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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