Belgian visitors, a winery and a restaurant

Yesterday Ladybird of the blog Wishing I were in France (she is!) came to Saint-Aignan for apéritifs, a visit to one of our favorite wine caves, and dinner at Le Crêpiot, a Saint-Aignan institution. She brought with her two friends of hers, a retired couple about my age who live in the Brussels area. We had a really nice evening.

One thing everybody wanted to do was go see our neighbors the Guerriers to buy some wine. Ladybird and her friend C. from Brussels were here about a year ago and they bought some wine to take back to Belgium. They wanted more, and Ladybird's friends wanted to take some home too.

It's always fun to go taste wine with the Guerriers. Jean-Noël is a character, and Chantal is always smiling and cheerful. We tasted their 2009 Sauvignon Blanc white, Pineau d'Aunis rosé, and Gamay red right out of the cuves — big stainless steel or fiberglass vats — as is the custom. Ladybird tasted the 2007 and 2008 Côt (Malbec) reds because her friend C., who couldn't come on this trip, wanted a few bottles.

After the tasting, we had reservations at the Crêpiot restaurant in "downtown" Saint-Aignan. We were running late — it was 8:00 when we left the winery and our dinner reservation was for 7:30.

The Guerriers told us not to worry. Just tell Véronique, who owns and operates the restaurant with her husband, that you were with us. She's from the village, and was actually born in the house across the street. "We grew up together," he said.

When we finally got to the restaurant, I told Véronique where we were coming from. « Alors vous étiez dans mon village ! », she said. "You were in my village! Did you see my mother's house? Was my sister out working in the garden?" It was an unexpected bonus, finding out that Véronique, who we of course have seen many times but never really been introduced to, has such really local ties. Her mother is our neighbor.

Here's a link to an earlier post about Le Crêpiot, taken one day when we had lunch there.

The food at Le Crêpiot is excellent. For dinner, I had a cuisse de canard confite (a slow-roasted duck leg) with French-fried potatoes and a green salad. Walt had a steak tartare, which was prepared by Véronique at our table — freshly ground raw beef with a raw egg, chopped garlic, capers, a good quantity of chopped parsley, chopped onion, mustard, ketchup, and a few drops of Worcestershire Sauce. Salt and pepper of course. Walt said it was excellent. It came with French fries too.

Ladybird had a crêpe filled with ham and an egg on top. The other Belgian woman had a beautiful salad with shrimp (I think, or écrevisses — crayfish) and her husband had a very nice-looking steak. To wash it all down, we ordered the restaurants "wine of the month" — Le Crêpiot always has one — which was made in the village of Seigy, just on the east side of Saint-Aignan. It was a red wine made from Gamay, Cabernet Franc, and Côt grapes.

I didn't take my camera so can't post any pictures of the evening. Maybe Ladybird will post some on her blog next week — she and the other couple took pictures at the winery. The pictures in this post are ones I took during an earlier visit chez les Guerrier and show a little of what their little hamlet looks like. I've posted a lot of topics about the Guerriers and their small wine-making operation — click on "Local winemakers" in the What I blog about... list on the sidebar to find them.

Jean-Noël Guerrier out on his tractor in the vineyard last week

For the apéritif we had at our house before going to the winery, we opened and enjoyed a bottle of rosé sparkling wine that Walt bought at the co-op up in Saint-Romain-sur-Cher, which is another one of our favorite wineries. And I made a savory cake with chicken and sun-dried tomatoes. I'll post that recipe tomorrow.

It was 11:00 p.m. when we left the Crêpiot, and Ladybird and her friends had an hour's drive ahead of them to get back to their B&B. I hope they are having a late morning today.

Customer service, you say?

You know how it goes: you make a special drive to a neighboring town, to shop in a particular store. When you get there, it's closed. The sign says it's open all day Monday (journée continue — no noontime closing), and all day Wednesday through Saturday (but with a lunch break). Problem is, you are there on a Tuesday.

France. French businesses. They have the most inscrutably unpredictable hours. In Saint-Aignan, it's the recycling center. It used to be open only two mornings a week, but I could never remember which mornings. Then they changed the hours so that it was open every morning except Thursday. Why Thursday? Qui sait ? Now it's changed again, and it's open, I think, three mornings a week. Which mornings? Who could remember?

Why would a grocery store be closed on Tuesdays? Why not, I guess. Anyway, no tofu for me. The shop is called Planète Verte, and it's in Montrichard. And yes, tofu is exotic. You can't buy it in the markets or supermarkets in the Saint-Aignan area at all.

So I went to the bank, as planned. Because the real estate office through which we found our house here in the Saint-Aignan area was (and still is) located in Montrichard, we ended up opening a bank account over there. Since we hardly ever need to go to into the bank, now that everything is done electronically and with ATM cards, it didn't seem to matter that our bank was not in our town but 10 miles away.

