Mal Bouffe

Both my kids hate school lunches here. Lunch at the crèche was okay as far as I remember because they cooked everything on the premises and we were told exactly what they had and what they ate whether we had 3 hours to spare picking them up at the end of the day or exactly 2.5 minutes.

Those were the happy days of edible institutional food. These days, they get an industrial offering from some huge central kitchen and come home ravenous. Amazingly though, you can often read about fabulous French school meals and how expat parents are stunned at the varied menus each with three courses (plus apero, peanuts, wine, bread roll, digestif, coffee and mints...).

Where are these schools and colleges? I live in an affluent area and my kids eat exactly the same crap as the école/collège poubelle on the other side of town. The scandal of industrial school meals is not merely in my fevered militant foodie imagination. The M6 programme Envoyé Special did a report on it back in April. They were certainly not eulogising about three courses and an array of organic veggies.

What they found was a scandal that would suit Jamie Oliver's crusading spirit quite as much as the one he needed to influence UK school meals. ES found that meals are prepared 7 days in advance then frozen and then driven up to 600km to their final destination - a microwave oven in a school canteen. Fifty percent of school canteens are supplied by one huge company, and it spends 1€60 per meal on food.

In some cases, to increase profit margins, vegetables which they know kids hate, such as celery and cabbage, are included. You won't find a fresh vegetable or fresh meat anywhere on the menu - too perishable. Sauces are freeze-dried, burgers are 80% fat, fried eggs are frozen and yoghurts are at their limit of sell-by dates, if they're not already passed it.

No probs, you might think, your little darlings can take a packed lunch. No they can't. It is totally out of the question that kids take sarnies. They can go home, yes, fine if you're at home, not so fine if you're at work. Why the no sarnie rule I don't know. The kids couldn't possibly eat worse than the crap they get served on their plates. At a guess, it's probably in the industrial kitchen contract that forbids alternative sources of food. That and maybe schools get a cut of every lunch sold...

If you want to read some of the gushing reviews of French school lunches try these:
School Lunch Abroad
Idlewords although this one does date back to 2003...
BBC back in 2005 on a Parisian school
Stephmodo
AdventuresinToulouse

Where do these people send their kids to school? What is this myth of the fabulous French school lunch? I wish my kids, both in different schools, had such food on offer. I'm sure they do too!

Chaos Theory Proved

Yesterday was NG's birthday and as her family seems to think that everyone else and their cat's birthday should be celebrated except hers - not even sending a pressie, for example, just a cheap little kiss by phone - I suggested she come and have a good old Sunday roast lunch with some of our pals and celebrate properly.

I dug out of her freezer a huge leg joint of pork WITH crackling (very unusual in France, that) that I'd put there for want of space in mine and rubbed the skin over with coarse sea salt, crushed fennel seeds and olive oil. It sat on a bed of onion to make a nice dark gravy. I also roasted some spuddies, and made Yorkshire puds (sky high, 4 eggs...) with greeny veg too.

Everyone arrived - 5 adults and 3 kiddies (mine were with their dad) and we set about feeding the younger ravening wolves. Once they were sorted, we could get on with the gravy. I didn't know I had a militant gravy foodie in the house. I had entrusted its creation to C because I had a senior moment and lost my nerve. I could have pulled myself together, but it was just easier to ask someone else, so I did, but I didn't realise that in the C&A household, gravy has a particular taste. Said taste was proving hard to achieve, to the point that Gravy 1 was ditched, and A took over for Mark II.

Meanwhile time was moving on, and our eldest guest was starting to pass out with hunger, and getting tetchy into the bargain. It was time to act, gravy or no gravy, so I got a plateful together, and the lone diner tucked in. It was quite like old school days with numerous sittings. Revived, the risk of a scene was averted, and I blessed the day microwaves were invented as I heated up this and that in preparation for the entry of Gravy 2.

As I'd forgotten the spuddies in the oven, they were well and truly roasted, but also deliciously crunchy and tasty. The crackling had crackled, and the meat was moist and tender. I had ditched the idea of the starter by this time, all efforts at gracious living totally pointless, it was more a question of let's get at it and enjoy it while it's still hot! So we just launched straight into the meat, accompanied by bottle n°4. Going with the flow was eased by the abundance of wine and matey atmosphere and though I say so myself, it was all delicious.

