38. It's a sign!

Sitting in traffic this evening I felt my attention being drawn to a hypnotic green neon sign for a Pharmacie (chemist). The green cross design was sequencing through a mind-boggling series of rotations and flashes, including displaying the time and the temperature before going back into the flashing cycle. It reminded me of yet another difference in daily life between this side of the Channel and the other. Some French shopping institutions have evolved their own particular street signs - here are a few for the pharmacy.

The other distinctive ones I can recall are for Tabac (Tobacconists) and (this is where it gets slightly curious) Chevaline - horse butchers. You might wonder why they bother but if you happen to be looking for a specific type of shop they do make finding one that little bit easier.

I was trying to think of the UK equivalents.. and all I could come up with was the red and white spiral-striped barber's pole and the three golden balls for the pawnbrokers. Chemists sometimes had a gold mortar and pestle sign.

The illuminated Tabac sign is said to resemble a double ended carrot, often with TABAC spelled out.. Apparently the 'carrot' symbol stems from former times when pipe smokers would keep a piece of carrot in their tobacco pouch to keep their tobacco moist. When I used to smoke and I was gasping for a ciggy, the illuminated Tabac signs were a godsend.

I can understand the need for a easy-to-spot sign if you've a desperate need for a pharmacie or a Tabac - but a horse butchers? The sign for a horse butchers is a gilded horse's head that juts out from the wall. How many times have you found yourself dashing out of the house, all of a quiver for a horsemeat steak ("Just gotta have one!").. running around town with wild eyes looking for a shop with the gilded horse's head sign..? Exactly.. Here's a somewhat battle-damaged horse butchers (above right) from what looks like the immediate post-war years - and, incidentally, I don't think I'd be busting a gut to step inside this shop, would you? I'm reminded of the butchers in the film "Delicatessen".. 

I'm not sure that many Brits would ever contemplate the idea of eating horse meat - I think most would find the whole thing quite repugnant - but I must be honest, having tried it on 2 occasions, I have to admit that they were two of the best steaks I've ever had. I tried it once knowingly in France and the second time, in Italy, unknowingly. I won't be doing it again though.

During the Balkans conflicts in the mid 90s, over a period of 4 years I probably spent half that time based in Italy, just to the north of Venice. Madame came out a few times and, on one memorable occasion, we were out having dinner in a traditional restaurant in town with J, the wife of a colleague who was working. I'd become reasonably adept at decoding Italian menus and, being all pizza'd out, we decided we'd go for a meat dish. Feeling like trying something different, looking at the meat section, I spotted filetto di puledro.. It was clearly a fillet of some kind of meat so we ordered three. They arrived served in a reduced red wine sauce and we enjoyed them very much.. When it came to the bill, I asked the waitress what they were and eventually she said the word for a horse in Italian (cavallo) and then said 'piccolo' - meaning little.. ie, a foal. Eek!

Neither Madame or I felt too happy about that but our unease was as nothing compared to J's. I should have mentioned that she was a keen horsewoman. She went white and so I quickly ushered her outside as I thought she looked very close to a spectacularly lavish demonstration of projectile vomiting..

Moving swiftly on, while we're on the subject of Italy, one year I found a delicatessen in Italy that stocked two of Madame's favourite things combined into one.. It was a tin decorated in an ornate fin de siècle style that contained marrons glacés* that had been dipped in plain chocolate. To say that these hit the spot would be understating the case. And needless to say, I've never been able to find them again since.** And, coming back to the Pays Basque, last Christmas I went around all of the specialist chocolatiers in Bayonne hoping that one of them might have them, or might make some for me. I described what I was looking for but I met with the same universal response - or rather, lack of response - everywhere. No-one was interested in dipping a few marrons glacés in dark chocolate for me.. It was a demonstration of French culinary chauvinism -

"We don't do them like that here.."

Yes, I know that, but could you - just this once?

"If you want marrons glacés like that, you'd better go back to Italy.."

Etc etc.

Back to more domestic issues, we're having our Christmas dinner here at the weekend before we leave next week to go up to Paris. Commander-in-Chief (Home) has decreed that a Christmas pudding might just be on the agenda. Be still my beating heart!

