9 jan

That hare pie was a marvel. We found a recipe online from River Cottage Hugh. It called for two legs of hare, but we only had one. And a half bodypiece too, that’s what we got in our plastic bag with ‘Chassenat’ on it, handwritten by someone who isn’t used to writing. No front leg, we got. Hares have one, don’t they, be it a little smaller. What we had, just fitted in the largest baking pan available. And it was quite a large one too. Larger than what we have at home, as I call it. Storage, Claire corrects, you have no home, she will say. Anyway, what size of pan you need to get two of these legs in puzzles me.
Made with bacon and cider. Poured in a bottle of 750 cl before reading it needed only 250. Hugh needs to change his recipe, 750 worked out very well. Some carrots, onions, celery, bay leaves and filling with water till covered. That pan was as full as our tummy after eating the pie.
It was nicely bubbling away for one hour before we took the meat out. Hugh thought one should pull of the meat in good-sized bits with the hands. Mine are not as fireproof as his, so the knife came in handy. The broth was boiling away nicely and starting to taste better and better as Julie would inform me with intervals of five seconds.
We browned some mushrooms, added that to the hare and the bacon and put everything in a terrine. Broth over it and some ready-made pastry dough. I do not remember the last time I bought pastry dough, might have been Doesburg, but looking for it in the Carrefour Market (little Carrefour) I just couldn’t find it. I was looking in the freezer section for those neat packages with ten sheets of ready-made and frozen pastry dough. Found all kinds of petits fours, filled dough things, but no pastry by itself. This was after I had been trying to find bath salt, the stuff you throw in your bath to relax, very necessary after walking too long or too fast. Couldn’t find that either. Till I realized the pastry was not in the frozen food section, but right next to the butter and creme fraiche. It was not in little squares anymore, but one big oval rolled up sheet of pastry. Much easier to deal with. I think it cost less than one euro, made with real butter. I loved Carrefour again after I saw that although they better stock up on bath salt.
The whole thing, including pastry went in the oven for another 30 minutes, came out as a dream and tasted like heaven. We have leftovers, so if someone is interested, hurry.
To walk off the excess calories, I went to Vieux Mareuil and surroundings today. The french don’t have the wonderful public footpath system of the English. But after some lessons from my brother-in-law Rob I start to understand the maps better. There are quite a few accessible foothpaths through the woods. Some new owners of old grand houses in the area try to block these paths off, especially when they come too close to old mansions. If this would happen in England, that would cause a revolt. Few things are as sacred as the public right of way on the public footpath. In France they just put up a sign with ‘Allee prive’ and expect people to stay off the path. Which french people don’t of course. They are as easy in neglecting rules as in coming up with them. This makes a very pleasant society, although it is not very easy on the hiker.
At another mansion, a little north, the new owner was trying to create a new orchard. Walnut trees, I think. He just put a fence around his property, although my map indicated that there was a path across his land. Long legs come in handy sometimes and while walking across his land I was practicing what I would say, or how I would deal with the dogs that might come after me.
I admired the new trees, also hazelnuts and oaks (?). Got to the other side of the field, no complaining owner or dogs, stepped over the fence again and was in the most wonderful forest. Lots of pine trees, hazel and chestnut trees. I found myself even a new walking stick. Good and sturdy old chestnut with a nice little squeak to it. I want to go and make a Hold for it, just like the one I saw in the knife store in Brantome. This is going to be my companion for the trip to Santiago. For the day, Julie will be there for the nights.
Wandering through the cultured woods I quickly lost my way, but then I heard some chainsaws not too far away, which turned out to be a fifteen minute walk. They are noisy, chainsaws. A man and a woman were happily chopping away chestnut trees, chatting loudly over the deafening sound of the chainsaw. No earcovers of course. I rediscovered the official path and was wondering if it would not be time to get back to Chassenat when I realized I had lost one of my maps.
Should I go and walk the same route tomorrow, I thought, but then decided to walk back: when you do not use your head, you have to go and use your feet, as my mother used to say.
Walking back into the woods I saw a water bottle laying next to the road. It looked like mine. It was mine. I must have dropped it when I tightened my shoelaces at exactly this spot. A little farther, at the place where I had found my pole, way past the chainsaw operators, I found the map. Happily picked it up and walked back again, till, after about 500 metres I realized I had left my new pole at the map spot.
Good thing I cannot forget my head.