The Fall of the House of Summer (Part 3)

In Northeastern France (and some Northern/ Eastern European countries) and as part of the pre-Christmas/ Advent calendar (starting on 4th Sunday before Christmas), we celebrate St-Nicolas (St-Nicholas Day, 6th December), a Saint also reputed as a gift-giver. On that day in Northern France, young children (or in certain regions like Picardie, young boys) are traditionally given a present by their parents (some may argue that the tradition is now on the wane).

Vintage St-Nicolas card from Delcampe

The St-Nicholas I am personally aware of has always been pictured as closely resembling Santa Klaus (a.k.a. Sinterklass, a 19th century folklore figure whose origins derive from St-Nicholas). As a result, the popular secular representation of Christmas has blurred St-Nicholas, Santa Klaus and Father Christmas into the the jolly bearded effigy we are familiar with.

In Reform times (16th/ 17th century) the symbol of gift-giving was 'taken' from St-Nicholas and attributed to the Nativity of Christ, more precisely to its assumed birthday, Christmas, 25th December. Yet to children's delight, St-Nicholas' gift-giving tradition has carried on!

Ste-Catherine card by S.A.G.E., printed in Italy, approx. 1986

In Northern France, Ste-Catherine's Day (25th November) celebrates unmarried girls until their 25th birthday. As a 'Catherinette' I used to receive a Ste-Catherine card from my parents and grandma (the one pictured above is one of them, in all its 1980s glory), and (usually) an item of clothing or some cash. The pre-Christmas buzz it generated would keep me going until Christmas Day!

Meanwhile the harvesting theme which we developed earlier in Part 1 is echoed by Thanksgiving Day (4th Thursday in November (US) and 2nd Monday in October (Canada), a secular pre-Christmas gratitude and present-bestowing tradition, whose origins date back to North America's pilgrim days.

We'll end our celebrations with Hannukah, the 8-night long Jewish Festival of Dedication, which falls between late November and late December.

French Seasons Greetings card, by MD Paris (made in France), approx. 1989

Phew, what a busy season Autumn is! Before you know it, you are half-way through the Advent calendar chocolates, then Winter closely followed by the glitter of Christmas descend upon you like invited guests who arrive way too early... You won't even have seen Christmas that the year packs up and a new one lands on you! Did we ever question the fact that Autumn was no cause for celebration?

P.S: The above Seasons Greetings and Ste-Catherine cards are from my personal collection.

Further Browsing:

• More about Advent (in French)

More Homely Musings:

• Home Truths About What We Call a Home
• Winter Comforts

The Fall of the House of Summer (Part 2)

Back to Autumn as a busy time of year, we have many celebratory reasons to justify it. Although it would be easy to get carried away and dedicate a thousand words per celebration, La Baguette Magique has chosen to stay short and sweet for the purpose of the exposé, hence condense the facts. But if I have missed out on important dates that you are aware of, please do bring them to my attention.

Interestingly our research has unveiled some overlapping in dates and symbolic figures, with a strong activity centered around 6th December.

Chronologically speaking, I would venture that the first event in the Autumn diary begins on the Eve of All Saints' Day, i.e. 31st October with Halloween. Already many bloggers (especially American) are gearing up for it big time with a multitude of creative ideas in the pipeline, and I cannot help but include this slightly tongue-in-cheek yet incredibly grown-up revisit of the iconic pumpkin, pimped up and tight up in black lace by lifestyle blog Daisy Pink Cupcake. Just forget about spooky carvings and drippy candle wax, this was so last Halloween! 

The following day, All Saints' Day, is when Catholics remember their dead. Usually in France families pay a visit to their graves and tidy/ flower them, typically with heather, chrysanthemum or cyclamen. It is a (subdued) time for remembrance and nostalgia, not the gleeful Autumn vibe that I am promoting elsewhere in this article.  

Remembrance Day a.k.a. Poppy Day (11th November) is also a time for that reflective, solemn mood. This year, for the first time in 15 years, I will not be able to physically purchase my poppy from one of the street poppy collectors and wear it with pride. Instead I might consider an online donation to the Royal British Legion, but still I will miss this very British symbolic way of commemorating Armistice Day.

Prior to that, another date I will miss out from the British calendar this year is Bonfire Night (5th November), based around the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, when conspiracist Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up Parliament, and has been immortalised by popular culture ever since, probably as a deterrent to any would-be traitor to the nation. The night is an excuse for a good old bonfire (either held privately or by local councils - the latter deemed a safer option) where Guy's effigy is burnt. In the week leading to Bonfire Night, kids will take to the streets with their Guy effigy and ask adults for 'a penny for the guy'.

It is always damp/ rainy on Bonfire Night (especially in North West England), not ideal conditions for the many crackers, bangers and firework displays that accompany the event (and the run-up to it) to mimic the gunpowder explosions. Either private or public fireworks illuminate the skies of Britain throughout most of the night, adding to the ambient dampness to create a light temporary smog. In true party mood, many Brits will take advantage of Bonfire Night to hold a barbecue (their last of the year for most!) in their back-garden. You won't have truly experienced the spirit of Bonfire Night until you have sampled treacle toffees, toffee apple or parkin cake (a North of England treacle gingerbread speciality).

The official bonfires which I've attended previously always came with a funfair to prolong the fun into the night. Getting spooked on one of those old-fashioned ghost trains was my cherry on the cake! (to be continued)

The Fall of the House of Summer (Part 1)

Nights are drawing in, leaves are waltzing down from trees and that unmistakable nip in the air catches you in the nick of time, almost unawares, making you yearn for home where, wrapped in cosiness over the 'hug-in-a-mug' allegory of your favourite hot beverage, you take stock of Summer gone and anticipate its transitory mood before Winter takes hold to enthuse us briefly with Christmas merryness before dragging us down through the low ebbs of January to March.



