The Peugeot was packed with pate maison, Ratatouille, Tarragon roast chicken, Brebie cheese and some fruit from the market. After tossing in a folding table and some chairs, chef and I jumped in the car and raced through endless rows of grape vines towards Cheateau la Suze Rousse, an hour drive from our hideout in the mountains.
The vineyards were interrupted by small villages, their tiny streets seemed to be the only thing that lifted chef's lead foot -well that and the odd tractor/trailer pulling a load of grapes- (it's harvest time in Provence). These unexpected slow downs evoked some entertaining expletives (en Français of course) from the chef.
Arriving at the castle, we set up for the picnic on a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky, only a fresh breeze which hinted at autumn's return. The meal went off without a hitch and after packing up I found myself back in the car listening to chef's humorous/enthusiastic discourse on wine, food, cooking, life, politics, women, etc.
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