There is no doubt that doing up a house, to transform a whole house from one function to another is a whole heap of work.
When we bought our French presbytery in December of 2006 we felt to some extent that we were going down a road we had travelled before.
We had, after all, in 1989, bought a house of similar size and condition in Waterford and within three months we had it up and running as a restaurant.
The difference between a house over a restaurant and a house which has to function as a B&B is however quite vast.
In Mary Street in Waterford all works stopped at the first landing, everything above that point was private and was put on the long finger, so long a finger that in some cases when we sold the house 15 years later they still rested there.
A Chambre d’Hote encompasses virtually the whole house, we will admittedly still have the attic to ourselves but unfortunately, in this case that is the area that required most work so where as it does not need to reach the high standards of the other two floors it needs more work just to make it habitable.

I have been out here now since the middle of March and will be here for another three weeks. I am extremely fortunate to have two skilled wood workmen out here with me for the duration who are, even as I write proceeding with the works in the kitchen.
Having spent the last two weeks here basically having a holiday with my family I have just spent the morning emptying the kitchen, again, I suppose for the fourth time, to permit Clive and Martin (number two) free access to the area to finish the work there.
The person I have to blame for this effort is of course myself.
Having a large house in the south of France is just too tempting a prospect to ignore.
Any sensible person would have not tried to live there until all the works were complete.

Against that, I think that every incarnation of the house that we have lived in so far has been instructive, has made one change one mind about what goes where and will hopefully add to the finished machine for living being more efficient and therefore more beautiful.

For the family holiday I had for the first time a virtually working kitchen with a counter and a double ovened cooker and a five ring hob.
This contrasted dramatically with last summer’s efforts of entertaining on two camping gas rings and a tiny grill (and occasionally for similar numbers)

In fact despite appalling weather for the Easter weekend everything worked extremely well. We were nine adults and a baby for most of the time and it is amazing how simple entertaining these numbers are in a house with five fully functioning bathrooms (and another two extra loos as well) and a kitchen which even if not fully finished has all its working parts in place.

When we moved into Mary Street we were faced with the prospect if what to do with the huge and previously unoccupied attic at the top of the house.
We were inspired to turn it into a large living, dining kitchen and as such it was extremely successful and suited our lifestyle very well.
I always like the idea that when the cook is cooling he isn’t cut off from the rest of the world.

It was with this in mind that we turned the two large downstairs rooms here in Le Presbytere into one large room like that in Waterford.
As a dining space this has the extra advantage that it is possible from behind my counter in the kitchen to cook and to talk to my guests at the same time, turning the feeding aspect of the enterprise into a one man job.

So the work goes on apace, we should have some kitchen to photograph soon.

I have just been checking my stats and have found I have a sudden large readership in Bolivia of all places.

Then a bell rang.

The Irish (mercenary ?) who was shot in Bolivia was one Michael Martin Dwyer.
He is no relation that I know of, and it is over 200 years since our branch of the Dwyers left Tipperary for Cork.

But if you Google that name in , it isn’t long before a certain chef’s blog starts to appear.

It’s cloudy this morning on the terrace so I can indulge myself by writing outside.
When it is sunny it is impossible to see the screen.

I just nipped down to the village for a croissant and The Sunday Times (yes, the French version hits Thezan punctually every Sunday morning) and the Sunday Midi Libre.

Reading through them has led the ancient grey matter to ruminate on thoughts of celebrity.

The Midi Libre is full of the Stars who will be at The Festival of Carcassonne in July ; Depeche Mode, Status Quo, Seal etc. surely just a little bit passé.
But then the French are good at holding on to their own stars for far longer than we do, I mean Johnny Halliday is still popular.
Two other thoughts about celebrity struck me this morning as I read the paper.

