Carrot Cookies


Still on a low sugar diet for the kiddies. The date cakes were such a success yesterday (all gone in 24 hours), I thought I might do a twist on the carrot cake. So here we go - carrot cookies, or "Carrotees" as they are called now.

Ingredients:
  • 1/2 cup gluten free flour
  • 1/2 cup wholemeal spelt flour
  • 100g butter (melted)
  • 1 carrot, finely grated (medium to large)
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 tsp vanilla
  • 1 tsp cinnamon
  • 1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
  • 2 tbsp honey
  • pinch salt
Instructions:
  1. Preheat oven to 170ºC. Beat eggs with vanilla, honey and melted butter, then fold in flour sifted with cinnamon and bi-carb.
  2. add grated carrot and mix together lightly with your hands, then form into lumpy bite-sized balls and place on a lined baking tray
  3. Bake for approx 15 minutes, or until lightly browned (will still be a little soft)
These are not particularly sweet biscuits - unlike the dates, there is not enough sweetness in the carrot to carry through cooking. They are however fragrant and mouth-filling. I dusted them with a little cinnamon mixed with icing sugar, and there was physical fighting between siblings over the last one. They are a great texture - like a rock cake or a drop scone.

Lion's taste rating: 8/10
Healthy inclusions: 7/10
Unhealthy inclusions: 2/10

Date Cakes - healthier than ordinary cupcakes

You're going to see some changes in my recipes. I'm trying to cut sugar out of my youngest boy's diet. But for this sucrose monster, we'll start with baby steps. Considering he had absolutely no sugar all day, I think he did pretty well until he broke down at 4pm asking for cake. Don't let anyone tell you sugar is not a drug. Here's one for weaning him off. Technically it has no "sugar", but has natural sweetening from the dates, and just a smidgen of honey. As I said, baby steps - but it's still better than chocolate cupcakes...



Ingredients:
  • 200g plain flour
  • 100g butter
  • 2 eggs
  • 150g dates, chopped
  • 3 tsp baking powder
  • 2 tbsp honey
  • 1/3 cup boiling water
  • 1/3 cup milk
  • 1/4 tsp ground cloves
  • 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 1/2 tsp ground allspice

Instructions:
  1. Preheat oven to 180ºC, then put the dates, water and baking powder in a blender, and leave to sit (for at least 5-10 minutes) while you beat the butter and honey until fluffy, and then add the eggs, continuing to beat.
  2. Add the milk to the date mix, and whiz, then fold into the egg mix, alternating with the flour sifted with spices.
  3. spoon into cup cake pans and bake for 20 minutes or until golden and firm yet springy.


As you can see, I made these two ways - one in silicone moulds, and the other in chocolate truffle cases. The smaller ones only took 10-12 minutes, and have turned out to be the preferred option for the kids.

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I'm going to start a scale below, rating my recipes on taste (as given by my 8 year old son), Healthy inclusions, and unhealthy inclusions - the higher the number, the more there is.


Lion's taste rating: 8/10
Healthy inclusions: 6/10
Unhealthy inclusions: 3/10


Tips to tip the balance: Increase health factor with use of whole-wheat flour, and you could use stevia, or no sugar at all to limit the bad stuff. I used a local organic honey to sweeten, and personally think the benefits of this may outweigh the drawbacks. Some might like to use cholesterol free oil rather than butter - personally, I'm not convinced butter is any worse.


Info on the good stuff:
Dates
Cinnamon
Honey
Allspice
Eggs









Cavalli - Roberto and Tommaso, and Style over Substance

The other night, I went to the Cavalli Club for a Wine Dinner.

Some might say this is a little incongruous. It's a nightclub. I mean, we all know the restaurant is there, serving food every night, but if only the beautiful people go, does anybody really eat it?

In fact, I might say it myself. I remember when the Cavalli Club opened. I was way too old and uncool for it then. And I still was when I nabbed a Living Social half-price deal last year. I could only dine at the 8pm sitting, I was told. We were ushered up the black carpeted oesophagus that is the stairwell to our table near the kitchen, and given the cheap menu (we were not allowed the entire menu on the deal), and we dined fairly much alone under a faux starlit sky until the music suddenly got louder and we looked around to find ourselves in the midst of pulsating gemstone colours and gold lurex over spray-on tans.

