Les Rush aux Pays d'Aix

April = spring break = visitors = "Bienvenue en Aix", or so the sign here says. (I'm still trying to figure out why it's "en" and not "à" since you go "à" cities and you go "en" countries but that's my non-native speaker intuition talking.)

Our first visitors of the season were my relatives from California who came for their Easter vacation.

I realize now that we took far too few pictures while they were here.

Here they are in the gardens of the Pavillon Vendôme. Note that there are no leaves on the trees -- there were a few, but mostly just buds. About a week later, it was all leafy around here.


Don't they look happy? That was before we made them walk all over the place ...

Like the Cours Mirabeau.

Sam and Jack (and the Diabline -- the funny little electric "bus" on the left that you can flag down if you want a ride) ...



and Suzi, Ben and me (James took the pictures) ...



In Cassis, where we followed the Sentier du Petit Prince on Port Miou ...


Note Sam's smile. She still had energy to run part way back at the end of the walk.

The rest of the day in Cassis doesn't have pictures, which is really too bad because it was sort of an adventure. Actually, it was more the leaving of Cassis that was the adventure, but more about that later.

First there was the wine-tasting at the Clos de la Magdeleine, which had nice wine, but a really unfriendly, glazed-eyed proprietor ... at least the one we met. The man who is smiling in the picture on this website looks way too happy to have anything to do with the woman who did our tasting. She was all doom and gloom with crazy black hair that looked like it might be hiding several pencils, a broom, and maybe even a cat. She didn't like us from the get-go because Sam and Ben, who weren't tasting the wine, didn't come down into the dark cellar -- go figure. We were reprimanded. We only got to taste their white, even though they also make a rosé. And despite what our wine book said about the Clos de la Magdeleine having beautiful grounds, we really have no idea because we weren't allowed to walk around and were ushered back out the gate as quickly as we had come in. Hrumph!

Things got better after a stop in a cafe by the harbor, and a delicious dinner of Breton style crêpes at Le Bonheur Est Dans Le Blé. Mmmmm ... buckwheat galettes!

And then starting with the credit card machine that didn't want to read an American credit card, things went a little south. Like when we pulled into the closed-for-the-night train station just as the 21h10 train was pulling out. We weren't too worried because there was a ticket machine and a 22h20 train so we said goodbye to Les Rush, who headed back toward Grasse in their car, and we waited for the next train.

Here's a frog we saw on the train platform. He reminded us of Aleppo.


Two other people came to wait, and the station agent and some other employee were there if anything went really wrong, until it did and then they were unable or unwilling to help out.

Our train arrived right on time, but didn't pull all the way into the station. The station agent's helper came out of the office and James and I and the other two people waiting, who turned out to be a mother and her 20-something son, went up to the train and tried to get in. I say "tried" because the door wouldn't open. We tried the next door. Still nothing. We tried a door on the next car. Nothing. And then the train started to move. We all thought that it was just pulling into the station from the end of the platform where it had stopped. But no, it just pulled on out of the station. The last train of the night.

We all went into the station agent's office and told him what happened. He didn't believe us but his helper, who had seen the whole thing, backed us up. Eventually he reluctantly called the next stop and they said there was nothing wrong with the train, so too bad for us. No, the SNCF wasn't going to send a bus or shuttle, there were no more trains, there would be no refunded tickets or putting us up overnight because the train malfunctioned -- because it hadn't at the next stop. We were out of luck. So over the course of the next 20 minutes while the agent begrudgingly looked up some things on his computer, the mother got livid and started doing all the yelling we wanted to do but couldn't in French, the son foresaw his firing for not being at work in Toulouse the next day and we contemplated almost certain death on our walk back into town along a dark road where people drive way too fast, where we'd have to find a hotel that we hadn't budgeted for, missed work the next day, and we wished we'd taken Jack and Suzi's offer to drive us back to Aix (even though it was out of their way).

Finally, the station agent shrugged and said there was nothing he could do to which the mother responded with an angry snort and a "Bravo SNCF! Bravo!" And then she turned to her son and said, "well, I guess I'll have to drive you to Marseille" and very politely offered to take us too.

And so began the frenzied car ride, complete with a call from les Rush who had taken a wrong turn and somehow ended up in the dodgy part of Toulon and who, now that they knew we were in a car with a frantically speeding stranger, were worried for our safety too. It's a good thing they called before we got on the motor way because that was when the mother started going almost 140 kph (85 - 90 mph, but it felt a whole lot faster in that car), which was in fact not that far over the speed limit of 130 kph (part of the time -- the rest of the time it was almost 30 kph over the speed limit, but who's counting?).

Then things got really scary when we got to Marseille and they asked us for directions. It turned out they'd never been there before. They were from Toulouse and on holiday in Cassis. I had assumed that since the mom had a car, she lived in Cassis and was likely to know Marseille. In fact, she laughed that she'd have to get out when she dropped us off so she could say she'd been there. Ha!

So let's see ... How do get to the Gare Saint Charles? Well, I can figure it out if we follow the signs to the Centre Ville.

