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Lettres d'Uzès #45: cooking up a storm

7/7/2014

7 Comments

 
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The storm arrived in St Quentin la Poterie in the top of the seventh and settled over rue de la Révolution for the remainder of the game, producing thunderclaps which drowned out the commentary of Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy on NESN and sheet lightning of such frequency that reading lamps were unnecessary. Meanwhile, the Lares and Penates of baseball continued to look with disfavour on the hubris of last season, as they allowed the Sox to make up a 6-1 deficit only to dash our hopes again in the 12th.

Of course I didn’t actually witness this final débacle at Fenway.

Mindful of the recent experience of friends further to the west, whose wi-fi router had been blown by a distressingly accurate lightning strike, I had turned off router, TV and computer. Out of touch with the world beyond St Quentin, and marooned in our small village home which is, as it has for nearly a quarter of a century, resisting the force of the rains and other elements, we are free to focus on those things which really matter.

Food and wine, reading and writing, music and conversation.

We are indulging ourselves in each.

We have eaten rather well recently, notably at La Table d’Uzès where the ridiculously young and ridiculously talented Chef Oscar Garcia is cooking up a Michelin-starred storm and from the simpler but no less delicious menu at Café Fleurs in Isle-sur-la-Sorgues.

We are drinking a variety of excellent local wines as friends introduce us to the lesser-known growers of the Rhône valley, some of which are worthy of mention in the same sentence as our favourite La Gramière and all of which are extremely quaffable.

We are reading and re-reading voraciously, notably The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver, a writer who is apparently famous but of whom I have unaccountably never heard before. She’s good. So too, it goes without saying, is Bill Bryson - and I am taking up the recommendation of a new friend (a Blue Jays fan!) who advised me to read One Summer as a matter of urgency.

We are working hard at our respective disciplines: I writing at my laptop, Jill painting at her easel.

And as ever, we are chattering away with each other and with friends, about books and sports, politics and anything that happens to come to mind as we order a second pichet of local rouge and sit back to listen to a ragtag band of busking musicians.

But there will be no al fresco dining, drinking and debating today. It is still raining and there is no wind to blow away this meteorological freak of nature. Even Rob Lowe and his family have had to be rescued by the sapeurs pompiers from their flooded mansion sécondaire in Grasse. 

But in St Quentin la Poterie, we are made of sterner stuff. I wonder if the Cuisine du Boucher is opening for lunch ...

Today from the everysmith vaults: It's been a singer-songwriter kind of morning with Jill listening to Jeff Buckley upstairs and Carol and I chilling to Sweet Baby James Taylor at the Fillmore East in 1971 and to the much-missed John Martyn.

7 Comments
JohnB
7/7/2014 03:27:45

Clouds and silver linings.
Winter gray and falling rain, we'll see summer come again,
Darkness falls and seasons change (gonna happen every time).
Same old friends the wind and rain, Summers fade and roses die,
You'll see summer come again, Like a song that's born to soar the sky.

Reply
CJ
7/7/2014 03:59:38

and while we're quoting the Dead:
"If the thunder don't get you, then the lightning will."

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Des
7/7/2014 07:21:02

Hi Max, just found your blog. Sounds awful down there. Feeling really sorry for you. The Lacuna is not bad - needs editing down a hundred pages or so. Going to spend the afternoon heading backwards through previous posts.

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Allan
7/7/2014 08:30:56

Weather here is lovely. And we've even got the Tour de France. Are you in the wrong place at the wrong time?

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Ellie
7/7/2014 11:08:05

It seems to me that the weather has forced a reversion to type. You are doing what you do. Not playing at tourism but living a life. Enjoy it!

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Glenn
8/7/2014 01:06:36

Max, just got round to catching up on your blog. You're up there with radio 4 for a touchstone on reality and escapism in the land of sand. ha ha.

Reply
Sean
9/7/2014 02:32:08

Lovely stuff. And I don't use a Partridge quote lightly. Can almost taste the ozone and the vin rouge. Enjoy. You deserve it.

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     Max Smith

    European writer, radical, restaurateur and Red Sox fan. 70-something husband, father, step-father. and grandfather. Resident in Warwick, England.

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