I'm not really a clubber. I used to be, about 100 years ago, when alcohol didn't put me to sleep, and I didn't dread the 6am wake-up with children the next day. Now I just can't do it.

So why was I there again? Camellia Bojtor, PR manager of the club, had convinced me that The Cavalli Club is not just a Club, but a restaurant and lounge as well, and they want to get this message across. This wine dinner was the first in a series of "Cavalli Connoisseurs" evenings. To start it off with a bang, they brought the son of Roberto Cavalli, Tommaso, and his own wine, over from Tuscany for an intimate evening of food and wine.

Branding a wine with an already successful name in a different field is a risky business. There have been some remarkable flops in Australia - Greg Norman Estates (the wine was surprisingly OK), and Olivia Newton John (not OK) were a couple I can recall. There is already a Cavalli vodka, which in my impression, works. Ferragamo own a wine estate not far from Cavalli, but choose to keep their name off the label, so as not to confuse the marketing message. After all, one associates red wine with close gatherings, cozy evenings, warm luxuries, cheese, dinner, candles, possibly tweed and pompous old men with bulbous noses. Not really leopard skin couture, swarovski by the tonne, and skinny party-hard celebrities.



Saying that, the Cavalli wines are actually very good. We started with the Le Redini 2009, a straight Merlot, made with the fruit not designated to be of style for the Tenuta Degli Dei. It's creamy, sweet fruited, with blackberry and cherry, a little herbacious nuance and a medium body. It finishes a little fast, but is ultimately a very drinkable wine. Most of our table were surprised by the sweet fruit flavour and smooth palate, used to as they are to lighter Merlots with stalky backbones.

The Tenuta Degli Dei is a Bordeaux blend - not a typical Tuscan varietal for the flagship wine here. Some would criticise, I commend. It's a modern wine, carefully made under the watchful eye of Carlo Ferrini (one of the foremost Wine contractors in Italy - dare I use the word guru?) Full of berries, rich and chocolatey, with a lovely smokey salt and pepper nose. It, like the Merlot, is velvetty soft, probably due to vigorous sorting after picking, and lack of stems during pressing. However, the wine is also fined for 12 months prior to bottling, which also has this effect, although it may limit the wine's aging potential.

I have tasted wines a little like this before. I asked Tommaso if he were trying to emulate a particular style. He loves Bordeaux, he says, but I don't think this wine is like any Bordeaux I have tried. I compared it to a Cyril Henschke - a stunning Eden Valley Cabernet. He was not amused. Tuscany, an age-old classic, similar to an upstart Aussie? But wine fashion is not the same as clothing. Europe may have been style leaders in the past, but the innovators are in the new world. He should have been proud, and I challenge him to try the Cyril and dislike it.

But this night wasn't just about wine, it was also about food. I remember being moderately impressed with the (somewhat reduced) offering on my previous visit. This time, again, the food was good. The scallops were deliciously plump - the best I have had recently. The steak was nicely smoked. The chocolate fondant came with some gorgeous blackberries dressed in sugar crystals, which mirrored the image of the chandeliered ceiling. It was good - not great.

But what is great about the Cavalli? It's personality. The night had been themed around the Tuscan heart - waiters were garbed in traditional stripes, traditional candelabra adorned the tables, the music was toned. During dinner, a goddess in white belted out some exceptionally good opera. Those who queued and entered closer to midnight, as we left would be surprised to say the least, if they knew what had gone on earlier that night. But that's what Cavalli does, isn't it? He puts together zebra stripes, faux fur, glittering crystals and gold, black and flurescent pink, and he makes it work. Why not throw red wine and opera into the mix?

So I might say that Cavalli Club is not my style, but in its own peculiar way. the night was well pulled off. We marvelled at the decor, we ate all the food off our plates, we enjoyed the wine, we laughed, and then we danced. I would do it all over again.

