Le Couvent Diary

This morning I went to feed the hens, one of whom seemed to be missing. I found her crouching under one of the hen-houses, sitting on a disappointing clutch of 24 previously unnoticed eggs. Disappointing? Yes, because if I break and sniff them all I can't possibly get through 2 dozen on my own, and how can I give them away when I don't know which are the freshest?

 

 

I'm going to crack enough to make the dogs an omelette each then ditch the rest. If you have any better ideas you have until the end of today to let me know - after that the eggs are for the chop.

We're now into our second week of volunteers and I thought I'd drop in a quick word between all our guest bloggers. If you'd like to see what they've been doing you'll need to have a look at their diary .

When Ali and I bought the vineyard we've named Chateau Malaudos we thought it was beautiful. Abandoned for at least three years, it looked tired and neglected, but you could see those high cheekbones and exquisite structure nevertheless. However, we had no idea what a sleeping beauty the land really was until our volunteers started work. They've lifted off the dead skin, plucked her eyebrows, removed the blemishes, pulled the hairs from her chin, moisturised and given her some beautiful earrings. She has had a stunning new haircut and, needing no clothes, has revealed the body of a goddess. I think we're all thrilled at the revelation brought about by the volunteers and their fantastic work. Ali and I certainly don't have words enough to express our thanks adequately.

Each day two of our volunteers were responsible for preparing breakfast and dinner. For many this was the first time they had cooked for more than four - we were frequently at least 12 at the table.

 

 

Someone was always responsible for ensuring the dogs didn't get too stressed. 

 

So many excellent meals demanded hefty work to burn off the calories.

 

 

 

And when the volunteers had had enough of one job there were plenty of tools ready to start the next one.

 

 

But it hasn't been all work. On Saturday afternoon we all had a go at archery. It wasn't a wild success in the scoring department, although a couple of us did finally hit the target. Everyone seemed to enjoy the experience nevertheless.

 

 

 

 

Ali and I realised a long held plan when the first week's team painted a quotation from 14th century anchorite Dame Julian of Norwich on the wall of Le Couvent. It reads 'all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well'.

We have just two more working days to go and our list has been well bitten into. Today is a day of rest and our current team has gone off to explore; some to the Mediterranean coast, others to St Guilhem le Desert, and one couple are travelling about chewing over the notion of finding a second home here. Meanwhile Ali and I catch up on e-mails, clean up our neglected apartment and plan her forthcoming trip to see her family in Australia. It's been an extraordinary two weeks.

Despite the wild boar gouging big holes in our vineyard, we haven't killed them, so this recipe uses pork. It's going to sound like a lot of faffing about, but it really is worth it.

I used two rolled loins of pork for 11 people.  We only got through one at lunch, but that was because several of the guests were French (extras showed up). If we'd all been English we'd have scoffed the lot.

Ingredients - for about 8 people

2 kg pork loin, rolled and tied
1 bottle chunky Languedoc red wine (at least)
1 glass armagnac or cognac
1.5 cups olive oil
10 juniper berries
10 peppercorns
2  sprigs fresh thyme
5 cloves
1 bay leaf
4 good pinches salt
6 onions
2 shallots
Flour
Butter

Preheat the oven to 170 degrees.

Squeeze the pork into a non-metallic container small enough to get in your fridge. Pour over enough red wine and armagnac to cover the pork.  Add 1 cup of olive oil, juniper berries, cloves, bay leaf, thyme, peppercorns and salt. Turn the pork. Leave it in the fridge for three days, turning the pork two or three times a day.

At the end of three days it should look like one of these:

 

Take the pork out and dry it with some kitchen towel. Save the marinade. Put half a cup of olive oil and some butter in a roasting pan. Put the pan on the top of your cooker and sear the pork on all sides to seal the meat. Don't burn it.

Remove the pork, pour the fat only from the pan (leaving the bits). Put the onions and shallots in the bottom of the pan then replace the pork on top. Strain the marinade reserving the juice and ditching the rest. Pour a cup of the marinade over the pork and put it in the oven for about an hour and a half. Baste the pork every 30 minutes, using more of the reserved marinade if necessary so the pork is never dry.

Just before the pork is ready put the remaining marinade in a separate saucepan. Boil it until it has reduced by half. Take the pork and onions from the oven and put on a hot dish, covered, to rest while you make the sauce. To the roasting pan chuck in 50 grams-ish of butter and a soup spoon of flour. Mix it well while adding the reduced marinade. Scrape all the delicious bits off the bottom of the pan so they integrate with the sauce. Cook the sauce for about three minutes then strain it into a jug.

We served the pork with braised celery, roast potatoes and sweet potatoes, carrots and spinach. It was succulent, tender and delicious and worth a bit of forward-planning.

 

We're a bit behind with things. Not to be outdone by everyone else in the western world, Ali and I got the rotten colds the second Christmas was over. Dammit. This put paid to serious vine-pruning, gardening, sorting out general chaos - indeed anything that involved standing upright. But we're back, and on splendid form.

Today we have a heap of friends coming to lunch.  We'll be two Swiss, one Catalonian, two French, four English and Ali, who is Irish/Scottish/Malaysian. So, of course, we'll speak French - the first language of just two of us. I'm trying a recipe for sanglier, only I haven't got any wild boar, so I'm substituting pork. I'll let you know how it goes - and the recipe if it works. It uses heaps of red wine in honour of the five wine-makers who'll be eating with us. I'm daring to ask them to taste our new wine from last year's fated harvest. Yesterday our pal Rosemary George, Master of Wine and expert on Languedoc wine , tasted it and, very kindly, didn't choke. She was even rather kind and encouraging about it. Thank you

No doubt you'll have seen that France, like the UK, has been covered in a blanket of snow for days now. We, here in the south, have had more of a thin veil for just one day. The rest of the time it's just been absolutely freeeezing. Despite our colds, we've spent a fair amount of time chainsawing dead peach trees for firewood. When we bought our vineyard we inherited a once-upon-a-time orchard. After three years of complete abandonment many of the trees had withered and died. I've rescued quite a number, but those past it are now filling Le Couvent with the delicious scent of peach-wood.

Our recycling scheme is going well. As fast as new stuff appears on the website someone claims it. Recent good giveaways have a been a brand new skinny Mac keyboard, a swimming pool roller and cover, 22 bottles of white wine, a pair of designer shoes, two pairs of leather trousers, two sunbeds, champagne glasses and lots more. If you're reading this locally do take a look at C'est Gratuit . There are loads of things being given away - free - for nothing. At the moment there are some great Ikea wardrobes and an Ercol dining table up for grabs. Do take a look.

The new hens have settled in famously and are fast gaining on the big girls. Anyone who's been to Le Couvent will know that our hens are absolutely enormous, living on a summer diet of croissant, pain au chocolat, pain au raisin and anything else left from breakfast. This time of year sees bags of leftovers hanging on the gates of Le Couvent from our neighbours. From time to time their kindness is rewarded with some fresh, orange yolked eggs. The perfect exchange.

As previous visitors to Le Couvent know, we have wonderful hens. They burble away gently and lay us and our guests delicious eggs. We like to think of them like this:

 

 

 

However, there's a new kid on the block who belongs to our sideways neighbour. A cockerel. Not on our block exactly and we can't hear him that well. But for our good pal and upper neighbour Yvonne he's something of a nightmare. At 5 in the morning he's rather more like this:

 

 

If you only want to eat the eggs what use is a cockerel? Don't give me all that "they're really handsome" rubbish. They're just a pain in the ear, bullies in the hen yard, and should be kept well away from the centre of villages.  Or cooked. With lemon and garlic.