Lucky for all of us, our two weeks in the hotel in Marseille and all the walking around I did came in handy and I knew a way to get to the train station. Not the best way that would get us there with a little extra time before the train left. More like the way that gets you to the train station and forces you to block traffic and get out of the car at a place where you shouldn't have stopped and then run to your train. But we never had to turn around and we didn't get lost. It just wasn't the most efficient way. But we made it home. And the son's train to Toulouse was delayed, so he made it too. At least we assume he did. We know that he hadn't missed his train.

And as it turned out, despite our adventure, we made it back to Aix before Suzi, Jack, Ben and Sam made it back to their B&B in Grasse. The little detour to the wrong side of the tracks in Toulon added over 2.5 extra hours to their trip and they didn't get home until after 1:30. But they say they'd still like to come back to France!

Pi(e) day!

March 14th is Pi(e) Day. It's also the birthday of James' brother John, but since we're rarely in New Mexico in March, we tend to celebrate with pie only, rather than pie and birthday cake.

For the uninitiated, who are probably thinking, "US National Pie Day is January 23rd, so I don't know what you're talking about, unless you're telling me that March 14th is French pie day", note the way I've spelled "pie" with parentheses around the "e". Now you know what I'm talking about. Pi(e) Day is March 14th or 3.14, like the number.

My friend Ann, a pie maker extraordinaire, introduced me to this holiday NINE years ago. The tradition has evolved somewhat over the years, and different friends have been brought into the Pi(e) fold, but the core ideals have not changed. You have to eat a lot of different kinds of pie and you have to eat each slice from crust to tip, making a wish on the final bite of each slice. I also like to have pizza or quiche for dinner on Pi(e) day, but that's not really part of the holiday because it's all about eating sweet pies.

Well, Pi(e) Day doesn't work so well in France. For one thing, there is no 3.14 because dates don't go in the month.day format, they're day.month. So for 3.14, you're left with the 3rd day of the 14th month or, if you get a little loosey-goosey with your decimal point, the 31st day of the 4th month -- neither of which exists in the Gregorian calendar. (And even in the French Republican calendar, adopted for about a decade after La Revolution, there were just 12 months of 30 days each with the extra five or six tacked on at the end, so no luck there either!)

Besides that, it's not so easy to find several slices of pie all in one place (even at the tarte-lady's because hers are mostly savory). Most pâtisserie will have one or two sliced tartes (usually an apple and a custard), but in Ann's and my tradition, we need about five different kinds. You'll be able to increase your pie diversity if you buy some individual tartelettes, but these are round and too small to cut into (normal) slices, so you can't eat them from crust to tip and make your wish.

What's a Pi(e) lover to do?

Well, you can improvise, as James and I did. And you can still go on a great hike in Cassis!

Before leaving for our hike, we identified a boulangerie-pâtisserie where there were slices of the requisite apple tarte and custard tarte (although it was chocolate, not plain). They looked ok, but we decided to press on in search of better tartes after the hike. And we were justly rewarded at Sucr'E Délices, where they were extremely friendly and happy to tell us about their desserts and to discuss the fougasse that they had there.

The window was filled with beautiful desserts, unfortunately for my Pi(e) Day quest, mostly of the non-pie variety. As I stood there looking at them, I wondered if I could cut any of them into pie-shaped wedges and call them pie, but they were too un-pie-like, except for the three we got.

Lemon-basil tartelette ...



Orange-cinnamon tartelette ...



Religieuse à la violette ...



Ok, so that last one isn't, strictly speaking, a pie. Une religieuse (or "nun" -- the little choux on top is supposed to be her head) is essentially an eclair of a different shape: choux pastry filled with crème pâtissière and decorated with glaze the flavor of the filling. (They usually come in chocolate or coffee, but this one was violet!) But like I said, we were improvising and it was more like a pie than any of the other wonderful looking desserts in the window (the tartelettes aside). In fact, it turned out to be much more like a pie than any religieuse I have ever eaten because the choux was actually a little salty -- just like a pie crust. So it was perfect.

And here's how they all looked as slices of pie:



The cut-off sides were eaten first, and then the slices of pie from crust to tip.

They were delicious and nuanced and that religieuse was the best non-traditional pie I have ever had on Pi(e) day. Ok, so it's the only non-traditional pie I've had on Pi(e) day, but still. It was an excellent pastry. Its violet crème pâtissière was not at all soapy -- a risk with violet -- and the choux? This choux was not the soggy, bland choux that you eat only because it's the polite way to consume the delicious crème pâtissière that it holds. No, this choux had texture and flavor. Choux never tasted so good, except when fried and dipped in sugar.

But I probably shouldn't be surprised. I learned, when looking for the link to Sucr'E Délices, that one of the co-owners was named pâtissier of the year last year by a famous French food critic and guidebook author.

I will make sure to go there every time we go hiking in Cassis.

And since I feel like I didn't get quite enough pie on Pi(e) Day, I've decided I'm going to celebrate the holiday at least once more this year. I may celebrate on the 118th day (the 365/pi day) of the year, or I may celebrate by taking my first bite of pie at 3:14 on 1.5 (1st of May).