They are digging up the road outside our house so our street is Fermé for two days. But, noticing that I could still sneak in and our if I was careful,I scooted off this morning to do some shopping and boldly drove back to the door to unload it.
As I was doing this I heard “Chef ! Chef! ” from one of the workmen, telling me I couldn’t stop there. I then explained I was just unloading the shopping and would be gone in a sec- he was fine with that.

But the thing that was on my mind as I drove away was : How in hell did he know I was a chef?

And then of course the answer hit me.

We use chef exclusively in English to indicate a cook where as here it is just used as a manager.
The workman was basically calling me Boss, just as an Irish workman would have.

Found this in a bathroom cabinet and wondered why anyone would want a cream which made ALL the family’s skin repulsive.

It is (of course) an insect repellant.

Thick fillets of John Dory in Sorrel Beurre Rosé, French Breans and new pots— Heaven !

The top ten: Useful words for which there is no English equivalent

1. Schadenfreude: Joy in the misfortune of others. German.

2. Wei-wu-wei: Deliberate decision not to do something. Chinese. From an on-line list compiled by Feedbacq.

3. Prozvonit: To call a mobile phone to have it ring once so that the other person calls back, saving the first caller money. Czech and Slovak.

4. Age-otori: To look worse after a haircut. Japanese.

5. Chutzpah: Cheek but with extremely self-confident audacity. Yiddish.Nominated by Rafael Behr.

6. Zeg: The day after tomorrow. Georgian. Sometimes English lacks subtlety. Here it lacks simple utility.

7. Stramash: Fight, uproar. Scottish and northern English.

8. Esprit de l’escalier: The brilliantly witty response you didn’t think of until too late. French.

9. Fremdschämen: Being embarrassed for someone else, often someone who should be but isn’t. German

10. Pesmenteiro: One who shows up to a funeral for the food. Portuguese.

All of €10 in a Trocante in Carcassonne, has already found a home in our downstairs loo.

It’s not often one gets to combine two passions but just before I finally shut the Restaurant I did a Bloomsday dinner for the English department in the WIT.
I managed to work out a whole menu from Ulysses (with a touch of “Portrait ” and “Finnegans Wake”)-which I had studied hard for my finals in UCD, 35 years previously.
(And with some help from Declan Kiberd and who pointed me to Alison Armstrong’s “The Joyce of Cooking”)

Bloomsday Dinner In Dwyers Restaurant
Wednesday June 16th 2004

Lambs Kidneys with Mustard Sherry
(“Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.“)
or
Devilled Crab with Cucumber Salad
(“A nice salad cool as a cucumber,Tom Kernan can dress.
Pure Olive Oil…God made food, the devil the cooks. Devilled Crab.”)
or
Gorgonzola Salad with Mustard Dressing
(“Gorgonzola have you? Mustard Sir?..
a warm shock of air heat of Mustard hanched on Mr Blooms Heart”)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Green Pea Soup
(“Whats in the pot?–Shirts, Maggy said. Boody cried angrily-Crikey is there nothing for us to eat? Katey, lifting the kettlelid…A heavy fume gushed in answer…-Peasoup“)
or
Fennel and Pernod Sorbet
(“Somewhere in the East….Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet.Wander all day”)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Roast Fillet of Beef with Cabbage
(“His heart astir he pushed in the door of the Burton restaurant….
.Wonder what he was eating…Roast Beef and Cabbage“)
or
Fillets of Sole de la Dudebat
(with White Wine and Mushrooms)
(“May I tempt you to a little more filleted Sole Miss Dudebat?
Yes ,do bedad.And she did bedad“)
or
Crepes of Onions and Mushrooms
(“After all,Bloom relents,there’s a lot in that vegetarian flavour
of fine things from the earth,crisp of Onions and Mushrooms.”)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Molly’s Pear and Almond Tart
(“I’d love a big juicy pear now to melt in your mouth
like when I used to be in the longing way“)
or
Brown Bread Ice Cream with Caramel Whiskey Sauce
(“Round Rabaiotti’s halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble”
“Our Lady of Mount Carmel.Sweet name too:Caramel“)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glass of Sloe Gin
(“…and a sloegin for me…Boylan eyed,eyed. Tossed to fat lips his chalice,
drankoff his tiny chalice, sucking the last fat violet syrupy drops“)

A little bit of History.
Yesterday Síle, who was cleaning one of the bedrooms with the windows open, heard some talk outside the door as people talked outside the building. She greeted them out the window and they then told her that one of the ladies had stayed here a long time ago. Of course we asked them in, three elderly people; two ladies and a gentleman.
The story was that in 1954 (that is 59 years ago!) one of the ladies had encephalitis and the treatment at the time was that she had to spend several months in a room with no sound and no light to recover and so, even though she came from Armentiéres, right in the north of the country, the decision was made to send her down to the south to the Dominican sisters who, at that time operated a convalescent home in Le Presbytére.
She did recover and was now making the journey back for the first time – nearly sixty years later- a pilgrimage to the place of her recovery. She said she had wonderful memories of the house and of the sisters who gently nursed her back to health. They were very appreciative of our warm welcome for them and our tour of the house and garden and signed the book with their thanks and address, still in Armentiéres.
We felt privileged to be allowed a little insight into the history of our house.

Breakfast on the Terrace this morning.

It is our 7th summer in Thezan (even before Sile retired we were able to spend the school summer holidays here) and I am doing one of my very favourite things- sneaking down the stairs early (around 6), making myself a sneaky coffee and drinking it slowly on the terrace while I watch the morning creep in.
There have been a couple of changes in these seven years. The principal one must be that in this time Sile has tamed the gone- to- seed garden into colourful order, and this summer, after the very heavy rains of spring here in the Languedoc, it is looking the best it ever has.
Our summer Jasmine, which covers the old stone stairway down to the garden, is, for the first time ever covered with buds and flowers and its fresh smell is already scenting the morning beautifully.
Our white rambling rose which climbs up to the terrace from the garden was under sentence of certain death last year because of its miserly production of flowers, but, because of the spring rain showers it is giving us its best display ever and has secured a reprieve.
Our great glory; the huge Chinaberry tree is also, just, in flower and now in leaf and is providing an excellent hiding place for our new and welcome population of birds, as I write there is a fledgling sparrow making drunken forays from the safety of the tree on to the strings which support our bird feeders- he is beginning to get the right idea.
We now have families of Coal Tits and Sparrows in the garden who come to eat at the feeders and a very discreet Black Cap who hides in the foliage of the tree and sings beautifully. Our Black Redstarts have become rarities but the Swallows/Swifts/Martins (I still cannot tell the difference) continually bombard the tree in the morning and evening presumably feeding on the insect population feeding there. With such noble work on hand I can easily forgive their screaming cries as they swoop around.
All this is possible of course only because the weather has turned from cool spring to hot summer as suddenly as if someone had thrown a switch. This not only pleases me, there is not much joy in sitting in the early morning on the terrace in the cold, but obviously delights the plants and birds as well.