Slipping away to wish you warm greetings on this festive day...and une Joyeuse Fête...Christmas is here!

Dear Friend,

The sun set in a blaze of golden orange and red, sinking rapidly into the bare trees. Night has fallen, and slowly the stars begin to shine, first softly, timidly, finally bold and bright, piercing the velvety blackness with vivid gleams of light.

I’ve stepped out of the kitchen for a few minutes to wish you a Joyeux Noël.

It’s a good moment to slip away.

Henry is beginning his first practice of Chopin, Opus 71, number 1, in the grand salon. Jules is singing to his little son. Viola is humming happily as she reads the cartes de voeux on the mantel in the library. And our Edward is on his way back from a quick visit to old friends with a new baby.

Meanwhile, the goose is beginning to crackle in the oven, its pocked skin golden and tight. A few hours ago, I stuffed it full of chestnuts and sautéed onions, parsley from the garden, and a few bay leaves plucked from the young sprig growing against the sun-warmed stone wall. The potatoes are waiting to go in. And the aroma of sautéing garlic and cêpes mingles with the parfum of leeks slowly cooking in butter and nutmeg. Except for the butter and the salt, the garlic and the nutmeg – and the goose, ordered well in advance from the marchard de volaille – everything is home grown.

“I don’t know why everyone doesn’t grow his own food!” exclaimed Monsieur, my husband, contentedly looking at the baskets piled high on the kitchen worktable.

I know why, of course. Because having a garden requires un homme à tout faire like our own dear Monsieur Damien, who is obstinate, arthritic, color blind, suffers from a periodic sciatique, and has faithfully toiled in our garden for 20 years. It took a long time to develop our delicate relationship. However, although he detests flowering plants and ignores all my opinions as to proper pruning and deadheading, he regards his pieds de tomates, poireaux, pommes de terre, and other useful plants with paternal devotion. Last night, Monsieur and Henry, Jules and his young family, and I shared whisky and smoked salmon to wish our Monsieur Damien une tr`es bonne fête de Noël.

From Dublin and Paris, Baltimore and San Diego, our family began last week to gather for Christmas at the Chateau.

Viola was the last one to arrive, appearing early this afternoon with her tout nouvel époux Sébastien. She had given a concert on December 23. The next day, they boarded a plane for France. In their luggage was the foie gras, which Sébastien had prepared himself.

Edward and Monsieur are opening the oysters. There are two varieties, Fines de Claire and a particularly fat type called Spéciales. They come from the Atlantic Coast, via the marcharde who sets up her stand in small villages in the neighborhood of Courtomer. For oysters are, like foie gras. les incontournables on a French table at Christmas.

“We hardly need any cheese,” I sighed, hesitating. After all, as the French reluctantly say, “Régime!” It means “diet.”

“It’s Christmas!” my daughter-in-law reminded me. “Tout est bon!”Yes, everything is good at Christmas.

She deftly arranged tempting wedges of melting Camembert, tart chèvre, and nutty Cantal with a bunch of grapes and scattered walnuts.

“C’est le fromage, mange ton potage,” sang our Jules to his little son, who is so fascinated by the activity in the kitchen that he forgets to chew his supper.

Jules was born early on a Christmas morning many years ago…today is his birthday. We will be having büche de Noël, comme d’habitude, to celebrate.

It’s time to check on the goose – and to wish you and yours all the blessings of this life…and of this wonderful day.

Bonne fête de Noël!

P.S. Heather and Beatrice (info@chateaudecourtomer.com) will be happy to help you with your family vacation or holiday (2022 and onwards) gathering at the Chateau. Please feel free to call or write us.