It’s been a chilly start to the year, and sometimes all I want for supper is something easy that I can eat as I read in front of the fire.

This morning was market day in one of the local villages, and as I stocked up on bits and pieces for the weekend ahead, my eye was caught by the stall selling fresh cabécous, a type of local goats’ cheese. My wife is passionate about the sharp cheeses, and would eat them by the handful if she could, but I usually prefer the Tomme d’Audrix made by my neighbour.

Today, however, with some eggs and potatoes to use up, the cabécous were perfect for a latke-inspired meal.

Cabécou du Périgord potato cakes

• 4 cabécous (any semi-firm goats’ cheese will do in a pinch)
• 4 large potatoes
• 2 egg yolks
• a bunch of fresh basil
• salt and freshly ground pepper
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• a pinch of fennel seed

1. Peel, wash and grate the potatoes. Mix with the egg yolks.
2. Finely chop 8 – 10 basil leaves and add to the potatoes. Season and mix well.
3. Form the mixture into 4 ‘cakes’. Heat the oil in a frying pan, then fry the cakes for 5 minutes on each side. Place on absorbent kitchen roll.
4. Place potato cakes on the grill pan, and top each with a Cabécou du Périgord goat’s cheese. Grill until the cheese is lightly golden.
5. Serve garnished with the remaining basil and the fennel seeds.

Recipe via www.frenchgoatscheese.com.

As parts of Europe are covered in snow while other countries are bracing themselves for heavy predicted snowfall, I thought I’d have a poke about online to see if I could find any video of the Dordogne covered in snow.

This clip, from www.thisfrenchlife.com, was shot two years ago not far from where I live. Last winter was beautifully sunny, so it feels like a long time since I last saw these hills dusted with white.

I was reminded of this poem earlier today, and thought I’d copy it here. One of Sylvia Plath’s later pieces, it never fails to take me back to the inky skies of a Dordogne summer.

Stars over the Dordogne

Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
Than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.
The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
They seem large, yet they drop, and no gap is visible.
Nor do they send up fires where they fall
Or any signal of distress or anxiousness.
They are eaten immediately by the pines.

Where I am at home, only the sparsest stars
Arrive at twilight, and then after some effort.
And they are wan, dulled by much travelling.
The smaller and more timid never arrive at all
But stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.
They are orphans. I cannot see them. They are lost.
But tonight they have discovered this river with no trouble,
They are scrubbed and self-assured as the great planets.

The Big Dipper is my only familiar.
I miss Orion and Cassiopeia’s Chair. Maybe they are
Hanging shyly under the studded horizon
Like a child’s too-simple mathematical problem.
Infinite number seems to be the issue up there.
Or else they are present, and their disguise so bright
I am overlooking them by looking too hard.
Perhaps it is the season that is not right.

And what if the sky here is no different,
And it is my eyes that have been sharpening themselves?
Such a luxury of stars would embarrass me.
The few I am used to are plain and durable;
I think they would not wish for this dressy backcloth
Or much company, or the mildness of the south.
They are too puritan and solitary for that—
When one of them falls it leaves a space,

A sense of absence in its old shining place.
And where I lie now, back to my own dark star,
I see those constellations in my head,
Unwarmed by the sweet air of this peach orchard.
There is too much ease here; these stars treat me too well.
On this hill, with its view of lit castles, each swung bell
Is accounting for its cow. I shut my eyes
And drink the small night chill like news of home.

Sylvia Plath

Earlier this week, I timed a visit to a neighbour just as she was pulling what I thought were biscotti from the oven. I was hastily set to rights. No Italian biscuit would grace her Perigord kitchen – these were, in fact, croquants du Périgord.

While the hard walnut biscuits certainly made me think of a local take on the Italian classic, I wasn’t brave enough to tell my neighbour as much. Especially not when I was hoping she would give me the recipe.

Eat these with a cup of strong, sweet black coffee. Italy, via the Dordogne.

