Wednesday Whispers

May 2010: I thought you might like this ...
oleander bush in Amboise,
with the remparts of the castle in the background.

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What we didn’t see this year

Due to my friends’ thorough visiting style, I had to make many cuts in our original program; which was a bit of a shame as the Loire Valley has so much to offer and there was so much more that I wanted to show them. Like the dungeon of Montbazon. As we had spent the better part of Wednesday morning visiting the donjon of Loches, I reckoned that a visit of the keep of Montbazon was no longer mandatory. I slightly regretted this as I have very vivid and pleasant memories of our 2006 visit.

When you’re driving into the village, coming from Tours, the solid rectangular tower immediately catches the eye. The first time we saw the keep of Montbazon was during our 1999 or 2000 Loire Valley vacation. In those days the road leading up the entrance of the dungeon was blocked by a large pile of rubble and the place looked deserted and neglected. When we returned in 2006, however, it was possible to drive straight up the foot of the monument. At the ticketing office, we were greeted by a jolly, grey-bearded gentlemen who spoke excellent French with an ever so slight English accent.

He introduced himself as one of the volunteers who, over the last decade have worked very hard to restore the dungeon and surrounding grounds to their former glory. They are continuing the work of a former American lieutenant who was hospitalized in the area during the First World War. The lieutenant, who had fallen in love with the place returned to Montbazon in 1922 to buy the dungeon and save it from further decay.

The quality of this photo is not very good, but it's the best I could do with the scan of the photo I took in 2006. Moreover, it was a warm, yet overcast day.

The most intriguing part of the edifice is the huge statue that’s sitting on one of the corners of the edifice. When you come closer, you can see that it’s a statue of the Virgin Mary. It isn't part of the original structure and dates from the 18th century.

Notice the full-length crack caused by lightening.

Another amazing feature is an almost full-height crack in the east wall caused by a bold of lightening that struck the tower in 1797. As a result the whole structure had to be reinforced with a solid concrete support that runs all around the monument and holds it together. That happened much later of course, as concrete as we know it today was only invented in the second half of the 19th century.

Finally there is the telegraph Chappe on the south-western top angle of the keep. The balustrade of this system of mechanical semaphore is still visible. A sign on the wall explains how it was used to send coded messages from, for instance, the Mont Saint Michel in the west to Saverne in the east. By the way, the first time I heard about the Chappe system was when we visited the Château du Haut Barr in the Alsace, where the Saverne telegraph is located.

And there is yet another link between Montbazon and Savern: the last but one duke of Montbazon was the infamous Cardinal de Rohan’s brother, who lived in the castle of Saverne. The Cardinal was part of a conspiracy that went down into history as ‘L’affaire du collier’, which was mounted in an attempt to incriminate the frivolous Queen Marie-Antoinette, wife to France’s last King, Louis XVI. I’ve written about this sordid affaire here.

The history of the keep is fascinating as it was once part of one of the most sumptuous and elegant châteaux in the Loire Valley. Unfortunately, the castle was demolished in 1746 and the stones were used to stabilize the Road of Spain, the current N10.

Like the dungeon, its official website is currently ‘under reconstruction’. But you can read all about it here.

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Traffic

With all the hassle about the damp problem, the burning car and my apartment hunting I forgot to tell you about our last day in the Loire Valley. After visiting the basket weaving workshop in Villaines-les-Rochers we decided to return to Vouvray and spend a quiet last evening at the chambre d’hôtes. On the way back we took the wrong exit in one of the many roundabouts. Luckily we noticed it just in time and were able to take an ‘escape route’ a bit further down the road, thus avoiding the five o’clock traffic jams south of Tours.

Back in Vouvray, we parked the car in the courtyard of the chambre d’hôtes. As B. and J.L. had some phone calls to make, I decided to walk over to ‘Le Bouchon’, the little bar down the road, and wait for them there. There was a couple sitting at one of the terrace tables. Presently a young man came cycling up the road. He looked very flushed and was breathing heavily. Exhausted from the steep climb, he put his bike against the railing of the terrace and threw himself in one of the chairs. Valerie, the young landlady of the bar, came out to take our order. The cyclist ordered a Leffe beer.

