Lost in Provence

Truffle and Wine Festival

 

Truffles

For wine connoisseurs and serious foodies, there’s no better place to be on the first Sunday of February than Carpentras, France, home to the annual Fête de la Truffe et du Vin, or Truffle and Wine Festival.

 

But don’t let the name fool you. The festival celebrates gourmet food of all kinds, and Johann and I found that one doesn’t have to be a serious gourmet to enjoy spending a day tasting wine, cheese, chocolate, fine olive oil, and the numerous delicacies made with truffles. Even an amateur palate will do.

 

Truffle omelet

Upon entering the exposition hall, the overwhelming aroma of truffles permeates the nose, mouth, and somehow, even the ears. It’s a thick, rich, woodsy smell that fills your entire head. We were immediately hungry and sought out the booths serving various specialties for lunch.

 

After a quick tour, we made our decision. We started with a salad of baby field greens in balsamic vinaigrette topped with minced beets and slices of black truffles the size of a quarter. Next we indulged in a savory omelet flecked with generous slivers of truffles throughout and served with slices of the perfect baguettes that one finds only in France. We had bypassed some fancier dishes in favor of this omelet, but I’ve always believed that simpler dishes are the best showcase for the strong, aromatic flavor of truffles.

Wine

These didn’t let us down. We then shared a plate of proscuitto and smoked sausage, both made from wild boar, which came with a wedge of creamy Camembert and flat bread with chunks of truffles nestled inside.

 

And as we don’t consider ourselves experts on the subject of wine, we went with the house’s recommendation, which was a glass of 2003 Bacchus Côtes du Ventoux. Primarily Grenache (80%), it is supplemented with Cinsault (10%) and Syrah (10%) and has a charming, light, fruity taste with undertones of currant. Unfortunately, all of this left us too full to try the cheese ravioli in white wine, truffle and cream sauce or the equally tempting chocolate cake infused with truffle essence. Live and learn.

 

The winning truffle

The next item on the agenda was the weighing-in of the season’s largest truffle. At 531 grams (nearly 1.2 pounds), the softball-sized tuber was estimated to be worth about $650. Its owner looked suitably pleased and was cheerfully granting interviews to gourmet magazines and local newspapers. The prospect of finding hundreds of dollars in fungus lurking just beneath our feet had us wondering how to go about finding a truffle ourselves. The next demonstration didn’t disappoint.

 

Jean-François Sénac, assistant mayor of Carpentras, guided a group of eager onlookers through the process of training a truffle hound. There is no “best” breed, according to Sénac, though small dogs are a smart choice because they are closer to the ground and easier to control. Pointers are also good bets, because it is already in their genes to hunt and retrieve.

 

Sénac and Imprévu "Unforeseen"

Imprévu picks up the scent

Within seconds, it's found

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even a mutt can be trained to find truffles, though, as Sénac proved with a little dog called “Imprevu” (unforeseen), so named because he was found in the backyard one morning. As a pup, he had been given a whiff of a truffle, then rewarded with a treat. Soon, he learned to associate the two and was able to dig up truffles Sénac had planted in the backyard for him to find. We were advised to use a piece of wood sprayed with truffle essence rather than a truffle itself, since a dog will occasionally try to eat the buried treasure, a costly error for the owner.

 

Truffle cook-off

As potentially lucrative as this all sounded, it seemed much easier to leave it to the experts and focus on the culinary end of the truffle experience. Back inside the grand hall, five master chefs were competing to prepare the best truffle-based dish. With a glass of 2004 Baumes de Venise in hand, we joined the crowd angling for a view.

 

The dishes ran the gamut between elegant and simple to impressive and ornate. On the simple side were cream of Jerusalem artichokes with truffles and truffle soufflés. On the more fancy side was a marinade of sea scallops with foie gras and truffles from the Ventoux region. Also in this corner was the winning dish, a fennel bulb with a truffle and meat stuffing that had been assembled to look like a mushroom.

This had our appetites going again, so we went back to the expo, following the crowd shuffling from booth to booth and tasting chocolates and sweet white wine infused with truffles, decadent cheeses, orange gingerbread and rosemary-flavored sorbet. We collected a fair number of souvenirs, too, though these were to be enjoyed later at home.

This is one of the things I love most about France. A festival doesn't need to be in honor of a holiday or commemorating an historic event. They're willing to go to a lot of effort to organize a celebration that's in honor of nothing more than the good things life has to offer, whether it's wine, truffles, fruit, flowers, music, olives or really good cheese. And by the way, the cost to attend this festival: absolutely nothing. The best things in life are free. 

Football, football, football!!!

Lauris (in blue)

On Sunday we went to a football game. That's soccer to you Americans. It was a semi-final match played by Lauris, the team Johann used to play for. He still goes to practice with them in an effort to stay in shape and see his friends, but he doesn't compete in the matches anymore. That doesn't mean he was any less excited about the game, however. In fact, he was so enthusiastic that he actually talked me into going along.

"It will be great! We'll see all the guys, Yannis and Benji and everyone... and Alain will be there! And if they win, they'll go to the finals!"

