Gourmand

by Jennifer


Two and a half weeks have passed since we've been in France and New York City feels like a lifetime away. Our hosts maison (house) smells like honeysuckle, and to enter you must walk under an archway pregnant with the beautiful and aromatic plant. The fields are full of corn, courgettes (zucchini), aubergines (eggplant), basil, pepper, many varieties of tomates (tomatoes), radishes, beets, fennel, dill, lettuce, strawberries, carrots, haricot vert (green beans), and peas. The courgette are the best I've eaten in my life; they're a specific variety only grown in Nice and they taste like butter. We have them with every meal. 


We wake each morning just after the sun rises and I stumble into the kitchen and make coffee for myself and oats for Nick. I brush and wash in the bathroom and then change into my work clothes: shorts, sports bra, tank top, socks and my work shoes. They are ugly and functional. In the morning we harvest for the day's sale. This is the best time to work because it's not yet hot. I prefer to harvest the salad, or lettuce. There are five varieties and they are always crisp and fresh from the early morning sprinklers. They grow out of the ground just like they sell them at the store, and you have only to cut the roots off the bottom. When I cut them with my knife they bleed a thin white watery liquid, and cool earth gets all over me. After three hours of harvest we take a small break for the ou cafe, which I usually make for everyone, and I sit in a plastic chair overlooking the farm. If I sit too long the tired washes over me, so I sweep up the kitchen or put away dishes to stay on my feet. At 10am it feels like I've been working for ages. 


After tea we continue to work. This is the hottest part of the day and the hardest. I weed or rake or prune the gourmand, which, like many French words, doesn't translate literally to English. A gourmand is like someone with a sweet tooth who likes very rich things, and the one on the tomatoes steals all the nutrients from the plant and takes it for itself. Hungry for the goodness, we must cut it off so the plant can grow and fruit. As most of the tomatoes are inside a tube/tent (sort of like a greenhouse) with no air moving through, it gets extremely hot. I sweat enough that it's most comfortable to take off my shirt and work in a sports bra, but the more the tomate touch your skin, the itchier you get. My hands turn a powdery green at first, then a deep yellow and into a black the more I work. When I leave the tunnel my hands are black and my arms are yellow. The thick powdery and sticky goo grabs on to my arm hairs and turns them a stiff dirty yellow. After a few more hours of work I go in to wash up with a lot of savon (soap) and a hard wire brush. After about 10 minutes I stop and dry off, and though my hands still look filthy, with black around the fingernails and inside all of my cuts, I resign that they're as clean as they're going to get.

I usually make lunch as well, and if something isn't in the fridge, I harvest it. This is truly farm to table. Our host, Fabrice, makes olive oil in the winter, and there's tons at the house. I cook everything in it and dress the salad with it. It's thick and delicious with a peppery aftertaste. I work until 6 hours are up and then sit for a moment letting my body rest and relax. If I have the energy Nick and I go into the village, to le plage (the beach), or to the river, which is cold and amazingly beautiful. The water is completely clear and there are waterfalls and lush green trees everywhere. Le plage is the famous cote d'azur, so of course it's a treat for the eyes. The striped umbrellas pepper the rocky beach and the Mediterranean sea is a light turquoise blue. The water is perfect swimming temperature, refreshing but not cold. With the work in the sun and the beach, I'm getting very tan. Today we went to Nice and the shopkeeper's all spoke to me in Italian, which means that 1. I don't look French, and 2. I don't look American either. There are many musings to share with you, but as my day off is coming to an end and I'll be back in the field in the morning, I will say bon nuit (good night).