Where did it go?

 Only one more day to 2022.  

I meet the jolly lady who retired from the mayor's office at the last election in Leclerc, by the large open chill cabinets that are being stocked with platters of finger food for thirty. She catches me leaning over the small cakes drenched in dark chocolate, which look delicious.  I regretfully turn my back on them. After all, what would we do with thirty small chocolate cakes on New Year's Eve when there will only be the two of us?

She tells me they had a family Christmas, but - like us - their New Year's Eve will be a party-free zone.  We share the experience of an "other half" whose view is that this is only a day like any other.  She and I, on the other hand, will be keeping an eye on the TV to count down the final minutes.  I might even raise a glass to absent friends - we have a somewhat strange orange Martini that Tod bought with the intention of adding a suitably festive flavour to the carrots on Christmas Day. We both agreed next time we'll use Frank Cooper's Oxford marmalade which has a suitably tangy bite to the oranges. As usual, we over-catered - after all how big a capon did we need just for the four of us?  The meat from  the bones of yesterday's stock sits in the fridge looking at me reproachfully every time I open the door.  Maybe a curry in a day or two?

The jolly lady and I seem to be the only shoppers in Leclerc not stocking up for tomorrow night's celebrations.  Shopping trolley loads of alcohol are being wheeled through the check-outs.  There is a special counter set up with an assistant just for the oysters and the seafood section has never looked so exotic. Do the French in France Profonde really buy sea urchins and if so, what on earth do they do with them?

Even though we will be having quiet nights in, we wish each other "Bonnes fêtes" - the traditional greeting for this time of year - and agree we will meet again shortly in 2023, at the mayor's annual shindig on January 6th, where he will give the commune his annual overview - his first for three years.  No doubt it will be a very crowded and cheerful affair - whatever he has to impart.

So, whether you are happily letting 2022 quietly slip away or sending it off with an exuberant celebration, may I say "Bonnes fêtes" and wish that 2023 is happy and healthy and that we all find at least some small measure of sanity and hope in the year ahead.  

"What is a parsnip?" ...

 ... the hairdresser asks me (in French).

I go into town early in the hope that I can have my hair cut before the Christmas rush.  I am lucky - a man getting a final whisk over with the hair dryer and otherwise the place is empty.

I practise my limited French vocabulary on her and ask her what she's doing for Christmas and the New Year. Not surprisingly perhaps, given her job, she will be busy.

So, the conversation turns to what I am doing.  A Christmas Day lunch with friends.  Would it be a "buffet espagnol?" which (if I remember correctly from an club evening some years back) is where everyone brings a dish.  Not quite. But they will be bringing the Christmas pud.

So, of course, it being a French conversation, we are now discussing in detail what the meal will include.  Are we having turkey?  No, a capon (tastier than a small, scraggy turkey).  And what will we be having with the capon - green beans?  This is where we get into deep water. I volunteer the word "parnais" which is a mistake, as the word had no "r" in it.  But even saying it without the "r" elicits a blank look.  So now she's confused and I'm confused about this French word and how it's spelt / pronounced, which in English is "parsnip".

I volunteer "like a carrot, but white". "Ah, navet". "No" I've seen the word, but I know it's not that (it's a turnip I discover later).  I try adding, "cooked in the oven with rosemary", but that's just adding to the confusion. 

So we decide to discuss the first course.  I don't even attempt to describe what we are really having - butternut squash soup - and substitute "potimarron" (another kind of squash, round, bright orange and lacking in taste) which she does know.  But it goes downhill again when I tell her I will be adding ginger to the soup. She is very suspicious of this culinary practice.  Fortunately by now my haircut has reached a stage where, with some relief for both of us, we can return to the topic of "more off the back or is it fine as it is?"

And the reason for this immense confusion over "panais" (parsnips)?  And the no-go area of butternut squash?  Fifteen years ago, when we first came here, neither were to be found anywhere, except occasionally at a farmers' market where the Brits shopped. Butternut squash was unknown and not grown.  Parsnips were grown, but only to be fed to animals. And why not for humans? Because during the Second World War that was the diet the French were reduced to eating. 

Nowadays, much to our delight, butternut squash and parsnips are to be found everywhere. But these essential additions to a full-blown British Christmas Day lunch with friends quite elude the comprehension of a young hairdresser in France Profonde.