When I asked for three ‘pressions’ or draught beer the couple and the cyclist turned around to look at me. “Vous avez très soif” (you are very thirsty) the man of the couple said jokingly. And the young cyclist added: “C’est très gentil de nous offrir une bière.” (You’re very kind to buy us a beer). I explained that I was waiting for my friends and made a gesture towards the chambre d’hôtes. As the house is located at the foot of the church, the others assumed that B. and J.L. were inside the church. “Ah, ils vont d’abord à la messe ?”, the man laughed. (They are first attending mass?). It was all very friendly and we continued chatting while Valerie went in to get the beers. At moments like these I can very well picture myself living in the Loire Valley …

The small carpark in front of the church of Vouvray. The terrace of 'Le Bouchon'
is at the far end of it, hidden by the two white cars.

The cyclist drank his beer hastily, while I sipped mine in a more ladylike fashion, with the two extra beers sitting on the table in front of me. When B. and J.L. still hadn’t arrived fifteen minutes later, the man of the couple turned to me again and suggested “Let me take those of your hands.” pointing at the two beers. Finally, my friends arrived. By then the cyclist was gone and the couple was about to leave.

After finishing our beers, we did some last minute shopping. We each bought a jar of rillettes. The one I bought was actually for my friend who couldn’t accompany us on this trip but who just loves rillettes. By the time we got back to the B&B it was half past seven. Until then we had had our daily supper in the kitchen which is at the guests’ disposal. That evening, however, it was warm enough to eat alfresco. Moreover, some other guests, a lady from Hong-Kong and her two teenage daughters were cooking dinner and eating in the kitchen. As we didn’t want to disturb them, we laid out our supper on the outdoor table in front of my room.

We sat around until it was too cold to stay out any longer and went to bed early. The next morning we left immediately after breakfast. It was around 9.30 a.m. We wanted to cover the 250km to Paris before lunch in order to avoid the traffic jams caused by Parisians leaving the city for the then upcoming long Pentecost weekend. By the time we got there, traffic in the opposite direction was already very dense. We made it to the other side of the city in a relatively short lap of time. At some point we were forced to slow down to 40 km per hour, but we never really had to stop and queue.

Around two o’clock we arrived at the rest stop in Péronne, north of Paris, where we each had a generous slice of warm quiche Lorraine and a beer. We reached my apartment around half past five. B. and J.L. still had another 20 km ahead of them as they live north of Brussels. Half past five is about the worst time of the day to tackle the motorway around Brussels, especially on a Friday and even more so if it’s the eve of a long weekend.

B. had promised to call me as soon as they got home. When I still hadn’t heard from them at eight, I called them myself. No one picked up the phone, which had me rather worried. Luckily she called me the next morning. It had taken them over two hours to get home. By the time they had unloaded the car, their son had come round to invite them to dinner. Afterwards it was too late to make the promised call.

Well, this rounds up this year’s Loire Valley trip. For the next 10 months I will have to make do with the 650 photos I shot and reading other Loire Valley blogs and ... Wishing I were in France!

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It's not because the place has a pizza oven ...

The restaurant under the arcades in Pont-à-Mousson was named after its landlord: Pierre Bonaventure. And what a congenial landlord he was!

When we asked for a table for two the young woman behind the bar shook her head. “Sorry, we’re full. But if you care to wait, you can have an aperitif on the house.” We liked the idea and squeezed ourselves among the other patrons that were waiting by the bar. At the back of the room a man was shoving large juicy steaks in a pizza oven in which a wood fire was burning. He was perspiring abundantly. Fascinated we watched how he first coated the steaks with aromatized oil. Next he laid them on a metal tray. Using a traditional pizza shovel he then put the steaks in the middle of the oven, at a safe distance from the hot logs.

2008: we had booked in advance and came in early.
That's why the place is still empty.

We were each given a glass of local rosé wine, called ‘Gris de Toul’ and a small bowl of crisps and green olives. Hardly twenty minutes later, we were shown to one of the tables facing the bar. By then we had learned that beef, in all sizes and shapes was the specialty of the house. As a gesture to non-meat eaters the menu card featured grilled salmon … but that was it. The choice of special beef cuts was impressive though, ranging from the traditional ‘entrecôte’, ‘onglet’, and ‘filet pur’ to the more exclusive ‘tablier du sapeur’ and the ultimate delicacy: ‘la pièce du boucher’. The latter means ‘the butcher’s choice’, meaning THE best part that the butcher is likely to keep for himself. We were tempted to order ‘this rare piece of beef’ until we noticed that it came as one solid piece weighing something in between 350 and 400 gr. … per person!  Now, I don't know about you, but for me that is way too much!

