Pumpkin and potato soup

Pumpkins are back in fashion in France. People used to cook and eat them 75 years ago, but by the 1970s you almost never saw them on the markets in France. The wave of popularity of the American Halloween holiday in France has reinforced the trend to grow and try them again.

That said, I remember a pumpkin soup that I had in a little restaurant somewhere out in the French countryside back in the 1970s, when I lived in Paris. I have no idea where the restaurant was located — not even the region. All I remember is sliced pumpkin, potatoes, and onions cooked in a rich broth with milk added. It was warm and well-seasoned. I think I had never before heard of pumpkin soup at that point in my life.

Walt and I have grown pumpkins of different kinds, as well as butternut-type squashes, for years now — ever since a woman in the village gave us some seeds. She said they were seeds of a courge or squash called une sucrine, which had sweet orange flesh. It was basically a butternut, as it turned out, but a local French variety.

This is a potimarron or red kuri squash, with
a coffee mug for scale.

This year, Walt grew small winter squashes that are called potimarrons in France. Poti- because they look like little potirons, or pumpkins, and -marron or chestnut because they have a that flavor. A potimarron is about the size of a volleyball. Wikipedia says it's called a red kuri squash in English.

I made soup out of one yesterday. I peeled and seeded the squash and cut the flesh into half-inch dice. That gave me about three cups, and any pumpkin or winter squash will do. I peeled three "soup potatoes" (russets would be good, because you want potatoes that will melt into the soup) and cut them into similar dice. Two cups of potato is about right. Then I put all that in a pot with some melted butter, a chopped shallot, and salt and pepper, and I let it all sort of cook down together for about 10 minutes on low heat, with frequent stirring.

At that point, pour in enough water (or light vegetable or chicken broth) to cover all the ingredients, drop in a couple of bay leaves, and let the soup cook until much of the pumpkin and potato has disintegrated into the soup liquid — at least 30 minutes. Before you serve it, you can puree the soup with a stick blender if you want to, but I kind of like leaving some soft chunks of both pumpkin and potato to eat along with the broth.

What is that in the soup?

As a garnish, garlic croutons made with either butter or olive oil would be good. How do you make croutons? Put a couple of tablespoons of oil or melted butter into a salad bowl. Cut bread into half-inch cubes, with or without the crust, and then toss the cubes in the oil or butter the way you would toss a salad. When all the bread cubes have some oil or butter on them, spread them out on a baking sheet and put them into a hot oven for three or four minutes, until they're golden brown and crunchy. Add them to the soup at the table.

The garnish I made for the pumpkin soup yesterday was spicy shrimp. The shrimp went really well with the pumpkin flavor. I put the peeled, deveined shrimp — a dozen or more for the two of us — in a bowl and seasoned them with some chopped garlic, chopped ginger, cayenne pepper, smoked paprika, sweet paprika, and black pepper. Then I poured in a little oil and tossed the shrimp in it to let them marinate for 15 minutes. Finally, cook the shrimp in a hot skillet, adding a quarter cup of dry white wine right at the end to deglaze the pan.

Sauteed spicy shrimp is the answer.

Serve the spicy shrimp at the table the was you would serve croutons. The spiciness of the shrimp and a little of their cooking liquid complement the slightly sweet, slightly bland pumpkin soup really well.

By the way, we got the car back, and Walt was able to drive without much trouble but with considerable pain. He said the seat in the VW Polo that he had to sit in for 10 minutes as we drove to the garage where the repaired Peugeot was waiting was the worst. He was in agony at that point. The Peugeot seat was more comfortable. Things are finally getting back to normal around here — except of course for Walt's pinched nerve. He sees the kiné again this morning.

Car troubles in Amboise and Vouvray

I haven't written much about life in Saint-Aignan recently. The things that have been going on haven't been interesting to write about. It's been easier to think back to the few days we spent on the road to and from Champagne, and in the village of Bouzy.

Today I'm going to get my car back. Sigh. It started acting up back in June or July, but the incidents were minor and it was hard to tell what was going on. Then last week, I drove over to Vouvray. The car stalled as I was pulling away from a stop sign just outside Amboise and the check engine light — le témoin « autodiagnostique » — lit up. The same thing had happened in July.

As in July, I coasted to the side of the road and waited a minute. I turned the key and the car started back up again. Rather than return home, I decided to continue west down the Loire toward Vouvray. Maybe it wouldn't happen again. Well, it did.

Four times. Twice I was at places where I couldn't easily get the car entirely off the pavement, so I turned on the emergency warning lights and waited a minute. Several cars had to figure out how to get around me. Then the car would start up again. I made it home.

I was lucky, because once the car was parked in the driveway here it wouldn't start again. It was Friday afternoon when I tried. Fortunately, back in the spring when I renewed my car insurance for another year, the woman at MMA asked if I wanted to pay a little extra for coverage in case of an accident or breakdown within 25 kilometers of my place of residence. I said yes.

