Taste

Last weekend was spent in France, visiting a friend. Perhaps, more accurately, I should say that I was almost losing a friend. That wasn't unexpected; I was hesitant about making the visit, so I repeatedly asked beforehand whether I was welcome, half expecting and a quarter hoping that the invitation would be withdrawn. When my friend and I first met some years ago, there was a definite chemistry and affection between us which sustained our communications without an actual meeting for two years. There was chemistry this weekend as well, but this time it caused explosions in the confined space of her flat.

So there was an emotional turmoil that I haven't experienced for years, leaving me confused and rather miserable upon my return journey.

Nevertheless, whenever we were outside of my friend's flat and in the open air, we had a wonderful time with blue skies and warm sun all weekend. And they fed me. I regard myself as an acceptable cook (a good one, for a male Briton?) for ordinary day-to-day domesticity and I enjoy cooking for fun and relaxation as well as making the necessary daily evening meal, but the men who cooked for me this weekend were terrific. Bacon-wrapped sausage, ratatouille, roast veal and perfect steak were all deliciously memorable. Perhaps I'm just not used to their volumes of fresh herbs with the cooking, but I think that it was this that made the difference. Plus putting in time and effort, I suppose.

I mentioned steak. Now, normally I'm not a fan of barbecues, because in my experience within Britain this tends to be a recipe for food that is delivered tasteless, burnt on the outside and cold and raw in the middle. The only really good barbecues I've had have been in Australia and Africa, all using much bigger fires and grills that the one which M used this weekend. But somehow, using equipment that I have seen used to destroy food, M cooked an inch and a half thick steak to perfection. I was impressed. And he thought about the herbs used with the salads so that they matched the main ingredients and peeled the mushrooms for the salad, something which I have never done.

What else, food-wise, do I remember from the weekend? A chocolate tart, made in ten minutes, with that pastry which I can never get right. And a guinea-fowl with morel sauce, one of the best dishes I have eaten in a restaurant for ages. The guinea-fowl was cooked to the point of perfection, the sauce both sweet and savoury with an almost sea-like freshness, slightly sexual.

I owe friend and M a good weekend in Bristol. It may be a while before we are recovered enough. We shall see, but I want it to happen.

Surprisingly, I found that upon my return to the UK, I had actually lost weight: about a kilo and a half. It must have been the stress.


:o(