My father had the anchovy appetizer...Perpignan and the general Catalan area we were in is well known for their anchovies, you see.
For dessert I had nougat glace with raspberry coulis.
After lunch we went to the airport...and that's where things got grumpy. Actually that's not true it was after getting on the plane that things got grumpy...and by things I mean me.
The boyfriend read a book in the hammock. I read a book in the hammock.
We did, finally, make it to the river that ran right near us...it was near but hard to get to due to the fact that it was in a gorge of sorts...in other words though it was right below where we were, we couldn't simply walk straight down. The boyfriend had been going to the river almost every afternoon/evening for a try at catching fish and I had meant to go with him each time yet somehow he always was going to go just as I opened a beer or put on my swim suit. But we did get there and it was pretty. I rolled up my pants and waded a bit...as did my mother.
All week long we had planned on using the outdoor pizza oven. But first we couldn't find the yeast so we gave up. But then we did find yeast and so we un-gave-up. After making one batch of dough not having mixed the yeast with water first (my bad, I read the French directions a little too literally) we had to, two or so hours later, make another batch. Confident in the new batch's rising ability we were stoked. Unfortunately the oven was not so stoked. Basically we waited far too late to start the fire up and then put the first of two pizzas (the one I had so carefully and thoughtfully loaded up with cheese, Spanish sausage and tomatoes) into the oven way way way before it was a good idea. The result of my aforementioned creation was this:
The ash was a result of trying to get the pizza out of the oven...the top was ready but the bottom was very much not and so the pizza disintegrated and couldn't help but be scuffed and accidentally prodded into the ash before it could get out. So the next pizza, made by my cousin, was baked in the indoor oven. It was good but the whole experience made me sulk a little bit. Then I watched the Ukraine/Italy (was it Italy?) game and decided that Ukraine can't play soccer very well.
Left over my salad and left over pasta.
And wandered around it for a bit. We should have just hopped into the Mediterreanean immediately but, for whatever reason, we did not.
We then had lunch at Le Neptune a Michelin rated restaurant. We sat outside with nice breezes and a good amount of shade. We all had the lunch menu, though in retrospect I think many of us wished that we had splurged for more. The menu included the option of appetizer and dessert or entree and dessert. All meals started with an 'amuse bouche' which is pictured below and which tasted phenomenal. My mouth was very amused.
I opted for the oyster appetizer, a dozen oysters served with lemon. My mother had the same. She wished that the oysters had come with that tasty vinaigrette and thought they could have been a bit smaller. I may agree. Though they were good, I felt all oyster headed afterwards.
For dessert I chose the Mozart Gateau...it was very musical.
The boyfriend and I then did jump into the sea for a bit. It was refreshing and so salty...we didn't stay for long as we all were supposed to meet up and drive home. Next time (assuming there is one) I'll spend more time in that there water. For dinner we searched for one restaurant and could not find it so we ended up in a small village near the river and great big giant hills. I had the fish soup...and some chicken dish that wasn't all that great so I am not showing you a photograph of it. For dessert I had lime sorbet that was served with a shot of vodka. The idea, or the idea I got, was that you then poured the shot of vodka into the sorbet. It was very very bracing but in a very very nice way. The chef came out at the end (the restaurant had a total capacity for about fifteen people) and offered us his homemade after dinner drinks...among them were rosemary infused, some kind of wood, mandarin and more...I had the blackberry and it was good.
When I was finally done with all the food stuffs I spent about an hour writing. That would be the aforementioned one time/seven page day. Then I planned on getting in the pool and cooling down. About that time is when the sky darkened, the wind picked up and it generally became a little rainy. Eventually the Barcelona-goers came home and I made them marinated salmon, basil/parsley pesto pasta, Catalonian (kind of) steamed mussels and my famous (ha) chopped up Mediterreanean type salad.
A lazy day. The best kind.
I bought some postcards with far better views/composition with the yellow train...but here are a few of my attempts.
We got off at small town #seven and then took a short walk to the old walled in part of small town # 7 1/2. On the way there we saw some horses and the boyfriend and I tempted them into coming to us with sugar cubes.
Then we ate at a place with a name I forget. We, I think, all had the Menu Catalan. My choices were the gazpacho (creamier than some I've had, in a good way), the traditional meatball white bean Catalonian dish (name forgotten for all time) and the Creme Catalan for dessert.
Now, if I was a pro, the spigget (spigout?) would be a good two feet away from me. Alas I am not a pro and this was as far as I would go.
Old wall.
Lizards we saw everywhere. The boyfriend tried to catch them but I don't think he ever succeeded.
Dinner that night was endrecot (spelling?), salad and our neighbors Atkins friendly mashed cauliflower.
And then lunch of pasta and salad, made (if I remember correctly) by my mother.
A photograph of the outside/front of the house.
Dinner that night was an incredible Coq-Au-Vin made by my mother. I plan on trying to recreate this meal for Chicagoist as soon as the godamned freaking camera people fix the camera (I'm not hostile about how long it has taken, no). The chicken was so tender...and the carrots, oooh, I forget how much I like carrots that have completely soaked up the taste of whatever broth they've been in. Soft and yummy.
