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| Crémeux de canard, Prunier brand, E. Leclerc supermarket, Limoux, Languedoc-Roussillon |
(Writing on the 11th): A long and rather tiring day yesterday, in part, because it’s very hot here right now. W. and K. take a morning walk up the mountain from Cassaignes at 8 A.M. daily, and we accompanied them on that. Then to fill bottles with water at a springhouse in a village whose name I didn’t catch, possibly Rennes-les-Bains, at the bottom of the mountain and not far from Cassaignes. There are a number of spigots and sinks underneath a roof in an open-sided stone building, and anyone can take water from there. It comes from a spring or springs high in the mountains.
I took a small video of Steve and W. filling bottles, and then as I scanned the room of the springhouse and videotaped the back of a man filling his bottles he made a big fuss about being filmed. I'm aware, of course, that people have privacy rights and some people don't like being filmed. I understand and respect that preference, and usually I don't film anyone's face without asking permission first — unless they're in a crowd and faceless because I’m snapping a photo of a scene with a crowd in it and not an individual face.
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| Springhouse near Cassaignes, Aude, Languedoc-Roussillon |
A woman getting water in the spring house as Steve and W. filled their bottles smiled at me when I began making the little video, so I knew she was not averse to being photographed — and I caught only the back of the man who somehow knew I was filming. Then he turned around and began remonstrating and I apologized and cut that portion of the video out.
Bless his heart. Takes all sorts to make the world go 'round, I reckon — and France and other European countries do have their share of MAGA-like people who are conspicuously unwelcoming to strangers and nasty-spirited.
Next to the water house is a pool of spring water for people to use to bathe their dogs and cats.
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| L'Odalisque, Limoux, Languedoc-Roussillon |
Then on to do shopping at Limoux, a town about 13 miles from Cassaignes. But first, W. and K. had made reservations for a noontime meal at what they think is the best restaurant in Limoux. The restaurant is L'Odalisque.
As the yellow plaques mounted outside the door of the restaurant indicate, it consistently wins awards. It's a reservations-only restaurant; you can't simply walk in and ask for a table.
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| Filet de merlu |
The table d'hôte meal we all chose was amazing and at €32, it was reasonably priced for such an outstanding meal. For entrées, the choices were filet de merlu (a filet of hake) with vegetables in a sauce that the menu described as "crustacean" sauce — made from the reduction of shells of seafood like shrimp and crab, I assume; or chicken pieces cooked in a sauce that K., who chose it, called Moroccan, with coriander and cumin and ground peanuts.
For salads, there was burrata with freshly made pesto and salad greens, a tapas platter, or a seafood salad. Among ourselves, we chose all three salads. With these items came a glass of wine — Steve and I took rosé and W. white wine. The burrata was amazingly good, very fresh and milky, with the consistency of a pudding when I cut into it.
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| Pavé with chocolate ice cream |
The dessert menu was large. I chose a pavé with vanilla flavoring and a scoop of chocolate ice cream on the side, and Steve and W. had a lemon pudding-tart (I forget the exact name or description of this).
All this followed by cups of coffee that were part of the fixed-price menu….
Interestingly, as we ate, I heard a table of three women behind us talking — they kept switching from English to French, back and forth — and thought I heard one of the women, who had a Southern accent, say "Little Rock" several times and then "Arkadelphia," a smallish city in Arkansas.
Maybe I imagined this. It was clear from their accents that two of the women were Americans. Because of the level of chatter all around, I have to say I couldn't hear very clearly. (Studies of Europe and noisiness which show that people are noisier the further south you travel are absolutely right, by the way.) I wondered if the women, or the two Americans, might be French teachers.
I should clarify the statement that W. and K. took us to the restaurant by noting that Steve and I paid for the meal, and were very happy to do so — and should pay for everything we can, when we're being hosted so generously by hosts who have provided us free lodging for several weeks, food, entertainment. I say this not to pat ourselves on the back, but because it seems important to me to emphasize generosity and mutuality in good relationships.
The meal was, in French fashion, leisurely. We sat two hours at table. Then to do shopping, and that was the tiring part of the day. K. wanted to replace a rack for drying clothes that had somehow gone missing in her house, so we went to a home-furnishings store that was chock full of cheap-looking junk from China. No luck there.
From there, we headed to Aldi’s, where W. and K. bought some cheese and milk. I strolled around in the store, fascinated by how different the selections were in an Aldi’s in southern France than selections you’d find in Aldi’s stores in other places. Something that struck me was how limited the selection of chips and junk-food snacks was in comparison to what you’d find in an American or even German supermarket. The French simply don’t do junk food to the extent that Americans do.
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| Charcuterie, E. Leclerc supermarket, Limoux, Languedoc-Roussillon |
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| Cheeses, E. Leclerc supermarket, Limoux, Languedoc-Roussillon |
After Aldi’s, we went to a large supermarket, E. Leclerc, that was stocked with amazing French delicacies, most of them locally produced. The selection of charcuterie (and cheeses) was stunning in its size, and, of course, Steve and W. pored over the charcuterie display, with W. choosing some salami, mousse de canard, pâté forestière, and crémeux de canard. We felt it was very important that we buy all the food, and we did so, gladly — with the list of items including a case of a local crémant and several types of beer.
With the early morning walk, the long and somewhat somnolent meal, and all the shopping, not to mention the heat — and wine drunk in the middle of the day — I was fairly much tuckered out and took a long nap in the late afternoon after we’d returned to Cassaignes. Then a bit of cheese and bread with fruit, and a few hours sitting outside in the shade as evening fell, sipping crémant, and I was ready for an early bedtime around 9:45. Because my heart seemed to be pounding away, something that used to happen to me often but rarely does any longer, I took one of the diazepam tablets the doctor has prescribed for this and slept well, waking around midnight to hear what sounded like a dog barking very softly, but was clearly not a dog. I suspect it was a fox I was hearing, and it was just right outside our window, maybe in the garden area W. and K. have across the street.
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