The Hump Club gathers - Sunday lunch in the Hamlet of Auriac

Friday 6 September
Flashy cooked a gigantic rabbit and chicken cassoulet in preparation for Sunday. The rabbit, complete with head, heart, lungs, liver and kidneys was a fine marche specimen and the leftover baguettes were safely gathered in a bag in the freezer to create the necessary crunchy cubed topping (essentially to absorb the rich flavoursome stock).  Lady P prepared the guest rooms as our quiet hamlet was to get an invasion of Aussies, primarily from the Cairns region to celebrate a reunion over Sunday lunch. As the weather had cooled and some very crisp nights – 5 degrees on three successive mornings were noted, all of the available doonas and blankets were sourced so by mid afternoon we were ready to set off for Perigueux to collect our first house guests. David and Linda- friends from Cairns have caught the TGV from Paris for  Sunday's planned lunch and after some celebratory welcome drinks and nibbles,  Flashman serves up his delicious warming  Boeuf Bourguignon and tiny garlic potatoes for dinner and we consume a number of Bordeaux reds. We manage to stay up till 10.30pm, quite a record for the hosts at least.

Saturday 7 September
A quick trip to Lalinde for croissants which we enjoyed for breakfast with our hosts; homemade apricot jam, and of course the delicious fresh stone fruit from the market. The ladies set off early for Le Marche de Bergerac, 30 mins away, secure a prime parking spot nearby and find cafe au lait in a tiny ‘bar' en route, where the patrons, mostly male are playing the equivalent of keno and the maitre’ d is an elderly woman with a small Pomeranian dog hanging around her neck. It was real as we saw it move, but it looked a little similar to a fur so we guessed she was utilising it for warmth. We enjoyed yet another stunning array of fruit, vegetables and flowers and sourced the supplies largely from the stalls with a queue as we figured they were the ones favoured by the locals. We also visited the covered markets, sourcing Flashy’s order for moules and  witnessed the eclectic parade of boat crews, dressed in bizzare costumes, waving oars in the air. We still have no idea of the origin or intent of these happy people but with the accompanying band it provided much entertainment.
Meanwhile  back at home base, David and Flashy light the BBQ and smoke eggplant, capsicum, carrots,  zucchini and tomatoes over the traditionale  wood fired BBQ ready for tomorrow's hump club long lunch. The ladies returned to the Hamlet, unloaded the goods and collected the gents before setting off to Tremolat, across the river to Le Bistro de la Place. The prix fixe menu of duck duck duck and duck for €39 met with commendation by the gents and was enjoyed with a bottle of Bergerac red. Some in the party also had dessert! A leisurely stroll around Lalinde included meeting up with a cavalcade of old Renault 12’s some 25 in number who were competing in a 2 day rally around the district. Lots of tooting, French flag waving and reminiscing as this was David’s first car.

We return to our hamlet via the scenic route past the  Le cingle de Tremolat, a large bend in the Dordogne river, for some magnificent views of the river and then once home await the arrival of our next guests, Anna and Robert, also hailing from Cairns, at least originally, until they became mariners on their newly acquired canal boat back in May and have subsequently been enjoying canal life for the past 5 months. The gigantic bag of mussels, revealed,  Flashy produces moules mariniere for dinner along with some fries and much red, white and rose wine is consumed in support of another simply delicious  dinner.

Sunday 8 September
The day dawned blue sky and sunshine, with not a breath of wind. Flashy was busy in the kitchen making the last minute preparations whilst others pitched in to top and tail the market fresh green and yellow beans, lay tables and arrange the beautiful sunflowers in the good old tin watering can – thank you David.

At 12noon a frantic call from Russell and Jacqui, our esteemed Hump Club creators, and in their usual flappable panic stricken style, they were lost and arguing about how to actually arrive at the gathering in the Hamlet of Auriac. Some calming words and reference to route numbers saw them arrive successfully about 20 mins later – both being in serious need of refreshments, oh and space!

