I leant over the buffet, choosing my meal in the Camargue, and decided to try the dish below.
The young manager approached and explained each of the foods I had on my plate. She came to the one in question. “Bull pate” she announced.
Suddenly I was hurled into a relationship with my food. This was much more intimate than ‘beef pate’. This had a gender, for goodness sake. Continue reading
One of the books I remember with pleasure from my childhood was set in the Camargue, the Rhone delta near Arles in the south of France. The geography was of little importance then. What mattered was the story of horses fording the waters from their island to the mainland.
Knowing we would need to spend the night in that area on the way from Switzerland to Spain, the part of me that kept the book in memory wanted to see the Camargue and the horses in it. I also read on the Arles website that the fighting bulls are bred there and that flamingos inhabit the area. White, black, pink – that would be a pleasing trio to sight. Continue reading