Food in Provence (and elsewhere)

Remember A.’s bike? we took it to a local bike place early this morning. I was needed as an interpreter, but I wanted to go anyway to pick up a vital attachment for my bike:

The guy in the shop was really friendly and helpful; fitting the panier so I can still use my Ortlieb bags and adjusting my brake lever to add a bell. And A.’s bike was all repaired by lunchtime.

After lunch and an extended shopping expedition (hunting down Michelin green guides to the local area and being sent first to a shop for occult books), I head out to the local Oursinades festival. I hit lucky on two counts: a strawberry stall has four barquettes of Gariguette strawberries of which I buy three and then I hear A. call me over to a table with M’. and L. A. exploits my french skills to order a copious sea food feast for four, especially as L. doesn’t seem a fan and M’. isn’t eating oysters. A., though, rates my recommendation of Gillardeau oysters and my contribution of a couple of bottles of Picpoul seems appreciated compared to the pichet of rosé. Some at the table also learn the meaning of “c’est bien” when it comes to paying and tipping.

If I’m the oldest on the course then M’. must be the youngest but he is nevetheless extremely well experienced (and I haven´t held his criticism of my washing up skills against him). He also validates my preference for Gariguette strawberries so he must be a nice guy. Better still, he is one of the people whose arms A. has twisted for the molecular gastronomy course—O. (remember him?) is another—so it looks like the course will go ahead.

After a very pleasant couple of hours (during which I may have been roped into an early morning yoga course) they head for the beach while I head back for my pork chop which I plan to eat with a ratatouille comme une caponata to practice my julienne and brunoise skills. And also as I fear being roped into evenings that it seems can last until 3am. Those days are past for me…