My beautiful bespoke patterned duck-egg curtains, from John Lewis

Right now the blogroll is getting homely too and some of my fellow editors have gone to great lengths to welcome Autumn. Indeed there is no time for mourning the demise of Summer as much as there is to rejoice about Autumn, and I will gladly join in the celebration.

Autumn is a busy time of year. It's harvest time for the fruit (and veg) of one's labour around the garden or field. Traditionally in the farming world, Autumn is when all the fruit, veg, grains and seeds that will be consumed throughout the long Winter months by humans and cattle alike, have been harvested, processed if applicable, and safely stored away from the elements and predators. Allegorically for those of us lucky enough to have a roof above our heads, the larders are now full as a result, and we are ready to embrace the rest of the year and beginning of the next while agriculture slows down into an apparent hibernation state.

Here in Corsica, Autumn delivers an earthly cornucopia of figs, apples, grapes, Sharon fruit, citrus fruit, pumpkins, walnuts, hazelnuts, chestnuts, olives and more! Meanwhile in Britain, local cabbages, Brussel sprouts, root vegetables (those beloved parsnips that I had never heard of until I came to Britain!), pumpkins and apples etc. grace market stalls. Coming in all shapes and sizes, those enticing pumpkins (above) feature in Julia Parsons' celebrated foodblog, A Slice of Cherry Pie. Take this opportunity to browse her site for more deliciously homely recipes.

So all in all, it's goodbye light-hearted salads, itsy-bitsy red berries, delicate Summer fruit granitas (and Pimm's cocktails!). And it's hello to the more stodgy substantial fibrous hearty fruit and veg, those that will deliver our increased energy requirements as outside temperatures start gliding down. A warm colour palette of oranges, greens and creams has replaced the more vibrant colours associated with carefree Summer.

As months progress into Winter we start craving more calorific food and carbohydrates are creeping back up into our diet. Sugary treats become an irresistible option, with stodgier cakes, and waffles, pancakes and doughnuts suddenly (even) more tempting than in Summer! In my hometown of St-Quentin (Northern France), the traditional funfair which kicks off on St Denis's Day (9th October) heralds the official start of Autumn to the local population. Hence to me the fact that Autumn wouldn't taste so without croustillons (round bite-size fritters), cotton candy and toffee apples!

Meanwhile and as part of its Autumn Colours Week photo theme which I invite you to explore, Canadian design blog Poppytalk has encapsulated the warm caramel shades of the season into this inspirational clever collage, which is bound to stimulate creativity... (to be continued)

Hundred Reasons

La Baguette Magique has just about got over its first birthday celebration, that a second landmark has crept up on us (not that we weren't prepared for it...). This very stepstone is also a very symbolic number - one hundred. Indeed this is our 100th post and I cannot help but smile while I am lolling back in my chair with some feeling of contentment.

When I started La Baguette Magique, I wisely had a couple of months' worth of written material already typed up. I was confident that I would be able to 'figure out' more stories to give this blog some due credit and lend it some mileage down the timeline, but I was secretly doubting whether I would be able to reach the 50th post without writer's block or some sort of disillusion. In truth I had fear: fear of the unknown, of not being up to the project and/ or getting bored with it, fear of not getting an audience and/ or disappointing them at some point... 

Things evolved from the original mindset, and this for a multitude of reasons that bloggers of the world will have experienced at some stage. First of all, I built up confidence with time and surprised myself at cultivating inspiration in the most improbable ways, be it while on errands, flicking through a magazine, chatting to a friend, taking photos, rummaging through a box of souvenirs...

Then there is no denying that life catches up with you - we're only human after all! - and takes your blog project off track for a while, be it with a new baby, redundancy or personal problems. In my case, I moved abroad and La Baguette Magique was forced to take a back seat for 4 months, despite me. Life emulates art and the journey of a personal blog is part and parcel of life's ups and downs...

If I were to give out some sort of advice borne out of my (modest) blogging experience, there it would be. In order for your blog to come out right, you need to realise that you have to be selfish (what a dreadful word!). As weird as it may sound, you need to write for you. Let me explain. A blog is a work-in-progress labour of love, and unless you are talking about topics/ things/ people that mean to you, you are kidding yourself and your audience will soon realise they are being duped, and then move on at a click of a mouse to the next best thing... In this respect I have always been honest with myself and my readership about what I talk about, and I have built in confidence my own approach and style. You see, why would I invent some sort of busy-PR-cool-cat-living-off-Portobello character when this is just not true. I believe that staying true to yourself and what you know, what you live, what you experience, gives you the distance and focus.

Blog standards out there are knee-shakingly high, some have reached cult status and showcase high levels of creative talent I am so admirative of. My blogroll is only a tiny sample of the talent out there and I invite you to browse through it at your leisure for further inspiration. Keeping abreast of the blogging community at large, and observing the trends emerging and gaining momentum, have helped me to benchmark my own narrative style and contents, identify areas for improvement, rebrand, perfect functionality and get down and dirty with HTML. Feeling part of the blogging community has certainly encouraged me to persevere when sometimes I felt like packing it in.

What I love about blogging is not just about writing, it is the whole package of starting a solo project from scratch and build on it at every single level: planning, researching, creative writing, editing, publishing, photography, SEO, networking, etc. [Eek easy Nat, your last name's not Wintour!] Hundreds of fun hours have been dedicated so far, and let me insist on the word 'fun'. I believe that the day you stop having fun on your blog is when you should call it a day and move on to something else. Believe in yourself and believe in your blog. If you don't believe in neither, how can you expect your public to believe? Remember that blogging is not a chore, it is about what you are passionate about, what makes you tick, what gets you out of bed in the morning, what gives you faith and fires you with positive energy.

