Montelimar Nougat. Tuesday 8th September, 2009.

What a delicious interview I had at Musee du Nougat Arnaud Soubeyran in Montelimar this morning. We all sat at a round table sipping coffee, AJ was treated to a sublimely rich hot chocolate telling Eric who made it that it was ‘Tres bon, the best hot chocolate he had ever enjoyed’. We were given a tasting plate, a degustation of all the different products that Arnaud Soubeyran makes. Their nougat comes in all different guises; my favourite was the traditional Montelimar nougat which must adhere to strict guidelines to be named as such, and the walnut and fig nougat. Eric showed us through all of the manufacturing rooms. We saw how the Provencal speciality of callisons are made as well as traditional marshmallow in the softest range of colours – violet, pale lemon, pinks, white, mint green etc; there was something fun and childlike about the colours and each mouthful of marshmallow melted on the palate leaving a flavour filled puff of yumminess.

Seeing the production of nougat was lovely. We saw the sugar boiling in big, copper pots, the honey mixing, the nuts roasting, and the mix of all the final ingredients before it was transferred into a slab mould with old wooden paddles, and rolled with a 20kg rolling pin to expel the air and distribute the load of almonds and pistachios evenly. The end product was white as snow and was as shiny as white porcelain before the last layer of azyme paper was placed on top. We were each given a bag of goodies to enjoy. On the way home we dropped some, long mango flavoured marshmallow sticks into Julie and Charles's children.

After Montelimar we ventured off in the direction of a few of the Beau Villages of France. We passed through a village called Les Tourrettes which we thought was a hilarious name. Our first stop was Mirmande, a village of sculptors and painters. We sat at the edge of a pine forest where AJ climbed a pine tree and we enjoyed a beautiful picnic finishing with calissons and nougat which was a lovely sweet treat. Mirmande was beautiful, but lacking a bit of soul. There was a small exhibition of a local artist showing at Church Sainte-Foy which was nice. Butterflies flitted across our path at every turn, trees dangled with almost ripe apples, vegetable patches grew their seasonal bounty, and bunches of dark grapes hung enticingly from vines draped over doorways which overlooked surrounding hills and mountains. There were two neat rows of three hills which looked like perfect miniature pyramids covered in a solemn green blanket of forest.

We were heading back to the car; the boys were a few bends in the path behind me, I decided to play a little trick on AJ in relation to the masses of bees we had noticed hanging around Mirmande. I walked back towards them holding out the hair net I had been given to wear while watching the nougat fabrication this morning, saying, ‘Here guys, a lady is handing out these hair nets to protect us from the bees in the village and to stop them getting caught in our hair.’ JR twigged on and I pretended to pass him a hair net while he discreetly fished this morning’s hair net out of his bag, putting it immediately on his head. I passed AJ my hair net, looking on the ground around me pretending I had lost one. ‘Never mind’, I said, ‘I will catch the lady up the road and get another one off her for me to wear, she must have only given me two’. AJ took his time and diligently tucked his mane of long, golden locks under the elastic and proceeded to walk through the village looking the fool right beside his Dad. I was walking in front of them, head down and laughing my head off. I turned to snap a quick photo before laughing out loud and telling AJ it was all a joke. He agreed it was the best gotcha of all time.

Mirmande behind us, we meandered through the Foret de Marsanne. Gone were the rocky outcrops for a little while. After passing through the village of Marsanne the landscape gave way to a wide open plane with a backdrop of distant hills. The planes between Marsanne and the next village of Cleon-d’Andran were filled with crops, ripe tomatoes lay on the bare earth waiting to be gathered for market, the hum of a nearby tractor assured me they would not lie subject to the elements for long. Fields were coloured with a rust coloured crop, standing tall like corn. This was Sargo which is grown for animal feed.

Our final destination today was the medieval village of Le-Poet-Laval and it took my breath away. The rampart walls grew wild with ivy; the stone walls were its host to reach further and higher. Ripe figs hung from random trees waiting to be plucked, you would never have left them there Manuela! Upwards we trecked, investigating the wild nooks and crannies at every turn until we reached the stone chateau. Sometimes it is not just the village itself that woos you, but the happenings while you are there. We were given permission to visit the 12th century chateau and climb to the very top. We were voyeurs to the happenings of the village below, blanketed in the subtle scent of pine from the nearby forests, underneath us couples kissed while others sat enjoying an aperitif in the shade. The village was surrounded by orchards, forests, undulating hills, and terracotta rooftops, it was truly blissful. Local artist, Bernard Merle had an exhibition on display on the first two floors of the chateau. His work was so beautiful, it captured me, commanded my attention and I can honestly say I loved his paintings and would have loved to take one home. Our situation is such that we don’t have room enough for a spare pair of undies, so the purchase of a painting was out of the question. I will keep his card and the details of my favourite pieces and hope that one day, on return to our less ordinary lives, I may order one as a memento of a special place in time. The sweet notes of Bach and Mozart drifted on the air as the Orchestre de Chambre played in a tiny courtyard. The notes were heavenly and they transcended the village and into our hearts.

After diner eaten on the terrace back at home, I was looking through my photos and reliving the last few days, the special moments I hope never to forget. I was showing AJ a photo of him looking up at his Dad adoringly. AJ said, ‘I love having a Dad like him’. And that my friends, is what this year is all about, the simple life where seven words spoken from a child is more beautiful and wondrous than anything else on earth.