THE `FROSSIE LAND` DIARY
`The Pleasure Pilgrims of Periqeaux`
# 4 Thursday 23rd July, 2004


En-route from Paris to Bordeaux in South West France, lies the region of Perigod and its capital Perigeaux, stronghold of the ancient Celtic Gauls that finally succumbed to the armies of Julius Caesar and `Pax Romana`. This was a colonization that promised the locals a high tide of civilization- roads, laws, taxes and the occasional bath.

However, history shows us that such things were insufficient to satisfy greater human ambition and a new movement of social reform swept the land. -One that espoused virtues of love, charity and its offspring, hospitality. That movement was Christianity and Perieaux, like many rural towns in France, flourished around the needs of the thousands that came along the 740 kilometer pilgrimage of St Jacques de Compostela (St. James)-the saint who walked this road back to Jerusalem only to lose his head at the hands of King Herod.

Now nearly two thousand years after this epoch, tourists have replaced religious pilgrims and relics of this bygone era serve only as backdrops to digital picture albums, which leave a story-telling gap to the incredible history around. Today’s pilgrims are mainly tourists that travel in coach comfort and offer devotional utterances to strange gods like `Visa`, `Amex` in return for food and lodging-things that were provided yesteryear to reward self-sacrifice and devotion.

Despite the loss of old worlds and dimmed ideals, I am curious to scratch the surface to see if some of those ancient jewels may lay hidden.

We go to the local tourist bureau and find an obscure list of outlying farms that provide food and accommodation. After three phone calls we settle for the one that seems to be the most hospitable. `La Ferme Anserine` lies ten kilometers outside of Perigeaux and is owned by Sylvie and Olivier Audran, a couple in their late thirties and their two children. The farm appears to be over two hundred years old and now produces foie gras, truffles and honey.

After a warm welcome, a five-course feast that was prepared with one hour’s notice greets us. It is served in the rustic setting of the large kitchen, complete with a rugged diagonal bench and large pots and pans that hang above it. Through the window an endless vista of green paddocks and vineyards nourishes the eye.

The first course is an appetizer of cured and dried goose fillet slivers, which taste like a richer proscuitto and we wash this down with a wine made from a particular flora grown on the farm. It is sweet like a sauterne and compliments the pumpkin soup, which is infused with la mousse de foie (a mousse containing 70% foie gras and some armangnac- an excellent companion to an aperitif I am told)

Even my friend and gastronome Jean Claude, the hotel manager of the Four Seasons in Paris (voted best hotel in the world by the `Zagat Guide`) is impressed by the quality of the food as the next course arrives- it consists of a terrine made from goose meat, goose skin and foie gras.

Next comes Les Cous Farcis- a roll of gooseneck meat, pork, Armagnac, filled with foie gras and served with pomme frittes. The accompanying Bergerac perfectly compliments the richness of the meats. Desert is a berry tart with rich butter crust.

Through some masterful translation on the part of my friend, I learn that Olivier had worked for fifteen years as a maitre `d in some big name restaurants in Paris and London. He like many stressed Parisians had dreamed of leaving the ` rat race` for the tranquility of the country. One fateful day as he ruminated on this goal, he had spied a personal advertisement in the daily paper. It asked if anyone would be interested to work for two years learning the methods of farming and then take over the property?

Presumably the farmer had no children to bequeath his life` s work to, or as is increasingly the case, his children might have opted for the hustle of city life. Whatever the case, Olivier relished the opportunity and since taking over has extended the works of his mentor by growing truffles, potentially a very lucrative business.

Many things immediately flood the mind with appreciation; the unpretentious and generous presentations of produce in such exquisite food- the simple, but elegant surroundings and genuine conversation at the table.

I am instantly reminded of the true ideal of the Greek, Epicurus who asserted that all pleasure is not based on price, but context of enjoyment. That it is the sentiment of the people that come together and the spirit in which the meal is prepared and served that are the true arbiters of pleasure. This experience only convinces me of the veracity of his argument, as I increasingly shrink away from the converse of that, served regularly in high priced and pretentious eateries around the world.

Can anyone really attest to the satisfaction of a meal that is preceded by the anxiety of a stressful day, dinner reservations, traffic jams, and competition for tables and disinterested waiters? Or discussions about real estate and divorce settlements that seem to be the preferred `social sorbet` of the Western (but not French and especially not rural French) dinner table. This is increasingly the experience in our fast-paced cities and only seems to provide a greater expectation in pleasure and satisfaction that is rarely delivered. That the more we seem to strive for pleasure in the context of the clatter and hustle, the further away we get?

Perhaps it’s the loss of connectivity and knowledge about these things of pleasure that are contributing factors? In Sylvie and Olivier’s kitchen of simple elegance, we experience the connection and effect of nature with their stewardship of such intricate resources. The delicious things we savor are made more delectable by these people’s humble toil, their knowledge and nurturing and consequently, our appreciation. In our competitive, consumption-based cities these various perspectives and arbiters are relinquished for a single unit of measure, because we are convinced that by acquiring more of these units we will experience more pleasure. The evidence of depression and stress related illnesses that are increasing in cities seem to suggest otherwise.

To Olivier this interconnectedness extends to people as well. He is dependant on his neighbour and not in competition with him, because they both know that their sustenance at some point will depend on collaboration or cooperation. The market forces that determine price are out of his hands- all he can do is his best to optimize the yield of his acreage and with some help from his neighbors. His knowledge of this interconnectedness recently extended to the hosting of a Mexican student who provided his labour in exchange for French lessons, lodging and `pretty darn good food`.

The next morning we awake to a breakfast of scrumptious crepes served with various preserves and coffee. After a tour of the farm we depart from our generous hosts and a trifling thirty-nine Euros each for the whole experience. I get the impression that Olivier is either reluctant to take the money or is indifferent, as if our appreciation of his labours is sufficient. For me, the experience is priceless and perhaps that’s the main point.

The couple’s motto best sums up an ethic now lost to us city dwellers, `Work each day as you will not be on the Earth tomorrow. When you work the Earth, do it like you will live for one thousand years`. The fact that such a profound ethic is being lived in such a simple, practical manner is cause enough for much admiration and even hope.