The one thing you can't do electronically is get a new checkbook. For that, you have to go to the bank in person. I'm not sure what triggers the generation of a new checkbook, by the way. It's not a function of the number of blank checks you have in your old checkbook, because we have plenty left. We write a check only now and then, since everything is drafted or paid for with a debit card.

Anyway, there was a notice on our April bank statement that the bank was holding a new checkbook for us. So yesterday I finally went to get it. One time in the past we waited so long to go pick up the new checks that the bank had already disposed of them — sent them back to the main office in Chartres, maybe. We had to wait and then go over again later. So now we know to go get the new checks when we see the notice that they are ready for pickup.

There are two customer service windows at the Crédit Agricole agency in Montrichard, but yesterday only one was staffed. There are no tellers — the place doesn't look much like a bank inside at all. I got in line. There were at least eight people ahead of me, waiting patiently and chatting among themselves. Most of them were older than I am. There is a big retirement community in Montrichard.

I waited ten minutes at least. The man at the service desk, at that point, was still working with the customer who was at the desk when I arrived. At that rate, I figured I'd be there for two hours or more. So I quit huffing and puffing and shifting my weight from one leg to the other and just left. I figured I'd go check out the new Netto hard-discount grocery store on the outskirts of Montrichard, which recently opened for business and keeps sending us advertising flyers in the mail.

After shopping at Netto, which turns out to be a nice, spacious store with good merchandise and good prices, I decided to go back to the bank and try again. I found a parking space not too far away. When I walked into the bank lobby, there were only three people in line. The first one took a while, and then second was up at the desk and out of the lobby in a flash. That was a good sign.

The young woman right ahead of me was carrying a sheaf of papers and kept thumbing through them and mumbling to herself as we stood there waiting. I know what she was doing — she was rehearsing what she was going to say to the bank clerk when she got up to the desk. I do that all the time. She was really stressed out.

It had something to do with a disputed charge of 600 euros on a real estate transaction. The woman asked to see Madame So-and-So. The bank clerk said, no, she's busy, but let me see if I can help you. I'm sure I rolled my eyes at that point, but maybe nobody was watching me. The clerk then spent an inordinately long time looking through all her papers and then staring at his computer screen. they conferred quietly.

Every minute or so, the woman would mumble something to him and make sweeping hand gestures. I really wanted to hear what was going on, but I couldn't get any closer without feeling like an intruder. I just kept huffing and puffing, hoping somebody would notice how unhappy I was with the whole situation. No such luck.

"Oh, I see, the notary who handled your transaction is supposed to reimburse you the 600 euros," he told the customer.

"No," she said, raising her voice a little, "the notary told me that the bank owes me the money. He says it's not his problem." Silence. More thumbing through papers and staring vacantly into the computer screen. More huffing and puffing on my part.

Finally, the clerk picked up the phone and called somebody higher up. No progress. He put down the phone and then told the customer again that the 600 euros was a notary's fee or deposit and that she should go get the reimbursement from him. But the customer wouldn't budge.

The woman behind me, with an infant in a stroller, kept bumping my ankles and heels with its wheels. She was impatient too. Did I mention that I was in the beginning stages of an allergy attack, which continues this morning? My nose was stopped up, and still is, and my eyes were burning and itching. I sneezed many times.

Finally, the clerk told the woman with the papers to go have a seat near the back of the lobby and somebody would be with her in a few minutes. Finally, I was going to get my new checkbook. I stepped up to the desk, explained what I wanted, and showed the man our current checkbook. He looked me up in the computer and found me — but he was clearly distracted and preoccupied.

He suddenly excused himself, jumped up, and walked quickly toward the back of the bank. I saw him stop in one office and the another. Then he disappeared completely. All I could do was stand there and wait. A good bit of time went by. It seemed like half an hour, but you know how that is. It probably was less than 10 minutes. At least the woman with the stroller had quit bumping my heels with the wheels.

Then the clerk came back, all smiles. He looked in a file drawer behind him, checked me out on the computer one more time, and presented me with the checkbook. I signed for it. The unhappy woman with the sheaf of papers and the 600-euro problem was still sitting there, thumbing through her papers and muttering to herself. It had taken me two hours to get the checks — not counting driving time.

I told Walt I would never fall for the "just stop at the Crédit Agricole and pick up the new checkbook" ploy again. Especially not on a Tuesday.

And did I mention that, after their four-day weekend, the builder's crew doing the construction work in the attic never turned up again. Not Monday. Not Tuesday. We are now waiting to see if anybody might turn up this morning. You'd think somebody might call and let us know what's going on.

Health report, and an international hunt

Weight: unchanged, but still need to lose a little. Blood pressure: 13/8 (that's the way it's measured in France). Pulse: fine. Cholesterol: up slightly; must be the brioche and the bacon. Heart and lungs: sound good through the stethoscope, according to le docteur.

In other words, my vital signs are good. I'll probably live for a while longer.

