21 nov

We ate mussels today. Two of the largest pans we possess full of them. And enjoyed it.
We never really were into mussels. Julie is suspicious of anything that survives in water, as long as it can not be deep fried with a thick batter, and I also grew up with no other experience with fish than the occasional fish stick, being the only kind of fish my mother would contemplate to cook for us.
But recently our friend Alan, we call him The Cook, cooked a dinner in which he included mussels at the last minute. I know this because I went with him to the supermarket to shop for this dinner with Paddockhurst Lane friends that still warms my soul when I think of it.
Also because of the mussels. It is a simple but delicious dish, also because the mussels that we bought here at our good friend Mr Leclerc did not have the beards that Alan had me take out of the mussels he presented that night.
Food. What a great thing to happen every night. Julie is the cook. I drive, she cooks, is the arrangement. And it works well. In the days before snow and freezing circumstances I would be in charge of lighting the barbecue, the lovely square Webber that is just perfect for its role on the road.
But now it is too cold to consider being outside for more than the 2,5 seconds it takes Julie to smoke a cigarette.
Food! What do we eat since we are taken of our menu of having bbq-ed sausages every other day. The afternoon’s are for soups. Definitely when it is cold. Knorr, the Unilever brand, has come up with a series of recipes that are according to the cookbook of grandmother. And each and every single one is reliably tasty. A little bit of french bread and our souls are warmed again.
After leaving Burgundy, we have given up on the Boeuf Bourguignon and the Coq au Vin, which is a shame really, but they also took three hours of bubbling away on our gas heaters and we’re down to one bottle of gas, having started with three.
Julie whips up dinners that really beat the Bib Gourmand qualifications of our Guide Michelin. She’s has mastered the faux fillet, the pork chop and she has always been able to make chicken thighs into a culinary treat.
And then we have cheese. Or Fromage as we call it, since we are here. Or them, since we always have more than one, to be honest. Our preference is in the brie varieties that are available in such mouth watering quantities. Mont d’Or, Chaumes, Citeaux, Reblochon, Pie d’Anglois. Lovely, lovely. A little bit of goat cheese as an excuse, a little blue cheese to top it off, and that is the finish of another meal after which we say that the suffering we are enduring is bearable to say the least. Quite enjoyable in fact.
But after our mussels of today we decided against les fromages. We chose le vin rouge (a Minervois) by itself tonight, although I also ventured into that childhood delight that I restrict myself to only once a week; het Danoontje, le chocolat desert (avec coconut today) by the masters of diary products: Danone.
Have I said life is good? I’ll repeat it.