After being baptized by a duck, going through a taste test of 11 different versions of duck foie gras and three of goose, donning my medieval robes, hat and medal, and swearing my oath to uphold the honour of the great delicacy, I am now honored to be a chevalier of the Confrérie de Pâté de Périgueux. 

The event took place over the weekend in the market square of the capital of Périgord, in the presence of my mayor, Gerard Fayolle, Pierrot our village policeman (who inspired the Bruno books) and the owner of Fauquet’s café, where great fictional events unfold and whose croissants are beyond peer.

I had to make a short speech in French of thanks and appreciation for all that foie gras had done for me. We then went off for a celebratory lunch. 

We began with foie gras en croute en son jus des truffes, followed by turbot stuffed with spinach and a truffle risotto, followed by a pigeonneau stuffed with foie gras and finally a complicated chocolate thingy. 

By this time, having drunk an excellent Monbazillac, a glass of refreshing Bergerac rosé and a 1995 Moulis, night was falling, and so was I.

The whole village is hoping the rain stays away for this evening’s Feu de St Jean, an old custom that some of us have decided to revive. 

Everyone in the village has been invited, including some members who haven’t spoken to one another for years. We have collected the wood for the big bonfire, gained the mayoral permission to close off the little street and ban parking from the village square and put out the tables and chairs for the expected throng. Everyone has been asked to bring a dish of food and a bottle. 

Although it bears the name of saint, the event goes back to pre-Christian days: a midsummer night festival when after the food and wine and the fire dies down, husbands and wives, neighbours and children all leap hand in hand over the ashes of the bonfire to put behind us all the last year’s rows and arguments and start anew.