chassagnette an' shit

I am still moving shit from one room to another. I managed to throw out quite a lot including such titles as:

Yogic pregnancy
Biodynamic Birth
Your Child and You
Endometriosis and You
Infertility and You
Everyone Else’s Children and You
Tough Shit and You

Meanwhile the chappies came to clean out the septic tank. Blimey, was the poo careering over the edge….? Mr Merde-mover was a beautiful soul with tanned stubby legs, nut brown eyes, and a whole philosophy of shit and how and why to move it to become better human beings, which he shared with me as we watched ours move through the piping.

Storage is a problem. Storage is always a problem. We have none left. Then again - apart from home made plum conserves, preserved cherries and walnut wine - we shouldn’t indulge in it at all. It just clogs the system.

So, because of the shit, we had a lunch treat:

Three years ago in my fave rag, Côté Sud, I saw an article about a restaurant in the middle of the Camargue which was based around an organic garden. “That’s my kin o’ restaurant” I thought, and I have wanted to go there ever since. Low and behold, on the way to a family reunion, we just happened to be passing through and lunch was a bargain….

We sat under a bamboo awning on long teak tables edged with the marigolden hem of the garden. A fairy spray of water emerged from the hot heavens as we placed well starched while linen napkins on our laps and ordred champagne followed by a ‘demi pichet’ of a very classy Chateau des Tours White. We went the whole hog and had tasters of all entrées and pudding starting with a tangy beetroot and coriander gaspacho (which beat any borscht I have ever had). We moved through orange flower enhanced salads picked by the chef in front of our eyes, and a clean rabbit terrine. We went on to fish, and then to granitas and sorbets (peach and basil), and to an exquisite spiced Camargue rice pudding. While Julian took his coffee and melty choccy biscuits, I took a turn round the organic garden with the chef. He picked me a ‘nectarine tomato’ and showed me his hammock. As you do.

We left after eight courses feeling light and healthy! No waiting for the huge release following the next morning’s coffee, no sleepless night from digestion problems.

That’s my kind o’ restaurant, I thought again. That’s my kind o’ life.