Síle and I have a bit of a running battle about our Chinaberry Tree in the garden.
We both want it to stay, but, we both agree it needs some pruning to let us see out, our disagreement is one of scale.
I want a radical prune, she something more delicate.

My latest plea to her just yesterday was that she did not realise what a nice view there was when the leaves were gone in the winter.
I had been here without her during last December.

She was down before me this morning and last night had been a hard night of wind and rain.
She suggested I should have a look in the garden.

The leaves have started to fall.
Autumn has come to the Languedoc.

This tableau was behind glass in the church of St Pere in Figueres.
Note the expressions on the faces of the mother and cherubim.
Dali lived around the corner, he must have wondered about it too.

I love this picture by French photographer René-Jaques, particularly for the glasses (there is another one in front of the flower vase) the exact copies of which I possess and cherish.
I am just grateful to the barman for not breaking them.

I have been extremely fortunate that Síle has a great love for choral singing and where ever we have ended up has joined the local choir.

When we first met she was a member of St. Stephen’s Singers, a terrific group of young singers which had been founded by Audrey Carr. They sang mostly madrigals and church music and we were fortunate enough to persuade them to sing at our wedding, which they did beautifully.
(We also persuaded the last-at that time- remnants of Dr. Strangely Strange to play at the afters, but that is another story.)
While we lived in England Síle sang in The Ashford Choral Society. This was conducted by one Mark Deller, who’s father Alfred was, the first English countertenor. This was a much larger choir who were able to sing the more complex oratorios.
Back in Waterford She joined The Waterford College Choir and then moved into Madrigallery when they were formed in ’91 where she has sung since.

Madrigallery I have talked about before, all the singers have become friends and are quite the hub of our social life in Waterford.
They also consented to sing at our eldest daughters wedding a few years ago.

So Síle was on the look out for a choir since we arrived over here.

Being a sensible lady she asked the piano tuner (when he was fixing up the piano at Le Presbytere) which did he think were the best choir in Beziers.
La Cantarela, was the reply.

Síle went to meet them about a month ago and has been singing along happily with them every Monday night since.
They are also a rather large choir and were polishing off Brahms Requiem so she has been singing with them but not performing as yet.
Last week they were performing the Requiem in the church of Sant Pere in Figueres and they offered Síle a seat on the bus to go and hear them.
As we not going to have any staying we decided to go together and stay over night there .

So, feeling a bit like naughty children on Saturday morning we packed our bags , hopped into the car and headed off the hour and a half journey to Figueres in sunny Spain.
This was the life we had promised ourselves when we first moved to France but the very first time we had been able to take advantage of it.
It felt terrific!

Figueres is an amazing town.
It was Dali’s home town and the place is a bit of a monument to him.
As far as I am concerned I can take or leave a melted watch and the whole town was alive with them so we had to live with that.

In the museum Emporda however we discovered who re-discovered the Catalan musician who rediscovered the Sardana.
Now I am dying to see a Saradana, the Catalan dance which is danced in a ring by huge circles of people (see above picture from 1900’s.)
Until I do manage to see one however I am happy to play the music on CD composed by this musician who was called, marvellous name, Pep Ventura.

As you can imagine anyone called Pep Ventura carries all of life in his music.
I defy anyone not to be cheered instantly by his choral and band music.
The CD I bought is called Abans del Mite and is available from the Museu Emporda in Figueres.

It was very strange to go an hour down the road and find Spain.
The Pyrenees are so massive that there has not been as much marriage of cultures as one would suppose.
We got into Figueres at about three o clock on Saturday.
At around 4 we started to stroll up the town and thought it completely dead.
Not a sinner anywhere.
Then slowly the streets started to fill.
By six the town was packed with people.
These were principally young incredibly trendy young families sporting loads, really loads, of equally fashionably dressed children. Small children are certainly the accessory of choice here.
It seems that Catalans like the Italians perform a Passagiata in the evenings and parade the streets to meet friends and display their latest style.
Possible only I suppose in a climate like theirs.

After that we went to hear La Cantarela in the church of Sant Pere.

They were most impressive.
It is an extremely difficult piece to sing, they managed with great aplomb.
Looks like Síle has a new choir (and I have a new passion; Sardana music)

When we told Dani and Serge, our friends from Normandy,who live just around the corner on the Rue del Catet, that we had had some success gathering cèpes, nothing would do them put to guide us up to a spot in the mountains over St. Chinian, to gather Cèpes Jaunes.
These they told us while not as good as the cèpes we had gathered, made very good eating.

First thing I had to do was look them up on the internet.
This was what we were after;
Suillus Luteus, (aka) Slippery jack, Butter mushroom, Brown-yellow boletus, (English); Nonette voilée, Bolet jaune, Cèpe jaune,(French)

-Is it any wonder the Irish and English are a little slow to gather mushrooms.
I mean which would you rather sink the teeth into a Slippery Jack or a Nonette Voilée–

So off we headed, the four of us, on a complicated route to the hills above St. Chinian armed with baskets and clad in suitable clothing.
(I can tell you now that I will never ever reveal to anyone how to get there, as it was Dani and Serge made me wear a blindfold all the way, and I was driving)

Well they were as good as their word and we managed to gather about three kilos of this yellow version of the cepe.

The woods were also full of Arbutus, just in fruit ,and I ate a huge amount of them.
This tree, which managed to survive in Kilarney, is also known as the Strawberry tree, for obvious reasons.

When we got back we did the customary and brought our spoils into the chemist.
Some promising pink monsters we had found he pooh poohed as being without culinary value but he sent out his approval, begrudgingly, of the Cèpe jaune

But he was brought out of his lair in the back, whistling in admiration at Dani’s single Caesar mushroom.