I wouldn't go as far as saying that blogging has saved my life. However it has helped me ground my observations, look at things from different angles, and implement a thought process around other personal, more professionally-minded projects with a view to get them off the ground in the near future. Blogging has given me a digital identity, if you may, and a proactive part in social media.

Meanwhile thanks for reading, thanks for dropping by, thanks for your support. I am very interested to get the views of other fellow bloggers, so please feel free to leave your comments here.

Pict 1 Credit: Calling picture researchers... Sadly I am unable to authentify the above 'Imagine' illustration cut-out (part of my keepsake collection), so hopefully you might be able to help me. I've had it for the last 7 years or so, as a booklet cut-out believed to originate from either Manchester City Art Galleries or Cornerhouse Cinema... Any clues welcome!

A Vintage Provençal Cookbook (Part 2)

The next chapters cover sauces, stuffings, pasta and risotto. Then meat is given pride of place, extensively and mostly presented as ragoûts (hotpots): beef (including 'beefteaks', pronounced 'beefteck'), mutton, veal and that appetising (not!) Soufflé de Cervelle (calf brain soufflé). More meat with lamb, pork, game, poultry and fowl, including an ominous Pigeon au Sang (pigeon in a blood jus).

Mediterranean vegetables (tomatoes, aubergines, courgettes, artichokes and beans) are dedicated a whole chapter. We also get a flavour of those now-forgotten veg (salsifies and Jerusalem artichokes). The savoury section ends with a small collection of egg dishes, before we enter the oh-so-brief sugar-coated realm of pâtisserie, with the merit of timeless desserts, still made to this day: brioche, baba, soufflé, custards and creams, biscuits, macaroons, nougat, ice creams, mousses and meringue.

The author suggests menu ideas for special occasions and today's average 4-course menu doesn't even begin to compare. This actually brings back to mind Sue Perkins's informative BBC TV documentary about banquets, picnics and feasts of the past, where you needed a solid appetite matched by a solid stomach to erm stomach it... You also needed the services of a good cook or have the competence yourself in order to master those ambitious culinary feats.

All in all, La Cuisinière Provençale is an invaluable tool in cuisine history, giving us truthful foundations to the great regional cooking of Provence, away from the fantasist recipe adaptations that we have been bombarded with in the last decades: simplified ragoûts, cheats cassoulets, quick stews, pretend marinades, tinned fish soups, that have snatched us away from the authentic taste of tradition. This book, and similar ones, are a back-to-basics must for those of us who are serious about traditional cooking and the truth in general. Happy cooking everyone!

P.S: A quick online search reveals that La Cuisinière Provençale was updated and republished by Editions Solar (France, 1998, 383 pages) and also by P. Tacussel (France, 2006, 526 pages). Meanwhile I found out that the book's first edition dates back to 1897.

A Vintage Provençal Cookbook (Part 1)

Introducing La Cuisinière Provençale by J.-B. Reboul (P. Ruat publisher, 396 pages), more than a recipe book, it is a potted history of bygone culinary tradition that used to belong to mémé's auntie Claire. In other words, a family heirloom - an antique item in its own right - that is also a piece of gastronomical testimony evidencing a bygone way of life. Strangely enough, there is no date anywhere in the book, so by taking an educated (and conservative) guess, I reckon this is at least 100 years old.

This book is about Provençale cuisine and probably as close to the truth as you can get. Starting with a few general observations, bread seems to be a key-component to soups and accompaniement to other dishes, comparatively to today's bread-shy culture. The Provençale flavour pervades throughout, with Mediterranean fish, olive oil, garlic, capers and herbs living up to the Provençal stereotype. The game dishes demonstrate that hunting played an important part in society. While mutton, pork, etc. were more likely to originate from your own stock or that of the local farm than from the butcher's (unless of course you were a town-dweller).

The second section of the book deals with food preservation (key at the time, when refrigeration was no option): tinned food, pickles, desiccation, marmalades, jams, fruit and plant syrups (including mallow root and violet flowers), candied fruit and fruit spirit (including the old-fashioned Ratafia and the fennel seed-based Anisette).

The compilation of 811 recipes are short and to the point, yet clear enough for a cook to follow, without getting lost in an array of details and cookery jargon (although a lexicon is provided at the end). Let us pause for a second and put the book in its context: although I would be tempted to say that the book's audience was likely to be individuals who could read and manage a household, and possibly students in home economics, some of its recipes (the less common ones, shall we say) could also have been directed at cooks on the payroll who may have been told by their masters to follow a recipe that they had no prior knowledge of, referring them to the book.

The book structure, divided into chapters, is straightforward, starting with hearty - mostly meaty - stodgy soups, some of which erring on the unpalatable: Potage Purée de Navets au Lait (a milk-based turnip soup served on bread slices), Garbure aux Marrons (boiled chestnuts served in their stock, over bread slices and finished in the oven), Aigo Boulido (literally: boiled water, to which olive oil and an egg yolk are added, before the bread). Other surprises and oddities await the modern reader at every page.

Advice is also provided along, for instance on how to achieve the perfect Pot-au-Feu (hotpot), with patience and no strong flames. And we find out that a true Bouillabaisse (fish soup) commands at least 7 or 8 guests due to the fact it needs to contain as many different varieties of fish as possible, in order to achieve the required richness of taste. The book gives much importance to fish dishes (but not just to sea fish), braised, grilled, baked, stuffed, etc. Frogs and snails end the fish chapter (likely to reinforce the French reputation abroad as frog and snail eaters!). (to be continued)

Paulo's Party

Lately we attended a delightful little party hosted by a cousin of ours, Paulo, a sprightly, young-at-heart 80-year-old who shares his life between the Côte d'Azur and Corsica.

