This weekend brought another first for us….. friends invited us to attend a hunters’ lunch in a nearby village. Hunting is really serious in France, and moments after 8am each Sunday life is punctuated by the reports of rifles being fired. Fred, one of the butchers who has a stall at the market in Sainte-Foy-La-Grande’s Saturday farmers market, is a member of a shoot, and he has promised me some sanglier (wild boar), which I love, when next he bags one. In the interim, when Pascale & Carine suggested that we join them, I was all for it. Graham was a little tentative, as he rightly surmised that we were likely to be the only non-French people there: he is reticent at the best of times, and markedly so when he is put in a position where he has to exercise his French.
The day of the lunch dawned grey and miserable. That fine misty rain that lasts all day and quietly soaks you to the skin was the dominant weather feature. Graham, thinking that this meal would take place outdoors, or under canvas, rather hoped that I might be dissuaded from going. We went. What else were we to do? (answer: stay home and watch rugby)
We arrived at the Marie in La Roquille on schedule. Pascale and his father-in-law were waiting in the car park for us, smoking. They stubbed out their cigarettes and we joined Carine and the rest of the party in the foyer, where we paid for the meal. Inside we found a large open space which was laid up with 3 long rows of paper-covered tables. Along each table were bottles of water and carafes of red wine. Taking our lead from the others, we unpacked our picnic bag and then, showing ourselves to be ignorant newcomers, poured some wine into our glasses. Instantly embarrassed by our mistake, the wine sat untouched and glaringly obvious for half an hour as people piled into the room and the noise levels increased exponentially.
Soon, men were coming through the room bearing pitchers of an oddly pink liquid. We were asked “Pamplemousse ou peche?” We chose pamplemousse. I had expected it to be some sort of a fruit punch, probably sweet. It wasn’t. Whatever it was it had a kick like a donkey, but a subtle kick, as in you didn’t realise you’d been kicked for about 10 minutes! It turns out that it was some sort of sangria thingy made with an alcoholic fruit syrup and rosé wine. It is probably the only time Graham and I have enjoyed rosé. There was lots of it, accompanied by plates of salted peanuts and tortilla chips. There were raffle tickets for sale, so I bought the fewest I could.
Eventually, the bearers of mule juice returned bearing plates of meaty, garlicky goodness and cocktail sticks. They were placed at regular intervals down the tables, and we dug in. It was delicious. “It” was the liver, heart and kidneys of chevrier (deer) cooked in butter with lashings of garlic and parsley. Yummo!
I had seen that the cooking was being done over an open fireplace in a lean-to behind the Mairie, and asked if I might see the kitchen. One of the chefs kindly assented and escorted me back.
The bald chap at the grill was so hot that there was steam rising from his head as we spoke (I don’t think that it had anything to do with the quality of my French!). The meal was typically French in that there wasn’t a vegetable to be seen. Charcuterie platters, soup (we were taught the local tradition of rinsing the soup bowl with red wine, which rather improved the soup!), a wonderful braise of chevrier in red wine. It was supposed to have been sanglier, but they hadn’t shot enough for the meal.
By this time our tummies were rather full, and Graham’s eyes were spinning at the thought of 3 more courses. But this is France, worry not, they have a solution to that ……
Little plastic cups bearing a scoop of what tasted like pear sorbet. It was, with a shot of eau de vie. This was REALLY good. Bugger the food, I thought, I figured I’d stick with the sorbet. But no, next up was grilled chevrier, then cheese, followed by dessert, then coffee and digestifs.
And then came the raffle…….
We really enjoyed our day. It was so nice to be included. Pascale and Carine have suggested that we join them on Friday night for a pork braise in Le Fleix. I think that we’ll probably still be full from yesterday!