Pud was champagne and a boiled fruit cake made by C and her daughter on which I put some candles and a sparkler. There were sparklers for all, too which proved to be a risk too many, as one landed on the table and left a souvenir for all times of Birthday Lunch with Gravy 2. Proof of a good time, if you like.

C&A stayed after the departure of a happy NG, and we played a silly game based on the X-Factor show, which none of us watch, but which contained chocolate prizes, so the kids were keen to join in. We were really bad, and didn't care a jot.

So, my ineptitude faced with the making of gravy had many unforeseen consequences, but it was more eventful and fun dealing with the resulting chaos. Perfection is not always to be found in that which is perfect.

Yummy Mummy

It's Mother's Day here in France today - la Fête des Mères. To celebrate, it poured with rain for most of the day. Anyone hoping to have a lovely picnic would have been sorely disappointed. Anyone hoping to eat al fresco at restaurant in the sun would also have had to turn to Plan B.

I took an executive decision yesterday to adopt Plan B and bought accordingly. Plan A had been to take a picnic and eat it whilst watching my youngest play footie in his footie tournament. Plan B was much better in fact - eat at home in comfort, with a decent meal and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

As I have no partner to jolly the boys into making my breakfast or do anything in particular, I just had a lie-in and made my own brekkie. I think that this year I'll teach my eldest to make a mug of tea, and train him to carry it without incurring second degree burns, so he can make breakfast for me next year.

I had done the cleaning yesterday, with much bad temper I might add. I'm not one of nature's joyful little housewives and the first thing I would do if I had the money would be to get a cleaning lady.

Anyway, today I could concentrate on lazing about and then getting down to lunch. My youngest is a keen cook and, being in my good books because he gave me a nice little pressie that he'd made at school, was allowed to help me because he's actually a pretty good helper. My eldest just gave me a kiss and settled down to watch more tele. I had to shout at him to turn it off so he stomped off upstairs.

We were to have proper prawn cocktail, and scallop risotto. My youngest saw the prawns and told me that he and his brother didn't like them. "What day is it today?" I asked him. He had the grace to smirk. Bugger me if I'm going to cook for them on MY day. Good grief.

NG joined us for lunch as her son is a hopeless twat who didn't even send her flowers despite my hinting earlier in the week that it was Mother's Day and if he wanted me to get some flowers on his behalf to let me know. He didn't even reply to my text message. There's another who thinks a kiss via the phone is sufficient. She gave me a beautiful brooch as a pressie in just the colours I wear that had been given to her many years ago.

Happily, lunch was lovely. The prawn cocktail was yummy, the risotto, taken from my Harrods' cookbook was divine - I added some mussels and used the juice from cooking them as stock for the rice - and we finished with strawberries from the garden with proper chantilly cream made by my eldest. All washed down with Veuve Cliquot because if we don't buy it to spoil ourselves you can be sure no one else will, and I detest cheap 'n' cheerful champagne.

We ate off my new table and it looked rather fab. The rose came from Intermarche as a pressie from the shop. It's in what used to be a beer bottle. Handy, huh?

After lunch, I went to have a nice snooze, joined by Ulysse who is, in fact, still in bed... The weather perked up just enough to let the boys dash outside to work off some energy.

As Mother's Days go, it was all rather pleasant and I'll definitely do that risotto again. It was very tasty and very simple to make. A perfect dish!

Easter Greetings

It's a bit early for Easter really. We are having a cold spell, and although it was sunny today, it was cold and windy. There was snow further north. Those people therefore had a white Easter. Funny how no one has written a song about that yet...

I had been pondering the idea of dragging the boys to church. This would have been beyond the call of duty, in my opinion, because I am not a Catholic, and our local church is. The devout amongst you may think this is nit-picking and just a pretext because we all believe in the same God, and I expect you'd be right. I don't like going to Catholic mass though, I don't like the hymns, I don't like the service and I don't like the Popery stuff.

So, having put the idea to the boys which went down like a lead balloon, I thought about lunch, and the juggling needed to cook a good meal together with Being Good and decided to cop out. On Friday I had been forced into an uncomfortable theological discussion with my eldest at the end of a working week where he seemed to have grasped the concept of God and was having nothing to do with it. Greater minds than mine could perhaps have done a better job than I at putting forward various hypotheses, but I could not refute his logic and retreated into defeat.