Here, he lives in a beautifully-restored former stone barn built right on the mountainside, that used to belong to his grandad. This charming little 'dollhouse' is divided into two floors, with additional mezzanine space. The lower floor accommodates the perfectly-preserved olive press (pictured below), a monument of secular tradition that reminds the visitor of the working nature of the building.

The upper-floor, Paulo's living quarters, reveals a compact yet well thought-out mod-cons holiday home, complete with fitted kitchenette-cum-living area, where old family artfefacts cohabit happily with contemporary fixtures. The wooden mezzanine gives warmth of mood, almost like 'Nantucket-meets-the-Med'.

As far as I am concerned, the exteriors steal the show big time, with their handkerchief-sized rockery garden that is a riot of flowers, colours and textures set against the difficulty of steep terrain. Paulo took the challenge in his stride, designed stone steps and incorporated floral and garden features for added interest, from a decorative wooden footbridge to spotlights cleverly concealed within the shrubbery and climbers, to preserved original barn features turned into purely decorative focal points.

Benches, a grapevine casting dappled shade over the upper terrace and a collection of culinary herbs and tomato plants add to the charm of this un-ordinary garden and its poetic folly, an invitation for one's thoughts to linger into a rêverie...

What a Load of Waffle!

Approx. 30 individual waffles
Preparation: 15 mins (+ 1 hr minimum raising time)
Cooking: 2 mins each
 
These waffles are not for the calorie-counter, the diet-conscious or the faint-hearted. These fluffy egg-rich little soothers will blow away the Winter (or Summer!) cobwebs and deliver a punch in terms of taste. So no need - if you can help it - to lather them in sugary toppings. These waffles are no complication: they are simply an ode to simplicity rediscovered, with basic earthy ingredients and a no-nonsense method. Plus a touch of fairground nostalgia for good measure!

Amongst the times when I made those was as a New Year's Eve Waffle Party: a perfect antidote to Winter blues that delighted the 'Xmassed out' and kept the hostess's financial status in the black.

• 600g flour
• 15g baking powder
• 1 tablespoon vanilla-flavoured sugar (optional)
• 3/4l semi-skimmed organic milk
• 80g salted butter (+ for the waffle iron)
• 6 medium organic eggs

In the biggest mixing bowl you have handy (and wide enough to allow a soup laddle to move around it), put the flour, baking powder, vanilla-flavoured sugar and milk and blend together with a spoon. Melt the butter in a small saucepan, over a low flame to avoid burning. Add the melted butter to the mix and blend again.

Separate the egg yolks from the whites into two separate bowls. Whisk the whites firmly (preferably with an electric whisk) until they form beaks. Separately whisk the egg yolks until they emulsion. Add the beaten yolks to the batter and blend together. Then carefully and gradually spoon the whisked egg whites into the mix, blending together in a light manner, so as to ensure that the mix remains fluffy and airy. A vigorous blend would simply kill off the fluffiness, impair raising and impact on the consistency of the end product.

Leave to raise, covered with a clean kitchen towel (and away from drafts) for at the very least 1 hour (ideally 2 to 3 hours) before your guests arrive and the waffle party begins.

If like I, you are planning to use an electric waffle-maker, switch it on and make sure it is well hot before using. Carefully run a knob of butter with a knife over the waffle plates before pouring the batter over them (one laddle-worth should suffice to avoid leaks). A couple of minutes should be enough to cook the waffles on each side, but this depends of course on your appliance and how golden and crunchy you wish them to be (best to check with your guests too). Butter the waffle plates before each use (to prevent any stickiness and coat the waffles with that lovely yet subtle buttery taste).

Best to savour (or devour!) still warm and au naturel. However unconditional sweet-tooth aficionados may experiment with a light touch of sugar in its different guises and neatly presented in matching serving bowls: icing sugar (my personal favourite!), demerara, brown, flavoured, golden syrup, liquid caramel, agave syrup, maple syrup... The choice is yours!

Tickle, No Work and All Play

Here comes the boy! Please welcome our Tickle the Jack-Russell-Terrier mascot interlude! You have probably come across him already, either in a toffee-nosed situation, in a revealing pose à la Dita von Tick, or tenderly wrapped in the sofa throw... This little lad is pretty much a part of the family and in pure Jack Russell style makes sure his presence is noticed.

Tickle is affectionately referred to as Tick-Tick, Mucky Mutt, Big Nose, and by my folks as Tiot Péteux, a very odd moniker indeed that seems to fit the personality of the diminutive dog with an XL temperament.

My story with Tickle dates back to that decisive August bank holiday week-end of 2006, when my partner and I drove up to Manchester Dogs Home with a view to purchase a little dog. We had toyed with the idea of owning a dog for a little while and visited the centre previously, but always come out empty-handed. After all, the decision of getting a dog is not carefree and fancy-free. Instead it should result from careful down-to-earth practical consideration, not some hasty spur-of-the-moment brooding fancy... A dog is for life, and to be able to offer him what he needs for his happiness and well-being is a responsibility that shouldn't be taken lightly.

With a small house, a lovingly-tended garden I was proud of, two pet hamsters, and two full-time jobs, we felt that maybe this wasn't quite the right time to bring another furry addition to the family. But then again in our situation, would there ever be a right time? What we had right though was a love of animals, a ready commitment for them, a love of the outdoors and the countryside. We lived within walking distance from the local park, and could reach the Cheshire countryside within a straightforward 10-minute drive, so we felt pluses were in our favour to compensate for any potential minuses.

