"A fine Mèze" drabbles by Neville Hunt
Eaten out
A fine Mèze #19
On Mondays, it seems, la France is fermée. Shops closed, restaurants closed too. Except one or two.
With limited choice, we dined on the waterfront. We’d advance booked in case it would be full. Incorrectly it seemed. Nobody advance books Les Saveurs, they just hop along, maybe anticipating the tasty kangaroo steaks.
But it was Sylvie that was the tastiest, or so the mosquitoes surrounding our waterside table thought. Fearing her being eaten alive, we moved inside. Seated there were just two really old couples.
On the plus side, mosquitoes were absent, clearly not so keen on eating tough meat.
UpSête
A fine Mèze #18
I was set on visiting Sête, a fascinating town there across the Étang. I knew it well as I’d stayed there while working at Montpellier business school. I was determined to lunch in my favourite restaurant next to the Canal du Midi.
But...
It was so busy! When I’d been there it was always early February, not September. Today it was heaving! Sylvie was not impressed.
The restaurant closed some years ago. Blast it! So we lunched next door.
A fly. On my leg. Instinctively, I flicked it off... together with my wine glass.
But I had a smashing time!
Short but very sweet
A fine Mèze #17
Our address wasn’t recognised by my satnav. “The whole town has the same postcode.” warned the owner. “Try Rue Gaffarot.”
I’d checked out the town map online. From what I could see, Rue Gaffarot was long. “Bloody brilliant”, I thought, “Bet we end up at the wrong end and end up carting our baggage miles!”
It turned out being very narrow and short. We passed our turn without realising. Reversing, there it was. Impasse Creissac. I turned in - twenty yards of blind alley. First cottage on the right.
“Ah... ‘impasse’! I geddit! Gets you nowhere!”
We were dead-end kids.
Daa-da-daa-da-daa-da-daa-da!
A fine Mèze #16
Sounds... along with views, people, food... holiday memories. From the French mother berating kids across the narrow street to the melodies in the cafés, noises were memorable. One typically memorable French noise I’d have preferred to hear less of was the sound of the emergency services.
One memory too many was returning to Mèze. On long, narrow road, suddenly the frightening sound of the ‘pompiers’, firefighters on call and coming straight at us. I swerved, hit the kerb, stopped... then the green tyre warning light shone. “Oh shit!”
Reminded me of the Pink Panther, although I didn’t have a Cluseau!
It done ‘er in!
A fine Mèze #15
We’d overindulged at Rive Gauche Saturday night. Eating a huge, creamy three course feast late in the evening, me finishing the second half of Sylvie’s creme brûlée, together with both halves of mine, we foolishly went straight to bed, both waking at 4am feeling very nauseous.
Perhaps our much awaited Sunday lunch might have to be cancelled? We waited..... and were both OK just in time. My wonderful seafood lunch finale was cherry cake... with pear and chocolate cake for Sylvie.
Later we had delicious icecreams at Bouzigues. “And that’s what done me in!” she declared, feeling ill again later.
A fair cop
A fine Mèze #14
The Gendarmes hunt in packs... and like wolves, pounce without mercy. Whilst in Britain, if you see a bobby, then the only backup is likely to be another bobby... but even then, most police drive round in cars. Beat bobbies are history.
Here, we narrowly missed being stopped by the French fuzz, when one of them ‘gave me a look’!
Tonight, dining in Les Saveurs de Thau, I was caught by a cop. I was leaning on my elbows as I ate, when I got the full name treatment. The table manners cop spoke across the table.
Guilty as charged!
How good is this?
A fine Mèze #13
The evening we dined at La Rive Gauche, Sylvie was determined to take advantage of years of French lessons she’d undertaken. The first course was a feuillette with prawns and moules. It was excellent... like nothing either of us had expected.
Normally when asked if food was OK, she would say “Très bon”. Today she would be more expressive as the food was really good. She practised between mouthfuls. “Superbe!” she would declare.
When she’d finished and the waitress, who’d ‘sold’ it to us, asked if it was OK, I filled the vacuum with “Merveilleux!”, while Sylvie offered “Très bon!”.
Boum-boum!
A fine Mèze #12
The restaurant on the road below us had a rave yesterday. It also has a strange chimney, on top of which is what looks like a huge plant pot.
“Do you think that’s part of the chimney?” asked Sylvie.
“No”, I replied, “perhaps they grow marihuana in it... or maybe it’s just a signal to say ‘Pot available here, come on in, junk-heads!”
“They’d need a bit more than just pot to keep them going until well after 4am!” I added, still feeling the effects of a wakeful night’s sleep and the boum-boum beat of barmy buttheads below.
‘Ighlight’
A fine Mèze #11
Our highlight was Sunday lunch yesterday at the oyster station in the adjacent Bouzigues, The location was delightful. The restaurant, Les Demoiselles Dupuy, fabulous. The food was delicious.... and we shared a tiny bottle of local beer... shared because scary gangs of Gendarmes were on the loose with their breathalysers!
‘Sylvie’ people-watched, a favourite pastime.
The oyster beds, moules beds, the fabby, shabby, working nature of the environment - perfect! Our waitress offered gambas but said they’d come thousands of miles. We shared dorade and mini-monkfish which travelled just a few kilometres, caught by le patron. This is living!