What with the strong opposition and the idea of juggling cooking, plus the crappy weather, the notion of going to church just fizzled out and we were able to enjoy a lunch cooked without too much stress and very little juggling.

For those of you who are interested, this is what we had:
-Blinis with organic salmon, and fresh asparagus.
-Roast leg of lamb with garlic and rosemary accompanied by roast spuddies broccoli, sprouts and fried pleurote mushrooms.
-Red fruits and apple crumble with cream.

And very tasty it was too. That was basically all we did today - eat. The boys got their egg hunt which they enjoyed very much, and I had to snooze after all my exertions and two glasses of wine. We had done some cleaning and clearing in the morning so we could actually eat off the table...!

Happy Easter one and all.

Forgettable Eating: l'Harley

Nearly every Friday lunchtime I go to lunch out with my two favourite male pals from the lab where I work. We come back usually a little late having enjoyed a pleasant meal with wine at a local establishment.

For a year, our favourite eating hole was the Bel Canto in Prades le Lez. It was run by a boss lady who employed other ladies - an all-female establishment, which was homely, cosy, tasty and good value. The waitress was the renowned 'Miss Trouser' because of the delectability of her behind according to the discerning male taste of pal B. She had a lovely smile, took our orders with charm and humour and walked off to the pleasure of pal B who greatly enjoyed the view.

Then the Bel Canto closed, to our chagrin.

We had to find another 'local' and took up residence at the old Jogging, now the Trinque Fougasse which I have blogged about in a previous post. It's great there because, as it's a winebar, you can taste the wine before you choose. The menu is always tasty and also good value, but not as good as the Bel Canto was (*sigh*).

Recently I found in my letterbox a flier from a restaurant called l'Harley, formerly the Bel Canto. This was exciting news. Pal B wondered if Miss Trouser would be there or whether, now newly married, she would be sadly absent dealing with babies.

It was only pal B and I who ventured there last Friday. Pal W was overloaded so declined despite the obvious temptation. From a cosy little place it had been transformed into a 'theme' restaurant - difficult in 20m² - the theme being Harley Davidson bikes, unsurprisingly. There was a ghastly 'painting by numbers' on glass picture of a Harley, some generic old American car and a petrol pump on the wall, and an even more horrendous mural of a mechanic leaning on a bike on the far wall.

Aesthetically disastrous so far.

The menu was disheartening too. Miss Trouser used to tell us what was on the menu as it changed regularly. At l'Harley, we were presented with a placemat sized piece of paper onto which was printed the menu. This always makes my heart sink as you know they have 5000 copies of it, and until the last one is used, that's what'll be on offer.

Well, I suppose there were the 'specials' too. I chose the 12Eur menu of a starter and a main course. The starter was a buffet with various things which had been taken out of tins or plastic boxes, and I had a lasagna for the main course. Maybe it had been home-made, maybe it hadn't.

I drank water, the most ghastly water in the region. Either it had been sitting there for three weeks or it was the first water drawn off the tap that day and was full of built-up crap. Pal B had a beer. We weren't offered wine even though there were three 10-litre wine boxes by the till.

The waitress was a dopey cow with a stud just under her nose and was probably the daughter of the owner, a sharper version of her daughter. I've heard since that mother is a croney of the guy who owns the bar round the corner. That would explain a lot.

I'm in mourning twice now. Once for the demise of the Bel Canto, and twice for what's replaced it.

Don't bother going there.

Le repas de l'impasse

It's weird, sometimes, how days turn out. There I was, expecting just a lunch de l'impasse where I live, and then we would all go about our business as of teatime. The kids would play, we would eat, drink, chat and then go home. I would work on my book, do some ironing and we would go for supper chez NG.

I live in a cul de sac of, I think, 18 houses. Today, one of the residents had organised a street party. We would bring our garden tables, chairs, something to eat and drink, and get to know each other if we didn't already.

I made 3 pizzas and some coleslaw, and took a 3-litre box of chilled rosé. The children stuffed themselves while us adults took an aperitif, then they all buggered off while the barbeque was going and we contined to eat and drink. The tables had been set up at the bottom of the hill, with parasols, as the sun was pretty ferocious today - one of those balmy indian summer September days. We stood around until we'd drunk so much we had to sit and start eating.

