Showing posts with label Maj Bloodnok. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maj Bloodnok. Show all posts

Tuesday 26 April 2011

140. Maj Bloodnok

26th April 2011. Next month sees the arrival of Maj and Mrs Bloodnok to these parts. A larger than life character, he's been mentioned before here. I'm looking forward to showing them the Basque country. 

Two more months and the tourist season starts here.. can't believe it!

The plancha is still sitting in the garage waiting for the weather to change permanently into summer. The green square of grass (haven't mentioned that for a while) is finally starting to look like a lawn - but I'm not holding my breath. Birds have been pecking holes in it the size of coffee cups (the little darlings!).

If, as has been suggested, we're in for a major heat wave this summer, there's no need to worry about the well-being of your correspondent - I've got an idea:
I've been trying to avoid mentioning 'the' wedding but, as an example of the insanity that's gripping some sections of the British media at the moment, this article takes the biscuit. I won't be mentioning you-know-what again.

Here's a YouTube clip I made of our Andalusian trip.. (for some reason the YouTube image below has been made up from a composite of several of my photographs and the resultant mess has something of Gustav Klimt about it - no?) 
   
28th April 2011. Nice outing in an VIII sculler this evening - apart from an attack of cramp! Warm sunny evening, with a light breeze blowing up the river. Did 14km. (Running total 616km)

29th April 2011. In case you're wondering, I'll be mostly knitting myself a royal corgi today.. (aaaaaggghhh!)
30th April 2011. I don't usually comment on royal matters here but I have to admit - as someone who has previously held views unfavourable to the monarchy - that if William and Kate represent the future then - judging from afar - it will be no bad thing. Without naming names, a few previous generations could easily be described as dysfunctional stiffs - a good handful of whom I would personally cast out without so much as a second glance, whereas the newly weds seem refreshingly normal. Long may they remain so.

31st April 2011. Lovely and sunny out on the river this morning - I went out in a bateau de nenettes which is always fun. We changed positions a few times to make sure everyone got a row - did 14km (Running total: 630km).

Semi finals of the H Cup as they call it here (Heineken Cup to us Anglos). It's Toulouse - Leinster today and tomorrow sees Northampton locking horns with Perpignan.. Difficult to spot the winner but tipsters are making Leinster favourites to win today's encounter with Perpignan perhaps edging the game tomorrow in what will surely be a titanic clash.

Read this in today's paper:

Prince Harry was said to have insisted that bacon and sausage sandwiches were available later in the night. An ice cream van was also said to have been hired to provide an alternative dessert.

Sounds like this could mean an end to the all-pervading stuffiness that has surrounded the Royals for far too long.. (Edited to add in 2023: how wrong could I be!)

Thursday 28 January 2010

40. Cheesed off..

28th January 2010. Here in France, cheese is a serious subject - as you might expect from a country that has n cheeses (where n is a number between 400 & 500) although this French web site asserts that there are now at least 1,200. 

I had an encounter outside the Grand Hotel in the centre of Bayonne the other day with a market research lady with a clipboard. After I confessed to being a Brit, she quickly established that I'd heard of cheese and then she asked if I'd like to participate in a cheese tasting survey inside the hotel. (quiet in the cheap seats!)

She sat me down at a table in the bar and I had to tell her which cheeses I was familiar with from a list. She then invited me to eat a dry cracker while she went off to fetch the first cheese.

She put a healthy wedge of an un-named Basque cheese in front of me. It was sat in a plastic tray container similar to the ones that St Agur or Roquefort is sold in. Then the questioning started. Did I like cheese presented in plastic? (all answers were on a scale from 1 to 5) Or did I prefer paper? Did I like the look of the cheese and was the cheese sticking to the plastic and did this bother me? Did I like the look of the crust, the feel of it, did it make my fingers sticky, did I like the smell of it on my fingers, did I think the crust looked real or man-made, did I think the crust was too thin or too thick, did I like the colour of the cheese, did I like its smell and a few more questions I can no longer remember before she finally said, now cut a piece off and taste it. More questions followed concerning what were my positive reactions to the cheese followed by my negative reactions.. What did I think of its ease of cutting, body, taste, smell, after-taste, texture, granularity, creaminess and saltiness?