Upon leaving, we were presented with an embellished bottle of Cavalli's 2005 Tenuta Degli Dei. The wine they sell at 890AED on the list. But I soon discovered that the bottle was all we had - a beautiful, leather boxed, but totally empty keepsake of the night. And unfortunately it drives home that message of style... over substance. But does it really matter?

-----------------------------------


Cavalli Club and Restaurant is located at the rear of the Fairmont Hotel, on Sheikh Zayed Rd (map)
Dinner Reservations required
Landline: 04 332-9260
Hotline: 050 856-6044
reservations@cavalliclubdubai.com

Menu here

Cavalli Connoisseurs will continue, with a dinner with Chef Rolando Lolli on Feb 8, then Spanish and Japanese themed evenings after then. Wine packages start from AED 250, food packages start from the same.

This particular dinner was paid for by the Cavalli Club. The review however is unpaid.



The most beautiful villages in France

Seguret, "safe place in troubled times", a haven. It’s on top of a hill, watching its neighbours on the flat – Roaix and Sablet. It’s framed by a skirt vineyards and petticoats of lavender. Winding country lanes like arteries run down them, bringing the lifeblood of the town – wine – to its centre to be both drunk and sold. A feudal chateau stands at the very peak, revered and yet decrepit as an ancient monarch’s bones. The village itself is not much younger, and yet it still lives.

It’s walled and gated with arches of ivory limestone. And stepping under the entry, I hold my breath, I feel like I’m walking into a living, breathing entity. The stones are crumpled and paled like wrinkly skin, and it feels close. The lanes are small – too small for cars, and so we walk like ants over this massive being, in search of vistas and food.

We find the eyes – both at restaurants – one at La Table Comtat, and the other on the terrace of the wonderful Le Mesclun where we linger for lunch and a stunning Champagne I will later forget the name of. We stare out for hours out at the sloping views as if we too are made of stone.

We find the heart – beating and gushing – a fountain bringing life from the deep waters under the Dentelles de Montmirail (literally, lace of the admirable mountain), and guarded by fearsome mascaron, spewing up a watery gift for the good, and keeping evil spirits at bay. People fill water bottles, they use it as a meeting point. A dog laps from the basin. We rest beside it in the shade and eat salted caramel ice-cream.

When the heat defeats even the shady arches, galleries and degustation rooms, we take refuge in the chapels, the old soul of this being. Deep stone caverns, chocked into the hill like a set from Lord of the Rings, but prettier, less menacing in nature. The walls are cool to the touch. The floors are so worn by the feet of many ages that they appear like sheets drooping between the grids of a drying rack. Stone, worn soft. The light that shines through the simple stained glass windows is etherial, a gift from God in itself, and even the agnostics say a prayer of thanks.

We take a final stroll up the hill as the sun begins its path down it. Soon, the lanes become so narrow and stepped that we begin to feel like we are inside someone's property, and we decide that is enough for today. But I know for certain we will be back.





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I come from Australia, the largest country, the smallest continent, the oldest country, some say. And yet, it is a country with very little visible history. It’s a little like Dubai – a nomadic population has existed longer than history, but apart from a few scattered relics – cave paintings, tools, the occasional story of the dreamtime, and of course the ancestors of these indigenous wanderers, there is no sign that people lived there before European settlement. In Australia, the oldest surviving building is 223 years old. Can you imagine how I feel when I walk through the arch of a village with pristine buildings from the 10th century?

I love architecture. For me, it’s a free art gallery. I can happily walk streets of beautiful cities and villages and look. I don’t need to do much else. And France has a plethora of beautiful villages, all the same, and yet all different. I never tire of them. 


You could visit this site for the official list of "The most beautiful villages in france" - yes, it's a genuine title - or just take a look at my favourites:

Castelnaud-la-Chapelle
Beynac et Cazenac
Castelnou
Lagrasse
Vezelay 
Carennac
Domme
La Roque Gageac
Gordes
Saint Suliac


I love love love:

Minerve
The town of the Cathars, haunted and hauntingly beautiful, and isolated in the midst of incredible landscape

Seillans
I think (after Seguret) the second most beautiful I have seen. A spectacular circular plaza, and wonderful artists, views, roses in fountains, everything.