Instead we had the ‘faux filet’ steak with pepper sauce, oven-roasted potatoes and green garden beans. We ordered a bottle of the ‘Gris de Toul’; Toul being a small town west of Pont-à-Mousson. For some obscure reason this particular local wine is described as ‘gris’ or even ‘oeil de perdrix’ (partridge’s eye) instead of rosé.

Service was quick, efficient and very friendly. And the food was delicious. When we complimented the waitress on the quality of the meat, she explained that the landlord, who was also ‘operating’ the pizza oven, was a butcher’s son and that he bought all his meat ‘sur pieds’. This means that he goes out to the local farms where the cattle are raised. He picks the animals he suspects having the most tender and tastiest meat.

By the time we had finished our lunch most patrons had left and returned to their offices. The embers in the pizza oven were slowly dying when the landlord walked over to our table to enquire whether we had enjoyed our meal. When he heard that were from Belgium, he pulled up a chair and offered us a pousse-café. He told us about his plans to open a similar restaurant in Brussels. His son, who was 17 at the time, was to become the manager of this new restaurant. He therefore wanted to know what was the best area in the city to start such a business and whether the Belgians would like the ‘steak-in-pizza-oven’ concept. Those things are always hard to tell in advance, of course. So we simply said that we loved the idea and the food and that other people would probably appreciate it too.

Since that first visit we have been returning to Pierre Bonaventure’s restaurant in Pont-à-Mousson each time we are passing through the area. Beef is still the restaurant’s specialty, but nowadays you can also get sardines, lobster, … all roasted in the famous pizza oven.

Pierre never opened a similar restaurant in Brussels though, which is a real shame as I’m sure the concept has a lot of potential. Do you think it would work in - say - London, New York, Montréal or Melbourne?

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The Loire-Lorraine connection

When we were in Loches in May, I noticed this decorative manhole cover. It looked like a gigantic medieval medallion or shield. What really attracted my attention though was the name on it: Pont-à-Mousson. Pont-à-Mousson is one of our favourite towns in the Lorrain area, in North-eastern France. It’s a provincial type of town halfway between the larger cities of Metz in the north and Nancy in the south.

Looks a bit like a medieval medallion, doesn't it?

We accidentally discovered the town during our first Lorraine trip sometime in the nineties. We had booked a hotel near Lunéville, where you’ll find the famous château that’s also known as ‘le Petit Versailles’ because of the resemblance it bears with the famous Palace that Louis XIV had built just outside of Paris.

We had no particular reason to leave the motorway in Pont-à-Mousson, except that it was raining cats and dogs. Due to the poor visibility driving conditions were dangerous. We felt it would be much safer on the smaller roads where there were fewer trucks. Following the signs ‘centre ville’ we arrived at a large almost triangular town square. Two sides are lined with arcades beneath which shops, cafés and restaurants are located. It was almost lunchtime and we decided this was as good a place as any to have a bite to eat. By the time we had parked the car, the rain had stopped and we took a walk around the square to see whether we could find a nice, yet affordable restaurant.

Pont-à-Mousson's town square.

All through our walk we could smell the tantalizing aroma of grilled meat. We stopped at several restaurants to study the menu card, hoping to find the source of this appetizing aroma. When we finally found it, we couldn’t have been more surprised. The façade of the restaurant was hardly three meters wide. In the front room were four tables and behind it half of the room was occupied by a large counter with a row of tables along the opposite wall. The room was packed with people and there was a very cheery atmosphere.

to be continued

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Wicked wicker

Halfway between Tours and Chinon, at 7 km from Azay-le-Rideau, you’ll find the village of Villaines-les-Rochers. It hosts France’s largest ‘cooperative de vanneries’, with 60 basket weavers, five of whom carry the prestigious title of ‘Meilleur ouvrier de France’.

The ‘cooperative’ has a workshop that is open to the public, as well as a large store where the artisans’ work is sold. Over the years I’ve visited the village on three occasions. And each time, I’ve bought a handmade item. My first buy was a large hand-woven wicker trunk in which I now keep my bed sheets and blankets. It’s a very useful piece of furniture and I really like it as it blends in nicely with the rest of the bedroom.