She then invited me to have another bite which triggered another endless stream of questions - apart from the only one I was ready for (the Major Bloodnok question), but which, alas, never came: "Is it like Cheddar..?" Gawd knows what she'd have made of the cheese of my youth - Kraft Dairylea..
Etorki
She disappeared off to fetch another one and by now, I was starting to lose the will to live. When she returned she went through exactly the same procedure with the new cheese with the addition of a few comparative questions relative to the first cheese..

She wouldn't tell me what the cheeses were but I think the cheeses I tasted were both varieties of Etorki. This is a cheese made in the French Basque country, at Mauléon-Licharre in the interior of the Pays basque.

In the interests of balance, I google'd the British Cheese Board and it appears that there are over 700 named British cheeses produced in the UK, with "a cheese available for every occasion". I wonder if any of the occasions imagined by the BCB included tiling the bathroom floor, wedging open the garage door.. or stopping that annoying wobble of the dining table.. we'll never know.

Here's what the great and the good have to say on the subject of French cheese:

"A country producing almost 360 different types of cheese cannot die."
Winston Churchill in June 1940

"Comment voulez-vous gouverner un pays qui a deux cent quarante-six variétés de fromage?"
("How can you govern a country which has two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese?")
Charles de Gaulle (Le grand fromage himself!)
(I've never quite seen the link between the number of cheeses produced by a country and its ability to govern itself..)

"Un repas sans fromage est une belle à qui il manque un œil."
("A meal without cheese is a beautiful woman with an eye missing.")
Brillat-Savarin (from La Physiologie du goût)
(a bit OTT this one - dare I say it: it's only cheese!)

Nostalgia Dept: Next time it's a Sunday lunchtime, close your eyes and play this one.. and let it conjure up the smells of a Sunday roast at home in days gone by.
Time for a late New Year's resolution: in the interest of preserving what remains of my reputation, this year I don't intend to enter any more hotels with strange ladies bearing clipboards to "discuss cheese". Unless, of course, they're offering a glass or two of red wine with it..

Wednesday 25 November 2009

33. Christmas countdown..

25th November 2009. With the erection of 40 or so wooden chalets (aka garden sheds) in front of the Hôtel de Ville in Bayonne - ready for the Christmas market - there's now no hiding from the fact that Christmas is coming. The lights aren't up yet though.
When I was over in England in September, the previously mentioned Major Bloodnok was kind enough to make me a present of 2 large Christmas puddings. They've been sat in the cellar ever since and each time I go down there I'm tempted to bring one up into the light of day and sweet-talk Madame into heating one up. (Fat chance!) She does like them - but only at Christmas. (Rats!) I think that, as a food item, appreciation of them is usually limited to those of an Anglo Saxon origin. We're going up to Paris to stay with Madame's brother for a few days over Christmas and, for a few crazy moments, I thought that one of the Pudding Brothers would make an excellent contribution to the Christmas fare. That is, until the mental image of a table full of chauvinistic Gauls swam across my mind - each regarding their steaming slice of pudding with the utmost suspicion, poking and prodding it with looks of disdain as if it were still alive.. reluctantly tasting a morsel that could be harbouring e-coli at the very least. And this from a nation wot eats andouillette!! No, I don't think I'll bother. The French have a great expression for this: donner de la confiture aux cochons.. or to give jam to pigs!

At the risk of annoying those who live to the north, I must mention the unseasonably good weather we've been enjoying here for the last week (after the storms!). Temps of 24C and today it must be ~18-20C.. with matching blue skies.

With my knees giving me gyp at the moment, it's clear that our Golf is too small for us (ie, me) if we want to visit Tante S, Madame's auntie who lives in the Jura near the Swiss border (830kms away) as well as doing any long trips of exploration into Spain and Italy. After an hour's driving, I need to extend my legs which, in the Golf, I'm unable to do. So for the last few months we've been looking at all the options. We've test driven all kinds of cars and now we've homed in on the VW Tiguan as being the most suitable. With a little luck we should have one in time for our Christmas jaunt up to Paris..

Mentioning Tante S reminds me of the time when she and her now late husband were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary one summer in the mid 90s. They'd decided to have a celebratory dinner and had invited a representative from each part of the extended family (to keep the numbers down to a manageable level) and so we came to be invited. We'd planned our annual visit to the Pays Basque such that at the end of it we could drive up & across to the Jura to arrive in time..