Some others not on the official list but on mine:

Rocamadour
- why this pilgrim town doesn't make the cut, I have no idea. It is  built into a cliff on the edge of Lot and the Dordogne, and is a vertical rather than horizontal religious wonder. It's super touristy, but worth it.


Grimaud - Has an arty feel, singing cicadas and dubious connection with the Knights Templar. We dined at lovely Le Cafe de France on Place Nueve. It also has a tourist train link to the kooky Port Grimaud


Alet les bains - sleepy, but divine, with the incredible Hotel Eveche by the river Lot, the rambling abbey, and the charming garden cafe adjoining the general store. 


Martel - It's not just the town, which is gorgeously in-tact, and choc-a-block with gourmet eateries and wine stores, but the scenic train ride around the edge of the hill, and looking down over the green-blanketed area.



St Emilion - It's not just the wine that's worth the journey for. This is a perfect village, very neat and tidy, with a macabre tower that can be climbed for a rooftop view, and quaint little wineshops and gourmet food stores that all require visits.

Les Eyzies - A lovely market, picture perfect houses, prehistoric museum and troglodite homes make this a full day's work. Luckily you can relax by the Vezere River with an aperitif to recharge.

Sarlat - already blogged.

Druyes Les Belles Fontaines - already blogged.

happy travels...







Real Chocolate Chocolate Cake


Chocolate cake without melted chocolate? That's criminal. Here's my recipe for real chocolate chocolate cake.

Ingredients:
  • 200g dark chocolate, chopped
  • 200g butter, softened
  • 1 cup castor sugar
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 3 eggs
  • 1 1/2 cups self-raising flour
  • 1/2 cup cream
For the fudge frosting:
  • 150g chocolate
  • 150g butter, softened
  • 1 cup icing sugar, sifted
Instructions:

  1. Preheat oven to 170°C. Melt chocolate and put aside to cool slightly.
  2. Cream butter, sugar and vanilla until light and fluffy, then add eggs, 1 at a time while beating, and finally the melted chocolate and cream.
  3. Fold in the flour, stirring gently until smooth.
  4. Spoon into prepared pan and smooth the cake’s surface. Bake for 60 minutes or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. It could take from 45 minutes up to about 80, depending on the diameter of your tin.
  5. For the frosting, melt chocolate then leave to cool slightly. Whip up butter until fluffy, then start adding icing sugar. When combined, add cooled melted chocolate gradually until smooth. Add more icing sugar if mixture is too loose. Using a butter knife and a cup with very hot water (dip and dry off to assist spreading as the frosting starts to stick to the knife rather than the cake) smooth on the frosting.
    I always use salted butter when cooking. The salt offsets the sweet and provides more flavour. This cake is gorgeous au natural (unfrosted), particularly with a cup of coffee - it's denser than a sponge, but lighter than a mud cake, and beautifully crumbly. If you use a little less sugar and a very high cocoa content chocolate (I use 70%), then it is actually not that unhealthy. Iced of course, it is an altogether different creature. I smooth my frosting using baking paper sprayed with canola oil, and for this one I used another 100g of melted chocolate to dribble on top. This makes a richer, sweeter cake, and is more appropriate for dessert. Keeps un-frosted in a container at room temperature for 2-3 days, or frosted in the fridge for a little longer.

      French Country Markets

      It's 6:30am on a Saturday. You might think this was the beginning of the day, but the small rabble sitting on the next table are having wine with their lunch. There is a small amount of time for them to breathe. The cafes are open, but the market as yet is not. In half an hour, they will lift the worn hessian covers and reveal their pristine, straight-from-the-horses-mouth (so to speak) produce. For now though, they drink wine and break bread with their competitors and colleagues alike. Some, like me, opt for a more sedate cafe au lait and croissant.

      The market runs until 1pm, but I know full well that by then, the stalls will be all but empty, the carparks will all be gone, and the tables at all the best cafes already seated. It's not punishment, even on a holiday to be here at this time. Three of my favourite things all rolled into one - travel, food and shopping. I also have this quiet moment to myself. At a more reasonable hour, my family will join me at a restaurant nearby, where I will show them my treasures and share a pichet de rosé over something simple and delicious like a salade de chèvre chaud.

