One of the great things about life in our village is the fact that five times a year retired people can get together for a fantastic repast!
At Easter and Christmas all the retired inhabitants receive an invitation from the Mairie to a (free) meal with entertainment at the village hall, and then the 'Club des Anciens' arranges three more such 'dos' for the princely sum of 15 euros a head.
Yesterday was the 'end of year' meal for the Club and we duly turned up just before midday. We have learned from experience that many people turn up late but find it a good idea to arrive when there are not too many hands to shake and cheeks to kiss (officially four times in this area but confusingly variable) as it isn't easy to remember which people you have already greeted.
Apart from the social custom of going round kissing or shaking hands with everyone we are also getting used to the habit of saying a loud 'Bonjour' when entering the local shops not to mention 'Bonne journée' on leaving.
Other noticeable differences, when it comes to meals, include the fact that the table is laid with only one knife, fork and spoon per place (the fork and spoon being placed 'face down') despite the fact that it is to be a five course meal. What a good idea (if you're washing up that is) to keep the same utensils and even plate for all savoury courses. It means mopping up with bread and placing your cleaned cutlery on the table or resting on the side of the plate. We have also noticed that most French people eat with a fork in their right hand and a piece of bread in their left. The knife is used to cut as necessary and then placed on the side.
But, to get back to yesterday's feast, we chose our seats near the open window as it was quite hot and stuffy and then waited as the club members sauntered in, in ones and twos, and made their way round the room, quick pecks on cheeks here, closer face pressings there and handshakes between the men.
As usual there was no hurry to get down to the serious business of eating and drinking despite the fact that most people admit to missing out on breakfast in preparation for the vast quantities to come. Just after one o'clock the caterer began distibuting nibbles and opening the champagne. We were under way!
The 'apero' lasted about an hour with glasses recharged as often as you like but rather a shortage of biscuits (The Bear managed to finish the bowl nearest to us in the first few minutes) so the conversation was already getting more animated and faces began to glow with a mixture of alcohol and the warm weather.
Then, a rather strange thing happened - they collected up all the empty plates set in front of us. Why did they put them there in the first place I wonder? But soon after that the first course arrived - salade perigourdine - a combination of foie gras, thin slices of magret de canard, gesiers and something else I didn't recognise which were hot and on a bed of lettuce. The Bear doesn't like foie gras or Magret de canard so dumped his unceremoniously on my plate. The chap opposite winked and made a remark about me being 'la poubelle de table' (the table dustbin) and this led to a conversation about what we liked about French Cuisine, which induced me to confess that I'd put on eighteen kilos in three years. OK, so I'm greedy but I still couldn't manage to put away a double helping so I produced the 'catty bag' and popped the leftovers under the table. A rather mediocre Muscadet was served with this course so I only had half a glass but, by now, everyone knows that the Bear hates red wine and so all the left over white gravitated towards him and his neighbour took great delight in topping up his glass regularly.
Next came a Trou Normande, apple sorbet drowned in Calvados, and cheeks were definitely becoming rosy.
The long wait for the main course was filled with music from M. Lambert's mini hifi but you could hardly hear it above the noise of voices. A few brave souls attempted to dance but most carried on talking more and more loudly.
It needed food to quell the crescendo and eventually, there it was - fillet of pork with a mushroom sauce accompanied by a 'faggot' of green beans in bacon, grilled tomato and Dauphinoise potatoes, served with red wine from the Luberon region, much to the disappointment of our neighbout who had been looking forward to a Bordeaux. The ensuing peace was proof of the appreciation together with all the clean plates some time later.
During the next 'pause' one gentleman got up to tell jokes. It's very difficult to understand French when you are slightly deaf, people are talking, and the punch line is delivered very quickly so I only managed to get one - and that was quite rude! However, now that there was relative quiet, M. Minier, the 'official village photographer' persuaded us to go outside to pose for the group photo. I was able to sympathise with all the old folks and their walking sticks as both the Bear and I were suffering with knee pains and we hobbled out with the rest of the group in a painfully slow procession.
Once inside again the cheese course appeared. It consisted of large cubes of Brie, Maroilles and Gruyere served on a kebab with a prune an apricot and a cherry tomato on a bed of lettuce. The Bear declined but I was to late/slow to refuse and so tried valiantly to eat yet more. This time I was beaten and had to leave quite a lot of it while those around me carried on with determination to polish off the lot - even if it took them ages.
Thank goodness there was a long break before dessert as this is usually my favourite part. We were not disappointed as it was a beautifully light gateau and it slipped down effortlessly with another glass of champagne.
It was after six o'clock when they brought coffee - as much as you could drink - but the custom I still can't come to terms with is that MORE cake is served at the end of a meal!!!!
Sure enough, large plates of the local 'tarte au sucre' were passed round and most people actually had enough room to eat it. No, I couldn't manage another mouthful but is it surprising that I'm finding it extremely difficult to diet?
