Monday, May 5, 2008

Les Invitées



What a pleasure to have visitors -- it reminds me of the years I lived in New York, when my mother would come and I'd get to Broadway and the Met for the first time since her last visit. On their first day, though, in deference to jet lag, we took a walk around Montclard and then had a long lunch at the auberge. It was Sunday, and it felt a bit like going over to Grandmother's for Sunday dinner; the furniture was heavy and dark and looming, the decoration was Lacy Antimaccassar, the other guests were somewhat aged, the food old-fashioned.


Old-fashioned food in France is spectacular. The children had rare hamburgers, heaps of crispy frites, and a mountain each of creamed spinach and some sort of purée (squash and potato?). Butter was involved. The non-children kept dipping their spoons into the creamed spinach pretending to need another taste to identify the seasonings. "Nutmeg?" "Oh, maybe, let me see..."

White asparagus soup to begin, creamy but not too, the rich chicken broth shining through. There were seconds. Next a plate of monkfish in a cream sauce, tender little bundles of fish with some odd pieces of bone that we swept to the side with our fish forks, and more creamed spinach. By this time the kids had finished and off they went to play outside on the swing set, while the platter of lamb with roasted tomatoes and copper saucepans with beans and thinly sliced carrots appeared. 

One problem with this kind of meal is that conversation is often reduced to murmurings about the food and sighs of happiness. Who can talk about anything complicated when the creamed spinach is that good? 

At some point during the meal we realized that Grandmother didn't take credit cards and we were all low on cash. So Chris drove to Vergt in search of a cash machine while the rest of us attacked the dish of flan. Julian didn't think he liked it so he had three servings to make sure. I think we all came home and had naps after, in my mind the perfect end to Sunday dinner.