We wanted to avoid the boredom of the autoroutes so we thought we'd simply "straight-line it" across France - going by the Departmentale* roads - thus seeing a bit more of the country. After driving all day on lonely roads through mountains, forests and villages we stopped overnight at a village called Bourganeuf (between Limoges and Clermont-Ferrand) which is as near as dammit in the centre of France. We quickly dropped our bags in a 2* "Logis" hotel in the centre and then went out for a swift leg stretch before dinner. I remember being amazed to find a fish shop still open at 7pm. What's more, the display of gleaming fish on ice under the lights looked as fresh as could be and - remember - this was in a village 200 miles from the coast..!

We returned to the hotel and went into the cosy and heavily beamed dining room. Looking around, it was clear that this was the real France (aka la France profonde). After browsing the menu for a few minutes I realised that this was somewhere that took its food seriously. All the classic dishes were there. Madame often says that food is the second religion in France but I'd go further and say it's the first - as more people go to restaurants than go to church. Looking through the wine list I couldn't believe what I was seeing - most of the wine was priced at somewhere between £200 and £800 a bottle.. There were some fabled wines there that I'd only read about - Château Palmer, Château Gruaud-Larose, Château Haut-Brion and Château Yquem - and this in a un cheval village in the middle of nowhere.. Who was buying this? Needless to say, we had a bottle of something far more modest!

/to be continued..

* Autoroutes (motorways) are A roads.. as in the A63 from Bayonne to Bordeaux (UK equivalents? The M1, M5, M6 etc).
Nationale roads are N roads (as in N7) - these equate to the A roads in the UK.
Departmentale roads are D roads - and are equivalent to the UK's B roads.
Hope that's cleared up any confusion there may have been!

Sunday 13 September 2009

18. The run-up to Completion & Christmas 2007

29th November 2007. Today as we drove over to Spain to do some shopping in Irun, we passed through the most south-westerly town in France – Hendaye – and I had to smile when I saw the town sign - for underneath it was a list of various exotic places with which it is twinned.

The "cratur"
One of these was “Peebles”.. The mention of this most worthy town in the Scottish Borders seemed totally incongruous here and conjured up in ma heid visions of hoary old Scotsmen, clad in tartan and wearing hairy tweed underbreeks, descending on Hendaye en masse in charabancs demanding to be directed without further ado to the fabled stocks of “whusky at five poond a bottle ye ken..” (these do exist by the way!) We spent a few hours in Irun which is the first town in Spain across the border. It reminded us both of the towns of northern Italy – it was a lot more sophisticated than border towns usually are. We’re fortunate to be living so near to the border – it gives us another string to our bow.

The day wouldn’t have been complete though without – yes, you’ve guessed it – an extra virgin cold pressed unleaded hot chocolate so we stepped into a small café and Madame had one while I had one of those hard-hitting black Spanish coffees that are guaranteed to inhibit the blinking reflex for at least 4 days. Tasting Madame’s chocolate, in my opinion it was as good as one of those “authentic” ones they serve in the chocolatiers in Bayonne with the added bonus of being, with Peebles in mind, much cheaper (a third of the price).

Friday, 30th November 2007. This morning we went to St Jean de Luz to go to the bank after which we had a short wander around the indoor market and the fish market. They finally seem to be getting into gear now ready for the Christmas season. There were oysters of all different sizes, fresh scallops still in the shell, amazing displays of bread of all kinds, tempting arrays of yellow corn fed chicken, plump poultry, local Brebi cheese made from ewe’s milk and a thousand and one other delights.We went through to the fish market and there were masses of fresh fish straight off the boats gleaming under the lights – monkfish, rouget, sole, turbot, hake, salmon, trout, sea bass, skate, prawns, crayfish, lobster, crab and so it went on. All of which served to underline to me what limited imaginations we have in England and also how poorly we are supplied. Is it us or is it the shops? I wonder though even if all this bounty was available in England, just how many people would still be roasting turkeys and boiling pans of sprouts into submission on Christmas morning. I suspect the majority would be. (“And what’s wrong with turkey..?” I hear you ask..) Nothing, but why not try something new..?

I’m reminded of a story by S (aka Major Bloodnok), a former Army colonel I used to work with. He has a small cottage in Brittany and one day he was at the weekly market there waiting in line at the cheese counter. When it came to his turn, the stallholder offered him a taste of the cheeses he was unfamiliar with. There were a couple of English ladies behind him and each time he tasted a new cheese, they’d say to him, “Is it like Cheddar..?” (as if that’s the yardstick!)

My favourite Major Bloodnok story though goes back a few years to when he was staying at a hotel somewhere in northern France. A dusty Rolls Royce with GB plates pulled up outside and a gentleman got out along with his wife and daughter.