      Soon the stall owners move. One grabs the remnants of the bouteille de vin by the neck, and tucks it under his cheese display. As the sun moves its way over the rooftops and into the square, the shrouds are lifted and the vicinity simultaneously fills with people and colour.  

      I stroll the narrow aisles, simply tables and umbrellas propped against shop-fronts or under awnings. Seafood sits in a bed of crushed ice, scallop shells arranged to form divisions between the species. Saucisson and chevre in coated in varying degrees of mould, rind, ash, and other forms of gorgeous putridity keep each others smelly company in baskets or chilled compartments. No time for window shopping - there is too much to cover. Luckily I have a cool bag, and a selection gets popped in for dinner. There is a chicken rotisserie spinning, potatoes at the bottom, gathering the heavily seasoned dripping. The chicken is not ready yet, but the spuds are. Breakfast number two.


      Of course, there are the fruits and vegetables. Arranged like something out of a designer magazine, with simplicity and flair. The colours are sublime, and they are often organic (biologique). They smell like a bouquet - so sweet and fragrant, particularly the strawberries and tomatoes. They taste so good, it's like they have been injected with magic. 

      Then the condiments. Spices, shipped from afar, but of course presented with unique french style. They are expensive, but again, today they are organic, and surprisingly fresh. They are sold by bohemians in overalls, knotted headscarves and dreadlocks. They tie the paper parcels with raffia and a cinnamon quill or a dried chilli. There is honey, usually with a nuance of provincial lavender, and also available on the comb. Preserves and relish are on the next stall - mismatched glass jars with matching gingham caps.



      I wander down side alleys, and soon arrive in another tiny arena. This one is fillled with table linen - either provincial yellow with gaudy lavender, olive or cricket (grillon) designs, or classically white or neutral. They are cheap. So cheap for the quality - I must be missing something in translation. Bedspreads, quilted or lacy are next, and I purchase an entire quilted queen set with massive cushion covers for 50 euros. It's the kind of thing I wouldn't get under $500 in Australia. 

      I am joined by my late-coming family while I take an espresso break. Buskers play guitar and clarinet, and tweenagers sell cheap and nasty toys out of baskets - bird whistles that trill when watered, water-spray fans to cool us, and glow sticks to keep the kids quiet. Hambone takes the heavy bags, leaving my hands free to buy more.  


      Another wander off the main strip takes me to clothing. It's trashy but sweet and summery. Next are the bags - all woven coloured straw in fuchsia, emerald, cobalt, mustard, terracotta and saffron, accompanied by wide-brimmed matching straw hats. Some of the bags are crafted in the shape of little houses, cars, flowers and hearts, joined with contrasting blanket stitch. 

      The wine stall is jumping like a neighbourhood party. I'm not entirely sure if much wine is being sold, but it is definitely a successful tasting. There is a grotty old ghetto blaster on the table playing JJ Cale - out of place, and yet also not. A harpist competes unsuccessfully about 30 metres away. Does she not move because of the licensing, or is it because it would be harder to replenish her plastic cup?

      Today we are lucky - this market also has brocante. Hambone groans and suggests he finds the table for lunch, and while I am enjoying another moment of solitude in the throng, I spot my partner-in-brickabrak-crime, Lulu, whose husband also deserts her in preference of wine and food. We look at every row of "antiques" on the ground, and purchase art deco prints, Parisian cast iron street numbers and a rose glass vase with dragonflies. By the time we are finished, the men are halfway through the pichet, and we realise we will be driving home. 


      But home is not so bad either. My baskets of goodies are another treat in the making. I can cook, listen to opera, drink iced and watered Pastis, and watch my family in the pool in our Dordogne farmhouse. Then everyone will praise me for a wonderful dinner that is très facile, due to the incredible nature of the fresh ingredients.


