Ce jour dans le Ceret, Ce soir dans le gluttony

October 17th Saturday.

Saturday morning we left the house early to go to the market in Ceret. Ceret turned out to be a beautiful little mountainside town filled with narrow brick and cobblestone streets. The labyrinthine streets were lined with trees and little shops and cafes. Every now and then around a corner the street would empty into a courtyard or a square absent of cars and foot traffic. Cooing pigeons sat along the stone edge of a fountain in one courtyard. In another, violet and yellow flowers bloomed under the watchful shade of an ancient oak tree.The main avenue in town was considerably wider than the rest and this is where the outdoor market was held. There were handicrafts and jewelry, clothing and antiques, secondhand items and local vegetables for sale. There were ceramics and paintings next to tables of local cheeses and herb encrusted sausages of every variety. Along one stretch of the market packed densely with people was a young group of musicians playing what sounded like a soft American number from the 1920s or 30s.

We stopped to buy a few petite goat cheeses and then slipped through the crowd into a cafe for some coffee. Ceret is not at high elevation, but it was chilly all morning nonetheless. We sat in the cafe for a while and watched people come in and out. Many of them were British or Scandanavian. When we asked, the waiter told us that Ceret has been attracting non-french art lovers for a long time. It has been home to a number of famous artists and houses a modern art museum. Former residents include Picasso, Matisse, and Modigliani just to name a few. I looked out into the central square and squinting to see, noticed the words "Musee d'Art Moderne" on a sign with an arrow pointing into a high archway.We didn't have time for that on this trip, but I'll be back. Instead of the museum, we continued our walk through the market picking up blood sausage, oysters, and some really good pears along the way. Soon it was time to make our way back to the car. TinTin who had been following along unleashed for most of the walk, weaseled her way through the thick crowds of legs and led us into a courtyard we hadn't passed through earlier. On one side of the courtyard was a medieval stone church. Facing the church from the opposing courtyard wall, read "Dieux Vous Regardez" in thick black spray painted letters. On the way out of the village we stopped by a charcuterie for free samples and then got onto the road back to the house for a proper lunch.

But it turned out to be anything but proper. I don't recommend eating oysters, blood sausage and goat cheese in the same meal. My father seemed fine, but I started to get nauseous halfway through the blood sausage. I wanted to throw up and be done with it, but despite the churning sensation, my body just wouldn't. Out of

the pantry comes my father with a large bottle of Fernet Branca the italian "digestif". He told me that this was his remedy for seasickness on the boat and that when a nauseous person takes a shot, 9 times out of ten they either

vomit or shit themselves, but the nausea goes away. Having few other options and a writhing knot in my middle, I drank a shot of the foul root liquor. A warm sensation dripped down my throat and my face spasmed in disgust. To my father and Sylvie, this was the height of comedy. I chased the Fernet Branca with a glass of water, and in less than a few minutes I was running to the bathroom. Let's just say that it works as advertised.

After the episode at lunch I took a b

rief nap and then got up to prepare things for the dinner party at chez Francis. I had the cooked Blanquette de Veau, and two cold uncooked apple desserts- the pie and the buckle. The plan was that we'd heat up the blanquette on the stove when we got there, and the pies would be cooked in the outdoor wood fired brick oven. Things went according to plan, and I got to cook potatoes in the oven as well.

The Dinner party was fun. There were

12 people and a few of them spoke some basic english, which made my frenglish easier to convey. They all seeme

d to like the food and politely fought over the apple pie. The buckle was less of a hit and we had to take about a quarter of it home at the end of the night. 4 glasses of local catalan wine loosened me up and I found myself accepting an invitation to another dinner party. This one is scheduled

for next week at the home of a couple whose names escape me at the moment, but the wife is an analytical chemist so we should have things to talk about. After midnight we said our goodbyes and headed home for a long sleep deep into Sunday morning.