Final tally of duck consumption:

7 duck confits; 5 helpings of foie gras poellé, flash fried and served with a swirl of honey and balsamic vinegar; 1 duck roasted in red wine; 2 pots of duck rillettes; 1 helping duck cassoulet; 4 home-made terrines of foie gras; 1 large Quiche au Confit de Canard; 3 servings of foie gras brulée from Le Vieux Logis; 4 plates of duck gésiers (confited gizzards - no, they're very nice indeed); copious slices of tremendous duck salami; and copious spoonfuls of duck fat in the Pommes Sarladaises.

Feet definitely growing webs: it's time to come home.

The chief of police showed up for a farewell dinner. He brought eggs from his own hens and truffles from his oak trees to make us an omelette aux truffes. His recipe for 4 people: Take 12 eggs, break them into a bowl and beat. Add the shavings from 4 truffles, cover and leave for 3 days somewhere cool but not in the fridge for the eggs to imbide the musty scent and flavor of the forest from the truffles. (Dept. of Health & Safety, are you sucking in your breath?)

Our potager has fed us well all summer. But it's at the point where I can't be bothered to pick yet another handful of cherry tomatoes, however warm they are in the mouth straight off the vine. And the zucchini (courgettes in these parts) are a reminder that we're in the valley where Cro Magnon man was discovered: they've been left to grow into serviceable lout-bashing clubs.

The farmers' market has emptied of foreigners who take plentiful photographs but buy nothing. Now clumps of locals stand in the middle of the road discussing the parsimony of tourists. They speculate wickedly on whether any of the heavily pierced campers might perhaps have been struck by lightening in the weekend storm that rattled around the valley before they all at once, like lemmings, left for home.

The town's firework display along the riverbank that celebrates its saint's day could have rivaled any major city's Fourth of July show. But it marks the end of summer. Just like my diminished appetite for duck...

2 Comments

1. Lisa McCormack

   No more eatDordogne? Where will I now turn for my weekly escapist retreat? And how will I know the latest comings and goings of such marvelous characters as the sticky-fingered houseguest, the omlette-making chief of police, and the whiskey-drinking, boar-roasting non-racket-wielding manly men members of the Tennis Club? How do you say "Boo!" in French?

2. moi

   I love this duck diary.
   can't wait to check out your little web feet.