Let me eat duck

Fresh eggs

Bonjour from Gascony! This won’t be long – except for a few minutes on the plane last night I’ve not slept in 36 hours.  I left home teary-eyed because Brian was sick. He can’t help getting the flu just as I embark but I sure hated leaving him shivering and miserable on the couch.

Many long hours and thousands of miles later (I won’t bore you with the details, besides, they’re on Twitter), I’m curled up in a comfy chair in the Bleu Moon room at Camont, the pleasant smell of roasted, simmered and fried duck wafting from my hair. It’s hard to believe I’m  here, that I spent the evening in front of a blazing oak fire, talking about food and restaurants with such interesting people.

Just some quick scenes before I fall asleep in my chair …

Marveling at the cocky chickens strutting outside my window (and wondering when the girl who gathered eggs from Aunt Sylvia’s coop became the woman who finds free ranging chickens a novelty). Gathering fresh brown eggs chilled from the Gascon winter air, mud on by boots and mist in my hair. Shredding cooked duck off the carcass for a soup that is everything that chicken noodle soup should have been (referring of course to the red and white can). In all innocence asking Kate what those two little white kidney-bean looking things are on the duck. Sausages. Cheese. Wine. Bread. Puy lentils made delicious with salt pork and perfect with a splash of Kate’s homemade red wine vinegar. Petting the huge mutt Bacon who is my standin for Alba and Truffle these two weeks. Finding room after dinner for a tiny dish of apple pain perdu with creme. Looking at my big soft bed knowing I’m about to close the netbook and spend my first night in Gascony.

[today’s photos]

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