This blog
is probably going to mention food a lot. One of my earliest literary influences
was Enid Blyton, and what I still remember vividly from her books was her
descriptions of food – those splendid midnight feasts of condensed milk
and sardines – and those lashings of ginger beer and strawberries that Aunt
Fanny packed for the Famous Five. Enid ruined me, really; I’ve never been great
at restraining myself when food is presented to me in any way, shape or form. I
love the stuff – not only the taste and feel of it, but the very idea and
description of anything edible.
I was
very impressed with French food in general. The tomatoes actually taste like
tomatoes there, you know? I so missed that, living in the UK. I had feared a
diet of dry French baguette and coffee would result in a grumpy Lindsey quite
quickly, but actually we were very spoilt – every day we had an abundance of
fresh fruit and vegetables, lovely just-baked bread and a variety of meals.
However, the Alsatian obsession with pork did get a bit much after a while, and
also, it must be said that the French can’t – or won’t – do tea. I mean,
really, chaps, it should be served at every meal – nay, every given opportunity
– and a weak tea bag placed next to a cup of slightly-above-lukewarm water
simply doesn’t cut it. Also, one shouldn’t have to ask for milk!
Anyway, I
digress. Our next concert was in Étupes, in the Arrondissement of Franche-Comté
(I don’t actually know what this means, but it sounds impressive, n’est-ce pas?). An entirely
different experience to our Strasbourg perfomance, this one took place in what
felt like a small but strong surburban church. The congregation had already
attended their morning service, and we played a matinee. It was swelteringly
hot, and when we were served luscious grapefruit chunks in our break, we
couldn’t have been happier.
Rehearsal
and concert ran without hitch. The congregation received the words and music
with vigour. But I have to confess, my over-riding memory is of the sumptuous
feast the church laid on for us after the concert. The blistering heat of the
day had faded, and we were seated on long tables under the trees. Our first
course was pea soup – cold, and very green, but surprisingly refreshing and
tasty, if a bit salty. Then came the meat – pork and pork and pork and beef,
and potatoes, and carrots, and salad, and some variety of black lentils.
Our
bellies were already full, and we were in the process of discovering just how
very much fruit flies LOVE pork, when the cheese course was announced. This was
accompanied by a lecture – in French, but translated by the
unflappable Toby Garfit – on the merits of the local cheese. I admit
I don’t remember any of their names, but did you know that back in the day, the
farmhands would separate the morning and afternoon milk was with a layer of
ash, to keep them fresh? And still today, the local cheese has a thin black
layer in the middle (not of ash anymore, but something edible).
The
cheeses were yummy, and followed swiftly by melons in delicious colours, and
baskets of peaches, and different yoghurts (including one ‘for the ladies,’
which presumably was low-fat – which I strongly disagree with, ahem, and
therefore avoided). Everything, of course, was washed down with wine, and as if
we hadn’t eaten enough, we were given little chocolate bars to round off the
meal.
The sun
rose, and the sun set, and it was a glorious day in Étupes.
