America comes to France profonde. A Wild West night in a local village hall. You know it's an American night because they're serving brownies. Chef Ciril is also serving that Wild West staple - pork poitrine and pomme puree aux herbes fines.
When we first moved to France a Polish Lowland Sheepdog by the name of Digby disappeared on Hogmanay with a pair of thick woolen socks I wear with my kilt. Yesterday, these were rediscovered by Sophie. Nearly four years in a hedgerow has given the socks a flavour and texture she clearly finds irresistible. Brother and sister play with the old socks until it gets dark. Then, tired out, they come inside and sleep until a village cat wanders into the garden and wakes them up at four.