Onion Soup

The sky in Les Salces has finally greeted us with a bright blue smile. The evening approaches and Robert sautes a mountain of onions and drizzles them with a light local red wine Domaine Jordy which we are told is very bon. So far all the wine is very good!

The smell of warm onions frying in thick butter and booze woke me from my petits siesta (which is becoming a Heavenly addition to our unscheduled days). The table is set with the remaining loaf of flax sead bread we bought at the Lodeve market yesterday and occasionally I slice off thin layers and generously smothering them with buerre. In France, butter is in a class of it's own and many regions boast of their particular brand. The butter aisle in the store is just as large and diverse as the wine. It would not only be rude but dumb not to indulge in one of the national ectacies. 

Since it is Sunday and no markets are open, we are making sport of consuming every item of possible spoilage. Monday morning will bring the village bread van and I'd hate to miss him a fourth time! We are now determined to achieve French onion soup to the standards even Julia Childs would commend! So I fear we have a long way to go, but the way is paved in buerre, and that is fine with me. 

Bon nuit.