Escaping the city Friday afternoon, we traveled to Saint-Chamond for a weekend of bad French jokes, history lessons, and (of course!) good food with Alain and Marie-Claire. As any day in France should, Saturday began with a visit to the marché and the boulangerie—with a necessary stop to Yves Rocher in between. (After all, who knows when you might find that perfect perfume?) In the afternoon, we traveled to le Prieuré de Pommiers, a 9th century abbey right out of a fairy tale. Despite the fact the guide spoke French at a speed equivalent to that of the TGV (I’m afraid I missed a decent portion of the 17th and 18th centuries), the visit was well worth it. The evening led to one of Marie-Claire’s simple but delicious meals—and much recipe thieving on my part. After dinner, my brain gave up and I passed out, completely and totally exhausted from French.
Sunday we spent with Florence, Pierre, Alexandre, and Louis and continued our glorious trend of eating and visiting historical sights (it’s unbelievable how many random chateaux you can find—they’re more common than gas stations.) We first sat down to a beautiful déjeuner of melon and prosciutto kabobs with sauce, chicken and tomato curry, and (of course) plenty of fromage and fresh baguettes. And as I stuffed my face, I came to the conclusion that Conté is indeed the best cheese ever created.
After some serious digestion and Trivial Pursuit en français (even the kid’s version made me feel dumb), we rallied for an afternoon visit to Château de Bouthéon. When we arrived, the streets were jammed with people, dogs, and an assortment of used microwaves, vases, and statues of the Virgin Mary—it appeared that we had stumbled upon a gigantic, closet-emptying neighborhood yardsale.
Past the vintage bikes, we found the castle and gardens. Luckily, the tour guide spoke a great deal more slowly and I retained a passing amount of history and architectural knowledge. The château was beautifully restored, and the view from the tower breathtaking on such a clear afternoon.
We returned to Florence and Pierre’s for an afternoon snack of Cherry Clafoutis and of course, more wine. Pierre and I made a quiche under Florence’s supervision (she didn’t quite trust our cooking skills), and we sat down to a dinner of bad jokes in French and English (Unfortunately, the French word plays were lost on me—they flew straight over my head.)
Monday saw us back in Lyon, tired (in my case) but well-fed and happy. And I once again passed out for a much-needed afternoon nap—the castle-storming, chocolate-eating, and French-speaking had caught up with me.