One of the unfathomable laws of this land, still unwritten despite ardent efforts by renowned romantics, is mimicking an enticing thread closely integrating each and every second spend in its fearless fairness, to then weaponize its benevolent despotism with these roaring remains of dark history to persistently secure a future equally enchanted, and it grabbed me by the throat the moment we arrived in the Berry for the very first time, about seven years ago, when we were to spend a few days at a chateau that would soon after become our home base from which we wandered and immersed ourselves.
For three years we mounted all excitement of belonging onto this charming building and its atmospheric backdrop, ceremoniously drawing us in with a surefire language of times gone by, suggesting fairytales not only exist but thrive here more than ever, understandable when viewed from within the big-city-life we came from, but silly and naive if you consider the appurtenant lifestyle that was additionally forced upon us in a non violent but nevertheless inescapable way, coercing us to shift boundaries that should naturally abide set in stone.
We often assure ourselves that we embraced true realism by settling for what we could afford, but in fact we underestimated all proportions within this sorcerous world in which our domain is the small but representative part that reveals it truly pays to not look back in anger. Magical markers in every single day spend at Les Pierres, starting before dawn as that’s my private domain, all the way up to the earlier nightfall now that autumn has arrived, endorse more comprehensive dreams.
Last night, after picking all the green grapes from the one ancient vine we have growing, decorating our pink cottage with its lush green leaves in spring and summer, a lavish harvest of four and a half kilos turned into jelly for ordinary but festive winter purposes as I discerned that most of the tastemakers of choice were homegrown: lemons, rosemary, bayleaf. I’m also pretty sure that when we open the first jar in a couple of months we will be able to taste Young Mec’s prying eyes, because they accompanied every step in creating this concoction.
