In Bayonne Market last week I bought some eggs from a Basque Eggman.
With five flicks of the knife he made me a box to carry them home in.

First he sliced the tray in two.

Then he slashed partially through in two places.

Flicked over the box and put the eggs in the middle

Folded over one side

And then the other.

Voila!

Last night’s guests for dinner included two couples who were quite near neighbours. One couple, a retired Belgian pair looking for a house in the sun, were Walloons and therefore French native speakers, Madame had a reasonable fluency in English and they both had a smattering of Flemish (very close to Dutch). The other pair, from Holland had, of course excellent English, mother tongue Dutch but,even though living in Paris, remarkably little French. Their communication between each other, despite recourse to three common languages, was, it turned out, quite difficult and both couples had to turn to us often for help.

A couple of years ago there was a fashion for saying that stuff on the menu was “pan fried” , really, did I think you had fried it in a hat ? Now I notice that the humble egg has been given a new twist and is now ” Hen’s Egg” presumably to stop us confusing it with the offering of the Duck Billed Plattypus.

Fresh Figs this morning in the Ferme Bitteroise, warm sweet and juicy- could there be a better fruit?

From the terrace last Friday.

About three years ago Síle planted a Chassalas grape in our garden and encouraged it to grow up to the terrace and provide us with permanant summer sunshade.
So far so good, it reached the top of the terrace last summer and has been spreading itself dutifully this year.

This summer it started to produce grapes, these we mainly culled but couldn’t resist letting some ripen. These I picked last week, a fairly sorry looking bunch I admit and we were at a loss as to what to do with them.
Eventually they had a last minute escape from the bin when we decided to attempt squeezing them, mainly by bashing with a pestle in a stainless steel bowl, and then straining off the results. The resulting juice wasn’t the most interesting so I enlivened it with a couple of shots of an Elderflower liqueur I made in May and made jelly from it.

Scene, Monday Morning :Starbucks Dublin Airport- It is not busy.

Customer (me):- Can I have an espresso please.
First Counter Hand:- Double or Single?
Customer:- Single.

Counter Hand 1 makes a mark on a paper cup and hands it to Counter Hand 2- then steps back.

Counter Hand 2 to Customer:- Yes?
Customer (through gritted caffine deprived teeth):- Can I have an Espresso Please ?
Counter Hand 2:- Single or Double?
Customer:-Single !
Counter Hand 2:- That will be 2 euros please- customer pays- counter hand passes marked cup to counterhand 3 and steps back.

Counterhand 3 to customer:- Yes?
Customer(with barely supressed rage):- CAN I HAVE AN ESPRESSO PLEASE.

Counter hand three: – Single or double?
Customer:- SINGLE!
Counterhand three examines her marked cups.
Counterhand three:- A Skinny Latte ?
Customer:-NO! AN ESPRESSO!
Counterhand 3:- A Cappucino?
Customer (now very red in the face):- AN ESPRESSO DAMMIT!

Then, reluctantly she hands over the espresso.

Oh! for a coffee machine.

It all started when our neighbour Josf presented us with two boxes of tomatoes from his allotment and a huge marrow. Then co-incidentially we realised that we needed to defrost the freezer and lurking in its nether regions I found about 10 lbs of Seville Oranges.

The gun was to my head, it was preserve or let it rot.

For the last 48 hours I have been simmering over a hot stove and about 10 minutes ago I finally finished.

The picture shows ;- 22lbs Green Tomato and Marrow Chutney, 10 lbs Tomato and Basil Jelly, 3lbs Persimmon Jam (the pulp of which turned up in the freezer, a gift from another neighbour) 3 lbs Black Muscat Jelly (they are just in season now) 3 lbs Greengage (ditto) and 24 lbs of Seville Orange Marmalade, half of which I will keep and half I will barter with another neighbour for frozen Raspberries from her orchard in Normandy.
(Out of which I will make yet more jam)

Phew……..!

Grandson Ruadhán, pictured yesterday in Dublin.

Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth?

Yes it would.

Some of you may remember that I spent a lot of last winter writing a book- provisionally called “A Table- An Irish Chef in a Village in the Languedoc” I spent most of last spring reading polite rejections from various publishers.

But, yesterday, I had a surprise visit, here in France, from an Irish publisher.
And, to my astonished delight , he told me that- with much rewriting, work and editing he would like to go with the book.

What Excitement !

Watch this space for further developments !