On my second visit I bought a basket that can hold up to four bottles. It’s very handy to carry wine or one liter water bottles from the garage or the cellar to the kitchen and the dining room. My third purchase was a bread basket.

Knowing my friends’ interest in handmade and crafty decorative items, we drove to Villaines-les-Rochers after finishing our walk in Crissay-sur-Manse. We started by visiting the workshop where four or five weavers were working on different items. Weaving baskets and other wicker items requires special skills, flexible, yet strong fingers and hands and several sharp tools. The weavers didn’t object to us taking photos, and we spent almost half an hour watching them transform the slim and bendable willow branches into different objects, ranging from sturdy garden fences, to handy carrying baskets and artful little stools.

One of the basket weavers in the workshop.

Our next stop was the store. It was even bigger than I remembered it from my earlier visits. I felt it was going to be a tremendous challenge not to buy anything. And yet, I resisted … There was one item that caught my fancy: a wine cooler, made from a solid piece of rock (I don’t think it was local, though) with a dark brown wicker rim. But my common sense took over when I thought of the two wine coolers I already had at home and the lack of space in my kitchen cupboards.

Wicked wicker flowers ...

I quickly scurried to the other part of the shop where large pieces of wicker furniture are on display. Here sizes and prices will automatically dissuade you from buying anything.

However, guess what B. was carrying
when we left the store. Right … the wine cooler!

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Water, cool running water ...

That’s exactly what I’m craving for right now! It’s hot, very hot and very humid, with more thunderstorms to come. We had a nice refreshing shower last night. But the storm stayed well north and east from where I live. Let’s hope it remains like that … rain bringing cooler air but without the sound and light show that goes with it!

And while we’re on the subject of water …

The 'Manse' in Crissay-sur-Manse.

Did you know that the first English patent for a ‘washing and wringing machine’ was issued in 1691*? Of course, it was still manually operated and did little more than swirling the laundry in the water that had previously been poured into the wooden tub. Although the performances of the machines improved over the years, women in rural areas continued using the municipal ‘lavoir’ or washing shed well into the 20th century.

The sheds were erected over large natural or artificial basins in which the water of a spring was collected. Sometimes they covered part of a fast running stream. Sitting on their knees near the edge of the water, the women scrubbed and rinsed the clothes. It was extremely labour-intensive work. However, it was a necessity and they tried to make the best of it by chatting and exchanging the latest gossip.

Today the ‘lavoirs’ have become part of the architectural heritage of many a village. The old buildings, which have been carefully restored and embellished, are often considered as one of the villages’ major tourist attractions. During our travels in France and the south of Belgium, I’ve seen plenty. And on a hot day like today I liked rinsing my hands or soaking my feet for a while in the ice-cold water.

The 'lavoir' in Crissay-sur-Manse.

During our after-lunch walk in Crissay-sur-Manse we saw a sign indicating the presence of a ‘lavoir’. This came as a surprise to me as I have visited the village on two previous occasions and I had never known that it had one. While most of these washing sheds can be found near the village centre, this one was located at the end of a dust road that led to the ‘Manse’, the little stream to which Crissay owes part of its name. It was a simple, yet neatly kept building, with heavy wooden beams and a solid wooden door. The fast running water was crystal clear. There were no washing stones though and the level of the water was too low to reach from the bank. We wondered how the women were able to do their washing here. Maybe they just stood in the water, although in winter that would have been very, very uncomfortable. Or maybe the stones had been removed. There was no one around we could ask, so I guess we’ll never know.

(*) Source: Wikipedia

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Pretty pictures

It's too hot to blog!
So I'm simply posting some photos of our walk in the pretty village of Crissay-sur-Manse.

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A bucolic lunch

One of my favourite Touraine villages is Crissay-sur-Manse. It therefore goes without saying that I absolutely wanted to show it to my friends. I had booked a table at ‘Aux coups de coeur’ also known as the ‘Auberge de Crissay’. On the phone the lady had told me that there would be a group of over 30 ‘randoneurs’ having lunch at the same time. This slightly worried me, as the acoustics inside the tavern aren’t optimal, which makes the place rather noisy when crowded.