(not my photo)

Well having been meticulously tutored by Dani how to clean these yellow monsters we cooked them up in oil with a little roasted garlic and lashings of salt and pepper.

Not as tasty as our other cepes but still very good eating.

A delicious pumpkin, in season here at the moment, whose flesh has a distinct flavour of chestnuts.

I suppose Chocolate Mousse was one of the very first desserts I ever made
It was a great favourite of my mothers (made with cream and Cadbury’s Dairy Milk-or when times were hard from a revolting brown, sweet, lard-like substance called “cooking chocolate”)
When I worked in Snaffles in the seventies it was also a standard on the menu, usually laced with orange or brandy, also made with cream but with Cadbury’s Bournville Chocolate- and much better for that.

In The Wife of Bath in Kent a speciality was one which had Macaroons embedded in the mixture.
This ultimately owed its origins to Elizabeth David’s ; St. Emilion au Chocolat (from French Country Cooking in 1951) and was the most sophisticated so far.
By this stage the cream had been left out and the chocolate was the French excellent Meniers.

In Waterford my house speciality dessert was another variation of the mousse this time with unsalted butter taking the place of cream and (even though it started with Cadbury’s varities) eventually made with Valrhona chocolate.
My Marquise of Three Chocolates was Dwyer’s signature dessert and the only thing which never left the menu.
But after making it non-stop for fifteen years I was delighted to see the back of it when we closed.

My evening meals here in France demand a different attitude to desserts.
I find that after their starter, main course and cheese people don’t have the stamina or space for “a pudding”.
Something small intense and sophisticated seemed in order.

This has led me to my Little Pot of Chocolate which (harking back to Elizabeth David’s St Emilion) I like to accompany with a Macaroon.
It is a winner.

The intense flavour of chocolate, the coffee cup portion and the accompanying crisp Macaroon have given me my favourite take on chocolate mousse so far but, nota bene, as I frequently am feeding Irish appetites, I always have a few extra coffee cups full in the fridge as insurance.

Here are the recipes:

Little Pots of Dark Chocolate.

(this amount will fill six or more little demi-tasse coffee cups and leave a little over for some seconds.)

175g(6oz) Good Dark Chocolate
140g (5oz.) Unsalted butter
4 large Eggs
140 g (5 oz.) Light Brown Sugar

Put the chocolate with the butter into a jug and put it into a microwave at mediun for 3 to 5 mts until completely melted.
(Or melt together in a bowl over barely simmering water.)

Separate the eggs and put them in separate bowls.
Beat the whites until stiff. Add half of sugar a tablespoon at a time and keep beating until they are stiff and shiney.

Put the rest of the sugar in with the yolks.
Beat the yolks with the sugar until they turn thick and creamy.
Stir the chocolate and butter mixture well together and then stir into the yolks.

Fold in the whites carefully into this mixture until all patches of white disappear ( but don’t over mix.)
Now very carefully spoon this mixture into six little coffee cups and put it in the fridge to set.
Serve it then on its saucer with a coffee spoon, with a macaroon on the side no cream necessary, it is rich enough on its own.

If you haven’t got a small coffee cup use a little glass or use a bowl to set it and then spoon out a little onto a plate using a spoon dipped in hot water.

Macaroons
(Will give you about 36 little biscuits)

200g (7 oz.) Ground Almonds
200g (7 oz.) Caster Sugar
2 Egg Whites
Some Pistachios or split Almonds to garnish.

Mix the sugar and almonds well together.
Add in the egg whites and mix to a stiff dough.
Set the oven to Gas 4, 175C, 350F.

Line two baking sheets with non-stick paper.
(I find if you sprinkle a little water on the baking sheet it helps to get the paper to lie down flat and then it is easier to work)
With dampened hands (or 2 teaspoons) make walnut sized balls of the dough and lay these out in rows (not too close) on the sheets.
Flatten these slightly with a damp fork.
Sprinkle over some sliced almonds or press a Pistachio, or a half Almond into each one.
Bake these at the set temperature for about 15 mts or until nicely browned.
Take off the paper gently (they will still be soft) and leave to cool and crispen on a wire rack.

Headline in today’s Midi Libre;

Pour les tabacs, les carottes ne sont toujours pas cuites.

This translates literally as;

The carrots are not always cooked for the tobacconists.

Ok so Mme le Tabac got her Carrotes Vichy a little too al dente last night,- tough on the tabac but hardly worthy of a headline.So I have to go to the dictionary, there under carotte is an expression; Les carottes sont cuites means in fact nothing culinary but “Its all up ” .
So we now have a headline (after a story about the decline of centre ville trading in Beziers) saying that it is not always over for the tobacconists.
Back to the dictionary where under toujours you discover that it can also mean “Yet”.
We now have a headline which makes perfect sense;

“It’s not all up yet for the tobacconists”

But there is more.

Further on the report says;

Les carottes (le nom de l’enseigne lumineuse signalant un tabac) sont-elles cuites ?

The Carotte also means the neon sign they hang over tobacco shops because of its shape.

So now we have yet a further subtlety in the article.
The phrase has yet a third meaning.

They have a way with their language these French people.

My fellow blogger Jedrzej , sent me this link as an incentive to me to forswear liquor for November.

I fear that some of you may not have bothered to follow the link he gave so I have done it for you.
It is far too good to miss.

Thanks Jedrzej .

Just looking at that shot I took of Thezan last night makes me think it might be pretty enough to be worth showing a little bigger.

And to pinpoint (again I know) the position of Le Presbytere.

Ours is the white house with the tree in the garden but strangely we include the flat bit to the right which also projects above the roof which is actually part of the original (13th Century) wall of the town. (the long slit window is to Sile and my bedroom)