So me crashing is both a blessing and a curse, it seems
They won’t let me drive down to SuperU, the big supermarche at the bottom of the hill, because they think I might come across another cyclist and ditch the van instead of the man on pedals again. My drive down the hill was great for only two reasons: I got some time to myself and I got to see and buy what I wanted.
My being ‘banned’ means instead of occasionally losing my daily afternoon break: I just send a shopping list and it gets grabbed for me.
One problem here though… I don’t get to see what I’m buying.
When my first shop arrived I stood looking at things like the packets of chicken, confused and concerned, for minutes at a time. I don’t speak French, let alone read it: but this didn’t say ‘En Plein Air’ and I’m not cooking with duff chicken.
I’ve only got a few eggs left and I’m rationing them incase they bring me dodgy ones. I’m on the first floor and I’ve already decided they’re going out the window if batty eggs turn up (I’ll film it don’t worry). They’ve hired a chef to make his own menu and given him his own budget: I’m having free range chicken and eggs at the minimum. Simple.
I’m sweating to try an get the best plates of food out that I can and I’m not gonna do it with ingredients I wouldn’t buy at home. Fair play the sausages here are shit: simple fix; don’t but sausages. Found that in the first week and no problem. But the type of person who pays this sort of cash for a holiday doesn’t walk into a supermarket at home and pick up budget eggs. I wouldn’t cook them at mine, so I’m not sending that shit out of my kitchen here. End of story. And the chicken looked… not free range: I’m not using it again.
Most of the meat here looks pretty good though. The bacon’s streaky and very thin but I think they just don’t do back-bacon – just like they don’t do toast as we know it. They’ve got baguettes and that’s their thing and they do it well so… fine. But the pork is great and when you get good chicken it’s brilliant (Bresse chicken is some of the best in the world); the duck is fantastic too – especially the tinned confit.
I’m not looking for organic carrots and there’s no demands for non-farmed Beluga or dog-only-sniffed truffles. But I’m gonna have to go down with them tomorrow and show them what chicken I’ll cook with and what should be binned, teach them why plum tomatoes are better than chopped, and why Grana Padano is not-fucking-parmesan. The best Grana Padano can be absolutely brilliant – but not from superU it ain’t.
Egg rant over. Let’s crack on.
At least I don’t have to go shopping. Except tomorrow.
Oh and by-the-by… it shed seven centimetres of snow today… and I can’t ski because I’m still broken. Bollocks.