So on our last visit to the dogs home, when walking down the 'difficult' dog section past the mastiffs and pitbulls ('difficult' dog section, what was I thinking!), my eyes clasped onto that last doggy, a small, vocal, vivacious and yet so cute JRT with big doe eyes and a plastic cone around his neck. I paused. He was the dog I wanted: good clean fun personality and cuteness rolled into one small bundle of joy!

I'll let you onto a secret... Back then I knew nothing about JRTs (erm talk about being prepared, I hear you say...), not least the fact that they tend to take themselves seriously, have the so-called Napoléon complex (small dogs who believe they're big dogs!), and are true to their small-dog reputation as barky dogs with a propensity towards ankle-chasing! What can you do though? I simply fell in love with the mutt, then I took a leap of faith with the promise to myself that this abandonned pet would be given the second chance he truly deserves in life. Tick & I have been an item ever since and I haven't looked back once. I'm sure he's very happy with us, and he has filled our lives with a lot of happiness! So glad we've got him!

I must admit that Tick-Tick has driven us crazy at times, especially in the early weeks of our cohabitation, with levels of mischievousness we weren't prepared for and which he gave full rein to as soon as we left home while he had to stay in, from his ripping down the patio door curtain to jumping on the dining room table and using the sofa as a trampoline, chewing lipsticks, MP3, telephone cables, oh and don't get me started on the soiling... Then we heard about separation anxiety syndrome from the vet nurse who gave us further socialisation tips. We set the boy clear boundaries and learnt how to act as leaders of the pack, not as the ones being taken for a ride! Later Tickle even attended 'good manner' classes and eventually passed with flying colours, despite the boisterous rebel's shaky start and disruptive manner towards his doggy classmates!

More than anything, we have given our boy time: time to settle, time to understand his surroundings and time to accept us as his new owners. We have no information about his past apart from the fact that he was found wandering in the Peak District over the Summer of 2006 (chucked off a car away on holiday?). His behaviour indicates that he probably wasn't given much time or affection, so we make sure that the enjoyments he gets from his new life makes him forget the bad times from his early life chapter.



Source: True Coffee Hot Dog featured on Lovely Package

We have learnt so much from our personal journey with our dog. One thing we are still trying to learn though is that we shouldn't fall prey of his seduction tactics with us. JRTs are incredibly charming and cunning: they will play cute and manipulate you to their own benefit. But how can you resist this level of cute when it truly is that cute?

The Quest for a Streamlined Corsica (Part 3)

The Fading of Local Knowledge: My grandma and her generation of villagers were rich sources of local information. Their passing away is - to paraphrase an Arab proverb - likened to a burning library. It helped that my grandma, until her very last day, had an acute memory and was clear-headed about who was who in the village, their next-of-kin and ancestors, who owned which bit of land, who did what for a living back in 1932, local traditions and customs, beliefs and myths, crafts and other manual skills etc. She brimmed with anecdotes, some very witty and funny, which she vividly recounted on late evenings for our pleasure.

Most of her knowledge had been passed down to her by her elders and family friends, and she had built her knowledge from there. Village society at the time was united (despite the odd feud), neither fragmented, nor individualistic and certainly not indifferent like modern society has turned out to be. Back then everyone knew everyone and took a real interest in who and what surrounded them in the microcosm of the village. People made their own evening entertainment by going round houses/ inviting relatives and neighbours around, for a chat about life and storytelling. Back then, books and newspapers were rare, radio a definite luxury, theatre and cinema mostly confined to the towns, and TV's foray into the home didn't become widespread until the 1960s.



Mémé and my mum (Nice, July 1957)

Land Planning: For this section, I will take us back to that 'little slice of suburb in the sun' allegory. No disrespect to home-owners who have bought into the dream, but we need more public concertation and the issuance of stricter architectural guidelines dos and don'ts that will help harmonise style across the suburbs, without that impression of a disjointed mish-mash sprawl...

Under its various denominations (POS, PLU, PADDUC, Loi Littoral et al), land planning at large appears bureaucratic, complicated, illogic in places and mostly misunderstood by Joe Public. Too many legalities, too many amendments, too many personal interests at stake, too many loopholes and too many exceptions to the rules lead to incomprehension, unpopularity and distrust. Another case of 'who's right, who's wrong?' How about make good use of our top public servants' time and (re)write a plan that will be unified, unbiased, forward-thinking, easy to update and clear enough to be understood and interpreted by all. That will be the naive in me hoping!

Off the Bend: Road improvements have always been a welcome necessity in Corsica, to ease communication between secluded, hard-to-reach villages. However in the last ten years, when roads have been widened, dynamited à-gogo, bends softened, even obliterated altogether, corners might have been cut in the process - so to speak, i.e. by playing down the impact that such drastic redefinition would have.

The fact that whole rock chunks were blasted has weakened the structure of certain cliff faces to the point of compromising exposed soil with every heavy rainfall and strong wind, which is particularly apparent in the Cape where parts of the redesigned coastal road have caved in. Costly repairs have stabilised the damage, yet being more respectful of the local geology and typography may have helped avoid the problem in the first place, with the defacto acceptance that Corsica's mountainous terrain implies that those bends and curves simply come with the territory...

Techno-Flops: Already touched upon here, I'll keep it short and sweet with one simple question: how can you smoothly run an internet business, or even a straightforward weblog, from the villages when low voltage or even power cuts incapacitate technology?