Entering the reception area, he spotted a waiter and asked in broad Yorkshire tones, “Garçon, d’you serve wine here..?”

Taken a little by surprise, the waiter thought for a second before answering, “Oui, monsieur, but of course..”

“Well, in that case,” the Yorkshireman continued, holding up three fingers, “I’ll have three wines…”

Meanwhile, back in the Basque country, when we came home, we met Madame D outside in the lane. I asked her if I could wander up to the barn for a last look at the pig before it went to “Hawg Heaven” on the Saturday.. She said the French equivalent of “Too late mate - he was killed this morning.” She said if I wanted to see him he was up in her son’s garage. I went up there for a look and there he was in all his glory – he had been split in two by the butcher and was tied spatchcock fashion to a door that was leaning against the wall while his head was elsewhere “helping the police with their enquiries”. In reality, the head was being used to make sausages. He was one big pig though.. I think even minus the head there was a good six feet of him.

Saturday, 1st December 2007. Today was the day of the big local derby game (rugby union) between Bayonne and Biarritz and we drove by the Stade Jean Dauger in Bayonne. If someone were to start an international creative parking competition, I’m convinced that the trophy would be held in perpetuity by the Basques. There were cars parked on roundabouts, on the dividing strip in the middle of a dual carriageway, and just about everywhere and anywhere a car could be parked. Occasionally you’d see a car parked and wonder just how it had been put there.. There was no sign of any police or traffic wardens in the area. (I’ll leave you to compare and contrast etc) People were just left to get on with it and consequently it all seemed to be running smoothly. Bayonne had been heading the French Top 14 rugby table a week or two previously but while the game was a close encounter, it was won, predictably, by Biarritz who had just too much quality in the end.

On returning home, we found a carrier bag full of freshly made black pudding and sausages sitting on the doorstep.. We tried them that evening and the sausages were especially good..


Sunday, 2nd December. I walked the pooch up the lane this morning – it was another of those beautiful mornings that we are lucky to get down here in the Basque country. The sky was deep blue, the sun was shining and, from the farmhouse chimney, blue smoke was rising slowly and drifting up and along the valley as various parts of the pig were smoked. There are still quite a few trees with leaves remaining and these stand out sharply – burnt copper against the intense blue of the sky. I think we’ll go to Biarritz again this afternoon. We never tire of walking along the promenade watching the great waves rearing up and crashing in an explosion of white foam. And yesterday there were surfers out there still…!

I was just watching a football programme on French TV and it gave the scores from recent matches like this:
Nantes 1 St Etienne 2
Cartons Jaunes 2 Carton Jaune 1
Carton Rouge 1 Carton Rouge 0
For a second or two, I thought that these were results from the French equivalent of the Conference League and that Cartons Jaunes were a team like Total Network Solutions who, I think, play in the Welsh League. Then there was a ker-ching as the centime dropped.. Carton means ‘card’ in French and ‘jaune’ means yellow and ‘rouge’ means – well, you know what that is doncha! Oh I geddit!

Monday, 3rd December 2007. A great weight was lifted from us this morning. And I hope I’m not speaking too soon.. After weeks of procrastination, delays, incompetence, lost cheques and waiting for cheques to clear from various financial institutions we finally transferred the bulk of the funds across to France this morning at an exchange rate which, while not great, was an improvement on the quoted rate last Friday.

This whole situation has been causing us both sleepless nights for weeks.. It also shows up that while we are supposedly in the electronic age, some of our systems and procedures are still firmly rooted in the Victorian age. For example, the bank in England wanted instructions in writing by post - and no, a fax wasn’t acceptable – to transfer money from our UK account to our account in France. Similarly, the building society in the Isle of Man where we held a tax-free savings account for non-UK residents needed a form completed by hand in ink authorising them to send funds to a newly designated account. I felt like asking them and the bank if mere paper would suffice for the letter or would they prefer that I wrote on parchment with a quill pen? Roll on the 20th century..

Anyway, all that is now behind us hopefully - apart from a cheque from the Prudential that’s gone AWOL.. and the Pru has gone deep and silent on the issue.

Friday, 7th December 2007. Went to the bank today and our account showed that our house funds had arrived – even the cheque that the Pru owed me. I had to threaten them with legal action to get any sense out them..

Probably not a good time for the Man from the Pru to call. A well-aimed freshly made black pudding can do a fair bit of damage..