As in previous years, the group involved in restoring the chapel at Teysseroles held their own party as a pat on the back for another successful fête. Last night, 20 of us turned up chez Simone and Jean-Claude, who have a large garden and plenty of shelter should we need it.
In the event, because of this week’s canicule (heatwave) we stayed outside until about 1 a.m. The party was billed to start at 19h00. However, well aware that nothing starts on time in France and having waited a couple of hours last year for everyone to arrive, we allowed an extra petite demi-heure.
The company included two priests and a monk: Père Serge, the local parish priest; Frère Jacques, from the same religious order; and Père Jacques, a priest based in Senegal, who comes every couple of years to give Père Serge a break from his pastoral duties. Far from being a damper on proceedings, they provided the butt of many a joke and played along with good humour. I can’t help reflecting that things might be a bit different in England if you invited the vicar.
First off was champagne, courtesy of Annette and (another) Jean-Claude, who recently became grandparents for the second time. Then we all moved to a long trestle table, where in typical French style we used the same plate, cutlery and glass throughout the meal. Starters were a selection of salads eaten with crusty bread.
During this time, host Jean-Claude was operating the barbecue, where several metres of saucisse à griller were sizzling away. He also came in for some ribbing for allowing the barbecue almost to go out. He was christened Monsieur R, the name of the man who cooked the grillades at the Teysseroles fête and who proved to be the weak link in the chain for the second year running. Alternative plans for next year are in the offing.
Fortunately, Jean-Claude’s barbecuing skills turned out to be more reliable than Monsieur R’s, so we tucked into nicely-browned sausage, served with salad. After that, came delicious cheeses, including one I had never tried before – Maroilles. In the shape of a bishop’s mitre and with a red rind, it both smells and tastes pungent. But the SF and I love strong cheeses – one of the pleasures of France.
Several people had brought desserts, including a crumble, an apricot tart, a fruit salad, cake and peaches. Starting to feel as if we would never eat again, we drank hot, black coffee, laced with vieille prune or some strange juniper liqueur that someone had contributed.
The priests left around midnight because of christenings and marriages they had to perform the next day. The rest of us stayed, quipping about a group visit to Senegal and twinning Teysseroles with Père Jacques’ Senegal parish. This one is going to run and run.
The Teysseroles fête has also been immortalised in an interview I did with The Connexion, an English-language newspaper published in France. If you happen to get the August edition, turn to page 6 of Connexion 2 (the culture section), where an article appears about Brits who get involved in organising local fêtes.
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