FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

A basket of "boules" beside the door of this old stone cabanon. On most family get-togethers, a game of pétanque follows the meal. 

TODAY’S WORD: RENVERSER

  : to knock over, to spill

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

“Down The Hatch: A Vintage Bottle of Champagne + A Deep Well = A Lost Treasure”

On Friday we left the seaside and drove 45 minutes north to the countryside of Fuveau, where Jean-Marc’s aunt lives in a cozy stone house beside an ancient puits. As most of our extended family was away en vacances, this was a small potluck gathering with its delicious “chacun apporte quelque chose” menu. Collecting a few tartes tomates from our car, Jean-Marc was especially happy to be arriving at "La Clapouille" as memories of his childhood—weekend visits in which his grandmother, aunts, and father gathered—gave this place a remarkably soulful feel.   

We added our French tomato pies and some American chocolate chip cookies to the buffet of fromages, charcuteries, and conserves (Aunt Marie-Françoise’s confit d'oignons was delicious over sliced baguette), and sat in a half-circle to catch up on each other's lives. Beyond, the sun began to set behind the rolling collines where rabbits and wild pigs still roam.

Setting down a plateful of petits-fours, I watched Jean-Marc wander over to the old stone well. He was followed by Geneviève’s son, Pierre. I knew exactly what the cousins were up to, “The Sunken Bottle” being among my first memories of La Clapouille (that, and getting disgracefully drunk when meeting Jean-Marc's family for the first time...).

The Sunken Bottle had nothing to do with my inebriated state (that’s another story). As for la bouteille, some 50 years ago, when this serene property was no more than a well and a cabanon, Aunt Geneviève (who owned the rural parcel), family, and friends would drive here from Marseilles to picnic and spend the day exploring. There was the river, below, and the lively étang where a teenage Jean-Marc, his siblings, and cousins delighted in fishing for les écrevisses.

Before several more villas cropped up, the scent of wild thyme, rosemary, and sarriette in the garrigue was intoxicating, and the aunts and their mother enjoyed gathering the herbes sauvages. Afterwards, they made their own flavorful mixes for seasoning. If lucky, each family would return to the city with little gifted bottles of handpicked herbes de Provence, for use on everything from ratatouille to French fries. That is how I received my first fiole (I still remember the little glass bottle) of this precious concoction.

On one such weekend picnic, someone put a bottle of champagne in a bucket and lowered it into the old well for chilling. But when later the family tried to retrieve it, the bucket was renversé and the bottle tumbled down the chute with a splash, to settle at the bottom of the well.

Since that time the picnics have continued and Geneviève built a lovely home across from the well and moved to Fuveau (where she opened a droguerie). She also began some projects on the land, including a terrasse ombragée, which was created by joining the well to the small cabanon via a tiled roof and a patio. It is there, on that terrace, that we sat watching the latest treasure hunters hatch a plan to rescue the vintage bottle of champagne.

As our son Max joined the cousins to toss a weighted rope down the shaft, another aunt, Marie-Claire (“Michou”) told about the time Max’s grandfather Gérard braved the “descent inside the well”, only he clambered back up before touching the surface of the water (some 5 meters down). Each generation (our Max now being the third) has pursued the pétillant “prize” but so far all efforts have been in vain. (And even if my son is nearing 30, I have expressly forbidden him to climb into the seemingly bottomless pit). 

Though it is amusing to watch my French family huddle around that well, figuring out how to reach the sunken treasure, it’s also a little sad to think they might soon succeed. Quel dommage! For the stranded bouteille is part of the soul that is La Clapouille, the palpable âme Jean-Marc senses each time he returns--it is wholesome, or the whole sum, of every happy and carefree moment spent with his late father and aunts. He has transferred this joyous réverénce to our son, who practiced his first giddy baby steps on the ground above the sunken champagne.

So I will keep my fingers crossed behind my back that no one outsmarts the well or the bottle, and that future generations will continue to gather around the chute, in creative pursuit.

I leave you with a short video clip of the cousins. You can hear our Max sharing his ideas for retrieving that bottle. Can you understand what he is saying? Enjoy and "see you" in a week!

Amicalement,

Kristi

COMMENTS
Thanks in advance for your comments which are the icing on the cake of this edition! I love to read your words and learn so much from you (including spelling and grammar--so don't hesitate to send in a correction). Extra credit if you tell us where you are writing in from. And a gold star if you mention the weather conditions :-) Click here to comment.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and me read the French and English below

les boules = boules (game of pétanque)
le cabanon = stone hut
renverser = to spill, knock over 
le puits = well
en vacances = on vacation
chacun apporte quelque chose = each person brings something
la clapouille = from “clapier” or rabbit hutch
le fromage = cheese
la charcuterie = charcuterie, cold meats
le confit d’oignon = onion confit
la colline = hill
les petits-fours = finger foods
la bouteille = bottle
l’étang = pond
l’écrevisse = crawfish
la sarriette = savory
l’herbe sauvage = wild herb
les herbes de Provence = herbs of Provence
la fiole = vial
la droguerie = hardware store
la terrasse ombragée = the shady patio
quel dommage = what a pity
pétillant = sparkling


Love these little daisies at Aunt Geneviève's house.