Another fine Meze
A fine Mèze #10
Yesterday, after lunch, we decided to pootle down by car to Marseillan, another pretty town on the Étang. Just 20 minutes. Nice town, but being Sunday, almost everything was closed. So, swimming kit at the ready, we headed for Marseillan Plage, the beach.
We drove bloody miles to get to the beach, and when we got there it was huge and trippery.
“Non! Pas pour nous!”
Trying to find my way back, I took the road to Montpellier, not realising this would take us across the long spit separating the Étang from the Med, adding 30km to our journey.
Merde!
Gallic tales
A fine Mèze #9
Poor ‘Sylvie’, she’s suffering. We’ve come all this way to southern France, home of countless delicious things to eat, only for her to suffer with her gallstones. We’ve had lots of delicious local cheeses, goat’s, ewe’s, cow’s. We’ve had bread with real butter, cafe au lait, croissants, pains au chocolat, indulgent creamy desserts... and that’s without leaving the house.
Eating out, who knows what went into the heavenly delights, except lots of butter and cream! Yesterday, we lunched by the oyster fishermen’s rigs. Chocolate pear tart then a large ice cream to finish.
How appropriate to suffer gallstones in Gaul!
Kitty
A fine Mèze #8
At number 7, across the narrow street, sits a pretty French black and white cat... always. But not a scaredy-cat!
It sits on a balcony way above the street. On a brick wall just two inches wide. To it’s left, a twenty foot drop; to its right, a much safer four foot drop. Why risk it kitty? One false move and another of your nine lives might be history! How s/he does it, goodness knows, but I admire its pluck and fur-faced arrogance!
“Hear, hear kitty, kitty!” as one of Britain’s great entertainers was heard to say. Maybe.
Bombe dehors
A fine Mèze #7
Every morning I walk to the boulangerie for our daily bread and croissants. Walking under the old stone archway abutting the church, you spot pigeon crap on the ground. But... there was one spot right in the centre with an absence of guano. This was my route. Clearly there was nothing to perch on above, so safe passage was assured.
Wrong! One of the little buggers was obviously waiting right there for me to come along. Splat!
But they say it’s good luck! Pah! Since when has having to wash my hat unexpectedly been classed as anything but shit luck?
A surprising choix
A fine Mèze #6
The first night we’d chosen an expensive restaurant - good choice. Last night though it was La Rive Gauche on the very last night they would be open until next season. We weren’t going to be Left out!
A friendly waitress, daughter in this family restaurant, went through the menu. Some of the names of dishes we struggled with and in the end she recommended an entree and main course, describing them as a “Excellent choix!” and suggested it would be a ‘surprise’. We both chose both, which were surprisingly brilliant and something we’d never had the like of before. Merveilleux!
Smalls talk
A fine Mèze #5
The fisherman’s cottage overlooking the oyster beds is small - ideal for two but any more would be too cosy. In Mèze, all washing lines are at high level, off the balconies. Watch out below for drips! Our cottage is no different. Everyone can see what you wear, by looking up... or across the tiny road!
Mrs H didn’t want people looking at her smalls, so they were hung on the ferrules of chairs in the kitchen. Still with sleep in my eyes, washing last night's dishes, I kept mistaking them for a teatowel.
“Now that must be drabbled!” I declared.
MFEO
A fine Mèze #4
Maybe because we are in southern France, over a leisurely petit dejeuner, Mrs H recalled her first trip to France when just 14. Six whole weeks living with a French family in Perpignan, travel there by train with only a 13 year old French girl companion, trips to the beach, the Spanish Pyrenees, smuggling peaches into England... what a wonderful experience!
She told me how a group of Spanish boys mistook her for pretty French pop star Sylvie Vartan and chased her....
We’d not yet met, but my bedroom was covered with pictures of Sylvie Vartan.
Made for each other...💏
Shockers
A fine Mèze #3
We’d made it... 15 minutes early, so Ryanair blew their own trumpet, shocking the hell out of Mrs H. We’re on the Étang de Thau, a lagoon a few hundred metres inland of the Med. It’s lovely.
A really early start, me in anxiety mode, her frisking, fear of flying and the shock of the trumpet sound meant she was on edge... on the edge of sleep, so this afternoon she slept soundly.
Sleep? Pah! That’s for cissies! A beer, a wine and a dip in the lagoon. That was shock enough to keep me awake! Encore du vin svp!
Frisky
A fine Mèze #2
I find air travel stressful. It shows! Flying itself is OK, it’s fun, but I’m totally disorganised and that’s what’s stressful. Getting the documents together in advance... no trouble! My problem is with compartments in travel bags... and my various pockets. I always use them all. I can never find where I’ve put anything... and I panic!
Today we are flying to France. The last time we flew, I was frisked going through security, obviously looking anxious and dodgy. Making fun of me, Mrs H predicted it would happen again. Guess who was frisked? Must be her bionic wrist!
Karma!
Taxi ordure
A fine Mèze #1
Waking up at sparrowfart was OK. Maybe we could sleep on the flight. To bed at 9pm and alarm at 3.30am. The minicab would arrive at 4am. The taxi booking was done online. Very efficient. Technology is great. Or should be!
4am... no taxi. But I spoke to the driver when he called me last night. Everything seemed tickety-boo. All should be working like digital clockwork.
Eventually he arrived, more like 4.15. It seems that satellite technology sent him miles north to a different town. (Should’ve ordered a taxi with a toilet because by then I was crapping myself!)