The impasse was designed for young families, but since the rise in house prices, it's mostly Parisian retirees that can afford the little houses although there are enough to rent (like mine) which are still within the reach of those families for whom they were originally intended (to keep the schools open!).

We chatted, drank, ate, and then one of the guys fetched his electric guitar and started on his repertoire of songs, inviting us all to join in if we liked. I love singing, and used to belong to choirs right up until I went to do my Masters in the UK (when I retook up my viola) so was delighted to be able to sing casually with my neighbours. Of course, most of the songs were French, but even if I didn't know them, by the second refrain I could usually hum along.

When I wasn't singing, I was listening to the others and it was all so pleasant and convivial - one of those little gems of a day where you're at peace with the world just hanging out, not worrying about drinking too much because the car is in the drive, and everyone is getting merry with you.

Eventually, I had to put the boys to bed (9pm) but the hard core guys might still be down there drinking out the evening.

When one thinks of counting one's blessings as opposed to moaning about what one doesn't have, I reckon I have things pretty well taped here. I'm surrounded by friendly neighbours who enjoy a good laugh, a drink or two and a convivial evening. I work in a pleasant lab with pals I adore even though the work itself is crappy. I live in a lovely village which is peaceful, secure and perfect for bringing up the boys, where I also have NG. Quand j'y pense, je me dis que, quand même, ça roule. Je suis où je veux être. C'est ça, être heureux (en partie).

Sommières Lunches

Saturday lunches are complicated. They need to be quick, preferably interesting and original enough to keep young boys happy. I think someone should write a book of recipes especially for Saturday lunchtimes. I'd do it myself, but I have enough trouble trying to come up with dishes without it taking up all my free time too!

The agreeable alternative is eating out. It's by far the option I prefer, but it's a bit of a luxury for those of us who do menial paper-pushing jobs... However, today, the opportunity presented itself with a forced trip to Sommières.

We had a round of birthday parties to depose children at, starting with a friend of my youngest in Sommières which started at 12 noon. Having hurriedly dashed around Norma and Intermarche to do the week's shop plus buy water-pistols as birthday presents, we had time to get on the road to Sommières in time for lunch. After bidding ta-ta to my youngest, we went and parked the car in the ever-expanding carpark on one side of the river, crossed to the other side, and headed towards the market.

Sommières is a lovely town especially as the market is almost hidden from view. You either have to descend precarious steps, or wind your way around narrow paved streets to get there, which means that you could visit the rest of the town and be completely unware that the market was there at all!

It takes place in a square shaded by huge plane trees and stalls are packed into the confined space selling fruit, vegetables, clothes, knives, cheese, freshly roast chickens, sausisson, herbs, oysters, and galettes. Around the market, covered arches house bars, restaurants and other shops. It is a wonderful place to stroll around as it is free of traffic and full of such good things.

At one of the bars we found our friend Peter from the Languedoc Page. He lives nearby and very much enjoys the Saturday market. He was sat at a table with a few remaining chairs so we grabbed them quickly and sat solidly down. Then I went off in search of lunch. I took my eldest and set him to queue at the galettes stall. Fillings there include cheese or spinach or herbs or meat. He was after a meat one. They also had tubs containing various salad-type goodies all lovely and fresh. I then went to find the Bouzigues oyster stand. They had three sizes, the biggest costing 3.50€ for a dozen. I asked for 2 dozen, opened and was told to get a tray from the bar. I had to persuade an elderly couple to rationalise their two trays into one... and dashed back.

You may think there would be a charge for opening the oysters, but when I came to pay I was asked for 7€! Bargain! I went to buy some bread and a lonely lemon to complete the meal. My eldest was sitting looking dejected back at the table. There had been no more meat galettes, so we set off again. He doesn't like cheese which restricts things somewhat, but he loves saussison, so we found the saussison stall and he chose, instead of one of the fascinating varieties containing cèpes etc., a classic pork one.

The oysters were washed down with acres of rosé wine and were delicious. We were joined by other friends of Peter's and had a very merry lunch, in the shade of medieval stone arches enjoying the warmth of the sun from the square. This is one of the most appealing aspects of living down here.

I 'staggered' back to the car, we dropped off my eldest at his party, and then went back home... to snooze!