"Okay. Can I make us a little picnic?"

"No need! They have hot dogs and fries and stuff there."

"Wait a minute... there are fries?"

"Yup."

"Have there always been fries there?"

"Yup."

"Why is this the first I am hearing of this? You know, I would have gone to watch you play once and a while if you had told me that they served fries there. My God, ten years together and it's as if you don't know me at all."

"So you'll go?"

"Of course. Do I need to bring my own salt?"

"Actually, on second thought, I'm not sure that I want to be seen sitting next to you in public..."

The other team's fans

But he did, and we had fun. It was a beautiful, sunny day and we pulled a couple of chairs up to the railing near one of the goals to watch the fun. Why chairs? There aren't any stands anymore. There used to be, then a local physiotherapist who volunteers for the team on weekends accidentally backed into the stands with his car. While drunk. The stands were destroyed, but fortunately none of the people sitting on them at the time were seriously injured. No one sued anyone or pressed any charges. The stands were never replaced. This is a weird country.

Before the game even began, the trash-talking did. One Lauris supporter yelled at the other team's fans, who were easily spotted standing behind the banner they had made and draped over their section of the railing, "You big assholes from Mourières!" He cried. "They're not Mourières, that's Mouries," his friend said to him. "All the same!" He yelled again. This was pretty tame compared to the taunts that followed, the main idea of which seemed to be encouraging members of the other team to sexually assault themselves or one another.

Corner kick

It didn't really seem like appropriate language for an event where there were lots of children in attendance. Then again, I may have underestimated the sophistication of these kids.

"Johann, is that little boy drinking a can of Panaché?" I asked.

"Looks that way," he replied, barely turning his head away from the game.

"Isn't that a mix of beer and lemonade?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"That kid can't be more than six years old!"

He turned again ever so briefly to watch him walk away. "Doesn't look too drunk," he said.

Though my interest in the game was pretty low, I tried to join in the fun without corrupting anyone by shouting weakly-worded insults in English. "Your outfits are ugly!" I yelled to the other team. This made Johann nearly spit out his iced tea. "Uniforms, not outfits, you loser," he said. "All the same!" I yelled, making him laugh again. I kept it up throughout the second half: You play soccer like a bunch of girl scouts! Ha-ha, you fell down! You're gonna lose, losers! Your momma wears men's boxer shorts!

"Was that last one a little rude?" I ask.

"Actually, considering the things people are yelling about one another's mothers today, what you said is actually rather charming," he replied.

Lauris emerged victorious and the fans screamed with joy, jumping the railing and running out onto the field to hug the team. One guy jumped in the air higher than I've ever seen a man of that weight get from the ground without some sort of mechanism and harness. Then he did a cartwheel. He was so animated that I wondered for a second if he was actually a thin guy in a fat suit or something.

The celebration then moved quickly to the bar, where the team and fans embarked on a mission to drink themselves into oblivion in honor of the big win. It was time for us to go, though, so we returned our chairs to the clubhouse and headed for home. Though we didn't participate in the festivities, I like to think that our presence and our chatter helped contribute to the general good vibe on the field and to their win... all the same.

 

I See London, I See France...

Johann and I by the Thames

"This heavy coin here is a pound," said Paul (friend, tour guide and former London native). "The ten and fifty pence pieces are about the same size. The twenties are smaller. This tiny thing here is worth 5 pence. It's not even worth carrying around, really. I like to throw them at poor people."

If you have lots of money to throw around, London is the place to be, that's for sure. We had been warned how expensive it was, but we still weren't prepared for the prices. When you look at a pub menu and see a pint of beer listed at £3.90, it seems pretty reasonable. Then you do the math and realize that this is nearly $8.00. About now, you consider either giving up drinking or coming up with ways to get people to throw their five pence pieces in your direction.

Borough Market

Fortunately for us, though, our friend Leah generously lent us her very lovely flat for the weekend, so we didn't have to scrape together enough change for a hotel room or, more likely, sleep on the street next to a paper coffee cup marked "donations." And better still, her flat was in a very posh part of town, right around the corner from Bridget Jones's apartment, London Bridge, the house used in the shootout scene of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Borough Market. She's also right upstairs from the Southwark Pub (pronounced "suffuck"). Very convenient.

We spent our first night in London eating curry and drinking pints in pubs called "The Anchor" and "Dirty Dick's" (despite what you may think, it's a reference to King Richard III, who locked his young nephews and heirs to the throne in the tower of London and stole the crown for himself). The next morning we wandered through Borough Market and had Cumberland sausage sandwiches and milky coffee from one of the stands for breakfast. Johann also had a classic hot-cross bun.

The Slides

We then followed Paul's directions to the Tate Modern: "Walk along the Thames. If you find yourself getting damp, you're in the river. Stop, retrace your steps and veer a bit more to the left." This was good advice and we found the museum without difficulty, enjoying views of London Bridge, Tower Bridge, St. Paul's Cathedral, "The Gherkin" and Millenium Bridge.