Conclusion: The making of the future is rooted in today's work in progress and is built on the foundations of today and yesterday as today's past. We need to make sure that those foundations are solid enough for the future to hold, take root and become in turn tomorrow's present. Corsica benefits from a fabulous potential, but before putting the hard hat on, we need to pause and consider whether we should head for the port or back inland, where the story of Corsica began, ease the past into the future with financial collateral and labour resources. Then redefine our vision of tourism, balance out work and leisure industries, aim for a society where inhabitants, workers and visitors alike can each find their feet, their place and a purpose in the grand scheme of things. A place for all. Failing that, just call me an idealist...

Further browsing: Domaine de Murtoli, a successful eco-tourism compromise between past and present.

The Quest for a Streamlined Corsica (Part 2)

The Tourist Trail - Holy Grail?: In addition to the fact that tourism only directly benefits certain industry sectors and not the local population at large, I am no advocate of unbridled tourism. I believe there is a necessity to redefine and then capitalise upon the tourist demographic that will be most beneficial to the island's future, based on the cold facts of tourist spend per head.

First question: is the emphasis upon port developments the end-all-and-be-all solution for moving forward? From recent reports in local newspaper Corse Matin, it seems that cruise passengers on a Calvi stop-over do not disembark en masse with a view to flock down to the local boutiques and cafés. Rather they seem to be whisked off on day trips in the surrounding villages. In the same vein, private yachts stopping over in the island ports on their way from/ to Portofino, Puerto Cervo or elsewhere will have the larders full and be rather selective as to which restaurant - if any - they will be ready to spend their cash in.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the travel scale, self-contained self-catered camper vans and their 'savvy' middle-class occupants coming off the ferries are in for a holiday on the cheap, as I've had the opportunity to witness throughout the Summer. This means no (or hardly any) food shop, no local souvenirs, no restaurant dining, no camping fees... In my experience, coach passengers are equally reluctant to spend much, especially if they are on a full/ half-board accommodation basis. The number of 'one apple + one Carambar' I have witnessed being purchased at the local grocer's cannot seriously constitute a valuable spend per head.

Interestingly, four- and five-star Corsican hotels have been struggling this season (and the season past). Is tourism on the cheap the solution when there is potential for upping the ante and taking advantage of underused 4- and 5-star infrastructures? Maybe the focus on French clientèle (renowned for its cautious spending and lack of tipping largesse) is not necessarily one to aim for as a de-facto priority.

The Slow Death of the Past: The picture below is that of Ste-Claire chapel in Rogliano. This grand religious édifice sadly embodies everything that is unfair about disparity in the preservation of built heritage (with tough competition across Corsica for meagre subsidies). The bumpy journey to salvation begins (if it ever does in the first place for some monuments) with the building's historical acknowledgement and assigned level of importance and significance from a local, regional or national perspective (and the forecast economic impact via market study), and then onto the next level of salvage/ preservation/ consolidation/ restoration (or, failing that, further laissez-faire into decline!), facilitated by (tight) public budget subsidy and/ or private donations.

The neglected Corsican heritage is set against the unfairness of wealth distribution of a wider scale (the multi-million-Euro grants and subsidies allocated to the ports, roads and airports, for instance). In the face of economic reality and in the harsh light cast by return on investment figures, heritage crumbles irrevocably into less significance - if not insignificance - as a parent pauvre (second-class citizen). And with this, dozens of religious and disused public/ military buildings are falling further into more costly disrepair with each passing year.

Our case study, Ste-Claire, closed its doors after mass for the last time in Summer 1979. With the shrinking number of priests and parishioners and the French Catholic Church's reported financial disarray, it might be utopic to pray for the chapel's doors to ever re-open as a church. Meanwhile local councils, who are in charge of church stock built prior to 1905 (while post-1905 churches fall in the remit of the Catholic Church itself), are struggling enough as it is to keep open churches in working order, without the 'further burden' of those abandonned churches...

Back to Ste-Claire, how about rehabilitate it as a village hall, public building of some sort, and get the local CFA's (Centre de Formation d'Apprentis) building trade college involved in its restoration as an on-going learning project? Remains the all-important funding matter, where in this case 200,000 Euros would just about address the basics (just think of the leaking roof for starters).



A successful church conversion in London SW, featured on Film Locations UK

As a last but probably best resort, how about follow in Britain's footsteps and sell off those abandoned churches to private individuals keen to give them a second lease of life as a home/ office/ arts studio, instead of us standing there as powerless witnesses to further structural degradation while hoping for some elusive miracle or lottery grant... (to be continued)

The Quest for a Streamlined Corsica (Part 1)

After exploring land, cultivation and property development in Corsica, we'll round off our observations with what the future - in my opinion - may hold for the island, and any potential implications.

No matter how upbeat modern Corsica may appear to the outsider/ holidaymaker/ visitor, it is nonetheless faced with a variety of challenges. As an average inhabitant, with the added insight of having travelled and spent most of my life out of the island, I have been able to identify areas for improvement.

In the same breath I do agree with any potential detractor about the fact that it is far easier to criticise from a distance than deal with the problems head-on and implement solutions. Well, I am not part of the political scene, I have no super-powers, no say in public budget spending, and I am no know-it-all guru - only a humble observer... This article is not aimed as a whinge-for-whinge's sake. Rather it should be perceived as constructive criticism and I do apologise if it is not perceived as such. I love Corsica and my intention has never been to put her down.

It's so Political: Political passion is a renegade from the past and still has a potent hold on town and village life alike. I am flabbergasted by the fact that every villager seems to know which party/ candidate their neighbours vote for. Before the election even takes place, everyone has a pretty accurate idea of who will win the election, and by how many votes. Controlled democracy with a strong clan mentality is not necessarily beneficial to village progress and forward thinking.