Four couples from Cairns have now gathered at our baker’s cottage. A remarkable effort from the Hump Club. Cyrille the owner joins us and the feast begins. The table is groaning under the weight of the crusty baguette traditionale, which accompanies the BBQed vegetables, yoghurt, garlic and cumin dip, smoked freshwater trout rillette made yesterday by Flashy. This was followed by the rabbit and chicken cassoulet and crispy beans with toasted almonds. There was Champagne, a Bergerac white, and reds from Bordeaux, Burgundy and Pecharmant . Much merriment ensued and fortunately our delightful host Cyrille was able to keep up with the oft times raucous Aussi slang and enjoyed the afternoon. Flashy was indeed flattered as he particular commented on the excellent food (and even went back for seconds).The day drifted away and we played a round of not too serious petanque, won eventually by the Kircheners. By now a special truck had to be called to remove all the wine corks from the kitchen and we reckoned we get at least 100€ for all the empty bottles.

Cheese followed, of course with more baguette  and red wine and eventually dessert was served with GnT’s about 6pm.
All in all a fairly amazing event to imagine you could bring four couples all on different journeys through Europe, together at a little hamlet near the Dordogne River for a memorable and fun Sunday lunch. We toasted far away friends, as there were a few of the Hump Club members who were unable to join us on this insugral event, however it was decreed it should become an annual event. How possible this is for the workers of the world remains to be seen.

Wednesday 4 September and Thursday 5 September

Wednesday 4th September
On Wednesday we went for a drive to some of the nearby  beau villages, including our local abbey town of Cadouin, where another market was just coming to an end since it was 11.30am by the time we had organised ourselves to move beyond our  idyllic green pastures and tiny peaceful hamlet. We discovered history at every turn and even Lady Penelope was getting into the groove and asking difficult questions about the Cistercian monks. There were gates and entrances where the pilgrims, including Richard the Lionheart had walked so it seemed somehow far more real than the boring history lessons she had endured during secondary school.

We pique niqued again in the shadow of  Abbaye de Saint-Avit-Senieur in true French style strolling through the almost deserted village as it was lunchtime and as we have discovered, not much happens in the middle of the day in French country villages. A brief visit to Eglise  Beaumont de Perigord,  where Flashy lit yet another candle to Saint Anthony, before purchasing fuel from a charming Frenchman at the Citroen car dealership in the pretty little town of Issigeac. From there our last stop was the Chateau de Monbazillac where sampling of de vin was first on the agenda. Luckily as it was mid week and post school holidays, the crowds were absent and we almost had the imposing chateau to ourselves. This 16th century chateau had an interesting history as when it was falling into disrepair in the 1960s  the family gathered a consortium of friends, 14 in total, to vote to determine the future of the Chateau. They unanimously voted to invest in the restoration of the property and to also incorporate modern art as a feature throughout the rooms of the Chateau and also in the gardens. An impressive view from the bastides over the Dordogne valley and Bergerac completed our day nicely and we retired back to our peaceful hamlet for dinner.

Thursday 5 September
Today was market day in Lalinde, our delightful little local village just 7kms away. Having being very impressed with the marche Le Bugue, We were not sure that Lalinde would be as good but even by 9.30am it was near impossible to find a park, most of the streets except the small one way ring road were closed off  and we had to hang threateningly over patrons to jump onto a table in the sun so we could enjoy a cafe au lait. We circuited the market, brought lots of fresh vege’s and more delicious fruit and on the way out saw some very good looking rump steak for only €21 per kilo. Now this was on our shopping list for Chef Roger to create a Boeuf Bourgignone for our first guests who were arriving on Friday night.  Fortunately the very nice honest butcher alerted us to the fact it was horse rump which probably explained why there wasn't a queue! We passed and instead went to our now local Intermarche store in the village where we purchased the real thing before returning home to prepare.
In the late afternoon we went for a drive to Tremolat, to wander through the village and around the Relais &  Chateaux – Le Vieux Logis – Dordogne. This was the venue earlier in the year for a French Chaine  dinner so we knew it would be fairly smart and the gourmet restaurant started with a Prix Fixe of €350 which explained the number of cars with Swiss number plates parked outside. As our budget did not stretch to this we instead booked their more casual lunch venue in the village square for Saturday lunch with our guests. Home to light our wood fired BBQ where Chef firstly smoked a delicious trout in preparation for the Sunday lunch gathering and then with the addition of some more wood cooked a delicious whole fish from the Lalinde market. Bon apetit.

