LIVING IN FRANCE
Autumn Brings Cooler Days With Rain& Winds — A Time For Flasks Of Vin Chaud, Folding Chairs & Impromptu Picnics
Too cold to sit outside? No problem, the dashboard makes a fine table
While summertime and picnics at the beach seem like a perfect combination, I think the last, and perhaps only time, we tried that was two years ago to celebrate my partner’s July birthday. I’d put a little more effort into the food than the usual baguette, cheese and saucisson (think salami) combination and we headed off to the beach thinking of cooling ocean breezes and relief from the blazing heat.
Unfortunately, half of Languedoc was thinking the same thing. The parking lots were full and nobody was leaving anytime soon. After we circled a couple of times, I got out to check the beach scene while Peter stayed behind the wheel. What I saw was a sea of towels and beach umbrellas and barely a visible strip of sand.
Languedoc has 42 beaches along a 200-kilometre (roughly 124 miles) stretch of coastline. On that day, they were all full, a conclusion we reached after checking four others within a few-mile radius.
It’s the same story with lakes — Languedoc has plenty of those too — or almost any body of water where people might go to cool off a bit. So we made a rule — no beach, lake or waterfront picnics from May until late September.
Fine with me. Although we‘ve found cooler spots in the mountains for the occasional summer picnic, they involve longer drives and are somehow never quite as enjoyable as the autumn and winter variety.
Autumn has always been my favourite season. I love the changing light, the crispness in the air and, here in France, the brilliant colours of the vineyards as leaves turn red, gold and yellow depending on the variety of the grapes.
I think of autumn and the cooler months of winter and spring as picnic weather. We’ve got it down to a smooth enough process — although my partner insists it would be easier still if we posted a checklist on the fridge instead of remembering something we should have brought once we’re at our destination. He’s probably right, but I resist. No idea why. Anyway, folding chairs and table, a couple of insulated bags with food, plates and glasses, bottles of water, one flask of coffee and one of vin chaud (hot mulled wine.)
I love preparing the vin chaud almost as much as drinking it — maybe a slight exaggeration, but I do enjoy the ritual. I use the recipe on David Lebovitz's website, but I’ve made it so many times, I know the ingredients by heart. When I think of it, I prefill half a dozen or so muslin bags with spices so that they’re ready to go at short notice. In the process, I’ve expanded my French vocabulary — clous de girofle (cloves) noix de muscade (nutmeg) cannel (cinnamon.) Cardammone was the easy one.
Add a bit of sugar and wait for fifteen minutes or so while the spice-filled bag bobs around in a saucepan of plonkish red and that’s pretty much it. Since the subtleties of quality wine would be overwhelmed, Lebovitz recommends going cheap. If you want to add a little extra zip, his recipe calls for ginger eau-de-vie, but we’re more likely to have cognac or triple sec on hand and both work well.
So vin chaud made, bags packed and we’re off.
While I don’t have a favourite spot, a picnic at Le Salin de Gruissan —an area of salt marshes, lagoons and Mediterranean views — was memorable both for the picturesque scenery and the truly awful weather that served to enhance the views. On a sunny day, the area is interesting — fisherman’s shacks and pink flamingoes — but something about the watery light made me think of Edward Hopper’s paintings. I kept braving the rain to get out of the car and take photos.
Another memorable, and impromptu, picnic happened hours after a book proposal I’d been working on for months was rejected. I’d moped and complained and wondered aloud why I even bothered to write until Peter — either out of compassion or self-preservation, perhaps a bit of both — suggested a day away from the desk might be beneficial.
Since I was too emotionally fragile and full of self-pity to pack a picnic, he made the coffee and vin chaud and we stopped at a boulangerie en route. Some boulangeries are fairly pedestrian — baguettes and croissants and that’s about it. Others are filled with edible works of art and choosing between the exotic and delicious-looking creations is an exercise in restraint. We settled on an enormous pain de campagne (a rustic loaf similar to sourdough) and one with nuts and dried fruit. A bit further on, we bought cheese and a good-looking slice of pâté en croûte studded with pistachios.
II was already feeling better.
We usually set off with little more than a general direction in mind — towards the foothills, down towards Spain, or along the coast. Even after living here for nine years, there is still so much of the region I haven’t seen so finding something new isn’t difficult.
Depending on the weather — which for off-season picnics is a consideration, we’ll find a scenic spot to pull off the road and get the chairs out. Or, if the winds are blowing gale force, we’ll stay in the car and view the scenery through the windscreen. Once or twice we’ve underestimated the winds, got the chairs out and immediately changed plans. They haven’t gone tumbling down a hillside yet, but there’s always that chance with off-season picnics.
When my daughter and son-in-law came to visit last December, we introduced them to the joys of a winter picnic, this one on the beach — which except for a few dogs and casual strollers was empty and beautiful. And warm enough, if you wrapped up well.
Somehow we managed to keep the sand out of the food . . .
So while tourists flock to the south of France for beaches and summer sunshine, I look forward to the cooler days of winter and pleasant picnics on uncrowded beaches. And, when the wind blows and the rain comes down in torrents, we can still enjoy the views from the car window and some vin chaud to ward off the chill.
