I have made no secret now for a long time about my love for this wine from Languedoc. I discovered it first two years ago while we in holiday in Marseillan, about 10 kilometres from Pinet and it was a case of love at first sip.

Picpoul is a rare and very old French grape which has its main home on the terroir it loves the best, the sandy soil on the limestone plateau behind the Bassin de Thau in costal Languedoc.
This bassin of course, in typical French fashion, gives the Picpoul the food with which it goes best, the Mussels and Oysters which are farmed here.

Named, so they tell me after the pique, or sting the naturally dry wine gives to the lips it is a great wine with fish, to my palate far less acidic than Muscadet its rival from Brittany.
Its initial sharpness is dissipated with lemony and flowery flavours which make it delicious with the salty tang of shellfish.
It is neither a very complex nor expensive wine which makes it a great vin de table and a good aperitif either on its own or with a tiny dash of Cassis.
Watch out for it.

On the way up to the Monts d’Espinousse from Thezan we pass the village of Vieussan.
Just close to the village is Jean Donnadieu’s vinyard.
Madame Donnadieu always keeps a little table on the road by their house where she not only sells her husband’s wine but also various conserves and jams which she makes herself.
She makes a very good Pate de Coing (Quince Paste) and a delicate Violet Jam as well as some more run of the mill Apricot and Plum varieties. (She also makes some jam from the Arbutus Tree which grows wild in the hills here).
We took to stopping to replenish our stocks as we passed her.

Behind Madame’s table there is an old wine cask built into the wall and on that someone has daubed an advertising slogan;

Pour être heureux,
Pour vivre vieux,
Buvez du vin
De Jean Donnedieu.

This I have translated as;

To live a life, long happy and fine
Always drink
Jean Donnedieu’s wine.

You could do worse!

As Sile’s parents are now living in Termonfeckin we have now rather further to go to visit them than when they lived in Skerries.
Last Saturday week, only just back from France, we headed off to see them.
We left the house at 11.00 and reckoned that worst case scenario we would get to them by 3.00, that is giving us four hours (for what should be about three) for a journey just over 200 klms.(We have travelled on the M50 before)

For the last year there has been a running battle in the Dwyer household as to whether the coastal route, via Eniscorthy (my choice) or the inland route via Carlow (Sile’s) were the fastest to Dublin. This time Sile won the toss and we headed up via Carlow.
Disaster.
We finally chugged into Termonfeckin at 4.20, 5 ½ hours after we started, 1 ½ hours of which had been spent on the road between Naas and Dublin airport, and this on a quiet Saturday.

Last Friday I heard on the news that the Arklow and Gorey by-passes had been joined so the case for the coastal route was greatly strengthened and as we were Termonfeckin bound on Saturday my choice prevailed this time.

All went well until Enniscorthy, there we found ourselves in a convoy with a combined harvester in the lead and a large oil tanker neatly tucked in behind him.
We proceeded at a steady 50 kph for several kilometres.
Now I have to confess to a weakness here.
I refuse to pass out anything unless I can see my way clear on the other side.
I regard things like on-coming traffic and corners as indicators that I should stay in place.
That this is not a general policy was obvious from the amount of people who braved the convoy blindly from behind regardless.
Never mind, I said to myself, soon we will hit the Gorey by-pass and then I can pass these buggers in safety.
We did, and I did.
I was passing the lot of them out doing a heady 110 kph on the new wide and beautifully safe dual carriageway (100 kph speed limit) when out of a ditch, speed camera in hand sprang a Guard.
I reckon he got a very good picture of me.
I also reckon that the little envelope with my first penalty points will arrive shortly on the mat.

I suppose it would be ridiculous to suggest that the guard would have been better employed noting the people passing on corners, or into oncoming traffic.
I was nabbed, fairly or unfairly.

Mind you the only mitigating point was that due to the by-passes and the Dublin port tunnel, we arrived in Termonfeckin just 3 ½ hours after we left Waterford, a huge improvement on our previous effort.
It now looks like the coastal route might have won the battle of best route to Dublin.
Life has its compensations.

The circus hits the hilltop village of Vieussan

We went swimming in the Mediterranean only once in our time in Languedoc during this summer. I wouldn’t be a great beach person at the best of times, truth to tell the notion of sprawling on a hot beach sunbathing for hours on end is about the equivalent, to me, of similar time spent on a dentists chair.

We did make a quick burst down to Serignan Plage (about 20 minutes away) at the begining of July but soon discovered that once the French school holidays began the area by the sea became a no-go area of traffic jams and queues.
The same is not at all true for river swimming which we began to discover this summer.
There are plenty of organised Plages in the Orb river which flows within about a kilometre of our village, and, there are also some unorganised ones which we are starting to discover.

Eileen and Deirdre cavort in the Orb in Cessanon

This bridge in Reals, near Murviel (about 3 kilometres away) goes over a selection of little beaches on the Orb.

Isabel does an Undine on a rock in Reals.