      -----------------------------------------


      There are three basic kinds of market in France
      1. Food- contains both fresh produce and often at least a cheese section and meat stall of some form, e.g. sausages (saucisson), poultry (will include game), farm fresh meat (beef, pork, lamb) and sometimes seafood. There will often also be a stall with wine and/or condiments.
      2. General- This includes food, and other articles, mainly clothing.
      3. Brocante- This is a flea market, selling all kinds of second hand goods, particularly sweet cheap french antiques and overpriced junk (it's hard to know which is which sometimes). It often stands alone, but sometimes will be held on the same day as an adjoining food market.
      My favourite markets are:

      Nyons - Thursdays (and on Sundays in Summer), general. (map). A huge market, covers all of the central area of town, spilling in and out of alleys and plazas. Has a vibrant atmosphere, and a high proportion of organic goods, and hippy handcrafts. Street music was very lively. Town itself is gorgeous.
      Vaison la romaine - Tuesdays, general. (map). Similar to Nyons, but often has the added bonus of brocante. Food is excellent quality, as is the table linen and parking is a nightmare (go early!). Town of course is stunning, and there is a bevvy of good restaurant options. Try Le Beffroi
      Carpentras - Fridays, general (truffles in winter). Sundays, brocante. (map). Again, the food here is exceptional quality - just keep to the smaller stalls that look like they have the farmer perched behind them. The brocante market on Sundays is not huge, but is one of the better priced ones in the region.
      Nice - Daily, flowers and food (not Mondays). Mondays, brocante. Summer evenings, crafts. (map) The flower market in Nice is the main attraction. Combined with the vibrant candy colours of the buildings in the area, it makes for beautiful photographs.
      Sarlat-la-Canéda - Daily, (covered market in former St Mary's church) all day Friday in summer, and not on Thursday in winter, Food. Saturday, general (map) Stunning town, and beautiful, atmospheric market with a little brocante. This is the one described above (with excepts from Sorgue and Mirepoix). You must get there early - parking is impossible otherwise.
      L'Isle Sur la Sorgue - General (Sunday and Thursday), Brocante (Sunday). (map)This is pretty much THE antique market to go to. The stalls cover a remarkable amount of area around the centre of the town and the river. You'll never get through it in one go. Eat in the stunning garden of restaurant Jardin du Quai (book if you can).
      Castelnaudary - General, Monday. (map). Castelnaudary is the self-proclaimed home of cassoulet, and so as you can imagine, the presance of this, in beautiful tins and accompanied by ceramic bowls, dominates stalls. It is one of Rick Stein's favourite French food markets. There is also a good collection of good cheap clothing seconds (not second hand).
      Aix-en-Provence - General, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday (Place Verdon). Flowers, daily (Place des Prêcheurs). Food, daily (Place Richelme) (map). Such an incredible town. The street music is exceptional. Parking garages are just out of the centre, and not too expensive.
      Mirepoix - General and brocante, Mondays. (map) This could have been my best market experience ever. The town is like a creaky wooden movie set, the food is incredible, there were some great buskers, a carousel for the kids, and super restaurants all over. Stunning cathedral to poke your head into too.
      Bandol - General, Tuesday (on the waterfront). Food, daily (map). Go to the town for the beach and the wine, and try and partner it with market day. Great paella. Good clothes. Better wine in the side streets.
      Bastille, Paris - General, Thursday and Sunday (map) also known as Marché Richard-Lenoir. OK - it's not a country market, but it's probably the best one in Paris, and famous in particular for seafood. Also a generous selection of touristy tack.

      Pretty much every town that is big enough to have a post office will have at least a weekly market, even if it's only four stalls. I loved the tiny ones in Grillon (simple, but walking distance from the rental house), Saint Julien de Lampon (wine was great), Les Eyzies (beautiful town), and tiny little Richerenches has one of the most famous truffle markets in France (in season). Simply google your town and "market day", and you are sure to find out more.

