Fabada

It was our final day in Asturias. The sun was shining. the cow bells were ringing and we were excited about LUNCH!

On our arrival at Casa Marcial, we were encouraged to have the traditional menu. I wasn’t sure how much better fabada or rice pudding could come than those dishes we had eaten in the simple places along the way, and I noticed there was neither fish or a single vegetable on the menu, but I always follow other people's advice. To a fault.

That night Julian was sick as a dog and the twelve hour drive home the next day was punctuated with far too many motorway stops. We had been poisoned by the michelin starred restaurant! Then, to boot, we arrived home to find that the pump in our own waste water purification system had ceased to function.

‘Histoire de merde’, said Julian, having spent a third morning mopping and scooping the poop and rushing once more for the small room.

We are better now, and beginning not only to love the memory of the bean stew from Asturias but to want to recreate it as we contemplete the winter nights that will soon draw in. Meanwhile, the tourists have left Provence and the ceps have arrived along with the breeze, and a precious season of glowing is upon us.