Blog

Thursday, 6 July 2017

I love the tunnel of plane trees on the drive east from St. Rémy on the D99 towards Cavaillon. We were meeting friends from Cereste near Goult in the middle of the Luberon vineyards at a little pizzeria called Il Doppio. What a sweet spot. In the courtyard out back, our table sat under some mammoth plane trees next to a vast expanse of vineyards. I could barely make out the tiny town of Lacoste in the distance. At least I thought it was probably Lacoste. Even as the temps were crawling towards 90F, it was perfectly comfortable outside. Ralph and I ordered the salad of the day (14 euros)—served in big flat pasta bowls. They were heaped with a gorgeous veggie basket of mixed greens, carrots, radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, red peppers, beets, fat green olives and tangy caper berries with lots of creamy chunks of goat cheese, splashed with just the right amount of a very tasty vinaigrette. Criss-crossed on top was a pair of long, sesame sticks. Oh, a demi-pichet de rosé (10 euros) was de rigueur! Plus, a couple of carafes of water. Our vegetarian friend got his usual—the oven-roasted mozzarella and tomato pizza and the other buddy, the pasta of the day—over-sized raviolis stuffed with mozzarella, topped with a saffron-lemon sauce. She offered a bite, and I gratefully accepted. Oh, la, la, the fresh pasta was feather-light and the saffron sauce, vibrant. After our leisurely lunch—since we were in the neighborhood—we popped into the Aureto winery across the street to pick up a “six-pack” of rosé. On our way home, we made a little detour up into Goult. Years ago, we had had a nice walk in the area and had ended at Café de la Poste. On that day, we had been alone except for a single feline that took her time moseying across the street. Today, the café was hopping.

Wednesday, 5 July 2017

Market day. It’s always festive to walk through the market on our walk up to Les Alpilles. And, because St. Rémy’s market is so popular, it’s always a good idea to go early. That didn’t happen today. Our excuse was that we got home late from a 4th of July potluck picnic. Let’s Celebrate Our Immigrant Heritage was the theme. Each guest spoke for a few minutes about their ancestry. We found out that one Czech-American guest had gone to Ellis Island in 1939 as a young boy, and another left Ireland as a wee tot and ended up in Michigan. Another friend told of a relative named Peebles, which is my mother’s maiden name. We’d both been to the town of Peebles, near Edinburgh, and both had signed the red Peebles People book. We might be cousins! Temps were rising to 90, so I took an umbrella for protection but closed it as we waddled through the jam-packed market at Place de la République just before 11 AM. In front of Van Gogh’s sanctuary, St Paul Mausole, a big bus let off dozens of tourists. We wound our way through and pressed on until we came to “our” rock with the sweeping view over St. Rémy. It was a bit hazy, but I could make out a faint outline of Mount Ventoux. Further along we checked on a patch of grapevines near another lookout. They were looking pretty plump for just the beginning of July. Oh, la, la, I sure hoped they wouldn’t peak before their time. Their precious juice, was, well, precious. Back in town, across from the church on the little street median, a gal belted out La Vie en Rose.