I remember the first time I had a breakfast, French style. Well, I cannot account for all the rest of French families. But this was surely an initiation of some sort – dinner at home and breakfast at home. It was just so very different from what I was familiar with! That is more than a decade ago. Same friend is now setting the table for breakfast, with same menu – hot chocolate and baguette or croissant, butter and jam. Dipping that tasty bread with jam into a deep bowl of hot chocolate was something that was totally eye-opening. But now it makes feel like ‘I’m home’.
Here in Seysses, the milk for breakfast comes from one of the neighbours. They own a small farm and also grow corns on the field. In the evening between 7 and 7:30pm, the cows are milked, so we walk along the dark road surrounded by the quiet winter field in the pitch black, with an empty bottle in our hand, an Euro coin in the other.
There I met Rodger (pronounced in English like ‘ho-jay’), the son of the family. With his friendly smile and gentle handshake with the hard, working-man’s hand, I instantly got a liking of this man. His father was also milking another cow next to him, who stretched his right hand but his handshake was much weaker.
Back at home, the milk is brought to boil and kept on for 15 minutes. That will ensure the fresh milk is safe to drink. I did not know that putting a piece of glassware helps avoid the sudden blow-over while boiling milk. What depth of knowledge those French people have!
Coming back during the day, Rodger’s showed me around his farm.
Wouldn’t it be nice to come chat to those people every evening and fetch the milk for the next day, and go walking home to a warm dinner. Hopefully, next time they will start taking the money for milk from us again!