REMERCIEMENTS
Un grand merci to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation. Your contributions not only support this journal, but they also motivate me to keep on keeping on writing through summertime. Thank you! --Kristi

Sally R.
Holly RS
Sheryl W.

"Thanks for the wonderful blog, Kristi, always a joy to read. . . All the best, Holly"

“Thank you for many years of “French Word”…sharing your life in France and keeping me in touch with my French, having retired from teaching 23 years ago!” —Sally R.



I am bookending this edition with some boules--la pétanque being a favorite game for family and friends. Read about another family reunion in Fuveau, with photos, here

Game of boules (off to the right). Can you see the orange measuring tape dispenser? Handy for measuring across the jack (little yellow ball) to the boule.

There are no cookers for sale in this friperie, but I know where you can find a smokin' deal on a secondhand barbecue. Read on and learn a lot of new French words.

TODAY'S WORD: "marchander"

    : to haggle, bargain, and negotiate the price

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Remember our cool outdoor cooker--the "brasero"--I told you about in the previous post? My husband just sold it secondhand via Leboncoin (France's version of Craigslist). Both parties--our in-house Cordon-Bleu and les aquéreurs--seem to have gotten a smokin' deal on that barbecue.

Jean-Marc, with the help of my belle-soeur, Cécile, put together the sizzling contraption some 3 years ago. Made up of a giant bowl-shaped container en fer with a wide plancha for cooking fish, vegetables, etc, the brother-sister team added a metal table beneath la cuve (to hold plates and drinks). But the pièce de résistance, and what really gave the cooker its good looks, was the aged barrique holding it up. That authentic wine barrel was sold along with the BBQ (even if I had my eye on it for another project in our garden...).

The day of la vente I heard Jean-Marc's telephone ring. The buyers were here! When my husband went through the gate to meet them on the street, I slunk around the kitchen, where I had a good view of our back patio. Normally I would've gone out to greet the thrifters (as I did the woman who bought our balai vapeur or the guy who bought our cement mixer or le type who bought our climatiseur), but then I'd be tempted to parler de tout et de rien, and this would only prolong the sale (et embêter mon mari). Ah well, fair is fair, les affaires sont les affaires, and this was Jean-Marc’s deal...even if I planned to ask for a wee percentage of the sale ("une taxe" as my husband calls it when he takes a big bite of my dessert at the restaurant). But all I wanted, here, was a small bite--some pocket cash…. de l'argent de poche.

"How much did you sell it for?" I began, as soon as our cordon-bleu returned to the kitchen.



Jean-Marc and Mom at the brasero. Look at all the room for trays and plates. Scroll to see a picture of the wine barrel, below.

"210 euros."

"210?"

"Yes, they asked for a discount."

"Ah. What exactly did they say?"

"Que c'est de bonne guerre de négocier.” That it’s fair game to negotiate.

C'est de bonne guerre de négocier... I'm filing away that phrase! It will come in handy next time my husband asks to tax my dessert. He can have one small bite instead of the supersized spoonful that empties half the bowl. "C'est de bonne guerre de negocier!" I'll say, handing him a teaspoon. And if he protests, well, all’s fair in love and guerre!

Voilà, fellow French learner, as we’ve just seen, today's phrase is every bit as useful when negotiating a loss. Bye for now and see you next week for another anecdote on this French life. Until then remember: tout se négocie. Everything's negotiable...even ice cream!

Bon appétit,

Kristi
P.S. My husband did finally hand over my "tax": a 50 euro bill! Can you guess where he put it?