First one was that Ken Loach has just made a film called Looking for Eric about a Manchester fan’s attempts to locate his idol Cantona.
Pity he didn’t ask me.
Last summer he was in Beziers teaching five-a-side football in the bullring,(in between bull fights of course.)
(This in turn reminds me of when the world and his wife was wanting to talk to ex-Etonion Darius Guppy after he had done something or other, Where is Guppy roared the headlines. The answer was in Carrick-on-Suir and having frequent dinners in Dwyers in Waterford)

And then, the reverse of the medal there is that terrific heart warming story about how celebrity can eventually be achieved against all odds by talent.

Watch the Susan Boyle video on youtube, watch the nauseating Simon Cowell patronise a dumpy, plain , late forties Scottish woman who then just opens her mouth and sings herself into instant celebrity with a belter from Les Mis.
She has it appears been entering and loosing talent contests for the last thirty five years.

Very heartwarming, I read in the Times that Sharon Stone was moved to tears.
I know how you feel Sharon, but now the sun has come out so either the blog ends or I have to go inside……

I know I have done this before but every time I spot these beauties it is special.

This morning Síle and brother-in-law Colm headed back up the road to Cherbourg and home where Síle will start into her very last term in school.
I have two days here before I am joined by Clive and another carpenter who are going to do a blitz on the house over the following three weeks.

I am begining to realise, as I spend more and more time in France that I am stealthily in the process of becoming resident here. Over the last year I must have spent nearly as much time here as in Waterford.

But to get back to today.

Síle and Colm headed up the motorway in darkness at about 6.am so I went back to bed- secure in the knowledge that with Mr. Nunn (who could give tutorials to larks) arriving tomorrow I won’t be having much time for lie-ins.

One of the big advantages of shutters is that they are altogether light excluding so when I awoke again it was about 9.30, and I made my way downstairs for coffee with no idea of what sort of weather to expect.

The Pyrénées greeted me from the terrace so I had to go for the camera and take their picture.
Even though they are about 150 klms away (further away than our house in Waterford from Dublin) on very clear days they can be seen clearly and at this time of the year are at their best as they are covered with snow.
Their appearance is sporadic, sometimes a month will pass in the summer without a glimpse, but their coming is always special and heart warming.
The largest peak is Mount Canigou, under which we once rented a house in Ceret, but what is even more remarkable is that on some evenings one can see a whole stretch of the mountains, surely another hundred kilometres, stretch back to the Atlantic. It occurs to me that in terms of distances this must be the equivalent of seeing Belfast from Cork.
It is all a little humbling for someone brought up in a small island like Ireland.

On February 26th 2005 I put up my first Words piece.

This one is my thousandth.
(Not my thousandth entry, I have simultaniously managed
to put up around 725 recipes)

Of course one feels compelled to do something special to
mark the occasion so I went rooting through my archives
to find something appropriate.

I eventually decided that the most appropriate action would
be to reproduce my very first effort, four years ago, on
Mayonnaise.

Its been good fun doing the first thousand.

Mayonnaise

Picture by Caitriona
(well worth one thousand words)

I have always loved mayonnaise.
Loved to eat it but I think even more loved to make it.
Before I ever started to cook professionally I had read
Elizabeth Davids inspiring essay on mayonnaise in
French Provincial Cooking. I say essay very deliberately
because, far from being just a recipe this two page
treatise and hymn to mayonnaise tells you all about its
history and the legends that surround its birth, but also
of course, tells you how to make the stuff.
However the bit that inspired me is where she says
“I do not care, unless I am in a great hurry, to let it,
(an electric beater)deprive me of the pleasure and
satisfaction to be obtained by sitting down quietly with
bowl and spoon, eggs and oil, to the peaceful kitchen
task of concocting the beautiful shining golden ointment
which is mayonnaise”

These poetic lines moved me instantly into mayonnaise
manufacture.

There is something almost magical about mayonnaise
everytime you make it.
Two entirely liquid ingredients, runny almost, when
blended in a certain painstaking way can merge into
such a thick unctuous, well… ointment.

My very first job was in a very chic basement restaurant
called Snaffles in Leeson street in Dublin. This was run by
an eccentric but essentially lovable ascendancy couple
called Nick and Rosie Tinne. Rosie was at this time compiling
her book “Irish Country House Cooking” (still available
occasionally on the internet). The time was the very early
seventies and I was in my very early twenties and very naive.

