our living areas actually a little homey. The weather has warmed up considerably and flowers are actually starting to bloom.
Began taking down the wallpaper in one of the upstairs rooms
voila! next, plaster and paint, and oh yeah, add some new century electricity
Having lived without a kitchen for almost 2 months now, we finally found my beautiful new cuisiniere
existing kitchen to date
the container arrived and Caleigh finally has her own suite


as do we...
and sort of a living room

All in all, I can't complain.

The Honeymoon's Over

Okay, enough of my lighthearted little ramblings about the joie de vie over here. Our living conditions have gotten pretty dismal and I'm not sure how much longer we can get by camping in a construction site in the dead of winter.

For one thing, our water pump started making funny noises late last week that progressed into earth rattling thumping sounds that get so loud that we have no choice other than to turn off the pump every few hours. By doing so, our hot water cools down to the point that we don't have enough for a shower and even if we did, you wouldn't want to bath in the Cote de Duras vintage that's been coming out of the faucet recently (including the residual silt). Sponge baths are the norm and are hardly rewarding so we're close to having to accept our friend's kind requests to come over to take a bath. Fortunately, Caleigh has some sweet friends with equally nice parents who have generously put her up a few nights here and there so at least she gets a nice hot shower and and the luxury of sitting on a comfy sofa in a warm living room once in a while.

The nice moderate weather we had experienced during our first month here took a turn for the worst last week as it dipped to below zero right after Hank took down the kitchen ceiling to expose the beautiful beams underneath (and aid in the rewiring of the electrical). Since there is no insulation under the cold roof tiles right now, you can feel the chill blowing through the sides of the structure (think Chair #16 at Mammoth) and it's not very different from being outside. There's also no longer any light, so once it gets dark, we don't have access to a kitchen sink (after 6pm or so). Because of all of the above, I've been shivering so much that my back begins to ache and lately, the most desirable time of day when it's time for bed in our bunk house shared with Caleigh and the critters, Skye, Holly & Ziggy.

That is, until dawn, when we start fresh again and have a clean (hopeful) slate. Today actually warmed up and Hank began the process of installing our new electricity (with the help of both a retired British man during the weekdays and young French man during some evenings and weekends). They will help with the plumbing as well so at least we are now moving closer to eventual normal living conditions. This has not been an easy task as we have had numerous people over to give us quotes and they have been either way over our nearly nonexistent budget, not available to begin the work for months, or just not-to-be-trusted.

Speaking of hiring the trades, we know that for many locals, we are considered an easy target to try and take advantage of because they assume that most Americans have deep pockets. Oh, if they only knew or I doubt they would waste their time coming up with creative ways to approach us. Just yesterday a stranger from a neighboring village dropped by out of the blue saying he had lost his dog. "Oh, and by the way, I am a mason and here are some photographs of my work."

I still feel that most people we have encountered are good, generous and trustworthy though. Isabelle and Thierry have offered their help at every turn, including helping us unload our container and loaning us their trailer. Our American buddy, Rushi has given us invaluable advise in getting through the French paperwork for foreigners, not to mention, acted as an interpreter at times. Our new friends, Mick and Rachel have offered us their bath (literally - to come over and take a bath) and given us countless great recommendations that have probably saved us a few hundred euros. Rosalind and her daughter are loaning us their horse for Caleigh to use. Patrick who keeps his horses here is a kind man who has shared his trailer and will help in caring and feeding of our horse. Our neighbors, Thierry and Cathy, have kept their eye on things when we were gone and even heated our house to keep the pipes from bursting. Margherite and Patricia in the Maire's office have been instrumental in getting us our residency card and now, proof of permanent residency so we are not taxed on our belongings coming from the U.S. There are many, many more people that I'll have to include another time. But, all of a sudden now, I can't feel my feet, so I guess it's time for me to say, "bonne nuit."

Thinking in French

Could it actually be that I am beginning to think in French? I just began to jot down an appointment that I scheduled for Wednesday and I stopped myself when I realized that I was writing the letter "M" rather than "W." Since I sort of do this sort of thing all of the time - have a thought one minute and then actually verbalize something entirely unrelated the next - I don't want to read too much into this yet. But, damn if that "M" didn't stand for Mercredi which is the French word for Wednesday!

Oh, and the appointment I just made? It was in response to an advertisement for a canopy bed for Caleigh in the french equivalent to Craigslist, "Leboncoin." Yes, that means that the person selling the bed was French and I called them. Just like that. And I think that I successfully made an appointment to see it on Wednesday at 1pm (one can only hope).

The best part was that I wasn't scared or nervous. And nor was I fluent, but the woman was friendly and we actually conversed back and forth for quite some time. I definitely have got to give Hank credit for this new confidence I feel. He knows about half of the vocabulary that I do and hasn't a clue on how to conjugate a verb, but he has confidence and an ability to improvise (and I am sure he is very appreciative that there are quite a few english words that mean the same thing in french, especially when using his Pepe Lepiu accent). We've actually become quite the husband and wife tag team with him jumping in to start the conversation and me in the background feeding him important words for "now" (maintenant), "tomorrow" (demain), "today" (aujourd'hui), "at 2 o'clock" (a quatorze heure), "etc" (ectera!).

This newfound confidence has also transferred over to when the phone rings now. Just a week ago, when the phone would ring, the three of us would look at each other wide-eyed with hopes that one or the other would pick it up in case the caller were French. Now, I still get that little knot in my gut when it rings, but I at least pick it up. As Hank said, it's a lot easier than having to call the person back. And I might add, it's a hellava lot easier than trying to retrieve voicemail in french. I have listened to the prompts over and and over again to no avail until I finally felt like I was taking a multiple choice test that I didn't study for and just praying for 50% accuracy. Most of the time I end up unintentionally dialing back the caller because I press 3 and not 2, which was of course the last thing I wanted to do and then quickly try to hang up before anyone can answer...doh!

But, maybe losing some of the fear of the language has to do with our making this major move even after all the obstacles we faced. We've acquired such a sink or swim attitude that speaking French is now probably the least of my worries. Too bad there's plenty of other things that can rouse me at 3am, but hell, at least now I'm thinking them in French!