Of Trains and Market Days

By Chabrenas

Jack Gilpin's always had a soft spot for France. He doesn't get there often enough, but he does his best to make up for it by keeping reminders around the house.

Take the postcards, for instance.

He's keen on trains, so he's got the usual postcards of David Shepherd, Welsh viaducts, Exbury, and framed pictures of him in a Wimpey jacket inspecting the track on the Watercress Line. But he's also got a picture of a little 'train' that takes tourists around the streets of Cherbourg. It's like those things that take you round zoos and theme parks - a disguised van chassis with a string of trailers - but fun, all the same. There's a company that will put them on a low-loader and take them anywhere in Europe for you. Now there's an opportunity for a bit of one-upmanship.         

He's got some serious French train pictures, too. Like the 'blood & gold' carriages of the Petit Train Jaune clinging halfway up the mountainside in the Catalan Pyrennees. But it's the food and drink that really identify him as a francophile.

Almost any English house can offer you wine these days, but Jack keeps supplies of Normandy cider and calvados. In the dog days of summer, he'll even dig out a bottle of Pastis Ricard and grenadine syrup to accompany a game of boules on the gravel drive.

At Tesco's and Waitrose the cheese counter girls all know him.

"Got a nice brie today, Mr Gilpin. Be ripe in another two days. Or would you like a bit of goat cheese to finish off your dinner?"

It keeps him going through the dark days, but once or twice a year the Normandy Market sets up its stalls in a town within reach, like Salisbury. There's something different about shopping in a market. You're closer to the land, somehow. And most of the stallholders are selling their own produce.

Look at this. Calvados? No. Olive oil. Nice big bags of black pepper, too.

Here's the Calvados, and it looks pretty legit, too. Lots of Normandy families still have ancient licences to distill their own spirits, ostensibly for family consumption, and there are a few that don't. A Norman friend told me that if I ever saw what looked like smoke from a burning tyre dump, I'd find an illicit still nearby. Burning rubber blots out the aroma of a still very effectively. 

The nougat stall is as big as any in Montélimar itself. Let's get some for the grandchildren. And their parents. And us.

Ah. Pont l'Evêque. Not just the cheese. It's where the stallholders come from. Can't do better than that. We should be able to polish off half a kilo before it gets stale.

Garlic? Why not. Maybe we should plant some of it so that we have a supply of decent stuff.

Snack time. Let's join the queue at the crêpe stall. A savory filled sarazin, followed by a sweet one with honey and nuts. Now let's look for a decent coffee.

That's better. Now let's carry on stocking the larder. Taste a slice of saucisson sec - yes, I'll take one, and some spicy merguez as well. There must be a stall selling couscous nearby.

Look! A big can of cassoulet au confit de porc. Make a real change from bland, overcooked Heinz sausage & beans in tomato sauce.

Have to plan a bit now. Must have started off with less in my wallet than I thought. Let's find a tarte aux pommes.

....and we'll need some wine.

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