Once inside, the first thing we did was get in line for the slides. That's right, the slides. The interactive exhibit by Carsten Höller (ambitiously but unimaginatively titled Test Site) consists of five twisty slides of varying heights, the tallest requiring escalator rides to the fourth floor to get on. "While I don't think that the Tate has actually changed its slogan to 'Come for the Slides, Stay for the Art,' there has been an increase in museum attendance amongst the under-tens that probably cannot be attributed to the Gilbert and George exhibit," Paul said wryly. (Watch a live webcam view of the slides.) 

St. Paul's Cathedral

We tried out slides number one and three before heading up to the big one. By this time, we had the procedure down. Each rider is given a canvas mat with a pocket in the bottom. You sit on the mat, insert your feet into the pocket, lie down, cross your arms and go when the person manning the screen showing the bottom of the slides gives you the "all clear." Paul's two children were grinning furiously with anticipation, but Johann looked a little anxious. "I just hope that sausage sandwich stays down," he said. As we approached the front of the line, Arthur, age 9, started to look a little worried. "I may scream on this one," he confided. "In that case, just do it," I advised. "Yell all the way down, yell like you mean it." He balked a bit after getting his feet in the mat, but Paul grasped the top of his head and pushed him into the tube. He whooped like a commando the whole way down. This caused the eyes of the little boy behind us to grow large with fear. "Don't worry," I told him. "He planned to scream like that." 

Classic Double-Decker

Then it was my turn. "Do you know how to do this, ma'am?" The man at the video screen asked. "I believe the main idea is to not die," I replied. "Yes," he said. "And to cross your arms." Four dizzying stories and about as many seconds later, I was at the bottom. "Okay," Paul said. "Now let's have some deep, meaningful appreciation of Surrealist art and then go to the pub to watch the game and get pissed." Good plan.

Somehow, I think modern art is best experienced after plummeting feet-first through a steel tube. Dali's Lobster Phone made perfect sense to me after that. All and all, the visit was a bit like being inside a giant Candyland game in which Gumdrop Mountain and the Candy Cane Forest have been designed by a committee consisting of René Magritte, Marcel Duchamp and Roy Lichtenstein.

Chinatown by Night

The rest of the weekend was a blur of sights: Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, Bond Street, Green Park, St. James's Church, Soho, Chinatown and Greenwich. We got around easily thanks to Leah, who had thoughtfully left us each an Oyster Card, good for all public transportation in the city. "Why is it called an Oyster Card?" I asked Paul as Johann used the machine to top up the amount of credit on our cards. "Hell if I know," he replied. "Are you done? Okay, we're off! The world is our oyster! ...Oh. That's probably why."

We packed a lot into our four days in London, but can't wait to go back and see more. All considered, the price was right. Roundtrip tickets from Marseille on Ryan Air cost just one penny, plus airport tax. You can bet we held onto those five-pence pieces for future flights.

 

Baaaaaaa... Humbug.

My lonely, unused car

Those of you familiar with the ongoing saga of my struggle to obtain a French driver's license may just want to skip to the end of this one. For the rest, here's the situation: apparently, you have one year after receiving your French residency permit to exchange your American license for a French one. This was information that no one shared with us, so I assumed I could just exchange it whenever I wanted, as long as the American license hadn't expired yet. That seemed logical. I was wrong. So very wrong.

I waited too long, and now the French government considers my American license invalid. And an invalid license means that if you get into an accident, your insurer is under no obligation to pay for any damages. So, in layman's terms: not cool.

Johann's grandfather pleaded my case to various local authorities (he's kind of a big shot around here) who passed it up the chain of command. At one point, one thoughtful civil servant even called to tell us that although the decision was not up to him, he had seen a case like this before and everything had worked out just fine. He assured us that our request was headed up to the regional prefecture and that everything would be okay. He was wrong, too. They said no.

So now I have to study for the French exam (and in French, because they don't produce any study materials in English). Remember how much fun it was to study for your driver's test? Well, it's even less fun in a foreign language, let me assure you.

Does the wheelbarrow have the right-of-way? Probably.

And it's not something you can take a "wing-it" attitude toward, relying on common sense and your many years as a licensed driver to guide you, because many of the rules make ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE AT ALL.

Here's a little something I just learned: let's say you are driving down a country road that is a "no passing" road. And on this road, you come up behind a farmer on his tractor. Are you allowed to pass him? What if the farmer is on foot and leading a large herd of sheep up the middle of the road? Can you pass then? What if you encounter a person (who may or may not be a farmer, this wasn't specified) on a motorcycle? Can you pass him? What if the motorcycle has a sidecar? (Because, you know, you see sidecars so often these days.)*

Here's the scoop: you can't pass the farmer on the tractor. You can pass the farmer with the sheep. You can pass the motorcycle, but not if it has a sidecar. I don't know what's permitted if there's a sheep in the sidecar. That wasn't covered in the DVD study guide, but I'm sure the French have a law either allowing or strictly forbidding it.

Now I know it's been many, many years since I last had to take the driver's exam in the United States, but I don't recall there being a lot of SHEEP-RELATED questions on it.

I'm in way over my head, here, people.

 

* This is sarcasm.**

** Well, duh.