This heralded the comencement of a huge weekend of gastronomy and guests so we are seeking forgiveness for the lapse in our blog but can assure you that more will follow tomorrow...........

Le marche Le Bugue.......tres magnifique!

Tuesday 3 September
Lady P has slept for 10 hours which is always dangerous so after enjoying a full English breakfast in our kitchen she decides we should head to Le Bugue markets, famous as they were decreed by the King 700 years ago to always be held on Mardi and today it is Mardi. We arrive just after 9am and already the town is buzzing. With daylight saving, the sun is still not high in the sky so it is still only 15 degrees. We warm up with coffee and then meander for a couple of hours. Eventually by 12 noon our back pack is bulging, our arms struggling under the weight of extra carry bags and we have lapin, nougat, vegetables and amazing fruit and cheese as well as a pot plant of thyme (€2) and three baby sole (tonight’s dinner).

While wandering the market, Flashy was pondering the comment of our host Cyrille, about the number of English people living in the region. After all, a couple of the Henry Kings were here for a few years and the odd crusader raped and pillaged on the way to Jerusalem. This partly explains the large number of churches, castles and walled villages. Anyway, “We finally kicked them out and now they're back!” remark attuned Flashy's ear to those dulcet tones of a Midlands accent. The big union Jack, a pile of books titled “How to speak French like a Frog," and a hearty “Where are you from mate?” gave the game away. Derek (as we discovered later) been here 30 years and still has his distinctive accent and you know what? A dodgy Pom  is still a dodgy Pom. We declined to buy his book but the rays of sunlight warmed us through while we listened to him rabbit on.
 We get home and unload before relaxing in the 32 degrees by our delightful piscine.
Having let our step count lapse for our two travel days we set of this afternoon to walk the canal path from Lalinde west and back, a 7 km walk. G n T's by the pool follow, then Sole Meuniere, baby new potatoes and field fresh beans. Mmm mmm...

Relaxing doesnt get better than this....

Monday 2 September
We had arrived and for that we were grateful. Our ‘Maison de boulangerie dans  le hameau d' Auriac ‘ – that’s a bakers cottage in the Hamlet of Auriac, is  the quintessential French Cottage in the country. It is on three levels, one enters at the front door to a small hallway with le bain and le toilette, one of two all up, neatly packaged under the stairs which head to the attic bedrooms, one double room and one with 4 single beds for the children with tiny gable windows to provide light and ventilation. To the right of the quaint front door is another set of stairs that lead to the main bedroom, more little gable windows and a discreet shower and basin (a la an ensuite) behind a screen printed curtain. Chef Roger focused all his attention on the very small dimly lit, low ceiling and large dark beams, kitchen. A small built in tiled table and bench seats with lift up lids, completed the picture. Apart from the lack of sharp knives he was happy and could manage, even with only a toaster type oven for serious cooking. At least there was a full size fridge to keep the beer cold. And finally on the lower level was a dining room and small lounge area also opening onto the large rambling garden. A stunning large pool completed the picture outside alongside the outdoor table setting and designer style wood fired BBQ. Walls 1 metre thick kept the hot midday sun at bay, and Wi-Fi is limited to the lanai overlooking the pool but hey, there's no mistaking the countryside we’re in and we are as far from the madding tourists as one could be.

There was absolutely no need to travel far today so instead a lazy day of unpacking, staking our territory and eventually a small explore of the nearby town of Lalinde was more than enough of an adventure. We discovered the local market square where we had a cooling beverage and a couple of croque madames for lunch and had a slow amble around the tiny town before collecting some serious supplies at the local Intermarche just on the outskirts of town. Back at our farmhouse it was now gin and tonic time so we partook by the swimming pool in 32 degrees and Flashman bravely entered the 26 degree water. Pussies I know, but our thin tropical blood is only just starting to thicken. A home cooked warm beef salad and a Dordogne red saw Lady P to bed early while Flashy tried to follow a French movie on TV. He made it to 10 pm a little confused. He has been a little confused a lot on this trip, but reckons he now knows where north is.

