We certainly don’t have the same kind of winter weather to report down here as does the rest of the country. Watching the snow pile up and the white-out conditions blanket the landscapes of much of the country makes us feel like we are watching far away places on another continent.
From February to June, you’ll find me in a wonderful spirited mood. This is the time of the year that visiting down here is much heeded and encouraged. These are the best months to be living in this otherwise humid south.
(…which means my doleful dribbles of whininess will visit here in due course…but not now.)
The snow storms up North are sending sweeping wind storms down here. There is nothing more soothing to me that listening to trees swishing and swaying in a mighty wind.
I grew up in an area full of humongous oak trees with thick gnarly branches and clusters of tough leaves that launched sprays of acorns that plunked to the ground with little sounds like snaps.
Sunday is my day of relaxation, cooking, planning…and of course, a bit of dreaming. The winds were blowing beautifully through the house. I closed my eyes and told Patrick that with the howling and wailing of the wind, I was pretending I was planted on the moors over some desolate loch in Scotland.
(Oh, and yes…if I squinted and peered into the distance, I could even see the ‘from head to toe’ plaid outfitted hunting party of men, from Downton Abbey.)
(Perhaps, I should tramp over there and give them an ear-full about the incompetent writers on their staff at present…)
Visions of moors, lochs, and plaid kilts aside, the weekend, nevertheless, called for a rustic Sunday Supper that would be warm and filling. We had some items left over from the week ~ applewood smoked bacon, herb speckled goat cheese, and a medley of oil soaked olives.
I thought of a hearty galette filled with full-bodied flavors and a whole grain crust. I also had an assortment of mushrooms that needed to be included so a quick sauté in butter brought wonderful rich smells that mingled with the air of this blustery day.
Chester had been keeping careful track of the bacon that was sizzling on the stove top that morning. In one minute he would be tucked into the folds of the couch and in the next, he would be in a full upright posture with that little nose twitching and flicking with hopeful anticipation of a morsel handout.
Galettes are a favorite around here for the weekends. From a savory pie to a sweet galette, the combinations of flavors to add on top are endless.
Moreover, there are often leftovers that make quick and delicious lunch treats for that dreaded Monday work call.
The very first time I ever heard of a galette was when we traveled to the little town in France called Perouges.
I remember choosing that little village based on a travel article I had read that portrayed this rosy cheeked elder woman holding a large round “galette” in an open window of a bakery.
It was called a “Galette de Perouges“. Unbelievably, since I was young and very naive, when we arrived at the village and I laid eyes on the actual galette, I squealed in pure delight that it actually existed.
That was a sweet galette. It was crunchy and sprinkled all over with doses of powdered sugar. I still giggle when I see that photo of the open shuttered rustic window and the galette sitting on the sash with the adorable little lady smiling broadly.
I imagine this must have been the initial delights that make wanting to see more, do more, and experience more such a wonderful part of travel.
My galette this weekend isn’t sprinkled with powdered sugar and I’m not sure it hails from any particular part of the world, but has a rather generous spray of freshly grated Parmesan cheese on top. Enjoy.