So I called MMA Assistance and told them about the car problem. Within an hour, a tow truck arrived at the house. The man tried to start the car, but it wouldn't catch. The battery was fine. Then he told me to get in the car and try to start it. He went to the woodpile and picked up a log of firewood. As I turned the key and the battery turned the motor over, he banged on the gas tank with the log.

Suddenly the old Peugeot sputtered to life. I never thought I would enjoy hearing the noise a diesel engine makes, but at that moment it sounded to my ear like Bertie's purring. « Alors c'est la pompe de gavage », the towtruck driver told me — it's the fuel pump (which is inside the fuel tank). Gavage is "force-feeding." He said it could stop working unpredictably at any minute, and I knew he was right. He'd tow the car in for repair.

I called MMA Assistance back and gave them an update. I told them I'd need a rental car for a few days. They said they'd make the arrangements. A few minutes later, somebody called me back and said I could pick up a rental car Saturday morning from an Avis agency in Contres, which is ten miles north of Saint-Aignan. I didn't even know there was an Avis agency there. « Avez-vous besoin de taxi pour y aller ? », the woman asked. Yes. She said she'd make the arrangements.

A few minutes later, the woman called and said a taxi would arrive at my house at 10:30 the next morning to take me to Contres. The driver actually arrived at 10:15. We needed the rental car because our friend C. was leaving to return to Paris and California that afternoon, and Walt had a doctor's appointment on Monday morning. When I got to Contres, I signed a contract and was handed the keys to a new VW Polo (which is the same size as my little Peugeot).

I didn't pay anything. The taxi and the rental are paid for my the insurance company. Today is Wednesday, and I got a call from MMA late yesterday saying my car has been repaired. Would I need a taxi to take me from the Avis agency in Contres to the garage in Noyers-sur-Cher? No, I said, that won't be necessary this time.

So Walt and I are going this morning to get the Peugeot back — he says he can drive despite his neck injury — and then drive the two cars up to Contres to turn the rental car in. Then I can drive the two of us back from Contres in the Peugeot. (I wish human bodies were as easy to repair as car engines are.)

It's hard having just one car when you live out in the country. When you need to take the car in for repair or service, you're stranded. When you have to be without the car for a few days, it's nice to have coverage of the kind my insurance company provides. I recommend it.

Maisons de Vertus

I have a friend who really likes photos of houses, so here are some. They are in the town called Vertus at the south end of the Côte des Blancs in Champagne. Vertus is one of those towns, like Tonnerre in Burgundy, that I would like to visit again. It seems like a bigger town, but its official population is only about 2800, making it smaller than Saint-Aignan.

Two pictures of the same house, from different sides

I posted a closeup of this house's windows the other day.
I'd love to see what it looks like inside.

These two houses are next door to each other and I wonder
if both are owned by the Georges Pougeoise champagne business.

We had hard rain last night here in Saint-Aignan, but not nearly as much as they got out on the far tip of Brittany, where there was serious flooding. The Mediterranean coast is getting heavy rains today, and weather warnings have been posted down there. We're lucky to have mild weather right now.

Jackdaws and church bells

One thing that took some getting used to when we were in Bouzy, a village in Champagne, was "living" next to a church. Churches make a lot of noise. The bells ring every 15 minutes, from 7:00 a.m. until 10:00 p.m.

The church bells in Bouzy were loud. The ringing always started with three tones repeated at least once, maybe twice. Ding, daing, dong... ding, daing, dong — "three blind mice... three blind mice." That's what it sounded like to me. Then, on the hour, the bells rang out the time. At seven, that was seven loud rings. At 10, that was 10 loud rings. (Okay, we get the idea.)

The church steeple and the jackdaws we could see and hear in Bouzy

But it wasn't just the loud bell-ringing. It was also the jackdaws. They're called choucas in French. They squawk and chatter. They live around steeples and towers and another name for them is corneilles des clochers — belltower crows. The jackdaw is a Eurasian crow, and one of the smallest birds in the crow family. Maybe one of the loudest too.

Jackdaws are gregarious, meaning that there can be big flocks of them. That's what it was like in Bouzy. They swirled and swooped all around the church steeple, not really blocking out the sun but certainly weighing down the branches of the big conifers between our rental house and the church. At the slightest noise, the flock would take flight, chattering and squawking, swooping and whooping.

Jackdaws

French Wikipedia says of jackdaws: « Le soir, les choucas peuvent se rassembler par centaines pour passer la nuit dans les arbres-dortoirs. » — "At night, jackdaws can gather by the hundreds to spend the night their arboreal dormitories." That's what we observed. English Wikipedia says: "Jackdaws are voluble birds. The call, frequently given in flight, is a metallic and somewhat squeaky, "chyak-chyak" or "kak-kak". Perched birds often chatter together, and before settling for the night large roosting flocks make a cackling noise. Jackdaws also have a hoarse, drawn-out alarm-call."