Regular with Pride

A nice thing about being a regular customer in France is that on the day you are officially recognised as such, you start having your hand shaken in welcome by the staff. No one says anything unusual like "We officially announce that you have joined the honourable rank of 'Establishment Regular' because we have seen your face on consecutive Fridays for the last 5 weeks", no, it's just a hand-shake in addition to the habitual 'bonjour'.

You are now, thus, reading the words of a Regular of Le Trinque Fougasse in Montpellier. Yesterday, I attained that heady rank by virtue of... being a regular there on Friday lunchtimes. I lunch with pals from work on Fridays, and we used to go to a wonderful little restaurant called the Bel Canto which served a lovely three-course lunch including 25cl of wine for 9.90€ each. It closed a few months ago, to our great chagrin, and we had to find somewhere else to offer our custom.

We tried a local pizza place, but first the wine was ghastly, then we decided that waiting 2 hours for a pizza (slight exaggeration) was not on, so we varied things with lunch in an organic caff, and the Latitude restaurant which is lovely in nice weather on the terrace but cramped otherwise.

Then we ventured further afield to what used to be called le Jogging (silly but memorable name) which is now the Trinque Fougasse. They do a lunch menu for 14.50€ not including wine, but you can buy a glass for less than 4€ having worked your way through all the ones on offer to taste... They function as a cave à vin too, with a nice sommelier who is knowlegable and tells you all about the different wines à déguster. (I seem to be strangely immune to picking up information on wine; it just goes in one ear and out the other, so I'm hoping that if I hear it often enough it'll stick by dint of sheer repetition. There seems to be no other way...) The Trinque Fougasse also organises events and has regular jazz evenings. It's a professional and lively place, so it is with pride that I am regarded as a Regular!

I even asked for, and got, a doggy bag to take home the delicious remains of my poulet pané au parmesan and potatoes yesterday! When I put the question, I was told they had never been asked this before so the waiter would have to check. He came back and said it would be okay, and he brought me a plastic dish with two compartments in which I put the food, then he took it away to cover it with cling film. Now, would he have done that had I not achieved Regular status?

It always pays to be a cheery, well-mannered customer. If you are boorish, inconsiderate and condescending, you are not likely to be appreciated, and if you need help, it's unlikely you will get it with good grace. This will probably make you even more condescending, thus perpetuating the vicious circle of gracelessness.

You will never be considered a Regular, either!

Free Lunch?

There's no such thing as a free lunch, they say. Unless you are a locally elected official in France, it seems.

Perhaps it is the threat of not dishing out subventions that gets them invited everywhere for nothing. What we have found during our preparations for the Promo'Arts charitable evening is that expecting them to pay is greeted with shock. Ca ne se fait pas, chère amie!

Logically, however, someone has to open their cheque book at a charity event. It is, afterall, the aim of a charity event to earn money for charity (in this case, La Ligue Contre le Cancer). We are not putting on an evening's entertainment out of the goodness of our hearts. I'm not sure this concept has quite sunk in.

At previous events, not organised by us, guests have considered the evening as a soirée mondaine, have stuffed themselves silly on the sumptuous buffet, drunk themselves under the table on the wine, and contributed not one cent to the charity in whose name the event was organised. Call us stuffy old FrAnglo-Saxon pedants if you will, but that is not what charity is all about.

Our art auction involves about 18 paintings. That means a maximum of 18 people can buy one. They may only pay peanuts if no one else is bidding on that particular painting, which means the whole evening's financial success rests on the whim of a small group of potential bidders. Everyone else would be busily stuffing themselves, getting drunk and then going home, their wallets intact.

But, we have a cunning plan...

Guests will have to buy their glass if they want a drink. To obtain a glass they will have to cough up a minimum of ten euros; more if they like, or if they are persuaded that being generous would be a really good idea... Then they can drink as much as they like and eat.

This idea is causing much mirth and evil chuckling amongst the sponsors (themselves exceptionally generous people), and much shock and disbelief amongst the representatives of locally elected officials. If they want to drink, they will have to pay. I'm not sure it's ever been done before here. We aim to shock and to get people thinking and acting. Word is spreading in the town that we are not sucking up to politicians, not asking them for money, and expecting everyone to participate at what is certainly going to be one hell of an evening.

It's causing such a stir but who was it who said that there's no such thing as bad publicity? Where we had been ignored before, we are now being solicited for invitations. Dontcha just love politics?