Provencal village life

This past weekend we were invited to lunch in my friend Joannas house, I double, triple checked – “are you sure you don’t prefer that we leave the kids at home with a babysitter?”, surtout pas – Joanna insisted the more the merrier. I hadn’t seen Joanna since this past summer when she showed me around the old cave / garage adjoining her home, that she was planning on transforming into her studio and showroom.

It was a ruin, albeit a very beautiful 13th Century ruin with great bones but if you had handed this space to me I wouldn’t have known where to begin.

On Saturday, we stepped through the door of her new studio and it took our breath away.

Such beauty, everywhere.

Incredible high vaulted ceilings, Joannas beautiful hand printed textiles offsetting the rugged stone walls – my heart swelled up with admiration. It is one thing to be creative and quite another to have such incredible vision and see it through to make this type of a space.

I am just so excited for Joanna and all the making that will happen here. It’s the kind of place you just need to sit in for 5 minutes and feel energised.

Her art and creative spirit is in everything

Joanna has created all of the textiles used in the space including these wonderful black on linen, hand printed textiles that you see above on the cushions and upholstery.

So on Friday my husband and our family found our very first truffles and learned so much about the world of wild truffle hunts, armed with just a toothbrush, a stick and a smile.

One thing we have become very good at over the years is learning how to prepare and use truffles …read we are exceptionally talented at gorging ourselves on these winter treasures.  Certain friends (with a nose for truffling) bring them as dinner gifts so over the years we have picked up a few tips on caring for and cooking truffles.

So let’s say you follow my advice and you find what you believe to be a truffle, it smells good, it’s covered in dirt and maybe just a little bit mouse/worm eaten.

First thing to do – place your truffles in a paper bag until you get home from your truffling adventure, plastic bags make the truffle sweat which is not what you want.

If you are planning to cook/use your truffles immediately then skip to the next section.

Truffles, depending on their maturity and the presences of larvae remain fresh for a limited amount of time so it is really important to store them carefully. A truffle that comes out of the ground (and is essentially fresh) will usually keep for two weeks unless it is already decaying.

To keep truffles fresh – it is really important to not clean them (however much you are tempted) and to simply wrap them in a clean paper towel and place them in an air-tight container in the fridge. Find a place for them on the lower shelves on your fridge where it is less cold – you don’t want them freezing if you want to use them fresh.

So let’s say you just can’t help yourself and you are dreaming of cooking up a truffle feast – here are some tips on how to clean these little beauties.

Take an old soft toothbrush and carefully wash away the dirt around the truffle making sure not to wash to strongly.

I love how the truffle unveils its beautiful coarse black skin

Once washed we decided to cut open the truffle to see exactly what state our finds were in. From the outside one  had significant worm holes, it didn’t look great and my heart sank a little. Raphael sliced into the second truffle which from the outside looked to be in better shape.

Once sliced open it was apparent that we would only be able to use one of our two truffles. Black truffles should be a uniform black colour on the inside as you can see from the photograph above some of our truffle, especially the edges, were already too mature, and had to be trimmed.

So our final step was to clean off and trim the ‘softer’ edges off and then we filled a jar with fresh eggs and topped them with our truffles. It’s best to place the truffles so that air can circulate around them.

In just a few days our eggs will absorb the aromas from the truffles and will taste incredible used in an omelette or Oeufs en Cocotte. The less cooking to the truffle the better as they do tend to lose their wonderful flavour the more they are cooked.

This morning we embarked on a truffle hunting adventure. The conditions were a tiny bit imperfect, in our favour there was no wind or rain and the sun was shining, not in our favour was the frozen ground which was covered in a thin layer of frost…. not too enticing for truffle flies to lay their eggs.

Here is a teaser image – I’ll post the full story tomorrow

Ruth

x

I’ve been light on posting over the holidays, too much feasting and too little internet access, and thrown into the mix was helping pull together the wedding day of my mum on New Years Eve.

After a few days of strong biting cold Mistral wind and rain – the sun came out and made for an incredible clear Winters day in Lacoste. The girls got ready together, my granny (who came from Ireland), my sister (from London), my mums best friend (Deveren), her canine best friend (Emma) and I.

The beautiful bride wore a young Irish designer, Simone Rocha, we had seen it online and she managed to pick up the last dress (and fortuitously in her size) in Bon Marché in Paris. She accessorised this beautiful dress with a pair of burnt orange Prada heels, a lovely Jenny Packham jewelled hair clip. The something borrowed  – a pair of pearl earrings from her friend in Miami and the something old – a vintage Pucci fur (it was -2 degrees out) and a pair of antique Irish lace gloves.