However, luck was on our side, because as soon as we walked up to the ‘auberge’, after leaving the car in a car park at the foot of the ruins of former castle, we saw this large group of people sitting at a long table that had been set up on the lawn across the street from the tavern. They were merrily drinking their aperitif while the landlady and landlord were taking orders at the three tables on the sidewalk terrace near the entrance.

The 'randoneurs' enjoying their aperitf.

I walked up to the landlady and informed her that I had booked a table for a party of three. Upon which she showed us to the last remaining table on the terrace. It was perfect, pleasantly set in the shade of a large red parasol and with a breathtaking view of the hilly countryside. The chatter of the group across the road filled the air but wasn’t disturbing at all.

While drinking our aperitif – a chilled Vouvray bubbly – we studied the menu card. Although it was rather succinct, it perfectly fit the occasion. By then the group had finished their drinks. A few minutes later the landlady and landlord emerged from the kitchen carrying large plates of food. At first we thought that each plate was meant to serve three or four people. However, when they set one in front of each guest, we realized that this was the tavern’s version of a full meal salad.

A Mediterranean salad!

The three of us ordered the ‘Mediterranean’ salad: lettuce, shredded smoked chicken, dried dates and raisins, grilled pinecone pips, diced gingerbread, goat’s cheese, cherry tomatoes, parmesan shavings and a delicious vinaigrette dressing. The salad, the weather and the bucolic settings called for a light and refreshing wine. So I suggested the same Chinon rosé my friend and I had at the auberge when we were there in 2007.

The 'Auberge de Crissay'

For dessert B. had a rhubarb crumble, J.L. chose the ‘nougat glacé’ and I enjoyed the homemade rhubarb pie … Impossible to say who made the best choice because all three desserts were to die for!

Crissay also turned out to be the perfect place to ‘walk off’ this delicious lunch, as you will discover tomorrow …

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Langeais revisited

What I like about Langeais castle is the fact that you go all the way up to the ‘Chemin de ronde’ by climbing the winding stairs in one tower, to come down by a staircase in another tower. This means that, if you follow the ‘sense de la visite’ (the recommended tour) you never find yourself face-to-face with other people going in the opposite direction; which is a good thing as the stairs are rather narrow and worn in some places.

In between are several halls and rooms with nice furniture and gigantic tapestries. I don’t know about the authenticity of the furniture though, as someone once told me that most of the castles were plundered and ravaged during and shortly after the French revolution in 1789.

One of the rare rooms where the shutters aren't closed.

Compared to the other châteaux where the shutters, and in summer even the windows, are wide open, the rooms at Langeais are often darkened. During the course of the visit I recognized several items or decors, which confirmed that I had visited the castle before. In one of the halls there is a ‘mise-en-scène’ with dummies representing the young king Charles VIII and his wife-to-be, Anne of Brittany. An ‘off-screen’ voice explains how the marriage between the two young people was arranged.

In a side room there is a very nice china cabinet with artful and unique pieces of porcelain, while another room is completely dedicated to religious medieval art. On the top floor the walls are covered from ceiling to floor in tapestries depicting the great legendary kings, such as King Arthur.

A bird's view of the village of Langeais.

The best part, however, is the ‘Chemin de ronde’. This circular gallery is located on top of the ramparts. It offers a splendid view of the surrounding countryside and the nearby suspended bridge and a bird’s view of the village. In the old days the ‘Chemin’ was used by the guards to overview the area and defend the castle in case of an attack.

'Chemin de ronde' or 'Rampart Walk'.

Today the glassless windows are covered with chicken wire to stop people from climbing or falling out. It therefore isn’t always easy to make a good photo from up there as you have to squeeze the lens of your camera through one of the tiny holes, which doesn’t always allow you to point it in the most attractive angle. However, I think I  didn't do too bad with this photo of the suspended bridge.

By the time we had finished the tour it was almost noon. On our way to the car park we stopped at the local bakery to buy a baguette for our evening picnic. But first I had a special lunch in store in the pretty little village of Crissay-sur-Manse.

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Why we should eat more frog legs!

