Thanks to all of you who sent birthday wishes. It was a good day, except for one thing: the bad cold. The sun shone brightly. The blanquette d'agneau — a stew of lamb in a white sauce — was good, but not as good as a stew made the same way with veal, called blanquette de veau. Making it with lamb was sort of an experiment.
Walt whipped up an excellent tart with pears and amandine, a kind of custard made with almond powder. It's about my favorite, since pears and almonds are my favorites.
We stopped at our favorite place in Vouvray, near Tours, when I came in on the TGV Wednesday afternoon. It had been raining hard when I got to the airport north of Paris, and it rained along the way as I rode on the train toward the Loire Valley. But the sun came out when I arrived, and everything was beautiful. I think I said that yesterday. Or was it the day before?
In Vouvray we bought some wine: sec, demi-sec, and moelleux. The one — okay, ones — I opened and tasted were good with the lamb stew and the tart. Vouvray is exclusively white wine made with Chenin Blanc grapes, which are known locally as Pineau de la Loire.
Callie was obviously glad to see me when I got home. I took her out for two walks yesterday, despite the miserable cold I have developed.
The cold got worse as the hour advanced. I'm completely congested. And then jet lag — I went to bed just before 10, and I woke up with a start during the night, thinking it must be early morning. Well, it was 1:15 a.m., which was far too early for me to even consider getting out of bed. I propped myself up on some pillows so that I could breathe more easily, and I did manage to sleep on and off through the rest of the night.
I'll get back to blogging soon, I tell myself. And you. Now that I'm in my sixties, things take longer.