Flowers and plants I noticed around the vineyard recently....

That's about all I have to say today. The weather is improving. I'm going over to Montrichard to do some shopping this morning. It's only 10 miles from Saint-Aignan, but it seems like a big expedition to me. I've been told that there is a shop in Montrichard that sells organic and exotic products, including tofu. I'm finally going to check it out. I also need to go to our bank to pick up a new checkbook, and the bank is in Montrichard. They won't mail checkbooks out — you have to go pick them up in person.

...just to dress up this post

I've been doing Internet research on wood-finishing products including something called « lasure » in French — not sure what that is in English — a kind of tint or stain, maybe — and varnishes. I'd prefer a water-based, acrylic product, as opposed to oil-based varnish, and there are companies that make them.

One such company is Sadolin, and English friends Jean and Nick have recommended it. They've used it on new floorboards they put down in their house in Le Grand-Pressigny. Trouble is, Sadolin products don't seem to be available in France. J. and N. have kindly offered to bring us some over from England, but we're still looking for a French equivalent — something we can buy locally, and go buy some more of if we run out.

I think I've finally found it. Sadolin wood-finishing products are made by an old Danish company, and they are sold in Belgium as well as in the U.K. So I wrote an e-mail to the Belgian company's customer service people and asked for suggestions. They told me in an e-mail yesterday that there is an equivalent line of products in France sold under the brand name Linitop.

So now I'm researching the Linitop brand. I haven't yet found any stores around Blois or Tours that sell Linitop products. There's one up in the Paris suburbs. I wrote the Linitop customer service people an e-mail to ask for advice and a list of retailers. We'll see.

This floor- and stair-finishing project has become an international affair.

Have lunch, then wait and see

« Il fait un drôle de temps, » the neighbor told me yesterday. “The weather is strange right now. One minute it feels warm, and the next minute it feels cold. And the wind won't stop blowing!”

He's right. Walt and I ended up building a fire in the wood stove yesterday afternoon — it was that chilly in the house, with the wind and clouds. I was glad to see the neighbor out walking his dog, though. He's 80 and just had a hip replacement operation at the beginning of April. His recovery has been speedy. He and his wife were here for the weekend for the first time in a while.

Wind through the poplars around the vineyard

Walt and I had grilled asparagus — Walt cooked them on our little electric grill — for lunch yesterday. It wasn't exactly cooking-out weather, but we wanted to grill the bunch of white asparagus we bought at the market in Selles-sur-Cher last Thursday. Grilling white asparagus, rather than the green kind, was an experiment. I thought it was delicious but W. thought green asparagus would have been better — more tender and succulent. We can't even find green asparagus in this part of the Loire Valley (or very rarely).

Grilled white asparagus, hard-boiled eggs,
and thick-sliced bacon for lunch

I cooked hard-boiled eggs and blanched and then fried two thick slices of poitrine fumée in olive oil. Grilled asparagus with œufs durs was an idea I found on the Internet while looking for ways to combine asparagus and eggs. I think it was on an Italian site. And it was a good idea. We dressed the asparagus at the table with a good Italian olive oil.

The garden just waits.

Besides cooking, eating, and watching tennis on TV (Nadal beat Federer in Madrid), we waited. Waited for the moment to come when we can go set out plants — tomatoes, eggplants, cayenne peppers, marigolds — in the garden. It's still a little chilly to put them out now. Waited for rain, but none came. Waited for warm weather. Waited for Monday and the continuation of the attic work.

Mediocre weather for May. Our house is
in the very middle of this shot.

I did go out and weed the potato patch. And we finished removing the last bits of an old tree stump that has been a scar on the lawn since 2003. It only took us 6½ years to finally obliterate what remained of a sickly linden tree that was there when we bought the house and that we had cut down. It felt good to accomplish something that had been nagging at us for so long.

The third plum tree, ready to be planted
in the ground when the time comes

And I dug out and potted up another plum tree, which will eventually replace the ones that blew over on February 28. This one was growing on our property, so I didn't have to feel sneaky about it. It didn't droop at all after I transplanted it. Either it's very hardy, or the cool weather helped it make the transition smoothly. I planted a little aucuba (a.k.a. Gold Dust Plant or Spotted Laurel) cutting that CHM gave me last year. I put it in the back yard, up against the garden shed where it will get plenty of sun and warmth (one day).

My butterfly came back to see me.

Today I'm off to the doctor for my semi-annual checkup. And I have to stop at the Gamm Vert garden center to get some grass seed to put down where the old tree stump was. The work crew should be here in a few minutes to finish some plumbing, electrical, and plasterboard work upstairs. There will be banging and sawing.

Somebody is getting ready to string up some new
barbed wire around the donkey pen out back.

I guess it was good to have quiet for several days, over the long weekend. Making even little bits of progress in the garden is a good thing. When do you think summer will finally burst upon us?