Week 2 1/2 - 3 1/2: Olonzac
By the time we arrived in Olonzac, we were ready for the quiet part of our vacation. Paris was full of sight-seeing and socializing; Toulouse was all about walking. Our bodies were getting in shape, but we were tired.
Our rental house was in Olonzac, a small town with few services. The house was actually part of a larger house, so our owners were right next door. Upon our arrival, the house was freezing. There was some electric heat however, except in our bedroom, and a fireplace. They welcomed us with some basic information, and in an effort to be a good 'guest', I inquired "Who is your favorite olive oil vendor?" The response floored me, "Oh, I don't like olive oil." It turns out that the don't each much French cuisine at all, except for the wine. Each night we smelled their boiled sausages, food cooked to within an inch of its life. Did I mention that there was no separation between our two units? We heard their conversations and smelled their food. The owners, whose names have totally escaped me, had moved from their native England. The husband was trying to learn a little French, but madam was not. It appears that they moved for the sun and wine alone.
With enthusiasm, we found an intermache and began to shop for food. We weren't in Toulouse anymore! The selection of produce was no where near as exciting, but we found enough to get started. By the time we returned to our house, the rooms had begun to warm up. We opened a bottle of local wine, and I began to plan our meal. The kitchen, sold to me as a gourmet's delight, lacked the most basic elements of a French kitchen. No sharp knives, no BREAD knife [this is a country that celebrates bread daily!], no mill, no tart pan, several pots but only one handle, and every single pan was covered in teflon. As I surveyed my tools, it became clear that producing the meals that I had imagined in my head was not going to be possible. Leslie and I fondly reminisced about the lovely food we had seen just that morning in Toulouse. In spite of the obstacles, I was able to produce a dinner of veal, potatoes, flagolettes, cheese and cookies. It was delicious. We finished the bottle of wine. Okay, I finished most of the bottle of wine.
Our rental house was in Olonzac, a small town with few services. The house was actually part of a larger house, so our owners were right next door. Upon our arrival, the house was freezing. There was some electric heat however, except in our bedroom, and a fireplace. They welcomed us with some basic information, and in an effort to be a good 'guest', I inquired "Who is your favorite olive oil vendor?" The response floored me, "Oh, I don't like olive oil." It turns out that the don't each much French cuisine at all, except for the wine. Each night we smelled their boiled sausages, food cooked to within an inch of its life. Did I mention that there was no separation between our two units? We heard their conversations and smelled their food. The owners, whose names have totally escaped me, had moved from their native England. The husband was trying to learn a little French, but madam was not. It appears that they moved for the sun and wine alone.
With enthusiasm, we found an intermache and began to shop for food. We weren't in Toulouse anymore! The selection of produce was no where near as exciting, but we found enough to get started. By the time we returned to our house, the rooms had begun to warm up. We opened a bottle of local wine, and I began to plan our meal. The kitchen, sold to me as a gourmet's delight, lacked the most basic elements of a French kitchen. No sharp knives, no BREAD knife [this is a country that celebrates bread daily!], no mill, no tart pan, several pots but only one handle, and every single pan was covered in teflon. As I surveyed my tools, it became clear that producing the meals that I had imagined in my head was not going to be possible. Leslie and I fondly reminisced about the lovely food we had seen just that morning in Toulouse. In spite of the obstacles, I was able to produce a dinner of veal, potatoes, flagolettes, cheese and cookies. It was delicious. We finished the bottle of wine. Okay, I finished most of the bottle of wine.
posted by *susan* at
6:16 PM
1 Comments:
I love the way you turned your less-than-gourmet kitchen into a place to create something delicious... May the memories remain delicious.
Love & pots with handles,
gr
By
The Green Cedar, at 3:21 PM
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