This morning there was an interesting article in the paper about the ‘Rana Ridibunda’, commonly known as the ‘pond frog' or ‘laughing frog’. Here’s a summarized English version.
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Source: www. nieuwsblad.be

The species was accidentally introduced in Belgium in December 1975 by a Bulgarian trucker. Since then it has been proliferating at the expense of the indigenous species. The truck driver, who was on his way back after dropping off a load of ‘laughing frogs’ from Bulgaria to a company in Bourg-en-Bresse (France), had stopped in Wetteren – in Flanders – to pick up a cargo of seedlings. While loading the plants, he found some frogs hiding between the pallets that were stacked in the back of the lorry. Not knowing what to do with them, he simply dumped them in a nearby pond.

Today, 35 years later, the ‘Rana Ridibunda’ can be found all over Belgium, except in the Kempen and the north-eastern province of Limburg.

Although this amphibian looks rather attractive, it has a very annoying characteristic, to which it also owes its ‘pet name’: de ‘lachende kikker’ or ‘laughing frog’. During the mating season, from April till August, the males gather at sunset in large ‘choirs’ and try to out-croak each other with their irritating and almost sadistic sounding ‘kè-kè-kè-kè-kè- laugh … They can go on for hours and hours, keeping you awake … until it drives you crazy!

In spite of its foreign origin, the laughing frog is legally classified as indigenous, and therefore protected. People, who tried to sue their neighbours for having laughing frogs in their garden pond, have no legal grounds to have the animals removed or killed. Besides, killing five or ten specimen wouldn’t have a lasting impact on the frog population as there are already too many of them to slow down their proliferation.

Finally, they don’t disturb the ecological balance, so there is no environmental reason to exterminate them.

So far the article!

2008: Frog legs in garlic butter at the
'Mange-Grenouille' in Saint-Aignan.

Although I haven’t stood eye-to-eye – or should that be ‘ear-to-ear’ – with a laughing frog yet, I suggest that from now on we all eat more frog legs … and then we’ll see who gets the last laugh!

I’m only kidding, of course. I wouldn’t harm the little critters for the world. Yet I must admit that don’t say ‘no’ to the occasional frog leg.

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P.S. Blogger seems to experience some problems with published comments. So if your comment doesn't appear, try posting it again. I hope the problem will be resolved presently. Nadège, this concerns you in particular as I tried to post an answer to yesterday's comment but the system just removes it as soon as I push the 'pusblish' button. Sorry!

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Do's and don’ts

Last Friday was the hottest day of the year so far; with temperatures up to 37°C in the Kempen. The Kempen is the area east of Antwerp, in the northern part of Belgium. The sandy soil captures and reflects the heat of the sun, making it the hottest spot in Belgium. Where I live, in the centre of the country near Brussels, we had up to 34°C. At 8 a.m. in the morning the thermometer already indicated 24° C, which is a lot more than the morning temperatures we had mid-May during our Loire Valley trip!

On the first morning of our stay in Vouvray, I had noticed a thermometer lying on one of the terrace benches. It read just over 10°C. I decided to photograph it every morning so that I could show the daily increase to the ‘folks back home’. But I could have saved myself the trouble as there was no noticeable increase, except on the last day – Friday morning – when the mercury suddenly took a giant leap to … 11,5°C!

Vouvray, May 20th, 2010 at 8 a.m.

Day temperatures, however, were fine; not too hot, not too cold. On Thursday morning, the last day of our stay, the air was crisp and cool. But by the time we reached Langeais, it was getting uncomfortably hot in the car. We found a nice parking spot in the shade in the village square near the château. This was our first destination of the day. I had read about a temporary exhibition on food in the Middle Ages that sounded very interesting. Moreover, I had some vague recollections of walking up the steps that led into the castle, but I didn’t actually remember visiting it.

There was a large party of extremely well dressed people waiting outside the ticketing office and the girl at the counter was rather stressed. As in most tourist places, she asked us the number of our ‘département’ for their visitors’ statistics. This only applies to French people, as we, here in Belgium, don’t have departments but only provinces (10 of them). When J.L. jokingly answered that we didn’t have one, without mentioning that we came from Belgium, the girl threw him an icy glance over her steel rimmed spectacles and angrily slapped the ‘enter’ key of her computer keyboard. Slightly intimidated J.L. offered “We’re from Belgium”. “Trop tard” (too late), the girl sneered and turned away to ‘help’ the next visitor. This was the very first time that we ran into such a disagreeable ticketing clerk. In most cases they are very smiling and good-humoured … and if we are to believe them, they all have friends or relatives in Belgium.

A medieval royal banquet: no flash photography, please!

