Sunday means the Holy Brocante.
French Husband drove while I tried to stay awake.
This Sunday was a bingo Sunday: Good finds. It beat the other Sunday where it rained. After the morning hunt we walked to our new favorite hang out Chez Serge for lunch. We had the "Menu du Jour" which is a set menu for set price. 18 Euros.
Chez Serge was packed, when is it not? We had a window seat where the sun came through making us feel like Spring was sitting next to us.
We had something that neither of us had ever had before. Mozzarella soup: It was the first course. If it were the only course I would have jumped on the table and danced. It was sinfully delicious. You know something is good when your tastebuds stop in their track, your lips rub against one another while your spoon (in this case) stops half way between your mouth and the table.
French Husband and I started guessing how the mozzarella soup was made. And let me tell you French Husband NEVER reflects on what he is eating or how it is made. Later when the waitress came to collect our licked cleaned plates, we asked her about the Mozzarella Soup.
I LOVED when the waitress indulged us with details, if we left tips in France I would have given her a juicy one. She confirmed French Husband's guess, he surprises me more and more these days. How did he know? I gave him a HIGH FIVE. The Mozzarella Soup goes like this:
Fresh whole milk
Blend to creamy smooth texture.
Lace with olive oil, roasted roughly chopped almonds, chives, salt, pepper and a dash of chili.
Simple yum. I imagine it would taste equally delicious with confit tomatoes and basil.
If I could have I would have HUGGED the chef for his spontaneous invention. Especially since the waitress told us that the soup was a whim of an idea created that morning.
I wonder if he made his own mozzarella? Where is the Buffalo?
The brocante this morning under a stunning blue sky with the trees starting to wake up. Hints of the green yawning. I love how spring wakes up. I love going to the brocante when it isn't freezing. Makes my job easier.
Oh I nearly forgot to add... after the soup, after the main course, before we rolled out the door, we had dessert:
Pain Perdu - French Toast. Literally Pain Perdu means - Lost Bread.
This was a home made Panettone French Toast Pain Perdu wonder. Again tastebuds stopped in their track, lips rub against one another while my spoon stopped half way between my mouth and the table.
Damn if I weren't married... I kissed that chef. But then again French Husband might turn into a chef: He cut his hair, he is wearing colorful clothes, he knew how to make the soup...
Chez Serge in Carpentras (a must go when in the south of France.)
On another note completely a secret admirer, blog reader of Tongue in Cheek sent Annie a card. Annie was in utter awe. She loved it. I wish wish wish I had recorder her voice, she kept saying ever so sweetly, "Ooooooooooo. Ooooooooooo!"
How was your Sunday? Have you ever had Mozzarella Soup?