REMERCIEMENTS
To the following readers who this past week sent in a blog donation or purchased our online memoir, your contribution towards publishing this blog is the key to its longevity! I am sincerely grateful for your support. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Tim A.
Fred. G.
Laura R.
Pamela R.
Natalie A.
Micheline J.
Jessah Lee Y.
Robbie-Lane J.
Natalia, Rod, & Mignons

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and me pronounce the French and English below

la friperie = secondhand clothes shop
marchander = to haggle, to negotiate, to bargain
Le Boncoin ("le bon coin") = "the good corner" - a classified ads similar to Craigslist
le cordon-bleu = master chef
l'acquéreur, l'acquéreuse = the buyer
la belle-soeur = sister-in-law
en fer = made of metal 
la cuve = the bowl
la barrique = wine barrel
la vente = sale
le balai vapeur = steam mop
le type = guy, dude, bloke
le climatiseur = air conditioning unit
parler de tout et de rien = talk about anything and everything 
embêter mon mari = bug my husband
les affaires sont les affaires = business is business
une taxe = a tax
l'argent de poche = pocket money
C'est de bonne guerre de négocier = it’s fair game to bargain
tout se négocie = everything is negociable 

Smokey keeping cool beside the brasero. It's been one year since our sweet golden retriever passed away. We are lucky to have had him since birth, for almost 13 years together. Fur-ever in our hearts, Smokey Dokey!


Remember, everything is negociable--even ice cream. Smokey, I hope you're getting lots of "frosty paws" in heaven.

COMMENTS
To comment on today's post, click here. Thanks in advance for your shares, your feedback, and for any corrections to this edition. 

Our garden this July is so dry. But the tomatoes Jean-Marc grew from seed are flourishing. There are hardly any on the vines because we are eating them all the time.

A LITTLE FAVOR FOR THOSE READING...
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TODAY’S WORD: Le Cordon-Bleu

    : A whizz in the kitchen, a master chef

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When chatting with other couples one of the things I love asking is, "Qui fait la cuisine chez vous?" Who does the cooking at your place? Often they'll reply, "C'est mon mari." It's my husband. He loves to cook! I feel a little wishful when I learn about this delicious arrangement. Quelle chance to have a partner who cooks for you and takes charge in the kitchen. What a treasure!

This summer, after 29 years of marriage, I finally realized I had the very same trésor right here at home, buried beneath a stockpot of resistance. Reasons for not asking my husband to cook include anything from he won’t clean as he goes to he doesn’t believe in expiration dates. And his excuse for keeping (and using?) moldy cheese is: “Consider roquefort!” (How about considering botulism!) 

But all that doesn’t mean my husband doesn’t know how to faire la cuisine. He even has a few specialties up the sleeve of his chemise: Spaghetti au Roquefort, les Moules Marinières, le Magret de Canard, and his spectacular Les Bananes Flambées. He has also mastered le braséro (an elevated fire pit that is all the rage in France at the moment) so why not let him loose in the kitchen and finally put up my feet and rest during the lunch rush?

"Do you think you could cook those bell peppers?" I cautiously began, testing the waters. "And add in the crevettes?" Just like that, some three weeks ago, I handed over meal prep to my husband much like I do with our travel plans (with one mutually understood caveat): Jean-Marc would cook, and I wouldn’t complain if I didn't like his choices.

Just as I kept quiet when the rain began trickling into our rented RV (my husband's choice for our recent travel accommodations), I didn't make a peep when he added some freshly-cooked sausage to my 3-day-old potato salad (I was saving it for myself. It wasn't intended for our guests!). 

Thankfully, our cordon-bleu-in-training hasn't revived any other leftovers lately: mostly he’s innovating in the kitchen. This week, he took a favorite tomato pie recipe to a new level, by using his own garden fresh tomates grown from seed. Our son said it was the best tomato tart he’d ever tasted. Did you really have to rub it in, Max?

In addition to the freedom and extra time delegating these kitchen duties has given me, it's also offered up some good grub. Just thinking about la bouffe is making me salivate. Are you, too, hungry for some of Jean-Marc’s cheese-based tomato tart? I’m sure he’d be happy to share it with you, but méfions-nous du fromage! He likes aged varieties, whether or not they're meant to mature....

***

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or to read the comments, click here. Thanks in advance for your shares. I love hearing from you and learning from your experiences.

Look at those homegrown tomatoes! Jean-Marc is making a tomato pie or tarte tomate. Recipe here.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and me pronounce the following words:

Qui fait la cuisine chez vous? = Who does the cooking at your place?
C'est mon mari = it's my husband
quelle chance = what luck
le trésor = treasure
faire la cuisine = to cook
la chemise = shirt
le braséro = fire pit cooker
la crevette = shrimp
le cordon-bleu = master chef, a whizz in the kitchen
la bouffe = grub
méfions-nous = let’s beware

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation or purchased our online memoir. This truly is a reader-supported journal and I appreciate your help in publishing it week after week. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Gail L.
Dana S.
Bobbi F.
Susan L.
Betsy G.
Gary & Lou M.

"I really love every post you graciously give to us readers. They are a calming and lovely break from this crazy world." --Gail L.

Jean-Marc, me, and our son Max, out on the boat. Photo by Ana B.
STORY ARCHIVES: Read about the time Jean-Marc "cooked" the police. Story here.