France
On day 1 we were met at airport by the Merde Alors, our erstwhile Socialist French friends and their Filipina helper. Went to a village called Barmes and had citron presses, while the kids had raspberry sorbets (ours) and bubblegum icecream (theirs).
On day 2, we went to the Abbaye de Thoronet, a beautiful austere 12th century Cistercian abbey. Picnicked by the Issole at Cabasse. Bought strawberries from a roadside van, small, sweet - these are the first strawberries I have had since 1982 that actually tasted as strawberries should.
On day 3, we went to Porquerolle on a ferry. Climbed hill to a fort called Repentance and back down again to Notre Dame beach. Astonishingly clear cold-ish water which tempted even Mo in, it was so beautiful. Lots of sailing boats, reviving my long-ago ambitions to learn how to sail.
On day 4, we went to see the Villa Noailles in Hyeres, where various 20s luminaries made films, wrote screenplays, lounged around by the Modernist swimming pool. Nearly lost Crazy French Girl in the mediaeval town.
Back in Barnes yesterday. Raining so hard it makes your head bleed. Going to see Lost in Dulwich today.
On day 2, we went to the Abbaye de Thoronet, a beautiful austere 12th century Cistercian abbey. Picnicked by the Issole at Cabasse. Bought strawberries from a roadside van, small, sweet - these are the first strawberries I have had since 1982 that actually tasted as strawberries should.
On day 3, we went to Porquerolle on a ferry. Climbed hill to a fort called Repentance and back down again to Notre Dame beach. Astonishingly clear cold-ish water which tempted even Mo in, it was so beautiful. Lots of sailing boats, reviving my long-ago ambitions to learn how to sail.
On day 4, we went to see the Villa Noailles in Hyeres, where various 20s luminaries made films, wrote screenplays, lounged around by the Modernist swimming pool. Nearly lost Crazy French Girl in the mediaeval town.
Back in Barnes yesterday. Raining so hard it makes your head bleed. Going to see Lost in Dulwich today.
posted by FBT at 6:53 am
5 Comments:
That's a long wait for strawberries, 25 years.
I'm sure it went by quickly.
France in four paragraphs probably it deserves more but?
Looks large parts of Worcester and Hereford are now open air swimming pools resplendent in all sorts of brown stuff. At least it will give the English something to talk about.
Now onto my most pressing comment on Strawberries as you know I am an Essex man pre dating David Beckham and other cerably challenged Essex people. In Essex, was and possibly still is huge strawberry fields at Tiptree, as a young adult I would cycle there and gorge myself sensless on slightly green strawberries and buy a pound or two. These were in the days of PYO.
Scotland is the only other place I have tasted such wonderful strawberries except the wild ones found in places like Austria, tiny little nuggets bursting with flavour. Strawberries at least here anyway have been grown by Americans into huge red things looking or at least bearing striking similarities with Pamela Anderson breasts, namely tastless.
So I here what you say fbt waiting 25 years for a fruit that tastes as it should is shocking but alas becoming quite normal.
I have always thought strawberries were overated because they never seemed to taste the way characters in story books talked about them. (Strawberries and cream was a regular favourite of the Five.) But I've never tried British or European ones so maybe I should just be patient and not judge until I have.
Jolly yummy without the cream but a little balsamic vinegar
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