* The brand was La Castagna Glassata Di Majani.. ricoperta di finissimo cioccolato fondente..

** Just found another site in Italy that has them! Guiliani I'll order some when we return in the New Year.

37. One to try at home

I'm not sure where this story fits in the overall scheme of things but I'll leave that for you to work out. Down at the rowing club one of the rowers is M.. He used to play scrum half for Aviron Bayonnais (the local top 14 rugby club) and he's a bit of a character. We were all out having a social event somewhere - it was a standard French night out, the red was going down well, everyone was talking, no-one was listening - when he suddenly came out with his patent method of how to return safely to the marital bed in the wee small hours after a late night out on the town.. on his own.

He said what he does, if he wishes to avoid a prolonged stay in the:

is to open the front door of his house ultra quietly, then tiptoe slowly upstairs before getting completely undressed in the spare room. (Been there, done that) Now this is the part that made us all laugh - he then backs slowly into the marital chamber. The idea being that if his wife wakes up and puts the bedside light on, all he has to do is to stop dead and freeze - facing the door - which is when he claims that he's just got up to go for a Nelson*. Works every time apparently! His demo (clothed!) had us all crying with laughter!

* Nelson Riddle (Cockney rhyming slang m'lud)

I picked up the new car this evening.. and I must sit down and give the handbook a good read because there's a daunting amount of technology in the thing. Problem is the handbook's in French so the VW dealer said he would order one for us in Anglo-Saxon and give it to us free of charge.. (that has a pleasing ring to it!)

Tonight we're having a real winter's favourite - Potée Auvergnate. This is real comfort food - and it's guaranteed to make you feel better.

It's a French country dish from - well, several regions have staked a claim to it - but the Auvergne probably has the strongest ownership claim. A joint of gammon, sausages various, potatoes, Savoy cabbage, carrots - all braised in a rich stock.. Add a splodge of grainy moutarde à l'ancienne (wholegrain mustard).. and stand well back while I get to work.

This picture is the closest I could find to Madame's version. If you're thinking that I'm spoiled, then you'd be absolutely right! Wonder why we didn't have Savoy cabbage as kids? It's delicious.. We once went to a restaurant in Paris that specialised in country cooking from the Auvergne and Savoy cabbage featured quite heavily. Forget the terminally boiled soggy cabbage of school dinners of days of yore - Savoy cabbage lends itself to all kinds of imaginative and tasty recipes.. not least of which is the one above.

I'm going to drift downstairs now and see if I can get in the way of the chef.. so talk amongst yourselves for a while!

36. Computery stuff

A little bird tells me that Père Noël (aka Father Xmas), in the form of Madame, might just be popping a mini camcorder into my Christmas stocking in a few weeks time. I managed to sneak a quick peek at the packaging to read the all-important system requirements. (system meaning my PC) I appear to be OK for space on my hard drive but it looks like I'll need a Pentium 4 2.8 or equivalent central processing unit or CPU as my current one won't be up to the job. What I know about CPUs could be typed, double spaced, in a large font, on the back of a postage stamp so I've just spent the last few hours researching the subject on the internet. This saga is slightly complicated by the fact that my processor isn't a Pentium - it's an AMD. Figuring out the equivalence and whether my motherboard can take a hot new processor is a riveting way of spending an afternoon.. I won't bore you with the details except to say that they are offered on ebay around the world at fairly hefty prices but I managed to find a local chap in Anglet (5 mins away) who has one for sale at a reasonable price.

Quick diversion: the cartoon below shows what you can easily end up doing on the internet if you're not careful..

Saw a car sticker here today that made me smile: "No ABS or airbags - I'll die like a man!"

If you feel in the mood for some escapism, I suggest you look no further than the following clip from "Out of Africa":

Madame spent some of her formative years at Brazzaville in the Congo - her father was in the French Air Force - and we've often thought about going back there. The sticking point is that Brazzaville has, for many years, been on the list of the world's most dangerous towns, along with Pointe Noir on the coast where she used to have holidays. While she has many fond memories of Africa I'm not too keen on the idea of having a one-way conversation with someone who's idly dangling a rusty machete at his side and so we're now thinking of visiting Kenya instead one day.. I'm tempted by Lamu on the coast.