L'Incivisme: This could be translated as 'lack of citizenlike behaviour'. Reported countless times in the local press and decried by local mayors, this malaise has been exacerbated in recent years and manifests itself in a variety of more-or-less politically-driven actions that negatively affect a municipality (and is not solely found in Corsica of course): fly-tipping, criminal damage to public property, various acts of pollution, refusal to abide by citizen duties (ex. for a private land-owner to clear scrub off their land in direct proximity to the village so as to limit the spreading risk of wild fires, etc.). In any case, these foolish acts affect everybody down to the perpetrators who, to put it simply, saw the branch on which they are sat.

Ports, Ports and More Ports: France is the second country in the world, after the USA, for its number of marinas, from the northern tip of the English channel down the Atlantic coastline border with Spain, plus the span of its whole Med front across to Corsica. The romantic image of the picturesque fishing harbour with a handful of sailing ships seeking solace is long gone and has now been replaced by a more fitting description of floating carparks, with row after row after row of pleasure boats of all sizes, shapes and price tags. Irrevocably this concentration of boats within man-made port enclosures, added to the Summer heat and the virtually non-existant tidal movements of the Med encourage water stagnation, pollution and algae proliferation. What is left of the original beach suffers from coastal erosion (which, I admit, is not solely limited to the Med regions).

As a fitting illustration of this, the once-beautiful Macinaggio sandy beach (pictured below) is now a narrow strip of shoreline clogged up with banquettes de posidonie (heaps of algae), all year round. The configuration of the port prevents the algae from shifting by itself with the winter storms like this would have occurred before the port was extended. Meanwhile sand and pebble banks have been displaced by the changed underwater currents and by further human action (diggers scraping the algae off the beach in late Spring and in good faith, so as to make it 'look more attractive' although funnily enough the algae happens to buffer the beach against further erosion).

However despite the threat of coastal erosion and sea pollution, port expansion is set to carry on across the island, with already 35 million Euros in the pipeline for the proposed Carbonite Port just south of Bastia to welcome more ferryboats from the continent and cruise ships. Add to this a further 2 million Euros for the proposed modernisation of the recently-built Toga Port, just north of Bastia, and you get a better grasp of the financial stakes. (to be continued)

The Grapes of Mirth (Part 2)

The vineyard comes alive to those who work it. This feeling starts with the coveted grapes themselves; some bunches are easy to locate and separate from the plant, hanging nicely in one compact formation, while others play hard to get, hiding behind a thick cloak of vine leaves, interlaced with other grapes, twisting around branches and support poles in a curled-up embrace. On one single row and within a few yards of each other, it is interesting to note the difference in the quality, colour and ripeness of the grapes. Sun exposure, quality of the soil, availability of water (closeness to the nearby brook in this instance), the plant's personal gene-pool, resilience and level of human care it has received, all contribute to the end result.



The nearby brook, in late Spring 2010

The vineyard we were working was an eco-system of its own, despite the necessary yet reasoned chemical treatment it undergoes to fight disease. While some vineyards elsewhere on the island and further afield display a neat pattern of manicured vine rows with not a single weed in sight, courtesy of ruthless chemical action, here the balance between nature and culture seems to have been preserved and even encouraged. Rows are interspersed with a thick carpet of wild plants, which are hacked back once in a while. However their presence encourages a multitude of buzzing insects, which in turn encourage pollinisation and the 'general chemistry'.

Wasps and bees were buzzing around us, while an array of butterflies - some of which incredibly colourful and exotic - were gracefully fluttering about, attracted by the nectar seeping off the grapes. A multitude of crawlies were taking part in the fun too, some of those bugs looked like they had the potential to be vineyard destructors should their numbers had been higher, but somehow harmony balanced all the elements together (perhaps helped by the selective chemical treatment the vineyard had undergone for its own ultimate benefit).



Action-bee is go!

For all of us 14 grape-pickers, the highlight of the day was brunch (more than bugs, dare we say!). Brunch was the epitome of conviviality that brought us all together at around 11:00am, and was served in the tree shade by Dominique, the wine-maker's wife. She brought a cornucopia of savoury and sweet treats to keep us going, from fresh baguettes, assortment of cold meats, boiled eggs, plump tomatoes, pickled gerkins, French cheese for each one to customise into their own sandwiches, to pizzas, home-baked quiches, savoury cakes and flans, followed by fruit, pains au chocolat, apple tart, soft drinks and strong black coffee to round off the daily picnic.

Once she explained that she used to bring rosé wine along, but soon enough noticed that productivity would (predictably) decline after workers would down a dozen bottles (!) during the meal, so it was decided that alcohol would not be brought again...' However on the last brunch that we shared all together, the winemaker brought a handful of bottles from the 2008 millésime: Muscat, white wine and Rappu (a Corsican liquorous red wine slightly reminiscing of port. Let us note in passing that 2009 was a disastrous year for the wine estate, due to a combination of bad weather, plant disease and greedy wild boars who flocked down the vineyard at night to feast on the grapes!



Bursting with flavour: the Muscat grape

To those who ask me about the muscle-aching/ body-tiring/ wasp-stinging effects of grape-picking, I will not disapprove. I will quickly add though that these are only minor inconveniences, a finite part of what constitutes grape-picking. Believe me, the task brings more satisfaction and benefits than it does aches and sores. Think of the joys of the camaraderie that unites us all through the effort, the unbeatable closeness to nature, the benefits of working in the great outdoors, and the memories we'll cherish from the experience, all of which will bring wonders to our general well-being. By the way, see you next year, same time, same place!

The Grapes of Mirth (Part 1)

To the very tired list concept of '100 Things To Do Before You Die', I would whole-heartedly recommend les vendanges (grape-picking), a wine-process-related tradition that perpetuates an age-old custom documented in Greek and Roman mythology, that reconciles man and nature in a celebration of late-Summer/ early Autumn harvest before Winter takes hold.

