"Le Trou de Cul du Monde"

I was invited to the country for a weekend of food, wine, and good conversation by ultimate hosts Famille Goulier. Their warm and charming home is located in the small village of Chateaurenard, ("Fox Castle") about a ninety minute drive from Paris. Madame hooked me up with a ride from a fun and lively couple; Fréderique, and her "toy boy" Didier. As we prepared for departure, Didier turned to me and winked "We have a saying in France; we are going to the "trou de cul du monde". Do you know what that is? It is the asshole of the world!" We laughed, "It's true, it is the middle of nowhere. Do you have a saying like this in America?" he queried. "Yes, we say "bumfuck", I replied. "Ah yes, bumfuck. It is the asshole!" (And it's true, the french are all about the asshole.) It is nice to get out of the city and enjoy the blankets of green farmland that is common outside the Ile de France. The sun appeared for the first time in weeks, and the sky was a bright blue. Fréderique and Didier were intelligent and funny; with biting wit and candor we discussed current events and got acquainted. As we wound our way through farmland, Didier said, "You see, we are in bumfuck!" We climbed a hill toward ancient ramparts, a Gothic church stood guard over the ville at the pinnacle. A quick right led us through main street, the Hotel de Ville (City Hall) and a brasserie à droit, a little church and a boulangerie à gauche. Two doors from the bakery was chéz Goulier. Madame welcomed us into a relaxed and homey atmosphere, a happy home the Goulier's had rennovated from what was once the village poste. I was fascinated to learn part of the structure dated back to the 1600's, (as evidenced by bricks that formed a wall outside the kitchen). Champagne was offered, (it was barely noon) and we chatted around the fire while Madame set the table for lunch. It was traditional french country fare; dried sausage and paté, bread, salad and the infamous stinky cheese platter. In french utopia, pasteurization would never occur! Fréderique related a hilarious story of living in Australia, where unpasteurized cheese was illegal. Lamenting this fact to friends, she was given a phone number to a shop. Up front; a dry cleaner. In back, illegal cheese. Suspicious, the shopkeeper refused her, but her friend had another connection. Two hours away! Like a drug addict jonesing for a fix Fréderique convinced him to drive her, and she got her black market cheese - alive and still growing! After three bottles of wine and half a kilo of gourmet chocolate Madame, Fréderique, and Didier enjoyed a catnap, while I enjoyed a tour of Chateaurenard guided by my host Gilles. A filbert farmer by trade Gilles is proud of his orchard, and after a pleasant walk up the hill to the ramparts, an impromptu mini concert by pipe organ in the Gothic church, ("He plays just for fun" Gilles explained) and a pass by a place said to have been visited by Joan of Arc, we drove a short kilometer to his farm and strolled through the grove of hazelnut trees. Leafless but just beginning to sprout little red buds, each one a future nut! We saw a hare, and a small deer bounded away, frightened by the vibration of our footsteps. "They are not afraid when I am in the tractor" said Gilles, "they just stand and look at me. But they run from me if I am on foot". Gilles is a one man operation; planting, trimming, harvesting, and processing his orchard with a love for his profession that is rarely seen. Located on property purchased by his parents many years ago, Gilles showed me their family home, and the home of his grandmother who lived to be in her 90's. As the sun set he drove us a short distance to the neighboring village of Chateaujean, where a single wall cut a Gothic silhouette into the sunset, ruins of a centuries old abbey that was dismantled to build anew. My host made sure to drive us through the creek that cut through the small road winding through Chateaujean, apparantly the source of all the fun that exists in that neck of the woods! It was a lovely tour, and when we returned home there was more champagne, dried sausage, and a delicious berry cobbler in the oven. We laughed, we gorged, and we had a great time. Fréderique and I dozed in the car as we drove back to Paris on a quiet Sunday afternoon, careful to arrive before the hoardes of likeminded parisians jammed the autoroute back to reality. Thanks to Nicole and Gilles; the hosts with the mosts!