Enfin, nous arrives a notre maison de boulangerie dans le hameau d'Auriac

Sunday 1 September 
Before heading west we take the car up to the top of a nearby hill to the village of Usson, near the town of Remy-de- Chargnat village to look at an elevated view of the valley. Of course, there is a Medieval church and a giant statue of Madonna  with Child. The view shows a 360 degree vista  for miles and as Flashy explains, is a volcanic plain of columnar jointed basalt. As we enter the church, Flashy notices a statue of Saint Anthony. Now for those heathens who don't have saints, Saint Anthony is the patron Saint of lost causes and fittingly enough, Flashy pays 1.50€ and lights a candle.

We now await the results of the Euro Millions lottery,  We planned to travel on D and N roads south for a while then across the National Park westwards to our farm house on the Dordogne. Many things made this an interesting trip, including but in no particular order, Amelie the GPS trying to take us somewhere completely different, a baguette vending machine, an eclair for guess who, Lady P trying to navigate, drive and argue with Flashy all at the same time and very narrow winding roads with, at times, rocky walled edges. The odd speeding Frenchman and lots of very big RV's  were also interesting life experiences. We made a delightful pit stop on the top of the mountain at about 1200 metres for a cold beer, Aperol Spritz and two bowls of fries – yum! This was a well earned reward for our successful negotiation of another scary French road sign with a large white minus on a red background and the words ‘sauf riverains'. Amelie led us to this junction and as we were somewhat apprehensive about her directions, we reversed, got google to translate the sign (residents only) and proceeded ahead anyway -ignorance is bliss and luckily after descending into a deep gorge across a narrow bridge we came up the other side and rejoined the road we were originally on. Thanks Amelie, that probably took an extra 5 mins plus the stress of being accosted by a private resident!
We finally arrived at our farmhouse later than planned, but well before sunset which in these climes is not generally till after 9pm. Our charming host Cyrille welcomed us, and luckily spoke very reasonable English that determined we could go to nearby Cadouin for some food as we had discovered in the course of our travels that nothing, that means NOTHING, opens on Dimanche (Sunday) certainly after 12noon. We shower and refresh before heading into Cadouin, and after three wrong turns – it’s been a lo.........ng day discover the delightful restaurant opposite the abbey that Cyrille our host has booked us into. It is pumping and we guess the whole population of Cadouin must be here as there’s at least 50 people!. A pizza and goat’s cheese salad fills a hole and we successfully make it home to the Hamlet of Auriac and collapse into bed.

X BARRE continues to plague us

Saturday 31st August
Another glorious Lyonnais day dawned and our first task was to relocate our car from  the  5 star garage into the street near Kelly’s Irish bar for ease of loading. We funincular up the hill again and walk down to our illustrious garage where we easily find the black beast and set off for a service station for fuel. Once more we hit  the big X BARRE  road closed. We go round the block and start again with a revised destination and voila we reach our destination and fuel up. Luckily we return to the street and find a park out the front so after depositing the suitcases in the car, via two traboules ( as the first one led to an underground ?? and we nearly lost Flashy) we meander over the bridge to the local market. Plenty of fruit, flowers, cheese, meat and fish so we pick up some supplies for the pique-nique we plan to have en  route to our overnight Chateau stop. We head down the A7 for St Etienne, sit in a car park on the freeway for 5 kms (I guess everyone heads of town for the weekend) and to keep us amused tag a tiny red fiat decorated with ribbons and flowers forming the lead vehicle in a wedding entourage. Horns tooting as only the French can, it at least makes up for the boredom of sitting stationary on a freeway. Amelie tells us to take route A47 to St Etienne but of course in keeping with our current luck the major freeway exit is X BARRE. We, along with streams of other cars are advised to continue straight for 6kms. Oh well, we say. Can't really argue so we drift further south beside the Rhone river before being able to do a legitimate U turn. We are now destined to return from when we came and Amellie really wants us to get back onto the A7 and repeat said journee. Oh no says Lady P I’m not going to fall for that, so she spies a bridge, two in fact that are crossing the Rhone which she thinks will give us some hope of getting to our destination in the West. Voila, much to Flashy's amazement, she is right and through a series of different address entries we snake away through the French countryside toward the Monts du Forez. And then we climb, through the National park on hairpin bends, passing potential Le Tour de France winners, future LeMans drivers and stopping briefly to observe the  twitchers seeking to ‘observe the migration du Col de Barachuchet'. We have 1 refreshing bier as we desperately needed a loo stop and reaching an altitude of 1200 metres  the temperature plummets to 18 degrees. It was an amazing drive, albeit not planned but ultimately far preferable to sitting in a car park on the freeway. We still have no idea why the road to St Etienne was closed but hundreds of others were in the same boat. Finally after an hour longer than anticipated we arrived at Chateau de la Vernede in the valley where our delightful hostess, Laurence, offered us a refreshing chilled rose in the garden.
Le pique-nique you may wonder. Well, as we are in the country and can hear the sounds of barking dogs and gunshots, we decide we have travelled far enough today so we will, partake of our pique- nique in the lovely rambling garden that surrounds us.