      Below are a couple more links to try.
      http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2010/apr/28/france-best-flea-markets-shopping
      http://www.francetravelguide.com/france-markets.html
      http://www.avignon-et-provence.com/market-provence/market-provence.htm#.Txkx8k97mA0
      http://www.the-languedoc-page.com/tourism/languedoc-markets2.htm
      http://www.frenchmarketdays.com/


      Beautiful fountains, beautiful villages and beautiful wine in France

      Druyes Les Belles Fontaines. Druyes, the town of beautiful fountains. Not the fountains we imagine - fish or ducks vomiting l'aqua, cupids peeing it, greek gods writihng in it. No. Natural fountains. Water springing from the earth, washed clean by underground stone from a time before history. Cold water, even in Summer. Continuous, sweet, mineral rich waters, that paint the surrounds green. It's one of the greenest places I've ever seen. The hills are green - thick with medieval forest, or carpeted in fragrant wild herbs and moss. The water is green - each stone shrouded in emerald algae. As the streams move, they wash the weed with it, serpentine hairs of river grass, swirling and ballooning with the current. Even the houses are green. Plant life is primary here, and it defeats both man and stone alike.

      Our house is rented from an artist. It has both pretty and raunchy sketches by the dozen, pet ducks (3), fleas (too many), and the most incredible garden I have ever seen. An acre of heavy fruit trees, sweeping lawn and rambling outbuildings covered in vines. It borders the river, with shallow steps down to the cool water. The ducks come to steal our lunch from the gazebo, then waddle through the gate at the waters edge and plop themselves in, fat and contented. Two swans reside on a small vacant block nearby, waist height with crispy summer grass. They patrol the still river to and fro like statuesque gendarmes, occasionally posing for photographs with their long necks joined in a heart shape.

      Over the shallow water is a playground. We walk there every day over a narrow lane of stepping stones. There is a kiosk next to the swings so parents can enjoy a glass of wine while supervising their children after 4pm. A man, quiet and harmless, a French Rex Harrison, watches the children play from his gate, propped on his cane. Occasionally his old dog pokes his nose out to check on proceedings.
      Walkers tramp up the nearby hill, laden with camping kits. There is an 12th century fort atop it in the midst of renovation. It holds occasional concerts, plays and stargazing nights, small in scale - the town population is 301 and counting. The gift shop sells medieval wooden toys. Lion convinces me that a bow and arrow is educational. Then educates me in sibling rivalry as he attempts to harpoon his brother.

      You may wonder how we found this little commune of only 301 people... It's all about the wine. Druyes is in the Department of Yonne, which is also home to Chablis, a wine as steely-perfect as the quiet waters that spring from Druye's fountains. The Chardonnay that even "ABCs" (the Anything but Chardonnay crowd) seem to love (information on the wine here). A wine who's discovery through my prompting to my husband may have enforced the power of love.

      We can drive to Chablis in 40 minutes, past abandoned castles and fields strewn with wild flowers. We do our own form of nature walk through the degustation rooms and cooperatives of the main street. At each tasting, we learn something new about the wine, the standards of production, the crus, the changes in technology. We amble down Rue Auxerrois, ducking into every open door to sample wares. Some stores are large, dusty, creaking and full of barrels, others slick and clinical. One is simply a garage, opening onto an inner courtyard full of tudor style woodwork. The winemaker flirts outrageously. Bottles are hand labeled upon purchase.


      We bang on the door at William Fevre at closing time, and they happily allow us in while we wait for our word-of-mouth recommendation Le Bistrot des Grand Crus to open. We try Les Clos for the first time. My companions don't need converting, but these, and the wines of charm both rustic and pure from the main street have possibly convinced us there is no better white wine on earth.

      We return to Druyes, to our preciously adorned ramshackle house. We play 500 in the gazebo, and when the mosquitoes arrive, the parlour. We drink our purchases simply with bread and cheese. No dinner is needed - we have all we want. (Except maybe a flea collar)


      ----------------------------------------

      There are many other places to base oneself in the Yonne (tourist info here), and many places to visit apart from the two mentioned above. Try:

      Auxerre
      Avallon
      Joigny
      Montreal
      Pontigny
      Saint Fargeau
      Sens
      Tonnere
      Vezelay

      We stayed for a week, and got through about half of them, and also drove south for about 2 hours to Beaune to try some red (amongst other things).