Endives: treats of the season

Belgian endives are a wintertime staple over here. Have they become any more widely available, and reasonably priced, in the U.S. these days? Do people eat them in England?

Maybe its that bitterness thing. There's something about the anglophone palate that doesn't enjoy such foods. They have to be cooked right. Is it because we have lost sight of the seasons when it comes to cooking?

Belgian endives braised in butter and lemon juice, with garlic

Winter grinds on. Good food is the only consolation. Fondue savoyarde, tartiflette, endives au gratin — stick-to-your-ribs stuff. And Walt and I were talking about it yesterday: it won't be long before asparagus season arrives. And then strawberries. And then fruit from all the trees in the neighborhood. It's all something to look forward to.

Wrap each cooked endive in a slice of ham,
or chicken or turkey breast.

For now, everybody is hunkered down. Two of our neighbors just decamped to the Paris area, where they keep an apartment. They'll be back when the weather breaks. The other neighbors — the ones whose winter residence is in Blois — hardly come down here at all this time of year. And the neighbors who are here seem only rarely to stick their noses outdoors.

Cook the wrapped endives in the oven in a cheese sauce.
Don't forget to put some nutmeg in the sauce.

Life feels very routine right now. And because there are seasonal patterns, it's hard to find anything of interest to blog about that hasn't already been blogged. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. Les jours se suivent et se ressemblent. All that. Cabin fever has set in. But there's plenty of good food to eat.

I've posted before about cooking Belgian endives, here and here.

The birds called “tits”

In French, tit birds are called « mésanges ». They are probably the most common birds we see around our yard and bird feeders. They eat both seeds and insects, so they enjoy the suet balls — boules de graisse — that we hang on the railing around the terrace in winter.

The particular bird in most of these pictures is, I'm told, called a "blue tit" in English. But it isn't that easy to tell a blue tit — une mésange bleue in French — from the bird called a "great tit" — une mésange charbonnière — unless you see them in full sun. I'm certainly not a specialist, and have no real ambition to be one.

The great tit is larger and has a black "bib" that extends all the way down its yellow breast, according to what I've read. The blue tit is slightly bluer, though the great tit is sort of blue-green on the back and wings. There's also a very similar-looking bird called the "coal tit" — la mésange noire. For such little birds, there is great variety. Now I feel like I'm writing an encyclopedia article...

These might be a great tit (above) and a blue tit (below),
judging from the birds' markings and colors.

The name "great tit" is an oxymoron, from what I've read, because the term "tit" originally meant "small". The great tit is therefore a "big little" bird. And in French, the -ange in mésange doesn't seem to have anything to do with the word "angel" — mésange derives from a hypothetical Frankish (Germanic) word, meisinga, according to the dictionary. In North America, related birds are called "titmice" (in the singular, "titmouse") but the "mouse" in the name has nothing to do with rodents. It's related to the German name for the tit bird, which is Meise. Isn't language a wonderful thing?

One summer we found a tit bird's nest. Usually they nest in holes in trees, but this one had taken up residence inside a concrete block on the ground out under the cherry tree. A heavy square tile was sitting on top of the concrete block, leaving just enough space at one corner for the bird to squeeze in. We moved the tile because we were cleaning up, and there was the mésange sitting in its nest.

We put the tile back and hoped the bird would return. I don't know for sure if it ever did.

Januaries past

Januaries past were milder. And that kind of weather was what we had come to expect. Now that I say that, I have to admit that yesterday afternoon it really felt like springtime. The temperature hit 40ºF. And it's above freezing this morning.

The road up to La Renaudière on January 15, 2004.

Susan and Simon of Days on the Claise drove up to visit yesterday. We had lunch at home — Walt and I cooked. Then we took a nice afternoon drive up to Blois to do some shopping at the Asian supermarket. The sun shone brightly, though in shady places — mostly through forests — there was still snow on the road.

The Renaudière sunset seen from our bedroom window
on January 15, 2005.

I feel lucky this morning to be living in Saint-Aignan and not Port-au-Prince in Haiti. My experience of earthquakes in California really scarred my psyche. When the earth starts shaking, it gives you a strong feeling of hopelessness.

January 14, 2006: workers trimming the vines and
burning the clippings out in the Renaudière vineyard.

Rain is coming back in this afternoon, but what the heck. At least the house is standing and we have a roof over our heads.

More weather misery

With fresh snow on the ground from a front that went through overnight, the temperature has finally gone up above freezing for the first time in while. I just looked outside and water is dripping everywhere. I don't know how the roads are.

We have friends coming over for lunch today. We had thought about going up to Blois for lunch in a restaurant, but we changed our minds when it started snowing again yesterday. We'll just stay here and watch the thaw happen.

Brume and brouillard are both fog,
and givrant means freezing or frosty.

This was the weather map a couple of days ago. They were again predicting freezing fog — brouillard givrant — for our region, but it didn't happen that time.

Yesterday a weather warning for snow and freezing rain was issued in the morning. A big part of France was under what they call « vigilance orange ». They were asking people not to go out unless absolutely necessary. The roads and sidewalks were too slippery. This morning the warning area is north of us.

The « Vigilance Orange » yesterday morning
was put into effect for the coming 24 hours.

At least we didn't get pluie verglaçante — freezing rain. I was afraid I might find the electricity off and the trees and wires bent to the ground this morning, under the weight of ice. We're lucky that the weather front brought in some relatively mild air.

The news says the recent cold spell has been relatively short and not nearly as severe as some that France experienced in the 1960s and 1970s. But it will have economic consequences. The mild French climate allows farmers to grow winter crops outdoors and others in greenhouses. But the cold weather has damaged much of this year's crop, and we can expect prices to go up, news reports say.

After the thaw, we'll see if our own winter crops have survived.

Bad weather has contributed to the ongoing economic slowdown by hindering truck traffic on the autoroutes and train traffic as well. People have been staying at home rather than risking life and limb to go to work.

But now meterologists are starting to say we will probably have an exceptionally beautiful, hot summer in 2010. I think they are just trying to bolster the morale of the population.