With grape-picking you are faced with two requisites from the get go: to be physically fit and to find yourself in the proximity of a vineyard. In my case I couldn't hope for a better combination: my parents' house is within walking distance from a vineyard and, having challenged myself with the thought that I could cope with the physical demands of the task, I was resolute not to allow myself to be defeated.



The Muscat grape produces the nectar of dessert wines!

Relatives of mine have worked the vineyards in the past, from the Champagne to the Bordeaux and Fitou regions, as students, as a holiday job, or to top up their earnings. However their main reason was beyond financial considerations; it was mostly for the fun social aspects and the conviviality the experience brought. I was curious to try it for myself, and with the opportunity right there on my doorstep (well, almost), it would have been foolish not to attempt it.

So there was the low-down: a two-week, hourly-paid, grape-picking marathon conducted at a steady pace, with comfortable shoes a must and no skiving as an unspoken yet understood rule (so as not to interrupt the dynamic of the group), and with the guarantee of raised fitness levels and toned stomachs, legs and arms for each one of us by the end of the fortnight. Bonus!

In addition there was a more personal element as far as I was concerned. Grape-picking was going to allow me to get a grasp, albeit superficial, of what my maternal ancestors would have experienced for themselves as wine-makers in their day, as they picked the fruit of their year-long effort, the fruit of the vineyard they unconditionally tended. This is it, those two weeks were going to bring me a taster of my elders' pastoral lifestyle.

The fun and the hard graft started conjointly early on 6th September. First of all I wasn't quite sure as to what or who to expect and soon enough I was facing a motley crew, a collection of social demographics that span late teens to early 70s, with a strong male majority, locals (I happened to know a couple of them) and then four traveller types heading from different horizons.

There was Flavie, a laid-back lone Swiss traveller girl who happened to be a graphic artist on the bohemian side of life who had travelled South America, Senegal and Gambia. And then there were three representatives of the former Eastern bloc (Poland, Czech Republic and Slovakia to be precise) who also happened to be a collective of street artists/ farm-labouring and fruit-picking their way across Europe (Spain/ Canary Islands/ Ceuta, Sardinia, France) to help them finance their travels and free-spiritedness.

At first sight, one might have been forgiven for thinking those lads were extras out of a Rob Zombie film, but beyond the dreadlocks, tattoos and piercings, their easy-going/ positive attitude to life made them quite endearing to talk to. They were accompanied by a small hound of dogs, namely a teddy-bear-like husky, a pale-coloured fox-terrier/ jack-russell cross and two pit-bull crosses who were all equally laid-back as their owners and taking advantage of the calming effects of the vineyard and surrounding countryside. 'They are not stressed in Corsica, they like it here!' And their owners seem to enjoy the island's pace of life too! (to be continued)

Cheesecake Nathalie

Serves 8 generous slices
Preparation: 15 mins
Cooking: 40 mins

My first taste of the recipe dates back to 1987, as a student on a week-long linguistic trip to Oxford, while staying with a host family in nearby Cowley. Although that first taste involved the 'delights' of a ready-mix, I was hooked. Ruth, my English tutor, helped me crack the code, and once back in France, I perfected a recipe that still serves its purpose to this day, based around French alternatives, but don't let this lead to scepticism, for my version of the cheesecake certainly has an army of aficionados on both sides of the Channel, with my brother Steph its number one fan!

Why is my cheesecake a winning recipe? Because it combines the caramelised, sugary flavours of Speculoos with the subtle tang of lemon, and is built around a duo of textures that complement each other: the blitzed crunchiness of the biscuits set against the soft melting, yet plump bite of the filling. Also for those of you who are no fans of anything cream cheese and the likes (and this includes yours truly!), this cheesecake simply does the trick.

• 500g 'Speculoos' biscuits (or plain 'Rich Tea' biscuits or Graham crakers)
• 25g butter, cut in chunks
• 50g flour
• 10g baking powder
• 50g caster sugar
• 1 tablespoon vanilla-flavoured sugar (optional)
• 2 eggs, with yolks and whites separated
• 50cl double cream
• 500g fromage frais
• 3 small organic lemons (or 2 bigger ones), juiced

Line a sandwich tin (preferably one with a removable base, i.e. a springform cake tin) with greased parchment paper. Break the Speculoos biscuits in halves and blitz them in a food processor to a fine powder. Alternatively, lay a clean kitchen towel on a work surface, break each Speculoos in half, and fold the towel over to cover them; then roll a rolling pin over the towel several times until the biscuits have turned into thin crumbs. Pour the biscuit powder into a mixing bowl and add butter. With your fingers, carefully mix the butter and crumbs together, and then pour the biscuit mix into the tin, making sure you press it down evenly. Reserve in the fridge.

Pre-heat the oven (190°C). Prepare the filling by blending together with a spoon the flour, baking powder, sugar, vanilla-flavoured sugar, 2 beaten egg yolks, double cream and fromage frais. Add the lemon juice and mix again together. Then whisk the 2 egg whites until firm and add them delicately to the preparation, being careful to keep them fluffy and not to dissolve them in the process. Pour the filling onto the biscuit base (that you had reserved in the fridge), and place the tin in the oven. In the last 5 minutes of cooking, check the consistency of the filling with a knife: although it still needs to stick to the knife, it also needs to be set. Besides the cheesecake should present a nice mottled golden colour as per picture.

Remove the cake from the oven, let it cool down completely before placing in the fridge. Serve on the day - or better still the following day - either on its own, or with a fruit coulis: strawberry or raspberry work very well in taste, colour and flavour.