I love the Simone Rocha dress, regal and delicate with a beautiful gold Irish crochet lace trims.

I love this pic of my granny and I getting ready in my mums bedroom for the ceremony

My sister Janey looking glam in my mums vintage coat and my new step sister Leora

My two rascals, Charlotte (the flower girl) and Louis (the brides best man)

Outside the home getting ready to leave for the Mairies office

The two bridesmaids, my granny (85) and my stepfathers mother Jacqueline (90) pose for photographs with Marc & Leora before the ceremony.

Just married – the happy couple pose for a photo under the obligatory state photograph of Frances president, Francois Hollande  he he he….

Two very happy newlyweds leaving the Mairies office in Lacoste

The party was held back in the house, great simple food; smoked salmon on Irish brown bread, sliced roast beef, truffle laden green salads …oh and lashings upon lashings of good cheese.

My granny, who is 85, was my mothers witness and she made the trip especially for the wedding, smuggling this amazing traditional Irish christmas cake in her suitcase – made lovingly by my Aunt Teresa back in Enniskillen.  It was decorated with willow branches from my grannys own garden (my mothers childhood home).

Here is part deux of Christmas in my small corner of Provence. We live in a tiny hilltop village in the Luberon, not so far from the cosmopolitan big towns of Aix en Provence and Avignon but tucked far enough away amidst fields of cherry trees and olive groves that we feel quite removed from most Christmas festivities. Our village really goes into hibernation mode in late November, our cafés close for the winter with their owners taking their annual holidays. The weather gets colder and if it wasn’t for the daily school run I doubt we would cross other human beings.  Like bears, the Lacostois hibernate until Spring.

I haven’t seen a Christmas tree outside of our own (which has been up since Nov 22 – I blame a rainy weekend and sick kids) and the manic last minute shopping crowds don’t exist in our part of the world. There are some beautiful local traditions which I do love which are so much more subtle than big city sparkling light displays.

Once tradition I love is the Provencal creche with handmade santons. We inherited our santons from a Londoner moving back to the big city after raising her family in Lacoste. I love that they are not new and that they are the guardians of many beautiful Christmas memories and now they will witness ours.

I loved this beautiful arrangement of antique pots in the Domaine de La Citadelle which is also home to the  Musée du Tire-Bouchon

Vaulted ancient ceilings make my heart swoon, I understand that these rooms were traditionally used for keeping animals at ground level, usually without any door so that the animals could wander in and graze as they like. What majestic architecture for cows, donkeys and sheep.

A corner decorated with a handmade wreath and tied up with a beautiful antique silk moire ribbon

Antlers form a beautiful centrepiece for a truffle feast

I am taking a few days off to travel up to visit our family in Lyon and St. Etienne but I am sending you all the most loving wishes for a wonderful, peaceful Christmas!

So Christmas holidays are here,  school (and childcare) is out till 5th January. No more work for Maman and two energetic kids to entertain (plus the odd friend thrown in for good measure).  I have no option but to put ‘business’ on pause and get the walking boots on and get out and explore the beautiful Provencal countryside.

For anyone wanting to know what Lacoste is like at Christmas well here are some images to give you a visual as such. There is not a soul about, the sky is the clearest blue, the weather is sunny but crisp and the Lacoste Christmas decorations are so discreet you would barely know that the crazy season is upon us.

My Charlotte, getting so grown up!

The three musketeers, Louis, Charlotte and their best friend Roman

A beautiful ray of late afternoon sunshine illuminates the Rue du Four and one of our local cats.

Mugging around en route to the upper village.

Take a stroll..

How can one ever get tired of these sights?

And for those wanting an update on the Papa-Charlotte love affair, the flame is very much still burning bright. She has taken to helping choose his clothes in the morning. She goes to his side of our big chest of drawers and carefully chooses what she feels her papa should wear that day. It has become a little ritual between them and who am I to intervene.

Here she is feeding her Papa some of her vanilla icecream (apologies for the grainy badly lit iphone snaps)

This weekend past I made a futile attempt at treasure hunting.

A slow Sunday morning was forgotten for an early morning start, my alarm rang out shrilly at the crack of dawn and bleary eyed I drove 55 mins to find the marché aux puces had been cancelled at the last minute, no reason was given. I stood alone in a desserted town square feeling very silly, little forlorn and cold with the Mistral howling around me. I thought of my warm bed and childrens morning cuddles that I could have been having right then.

