in their French monastery, gathering and drying the herbs, soaking them in alcohol, and mixing in honey and other things, then aging the product for eight years in wooden casks before you can buy Chartreuse in green or yellow (yellow developed for the ladies) or mix up a Hypermetrope (the cocktail, not the eye disease) of green Chartreuse and Vertical Vodka (also made by the monks), shaken together, ice cold from the freezer. The cocktail is very inebriating.
Carolyn Blue,
“Have Fork, Will Travel,”
Amarillo Ledger
18
Scenic Sauces
Carolyn
After a few sips of my Hypermetrope, I grew to like it. I think it was all the alcohol that made it so palatable. I was feeling quite merry by the time Catherine and her student arrived. But good grief. He was huge. And Norman, according to Nicole, which explained the red hair.
When we were introduced, I said, somewhat the worse for having drained my cocktail, “You must be a descendent of William Rufus.” Silence followed that remark. “The son of William the Conqueror, the second Norman king of England.”
“Are you inferring something about my sexual orientation, madam?”
Oh dear, I’d forgotten those rumors about William Rufus, who had never married and—well, I hadn’t meant that. “Certainly not, Monsieur Le Blanc. William Rufus was redheaded and very large, a man much given to the practices of chivalry, even if there were rumors about him, not that there’s anything wrong with being a homosexual.” I really needed to get off that subject.
“You may remember when the youngest son, Henry Beauclerc, was holed up with his knights on Mont-Saint-Michel, while his brothers William Rufus and Robert, Duke of Normandy, besieged him. Henry sent a messenger asking that he and his men be allowed to ride ashore with all honors, and William, so charmed with the chivalric honor that would accrue to him by granting the request, agreed.”
“Not only does the lady know her Norman history, but she obviously meant to compliment you, Martin,” said Catherine sharply.
Martin le Blanc immediately rearranged his expression and shook my hand. Then we all went to our daffodil brocade chairs and had our meals chosen for us by the Fourniers. I had to have Dombes pike, dragged in a net fresh from one of a thousand or more ponds and shipped to me in a tanker that very day. Pike in butter sauce and Gratin Dauphinois, a dish of thinly sliced potatoes baked in a very rich sauce. It was quite nice, although Catherine said she preferred the potatoes with poultry or lamb.
“But Carolyn has not yet sampled it,” cried Bernard.
“A terrible mistake on the part of her previous hosts,” said Nicole. “What could Gabrielle have been thinking? Carolyn could have had the Gratinois with her Bresse chicken last night.”
I assured them that I was happy to accompany my fish with the potatoes, which had an excellent texture. That earned me a lecture on Bintie potatoes, an old Netherlands variety with an oval shape, a yellow skin, no eyes, and the excellent ability to stay meaty after cooking. I made note of all this for future columns.
“And did you enjoy the traboules today?” Catherine asked, perhaps feeling it only polite to bring up something I could talk about.
“They were fascinating,” I said. “Sylvie told me that you are from an old Florentine family and that you live in that district.”
“Yes, I own an apartment in a tower. When it came on the market, I bought it immediately because family papers indicate that my ancestors once lived there. I am myself from Avignon and have a flat there as well, but it is not so charming as my home here in Lyon.”
“How lucky you are to live where your ancestors once lived,” I said enviously.
Catherine smiled. “Would you like to see it?”
“Goodness, yes, if it wouldn’t inconvenience you.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot show you through. I know you are going to see the churches with Gabrielle tomorrow, which will no doubt take you
Carolyn Blue,
“Have Fork, Will Travel,”
Amarillo Ledger
18
Scenic Sauces
Carolyn
After a few sips of my Hypermetrope, I grew to like it. I think it was all the alcohol that made it so palatable. I was feeling quite merry by the time Catherine and her student arrived. But good grief. He was huge. And Norman, according to Nicole, which explained the red hair.
When we were introduced, I said, somewhat the worse for having drained my cocktail, “You must be a descendent of William Rufus.” Silence followed that remark. “The son of William the Conqueror, the second Norman king of England.”
“Are you inferring something about my sexual orientation, madam?”
Oh dear, I’d forgotten those rumors about William Rufus, who had never married and—well, I hadn’t meant that. “Certainly not, Monsieur Le Blanc. William Rufus was redheaded and very large, a man much given to the practices of chivalry, even if there were rumors about him, not that there’s anything wrong with being a homosexual.” I really needed to get off that subject.
“You may remember when the youngest son, Henry Beauclerc, was holed up with his knights on Mont-Saint-Michel, while his brothers William Rufus and Robert, Duke of Normandy, besieged him. Henry sent a messenger asking that he and his men be allowed to ride ashore with all honors, and William, so charmed with the chivalric honor that would accrue to him by granting the request, agreed.”
“Not only does the lady know her Norman history, but she obviously meant to compliment you, Martin,” said Catherine sharply.
Martin le Blanc immediately rearranged his expression and shook my hand. Then we all went to our daffodil brocade chairs and had our meals chosen for us by the Fourniers. I had to have Dombes pike, dragged in a net fresh from one of a thousand or more ponds and shipped to me in a tanker that very day. Pike in butter sauce and Gratin Dauphinois, a dish of thinly sliced potatoes baked in a very rich sauce. It was quite nice, although Catherine said she preferred the potatoes with poultry or lamb.
“But Carolyn has not yet sampled it,” cried Bernard.
“A terrible mistake on the part of her previous hosts,” said Nicole. “What could Gabrielle have been thinking? Carolyn could have had the Gratinois with her Bresse chicken last night.”
I assured them that I was happy to accompany my fish with the potatoes, which had an excellent texture. That earned me a lecture on Bintie potatoes, an old Netherlands variety with an oval shape, a yellow skin, no eyes, and the excellent ability to stay meaty after cooking. I made note of all this for future columns.
“And did you enjoy the traboules today?” Catherine asked, perhaps feeling it only polite to bring up something I could talk about.
“They were fascinating,” I said. “Sylvie told me that you are from an old Florentine family and that you live in that district.”
“Yes, I own an apartment in a tower. When it came on the market, I bought it immediately because family papers indicate that my ancestors once lived there. I am myself from Avignon and have a flat there as well, but it is not so charming as my home here in Lyon.”
“How lucky you are to live where your ancestors once lived,” I said enviously.
Catherine smiled. “Would you like to see it?”
“Goodness, yes, if it wouldn’t inconvenience you.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot show you through. I know you are going to see the churches with Gabrielle tomorrow, which will no doubt take you
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