Bouchons, bullshit and brilliance

Friday 30th August

Another beautiful summers day in Lyon and a petit dejeuner at a local cafe is a perfect start to our funicular ride up the hill to the Church of our Lady, La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourviere and the Roman Amphitheatre. Just to be on the safe side, Flashman lights a votive candle, says a quick Hail Mary and wanders about this magnificent, gilded mosaic interior. I’m sure the €2 donation will help the poor, struggling Catholic Church maintain the building. Eschewing a glace, crepe or croquet monsieur on the way down we retire to the apartment in preparation for our lunch at Paul Bocuse, ‘Nord Brassiere’. Bocuse is still famous, despite his death 2 years ago as the rock star of Lyonaisse cuisine. Lady P reckons that Flashy should enrol in his cooking school – only €25,000 a year for three years. So while Paul won’t be in the kitchen, his spirit will we think; when the Michelin inspector asked him once, ‘who cooks in your restaurant when you are wandering the world doing TV appearances?’  he replied ‘The same people who cook when I am there!’

Lyon is regarded as the culinary heaven of France and the patron Saint is of course Paul Bocuse. So as we are ensconced in the Vieux Lyon surrounded by restaurants we expect to be with the angels. Firstly to Bouchons. These were originally simple homes opened to poor workers (probably building the churches) providing simply cooked meals from cheap cuts. The bouchons were run by the women cooks of the house and there are many famous ‘mothers of Lyon. Unfortunately many of the very average bistros brassieres and restaurants have attached the word bouchon to their name and provide a typical three course fixed price meal of very average food. This has led to an association of proper bouchons with plaques and all that fanfare. Lady P's research has found one such proper bouchon. It’s closed! Flashy calls out ‘chef where are you mate and is greeted by the owner having a pastis at the neighbouring bar. Sorry I am closed for renovation. Long story short he recommends his favourite bouchon around the corner and we obtain a reservation  for the next evening. If you like big portions of crappy offal, dry fish and sloppily presented peasant food, then  the bouchon is for you. We were disappointed and quite frankly were wondering if only Lyons 3 star restaurants would meet the standard. So that’s the bouchon bullshit.

    

Now for the brilliance. 

Ironically, almost directly opposite the forgetable bouchon mentioned above, on the left was our lunch venue for today, one of the late Paul Bocuse's  Lyon restaurants, Brassiere Nord. Well you could have knocked us down with a feather! Proper waiters in now ties, a formal dining room full of locals. We were treated to an aperitif. We used our excellent restaurant French to guide us through the menu, avoiding ears, nose and guts, to enjoy a brilliant three course lunch of escargot, quenelles of pike in lobster sauce, a perfectly ripe brie, and a shared poached peach and Lyonaisse praline tart.

Absolutely brilliant for €39. We accompanied the meal with a provincale rose of excellent heritage. The restaurant interior was ‘regal, railway carriage’ of the 1930’s with a stunning mosaic floor. Bespoke napkins and crockery, excellent service beautiful plating and proper portion control just added to the exquisite flavours of the meal. At last Lyonnaise cuisine to write home about, our faith in the French kitchen has been restored. Not to mention the flirtatious waiter who with a subtle wink ( well Flashy missed it ) allowed Lady Penelope to place a clean Nord napkin in her bag. Oui oui monsieur.  

We finished the day with a stroll across the Rhone for two positively pink cocktails in the Dome room bar of the Intercontinental Hotel. A last toast to our bourgeoisie lifestyle in the big cities. Tomorrow we are off to the country, for the start of our French provincial adventure.