This lovely swimming pool was actually on the river Jaure about 20 klms away.
(The boys caught nothing but a Mink/Martin clambered down from the trees and was more successful)

This is the nearest swimming place to us,also in the Orb
about a kilometre from our house which we only discovered a week
before we came home

This is the Orb as it flows majestically into Beziers
(photographed from the belfry of the cathedral)

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I normally rigidly divide my blogging into two sections, one a sort of diary, “Words” as I imagine a web log is intended to be, the other half is my weekly recipes, usually two of three, which I put out on WLR, Waterford Local Radio on which I do a slot on Tuesdays.

Every so often I have a couple of good ones that I stick out on my blog also, this week I am doing just that.

The Three Onion soup came together, like most of my recipes, because I went looking in the cupboard, in this case the vegetable one, and this was all that I could find.
It is a catchy title I know but each onion (and the garlic) does add a little to the finished product. It is quite deliberately thin so make sure you have a good flavoured stock to add to it. This is a soup in which packet stock would be inappropiate.

The Green Tomato soup is another instance of necessity being the mother of invention.
This is an altogether heartier soup, don’t forget to add the sugar and the vinegar as they do bring out the sharp sweetness of the green tomatoes.

Three Onion Soup
(for 4)

2 Medium Onions
6 Shallots
1 Bunch Scallions
3 Cloves garlic
60g (2 oz.) Butter
450ml (1 Pint) Chicken Stock

Peel and slice the onions and shallots.
Cut the roots off the scallions and slice the white bulbs.
(slice the green of the scallions but put to one side)
Peel and slice the garlic cloves.

Melt the butter in a pot with a lid and sweat the onions, shallots, garlic and white of scallions together on a very low heat until they are soft.

Add the pint of stock, bring to the boil and add the chopped green of the scallions.
Boil for about five minutes.
Liquidise this soup and then, if you have time push it through a sieve.
This is a delicate thin flavoursome soup and should be served hot but without cream, just a sprinkle of chopped chives if you have them.

Green Tomato Soup
(for 4/6)

2 tablespoons olive oil
4 smoked streaky rashers
1 Bunch Scallions
2 cloves garlic
1 kg (2 lb) green tomatoes
300ml (½ pt.) Chicken Stock
300ml (½ pt.) Water
1 Tablespoon White wine vinegar
2 teaspoons sugar
Salt and pepper

Chop the rashers finely and fry in the olive oil until crisp, remove these from the oil with a slotted spoon and set to one side.
Chop well the scallions, garlic and tomatoes and put these into the pan with the olive oil.
Cook these slowly in their own juices for about 20 mts until the scallion is soft.
Add the stock, the vinegar and sugar and the salt and pepper and the cooked bacon and simmer for another five minutes.
Serve this with crusty bread it makes a good light lunch.

Georgiana Spencer, Duchess of Devonshire by Gainsborough

I was in Lismore last week and happened on an exhibition of family portraits in the castle.

Where else could one come across a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds next to one by Sir Anthony van Dyke, in turn next to another portrait by Thomas Gainsborough?
It is a startlingly good exhibition in the purpose built gallery in the castle grounds.
As well as the above artists there are works by Vanloo and Sir Peter Lely- artists I had previously only seen in books.
There is also an excellent Teniers tapestry as part of the exhibition and even the wedding photo of Lord Charles Cavendish’s wedding to Adel Astaire is taken by Cecil Beaton.
There is a selection of contemporary digital media works from the Rubell Family Collection on show which I didn’t have time to get to.

Merits a detour, it runs until the end of September.

I was with my mother-in -law, Sheelagh Ronayne, yesterday and was reminded of songs she used to sing long ago.
When it came to the time for a song she had a mean version of Carrickfergus, which she always sang beautifully, but then another song she used to sing, but on less formal occasions, was the above, Hang on the Bell.
Now as far as I can remember she only sang the chorus of this song but, as all the story was contained in the chorus, this was fine by me.

It wasn’t until this morning that it struck me to look up the song on the internet.
Of course there it was.

Perhaps just a little dated and sentimental, but then you havn’t had the advantage of hearing my mother-in-law sing it.

The scene was in the jailhouse, and if curfew rang that night
The guy in number 13 cell would go out like a light.
She knew her Dad was innocent, so plucky Little Nell
Has tied her tender torso to the clapper on the bell.

Oh, hang on the bell, Nelly, hang on the bell
Your poor Father’s locked in a cold prison cell.
Swing to the left, Nelly swing to the right
Remember the curfew must never call tonight.

We were coming back from France on Irish Ferries and eating dinner in the restaurant.
Two men were entertaining us by playing duets on piano and violin.
I became aware of the song they were playing and thought that “Stormy Weather” must be the most inappropiate song to play on a sea voyage.
I was wrong.
For their next number they played “My heart must go on”
The theme song from “Titanic.”

I just found this painting of St Roch on the internet.
It is in the Prado in Madrid, beautifully painted
and the plague wound, for once, merely suggested by the
unbuttoned hose.(That is if you don’t look too closely)

But could my favourite saint be possibly wearing Crocs ?
Subtle brown ones it is true, but Crocs….

Madonna with the Child, St Anthony of Padua and St Roch
Giorgione
Oil on canvas, 92x133cm
(Museo del Prado, Madrid)