Lunch with the neighbours - French style

It threatened to rain, it was forecast to rain. The clouds looked grim and determined but so we were (but not grim).

We live at the end of a shared driveway serving six houses; three lots of two houses side-by-side (or ‘villas’ as we call them in these parts). They are separated by parking areas for three cars, and what luck! The parking area between houses no. 2 (the empty one) and no. 3 (Frederic and Marie-Line) was big enough to lodge three long tables, multiple chairs, a bar and all of us - 17 neighbourly adults and kids, Eric, Danielle, Dominique and Nicolas, Frederic, Marie-Line, Kevin and Thomas, Eric and Fabienne, Melanie and Ella, and us. 

 

The tables were, of course, covered in cloths and secured with pegs in case of wind. So far, any meal I have been to in France has been served on a cloth-covered table. It’s only at our house that we eat at the table with quelle horreur - place mats - or worse, picnicking outside. An abundance of cutlery, crockery, napkins, all the table essentials were included, as were plates of snacks and nibbles - les entrées. There were little savoury muffins made by Eric (no. 4). His wife, Fabienne, has been teaching him to cook and bake over the last two-three years. It’s slow but steady progress she said, but mercifully the little muffins were tasty. Charcuterie, olives and bread by the other Eric (top of the driveway), and the ubiquitous chips that arrived by magic I think. We all tucked in. It was 12.45pm.

Frederic (no.3) runs a business supplying alcohol around the Toulouse district. He works all night and sleeps all day. He’s always busy. We were not short on supplies and I sampled a vodka and red bull (two cubes of ice, please). Apparently, this is the drink of choice amongst les jeunes at the moment (youth or yoof, depending on your pronunciation) and it was nice. I tried to ignore the 40% alcohol level in the vodka which I figured would be countered by the equivalent of 15 cups of coffee in the red bull (I was told), and the substantial lunch that I knew was on its way. The barbecue was roaring. Kevin was in control (named after Kevin Keoghan - a former famous English footballer I think) and he took our orders for the steak:

Au bleu is raw, only the outside is heated,

Saignant is rare, the centre is perceptibly warm,

À point is also rare but not as rare, the blood is coagulated and the centre is hot,

Bien is what Americans call ‘medium’,

Bien cuit is medium-well done, but the centre is still a bit pink.

So we all sat down and started to eat. Lots of shared salads, bread, Toulouse sausages (a specialty of course) and the steak, and lots of lively conversation. But what’s that??? Rain? In the blink of an eye, a dash of blokes ran off and returned laden with outdoor umbrellas and their bases. In the blink of two eyes we were eating again. It was extraordinary. 

 

The children ate with us all at the table then moved off to play on the driveway and chat to the dog upstairs at no. 1 who wanted to be with us. We continued chatting and drinking, and were just about to move on to dessert when dear husband whispered, “Did you bring the cheese?” “No, did you?” We had forgotten to bring the cheese course. Big faux pas - whoops, it was still sitting cold in the fridge. Here in France, you want your cheese nicely warmed and moving of its own accord when it’s time to tuck in. Accompanied by wedges of baguette, we sampled each of the cheeses courtesy of Betty’s in Toulouse. Betty’s is an astonishing, almost spiritual shop dedicated to cheese, where you don’t serve yourself, you wait to be advised depending on your specific meal requirements, such as number of guests, courses prior and after, mood of the group, type of occasion, etc. Really, it’s amazing.

Specific wine for the cheese course was included. So far, we had enjoyed an apperitif or two with the entrée, wine(s) with the meal, another wine for the cheese, and then what for dessert? Something new of course! Something desserty! Melanie had made Charlotte aux framboises et chocolate (sponge fingers with cream, chocolate and raspberries), fondant au chocolat (squishy chocolate cake) and a tarte aux frambroises (raspberry tart). Eric’s dessert wine choice was perfect.

Time for coffee and a lie down, but the lie down had to wait. There was more chatting to be done. Eric (who’s learning to cook) took the coffee orders and in no time we were perking ourselves up (as it were). The lunch started at midday. I asked Melanie what time she thought we would actually eat lunch and she figured around 3pm. Why so long? She shrugged. It’s the French way she said. Actually, we beat that and ate at about 14.30pm. But at 6pm most of us were still lounging around, enjoying the lovely atmosphere and our full bellies. And what is this? A digestif! Armagnac, cognac and other ‘gnacs were served. Delicious but I just couldn’t do it. I smuggled the Armagnac home in a plastic cup for lovely husband to enjoy later, and left the party with fond goodbyes and cries of let’s do this again soon.

What I enjoyed: the civility and conviviality. Easy, enjoyable, companionable conversation. Delicious shared food, delicious shared wines, an unhurried and relaxed pace. We all knew each other but now we know each other better. What a great way to get to know the neighbours.