Sunday Roast

To celebrate my mother's arrival, on Friday I decided to splash out and order a joint of veal from the butcher for Sunday lunch. We went to fetch it yesterday morning, and, as I paid, I wondered how people manage to shop there regularly; it cost more than my normal weekly meat bill. As a flush of overspendingitus came over me, I thought we might as well throw caution to the wind and suss out the traiteur shop for an entrée. Strangely, there were no delectable things in small pastry cases or multi-coloured verrines, so we headed for the market stalls instead.

There, the canny oyster lady had cooked up some mussels in aïoli, and they were so delicious, sweet and tender that we had to have some, and some oysters too. I asked the oyster lady if she could open the oysters, not wishing, myself, to gouge out part of my hand and spend the rest of the day in the emergency department. She said she would, but she also said she wasn't born knowing how. Of course not, practice makes perfect, but everyone has a skill and that one is hers. I have other skills that she doesn't but I don't go around making snippy remarks to that effect. What is it about the French that they have to remind you how crap you are at something?

We finished up at the greengrocer who is locally known as 'le voleur' for the ridiculous prices he charges. Having seen a little sign for Garriguette strawberries, we thought they would do nicely. While we were there, we got a pineapple too. One punnet of strawberries and a pineapple. Guess how much they cost. Over €5 or under? How about over €10 or under? In fact they cost €12, the most expensive pineapple in the world setting us back a whopping €7. Le voleur lived up to his name yet again!

My mother was looking forward to long lazy French lunch so that is what we had, with champagne and wine to wash it all down. The veal was nice, but was it THAT nice? I'm not sure. My TWDB said that his mother travels 50km to buy her joints when she gets a call that the farmer is sending the calves to slaughter. His meat is so fine that she's prepared to make the effort. I wouldn't drive 50km to buy the joint we had yesterday and I wouldn't even know where to begin to find a supplier that good. Not that I have the means to indulge such foodie whims anyway.

I roasted it, as suggested by the butcher, for an hour, going into a cold oven set at 190°C, with roast potatoes and a medley of roasted root veg - parsnips, turnips, carrots. My youngest did a great job peeling and chopping. He insisted on having no help, and wielded the sharp knife like a pro. My mother and I were most impressed. Not having to prepare everything helped it taste that much nicer for me. Have you noticed that food you don't prepare tastes better than that which you've slaved over for hours? The greatest gift you can give a woman who cooks is a meal not cooked by herself.

Which is what I gave my mother yesterday.

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!

Oyster Lunch

Yesterday was one of those numerous May holidays here. No idea what it was for, but a day off is a day off which is what counts.

It was my parent's last day and I was feeling relatively healthy which meant we could go to Bouzigues for an oyster lunch. I know, I know, there's no 'r' in the month, but they are cultivated 50m from the restaurants so for fresh, they are certainly fresh (as they say here).

Actually, our intended meal was moules marinières, but there were no mussels left (already!) at 12.45pm, so we had to make do with oysters... What a hardship... In fact, the boys had the last of the mussels, which they opted for instead of a 'cordon bleu' which is a slice of reconstituted chicken stuffed with cheese (which they hate) and breadcrumbed. Strange...

The oysters came lightly gratinéed, as requested and were perfectly done which means they were shown enough grill to melt the cheese but the oysters themselves were practically raw. Une délice!

Bouzigues is just 40mins from where I live, with plenty of restaurants along the lagoon shore all selling local produce. We sat outside, in the shade; the wind keeping any clouds at bay and with a beautiful sun keeping us warm. After several days of rain, including a violent thunderstorm on Friday, it was doubly enjoyable to be able to lunch thus.

On our way back to Montpellier, we stopped off at the terminus for the tram, line 2, at St Jean de Vedas, and took a ride to the St Roch station in town, then got off and came back again. The new tram is decorated with bright flowers as opposed to the white birds on blue backgrounds on line 1. Line 2 took us into parts of south Montpellier I had not known, and continues on up to Jacou.

When we rejoined the car, we noticed a couple in the next car who had obviously made the same return fun trip. What else to do on a sunny bank holiday?