Rosie flew in the door of the kitchen one morning carrying
a dozen crap splattered eggs, a large tin of Italian Olive Oil,
and a huge wooden bowl and spoon.
“Maahtin, Maahtin! You MUST make some mayonnaise for me.
I’m having a party tonight and I’ve got the curse, it ALWAYS
curdles when I’ve got the curse!”
Needless to say I got over my shock and made her the
mayo, and yes I made it in the wooden bowl with the wooden
spoon as she had been taught to in her Cordon Blue school in Paris.

There was a lot of mystique about making mayonnaise t
hough.
I remember an aunt of mine doing something very complicated
in a liquidizer which involved hard boiled eggs, cream and
copious quantities of vinegar.

We mistrusted the simple and pure flavour of good eggs and
olive oil in Ireland for a long time. (When my sister came
back from an au pair job in Frejus in the late fifties, fired
with the tastes of Provence, she discovered that Olive Oil
was only available in minute bottles in Chemists shops and
intended to promote suntans!)

Mayonnaise is perhaps the simplest of all sauces. I have
often said in cookery classes that I can make a half pint
of mayonnaise in much the same time as it would take
you to find it in the Hellmans jar in the fridge – and I can!
I will follow Ms. David’s proportions for making the
“golden ointment”

Recipe:
3 large Freerange Eggs at room temperature
300ml Good Olive Oil also at room temperature
(I don’t always search out extra virgin oil for this)
Pinch Salt and grating of black pepper
1 tablespoon White Wine Vinegar

Beat the eggs thoroughly with the salt and pepper
(I quite often use an electric hand held beater if none of my
cooking mentors are looking)
Dribble in the oil, firstly drop by drop and then as the oil
starts to thicken the yolks you can increase the rate to a
thin stream and add the vinegar.
Again, I will quote Elizabeth David to tell you when to stop
“It should, if a spoonful is lifted up and dropped back into
the bowl, fall from the spoon with a satisfying plop, and
retain its shape, like a thick jelly”
this marvellous (and sensual) description is perfect.

Make your own mayonnaise, it tastes so much better
and who knows, you too might enjoy the process of making
the “golden ointment”.

On Saturday night the daughters produced a song for the birthday celebrations.

This is to be sung to the tune of Louden Wainwright’s Swimming Song which is a family favourite.

This Easter Martin’s sixty,
In France we’ll celebrate.
We’ll drink ’em dry and eat ’em bare
And stay up very late,
And stay up very late!

Cork City was his birthplace,
Though not long did he dwell.
He moved himself to Dublin,
Into Sile’s arms he fell,
Sile’s arms he fell!

He worked in many restaurants,
The best in Mary Street.
But cooking for friends and family
Is his favourite free-time treat,
His favourite free-time treat!

His chosen place to holiday
was across the sea in France
He loved it so much that he bought
A big house in Thezan,
A big house in Thezan!

This Easter Martin’s sixty,
In France we’ll celebrate.
We’ll drink ’em dry and eat ’em bare
And stay up very late,
And stay up very late!

Not only does the Godin make marvellous heat (and banked down
retains a fire all night) but she also has a cooking ring on top and given
the right ingredients produces a delicious Boeuf a la Bourguigonne

Every time previously the Waterford Dwyer family got together I was the only male present.

Now that my daughters have grown up, and it seems to me almost overnight, the balance of power has changed.

To celebrate the passage of power on to the men Caitriona took this picture of us at the Presbytére last night. (where we were celebrating my fourth 60th birthday party)

Since this is our first all together get-together Caitriona managed to set the automatic on her camera and we got a proper family portrait.

Back Row,Aonghus,Ano,Deirdre,Eileen, Phil.
Front Caitriona, Martin (with Fionn), Síle, Colm

I’m in France in the bosom of my family and loving it.
The hero of the moment is the excellent Fionn who has discovered smiling and does it constantly.

It is proving remarkably infectious.