technological despair

It still is a guessing game to get into this bloody blog. it keeps telling me my email address doesn't exist. What the 4x is this? I have to pay and they still can't get it right.

I am in a bad mood as my faithful Renault 5 has finally died which means more expense. I am supposed to go and pick up black sheep in UK in SEptember as my consanguinous lambs are dopey. I have contacted various people and set it all in motion but now I don't have a car that pulls a trailor. If I have to rent a van or sheep moving vehicle (there must be a sheep techie name for this) the rams are going to cost a fortune. Already half my Bo-Peep plans have been sabotaged by the EU. The local abattoir will not give me the skins back so I can't sell sheepskin rugs - rather nice black jobs. Not only this they won't give me the carcasses back divvied up and in airtight wrapping so that makes the meat impossible to sell. They are eco raised and you would think that's what people would want - People do but the French gov/EU edicts seems to prevent me from selling the stuff. no wonder the super markets get all the trade. They are the only ones who can afford to obey all the crap regulations. I used to be able to tell my neighbour that I wanted a fresh chicken for Saturday and she would kill one for me. The regs are so tough that she no longer dares to do this because she doesn't have the refrigeration systems predicated by Eu. Real laugh when you think that all this shit comes out of Brussels and that the Belgians, Brits and Germans are not the ones with the reputation for good food.

Cider deliveries are going well and we have been asked to provide some for a restaurant in Rennes - where you would think that Breton cider would reign supreme. It is good but is carbonised like fizzy British cider whereas ours has natural fizz like Champagne.

Sorry the page is not better organised, folks, but the technical probs of actually finding the bugger on the web is making creativity difficult. I am so surprised to re-find the page, I forget what I want to say. Here is the start of our adventures in France - a long time ago. The Olde order changeth as Tennyson said but at least it has lasted my time, but for the first time I feel it isn't going to last. Who said that?

©Cider in my Veins

1 CUISSE MADAME
My Lady’s Thigh. The origins of this apple are unknown. It is a medium sized apple, conical or barrel shaped. Normal size, slightly striped against a bright green or pale yellow base. Non corky skin base. Found in Normandy.



Manderlay. Rebecca’s dream house – with all its spectacular, savage setting, mystery and frisson (but without Mrs Danvers!) or Mr Blanding’s Dream House or, better still, the Lost Domain of Alain Fournier’s ‘Le Grand Meaulnes’ – that is what we sped out of Paris twice a month in our XK150 to search for. We would stop for the evening in Rouen. The Hotel de la Cathedrale, right in the heart of the old quarter, gladly accepted us and our dog. We could walk everywhere. The hotel keeper gave us sound advice on which restaurants to go to and our favourite was l’Ecu de France – a four storeyed confection in half-timbering and herring-bone pattern tiling - which sat at the back of the square in which Joan of Arc was burnt. This square now also houses the fabulous fish-shaped fish market. In season, a whole wild boar and a roe-deer were suspended on either side of the entrance to the restaurant. This was too exotic for words and very ‘Vieille France’, an expression used to describe the ultra-conservative moneyed classes. The food and wine were exquisite. Of course, in the winter and spring we ate game dishes, marcassin forestier a la crème, (young wild boar with wild mushrooms and cream flamed in Calvados), or roast venison or pheasant or pigeon or hare. Need I go on? It was all succulent and finger-licking good. We had Canard Rouennais, for the first time, here. This is a specific breed of duck which is cooked in two ways. First, the duck has to be killed so as to keep the blood in it (this used to be called smothered duck inEnglish).Then the duck is roasted in a hot oven for a few minutes, next it is cut up so that the wings, breasts and drumsticks can be cooked apart. After this, the carcass is placed in a duck press and the blood is pressed out and used to thicken the sauce. The breasts are cooked in front of the client and the sauce made with red wine and the blood. The wings are roasted and the drumsticks served breaded. It is sometimes called Canard a La Presse. It is easily had in the Tour d’Argent in Paris where, at the end of the meal, you get a card with the number of your duck on it! (over 600,000 have been served since 1890 when the chef first thought of it!). They cooked a mean Sole a la Normande here too and their desserts were orgasmic. Normandy was definitely calling to us.

We had to find a place.

synopsis of cider in my Veins

'Cider in my Veins' is a quote from Flaubert who said he was born with cider in his veins.

Like any good Norman lad, Ted has drunk enough for it to have replaced his blood so the name of his cider is 'Le Gars Normand' (see left)and cider in my veins is the title of our adventures in Normandy.

I tried to set this page up earlier but it was refused - I don't think there were any dirty words or objectionable racist comments or Taliban remarks so it must be some crass techie prob.
It may be the size of my photos. I'll re-size them before posting next time.

SYNOPSIS of ‘CIDER IN MY VEINS’ – a lifetime in Normandy.