Determined to make the best of it , I took the time to stroll (not run), to take photographs and soak in the architecture of the oldest streets of Avignon.

Old meets new and somehow it works.

I looked up and caught a glimpse of this joyful window dressing and smiled.

I would love to meet the person who lives in this tiny top floor apartment. Most of us dress the interiors of our home for our own pleasure and it made me wonder about the person who lives here, and I imagine them dressing their windowsill to spread happiness to passerbys.

So I wanted to share these earlier but between a sick little boy who is off school and photographing some of the treasures I found at the weekend – I have delayed posting about my treasure truffling excursion at the weekend – so without further ado.

I do apologise in advance for the not so spectacular photographs, there was the most hideous spot lighting that turned everything a weird shade of green that combined with me having my hands full of ribbon and silk bobbins!

I’m often asked where I source my antique textiles and the answer is pretty straightforward. Firstly I am incredibly fortunate to be married to a famous silk family, the Faure family of St. Etienne and over the years I’ve managed to source within the family several echantillon books. Some of my finds were forgotten in beautiful wooden boxes in nooks under stairs, others stashed away in nondescript dusty old cardboard boxes, I even discovered some 1860s silk samples in a rusty military box under a childrens bed in a cabin in the woods of the family home. A lot of my favourite gems were found scrunched up in bin bags with only the vague glint of fil d’or giving away their potential for greatness.

As my collecting turned to hoarding turned to obsessive desire for everything antique and textile I extended my search to include local vide greniers, the summer brocante fairs and most recently textile flea markets.

At the weekend I drove 3 hours from Lacoste into the heart of the Rhone region, silk and passementerie country in search of ribbons and silks. My logic being, this is silk territory therefore I will find LOTS of silk and trims. I was not at all disappointed but really surprised that only one or two stands had passementerie and a lot of others were focussed on crafts, buttons (non antique), knitting and fabrics (new not old). I was delighted to talk to these women (and a few husbands brought along for the heavy lifting / toilet breaks), fellow textile addicts and makers.

My favourite moment was when I connected with a lovely older lady, and through my not perfect french we laughed over how we both loved the smell of old fabrics as we ironed them out after salvaging them from dirty bin bags. Forty or so years seperated us but we both shared that love for silk and old treasures.

Wonderful handmade lace

This lady was my favourite seller – she had an amazing eye – that or we both have really similiar tastes. Once she sensed my keen interest (putting it midly) for everything she had chosen that day – she started taking things out from boxes hidden under the stand. She would unfold linens and explain to me their specific use, an incredible square of embroidered and monogrammed linen which was used for covering the pillows (not a pillow case but one to hide your other pillows), or a beautiful embroidered sheet that would be put on the bed of a new mother for when visitors would come to the home to see the new baby. She was so giving of her knowledge – I spent about an hour just admiring everything she had in her stand.

Beautiful boy

I loved the little presentation touches on this particular stand

How incredible is the contrast between the purple velvet and the jet passementerie trim – it was far too expensive for me to buy

I fell in love with these beautiful little handmade dolls with 30s costumes.

Some mothers braved the flea market with their children, I caught this little boy pulling on his mothers trousers wanting to go home… not at all interested in the piles of fabric.

I passed a sign for a ‘Depot Vente’, the French version of a consignment store. I’ve passed this store more than a thousand times on my way to leave Charlotte to creche but never had the time to stop and have a look.

On a whim, I pulled off the main road and into the car park. Wandering past aisles of incredible old furniture, I wondered how anyone can ever furnish their homes with Ikea furniture.

I found the aisle with old books and out of the corner of my eye I spotted a crate with what looked like junk, crumbling book backs and a mouldy photograph album, it begged a closer look. My friend Corey always urges me to look under and inside dusty boxes, that’s where the good stuff always lies waiting.

I discovered a crumbling paper book and looked inside. It was someones creative sketchpad. Whoever had owned this book had filled it with handwriting and then layered over the top with found postcards, paper and trims. Each page is a wonder.

At the bottom of the dusty box, there was an old brown paper envelope, stained and nondescript. I tempted a peek…. I was afraid it was dead insects…so I carefully emptied them out on to the back of a book. Incredibly the envelope held tiny velvet millinery flowers dating from the 20s.  A very happy days hunting!