The exhibition turned out to be a bit of a disappointment as it mostly consisted of large information boards with detailed descriptions of what the medieval foodies used to eat. Although it was very interesting, we had expected a more dynamic set-up. The best part was a large dining table that had been laid out for a medieval dinner. Unfortunately there was a rope preventing visitors from actually walking around the table. Moreover, the room was poorly lit, which made it hard to see the details of the cutlery and the (fake) dishes that were on display.

Contrary to my normal respect for ‘don’t do’ signs, I shot a photo using the flashlight of my camera while nobody was watching. During the rest of the visit I constantly expected some guard to come up to me, reprimanding me for my disobedience and confiscating my camera …

When was the last time you ignored a ‘don’t’ sign?

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Aperitif, wine tasting and dinner in Saint-Aignan

Little over six weeks ago we spent a very pleasant evening with blogger friends Ken and Walt in Saint-Aignan. It was my third visit to their house since I’ve discovered Ken’s blog in the spring of 2008.

Ken came out of the house to welcome us as soon as he heard the car pulling up the road. He was followed by a frolicking Callie – the collie. I apologized for being late and explained that we had had a very busy day, visiting Loches, Nouans-les-Fontaines and the nearby goat’s farm.

Walt was waiting for us on the deck, with a bottle of sparkling rosé. Ken brought out an excellent savoury cake which he had made himself. It was nice sitting out there with them, sipping the chilled rosé, nibbling the cake and catching up on the latest news. They also invited us up to the attic to ‘inspect’ the progress on the building work that was being done.

At half past six Ken, B., J.L. and I set out to visit the winery of Jean-Noël Guérrier a bit further down the road. We really had a great time tasting six different wines in Jean-Noël’s cavern-like wine cellar. Jean-Noël and his wife Chantal are lovely people and they immediately make you feel welcome. And they are very generous too when it comes to filling up your tasting glass … Compared to the large wineries, where you hardly get enough wine to wet your lips, Jean-No (that’s how this congenial ‘vigneron’ refers to himself) fills up your glass to the rim!

From left to right: B., Ken, Chantal, Jean-Noël and Jean-L.

We started with a nice white Sauvignon from one of the large metal cisterns that are located in the back of the cellar. Next came a rosé, made from the typical and rare Pineau d’Aunis grape. Then it was time to taste the reds … last year’s and this year’s. At this point, Jean-No disappeared to return with two bottles of his secret stock. One contained an excellent red and the other an amazing white Chenin.

On the left, a so-called 'fillette', a 50 cl bottle,
containing an excellent 'Chenin'.

There were a lot of laughs and banter between Jean-No and J.L. who – after three glasses of wine - considered themselves as ‘blood brothers’ as they share the same first part of their names. After the tasting, it was time to do business. Ken had brought two plastic containers which he had filled up with white and rosé wine, J.L. had his two smaller containers filled with white and red wine and I bought 24 bottles of red. We stacked everything in the boot of car, said goodbye to Jean-No and Chantal and drove back to the house where Walt was waiting for us.

Bloodbrothers!

By then it was almost half past eight and time to go the restaurant ‘le Crépiot’ where Ken – at my request – had booked a table. During dinner Walt told us that he had spent most of the time that we were out looking for Bertie, the black cat. He had finally found him locked in at the neighbours’ house. Luckily the neighbours had entrusted him with the key, so that he could go in and ‘free’ the cat. As he had been in a hurry, he hadn’t had the time to check whether Bertie hadn’t left any ‘presents’ … So he was determined to go back the next day to have a thorough look around the house (the owners are only there on weekends) and remove any unwanted traces of the cat’s passage.

We left the restaurant some time after 11 p.m. It was a nice and warm night and Walt suggested we’d go for a walk around Saint-Aignan. Although we were tempted to stay a little longer and enjoy the company of our friends, we declined as we still had a 45 minutes drive ahead, Vouvray being at approximately 60 km from Saint-Aignan.

For the first time during this trip, we called in the help of our loyal friend ‘Mauricette’ – my GPS - to guide us to our destination. She did a splendid job and neatly ‘delivered’ us in Vouvray on the stroke of midnight. Seeing Ken and Walt again and spending some quality time with them was certainly the highlight of this long, interesting and enjoyable day. I only regret that we didn’t have the pleasure of meeting Bertie.

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