I think it was Sunday night that all seven of us raised our voices to one another about how to schedule and then execute the rest of the week. As our voices got louder so did the frogs' quacking...perhaps they were scared of our tones or simply thought our collective voice was the mother of all frogs...or they were just doing what they always do. In any case we worked out a general idea of how the rest of our days would go. This day, Monday, was spent rather leisurely...a trip to the Ille-Sur-Tet Wal-Mart type store for groceries and clothing for the boyfriend (seeing as how all he had were the clothes on his back and an extra tee shirt). My cousin and I tried to convince (and ultimately succeeded) the boyfriend to buy a yellow Brasil football jersey and a cute pair of pants. We only succeeded with the shirt.
The house we stayed in was flanked, on all sides save one, by orchards. What kind of orchards you ask? Well. There were nectarines. There were peaches (pink skinnd and purple skinned). There were yellow plum type things and purple plums and also olives. Oh and figs. The olives weren't ripe and we wouldn't have picked them even if they were (hee hee) ripe for the taking. We were encouraged to pick all the fruit we could stand except for the olives because it was an actual working olive farm. It's probably good that the temptation wasn't there. It was an old, stone farm house covered in ivy with a funny yet, in the end, fine lay out. When you walked in the door you were facing the kitchen. To the left was a dining room nook and then a living area with fireplace, sofa, bean bag chair and Jenga…and a television to watch football matches on. Above, running the length of the dining/living area was a funny loft wide enough for one futon and nothing much else. Above the kitchen area was one bedroom with two single beds and a door. Across from that room was another door and behind it to the left was a room with bunkbeds and no door, immediately in front was a double bed and immediately to the right was a set of steep stairs that led to yet another double bed (sans frame, so really just a futon mattress on the floor). The sleeping arrangements went as-oh, you don't care where we all slept. I'll just say that the boyfriend and I slept up the steep flight of stairs which had a large window for which we were grateful because otherwise we would have broiled. The only meal we ate inside was the dinner I cooked when everyone, except my father and myself, went to Barcelona. The meal consisted of a kind of Catalan, kind of not rendition of mussels (white wine, parsley, tomatoes, shallots, garlic), salmon in my Chicagoist style, salad in my favorite style and parsley/basil pestoed pasta (also Chicagoisty).We had many other meals that I will write about as I upload the photographs.
I know a bit of French and, on occasion, can sound relatively okay when speaking it. But my vocabulary and grammar needs much work. This becomes clear when speaking to French people about almost anything and/or when reading a menu. The brasserie offered a small number of things on its lunch menu and I chose the below. I chose it because I knew that chevre chaud meant warm goat cheese and I liked the sound of that. But in getting excited about the cheese I discounted another phrase that I didn't know. That phrase turned out to be 'a heck of a lot of chicken livers which you don't actually care for'. I gave most of them to the boyfriend. 
Profiteroles, on the other hand, I understand perfectly. Boy oh boy howdy I was not disappointed by these suckers...I did share one with the boyfriend.
Figs were the hardest fruit to come by around the house. Unlike the other fruits there weren't just rows upon rows of fig trees and many of the fig trees found didn't have that many ripe ones for us. Above is a photograph of one of the figs the boyfriend was able to find...and the boyfriend eating it.
Above and below are just a few of the views we had from around the house.
Dinner that second day/night was again brought to us care of our former male neighbor. Hearty eggs and potatoes with spices.
The next to photographs are a)some of my favorite of myself from this trip and b)not perfect examples of the frogs that seemed to surround us at night. Their ribbiting sounded much more like ducks quacking in surround sound. I have video of a frog climbing my mother's arm which I will deal with at a later time.
I liked this frog very much.
I had expected to write more, on this trip in general but in France specifically, but with all the people to play with I didn't get much done. Though the one day I did sit down and get into the mode I managed to turn out about 7 pages which is far better than I've been in recent months. It's just a matter of doing that every day, god dammit. Instead I've read a lot. Since leaving I've read (perhaps I've already done this summary?) Prep (by a woman whose first name is Curtis), 2 Elizabeth Berg books, Dance, Dance, Dance (Murakami), Ordinary People (Guest and for the umpteenth time), the new Julia Glass book (just finished that today actually), Maps For Lost Lovers (Nadeem Aslam…very good, very pretty sentences and very sad story) Like Life (short story collection by Lorrie Moore) and at least two others. I'm back to having no book to read which may be the real reason for this never ending litany of typed events I'm finally churning out. And below a much more focused photograph of les grenouilles.
Our neighbors had flown into a different city and then drove to the house earlier in the day and so were there when we arrived. Our male neighbor made us a salad and wine soaked chorizo and pasta.
My father, while we were waiting for the boyfriend's train, went to a Patisserie and got this lovely looking tart...raspberries and strawberries with yummy custard underneath.
Strawberries aren't too shabby either.