Croquants du Périgord

• 4 eggs
• 125g icing sugar
• 125 plain flour
• 125g ground walnuts
• 1 tsp orange flower water
• 2 tbsps creme fraiche

1. Pre-heat the oven to 160°C. Using either a hand-held or electric whisk, beat the eggs and sugar together till pale and creamy.
2. Sift in the flour, then stir in the creme fraiche, walnuts, and orange flour water.
3. Bring the dough together into a ball and leave to rest for fifteen minutes.
4. On a floured surface, roll out the dough till it is around 2cm thick. Cut into sticks (or shapes of your choosing) before baking for 30 minutes.
5. Cool on a wire rack and serve with coffee.

A few weeks ago I posted about the Prehistory Welcome Centre in Les Eyzies. That Centre, while useful, is but the tip of the iceberg when it comes to prehistory-focussed tourism in and around the town of Les Eyzies.

The Vezere River valley is the cradle of mankind in Europe, the oldest continually-inhabited human settlement, and Les Eyzies is its focal point. In the immediate area there are more painted caves, ancient dwellings, and sculpted underground grottoes than you could shake a prehistoric stick at.

In the video below, which advertises a Dordogne walking tour, you can preview some of the regional highlights.

The black diamond of the Perigord has starred on many a restaurant menu around the world. Local truffles were the centre of the third Bruno novel. Now Perigord truffles are a key note in L.I.L.Y., the latest perfume by Stella McCartney.

According to perfumer Jacques Cavallier, who developed the scent for Stella McCartney, “Stella wanted a fragrance that redefined the extremely natural and fresh image of lily of the valley. To create more depth, we infused it with notes of truffle from the Perigord region of France, adding a diffuse, caressing texture.”

They’re the experts, and earthy smells like vetivert work well in colognes. But I’d be wary of wearing the scent on a holiday to a truffle-producing region, lest the local trained pigs and dogs think you’re a prize discovery.

Deep in the heart of wine country, St Emilion is well worth exploring if you find yourself in the neighbourhood this summer.

Designated a UNESCO World Heritage site, St Emilion is a picturesque hillside town replete with churches, monasteries, and mind-boggling views. The town’s role as a key wine producer in the Bordeaux regions means that oenophiles can lose hours pottering around the many vineyards and caves.

St Emilion is also a subterranean attraction of sorts, with an underground pottery museum and historic underground quarries that have been opened to the public.

For seemingly endless suggestions of things to do in St Emilion, visit the website of the local tourist office. For a sneak preview of the town itself, check out the video below.

Did you hear the one about the p0liceman and the camel? No, nor did I.

I’m not sure how I missed this at the time, but a 500 kilogram camel smashed into a police car during the Sarlat Christmas market in December. The windscreen of the Ford Focus was smashed, but luckily for all concerned there were no injuries.

“There was nothing I could do,” officer Laurent Legal, who was driving the car that hit the camel, told Metro France. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t driving very fast.”

The world’s biggest truffle went on sale in the Perigord town of Sarlat yesterday.

The black Perigord truffle weighed in at an astonishing 1.3 kilograms, more than ten times the average size of the truffles normally found in the region. Perigord truffles typically sell for 1,000 euros a kilo in the local markets, although international and retail prices can reach far higher.

A copyrighted picture of the mammoth truffle can be seen by clicking this link.

Dordogne old hands are probably well-versed in the National Museum of Prehistory found in Les Eyzies. Summer holidays can’t escape the odd rainy day, even in southwest France.

If you’ve been there, done that, and bought the Cro-Magnon teeshirt, but still need to entertain guests on a rainy day, there is always the (semi) new Prehistory Welcome Centre.

July 2010 saw the launch of a new Prehistory Welcome Centre in Les Eyzies. The new development, which was funded by the departement with a view to improving the town’s status as both a tourist and a research centre, contains:

• a tourist welcome and information centre
• an education centre
• a research centre and document collection
• a cultural and community hub for events and seminars.

The Welcome Centre is a short walk from the well-known National Museum of Prehistory in the heart of Les Eyzies. Entry is free for all ages; the centre is open daily from 10am to 6pm, although winter opening hours are variable.

Pôle International de la Préhistoire
Public parking
19, avenue de la Forge
24620 Les Eyzies de Tayac

Telephone: 05 53 06 06 97
Fax: 05 53 06 06 65
centre.accueil@pole-prehistoire.com