Each chapter bears the name of a cider apple which is translated and defined in terms of its uses for the cider-maker. The names used were chosen to match the content of the chapters as far as possible eg ‘Cuisse Madame’ about a brothel, ‘Binet Rouge’ about 17th century Normandy and its building boom, ‘Domain’ about finding and buying a 17th century house, ‘St Philbert’ the calendar of saints days and how the ‘fetes’ are celebrated , Bergerie on keeping sheep and other schemes etc etc

Lying somewhere in LA FRANCE PROFONDE between Akenfield and the Lost Village, Blangy, dusty and stuck in its ways, is where this British/Canadian couple choose to settle in the 1970’s. This was virgin territory for foreigners and, despite being fluent in French, the Mcleans come a cropper several times. The Normans are close-mouthed and secretive but over the thirty years the Mcleans have garnered understandings of their post war trauma. They meet people straight out of Maupassant and Flaubert, as mean and deceitful as some but as generous and open hearted as others, peasants whose superstitions have hardly changed since the demonic possessions of Louviers.

Julie, who has a degree in French plus Canadian and British teaching diplomas, takes to teaching English, but pursues her own interests in interior design as she renovates her house. She hadn’t reckoned on quite so much physical labour herself but, needs must, when your income is limited. Fortunately, Ted, of solid pioneering stock and a mean Scot to boot, is ready and able to do the work he can’t find labourers to do. Their resulting 17thC Manor House is the envy of many neighbours and the admiration of friends, every aspect of its restoration having been studied with care.

In addition, Julie talks her way into several courses at the French National Bakery School, an apprenticeship at a Charcutier’s, a season in a Patissier’s and opens a cookery school. She has some interesting clients viz Ulrike Jonsson, Becky Holbrook of Sausilito and sometime editor of a San Francisco cookbook.

Ted gets interested in local produce, plants a new orchard and starts stunning the locals with the quality of his cider. He is invited to appear on French television and reporters are always storming the doors to interview him. Not content with making cider, Ted begins inventing new drinks made from cider, ‘Clairet de Blangy’, ‘Crystal de Blangy’, ‘Apero’ and launches into Perry making with the help of some local producers. His orchard is accepted as Appellation Controlee, which means his Calvados will be up there with the greats.

Ted, a long-lost, far-removed nephew of Noel Coward, has the grand-uncle’s charm and ready wit, so is a desirable dinner guest. This determined couple are now raising rare Welsh sheep and once more struggling to sell an idea, scratchy wool for knitting and felting and tasty mutton for eating. Busy though they are, they manage to participate in village life, make solid friendships, get invited to fabulous family feasts, organise exchanges with their twinned town in Devon, plan Robbie Burns suppers, give talks on their areas of expertise – Ted, as well as being an acclaimed cidermaker, was CEO of UIP so knows the American film industry and was a Champion sailor at Cowes and Julie writes for local county magazines on the Normans in Britain and has interviewed families of Norman French descendants still extant in Britain.

They have thought out many cunning plans for survival in an antique land and not all the projects came to fruition. Raising Suffolk sheep and breeding Border Collies weren’t too successful as cunning plans and, despite all the planning and hard work, the cooking school did not make them rich, except in contacts, friends and experience. They have come across many wonderful things – healing well waters, good luck charms nailed to their door, incredibly superstitious beliefs, fabulous food and most of all, fantastic friendships that have lasted thirty years.

cider woes

I am dashing about in Jool's car because my trusty Renault 5 has died. The 2 Chevaux is out of commission too and It is my best advertising tool as it has my advertising on the side. I don't know how long I'll be able to blog as it takes me all day to find the damn thing. It is all too techie for me. I try putting photos in but they can't seem to re-size them the way I want. and what is the URL of a photo why can't I just write image 020 jpg and the file it is in? why do there have to be multiple ways to access the same info on the computer - Jeez. I thought the photo was going to go in here but it's up there. I wish there was a course onhow to run blogs etc. Jool created me a great website last year and we haven't found out how to put it up on the web yet. People always want an enormous amount of money to create the thing. It just needs checking out. If I find this site again, I'll try and put my web pages on it but the whole things seems too complicated for me. Just had some crass woman visiting, saying the commune sent her to look at our beams etc. It is actually a sales gimmick to put the fear of God into you so that you buy their fumigation service before your house collapses about your ears. She had such a bullying voice I had to leave the room or I would have punched her. Jools spoke to her thru gritted teeth.

If I ever find this site again it will be a miracle! It has taken me two days and several months book reading to get this far. I am not a techie. I can cope with sail-boats, international accountancy, foreign food, making cider but computers are like women, difficult to figure out and not always reliable.
Our grand design is coming to completion. I am working on my 'longere' which is a long narrow building in half-timbering and stone. I have had some help from my 'potes' (mates) and Jewel, my better half, hasslaved away over hot stove since Jan to provide us with gourmet meals. Now that the sun has come out for the first time since May 07 we are eating wraps and salads.

I am going to try and insert some stories about our adventures buying and renovating the Lost Domain and when November comes I'll tell you about cider making.

We have just finished lambing and are getting more than our fair share of dumbo sheep because we haven't been able to change rams yet. Jewel has just been to the UK on a scouting trip for some Balwen rams. You can find the Balwen society on the net. They are a small race and look like Border Collies ie Black with 4 white paws, a white tail tip and a white blaze on the head. We were full of plans to produce knitting wool or weave/sell the meat/produce thermofleece but as Robbie says 'the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglay'. Research is ongoing - Jewel never gives up. That's why I call her Jewel - she a precious asset. (pronounced 'precocious ass')