The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux - Samantha Verant Page 0,105

wines you have to choose from are the château’s, some of the vintages dating back to the 1950s. If you’d like a tour of the vineyard and our winemaking facilities followed by a tasting during your stay, please speak with Jane, the château’s brilliant manager.”

I took a deep breath.

“We are a garden-to-table outfit, the produce grown right here on the property. All of our meats and fishes are sourced in France. A lovely team of women makes all of our cheeses. We support our neighbors, who are family. And while I’ve taken creative liberties with tonight’s menu, I’m not straying from my grand-mère’s teachings. She always told me that recipes were guidelines, not necessarily to be followed word for word or ingredient by ingredient. With that said, I’d like to welcome you, dear guests, to our family, and it’s my greatest hope you enjoy the meals we’ve planned for you and your stay.”

A few women dabbed their eyes with napkins. The lone diner with the white mustache was the first to grab his spoon and clank it on the coupe de champagne glass. Every single table joined in.

“Merci, but if I’m going to feed you, I’d better mosey on into the kitchen,” I said, my statement followed by laughter. “Enjoy your meal. The first round of drinks to accompany the amuse-bouche is our sparkling wine and is compliments of the château.”

As the waitstaff popped open the sparkling wine, I floated back into the kitchen to the sound of roaring applause. To my delight, the next night played out the exact same way, and I savored every moment. The only worrisome thing was that the man with the white mustache, Monsieur LeBlanc, never approached me.

“Ne t’inquiète pas” (Don’t worry), said Grand-mère. “Perhaps he’s seen and experienced all that he needs to make his decision.”

31

sunday lunch surprises

I SHOULD HAVE been exhausted by the time the Sunday lunch rolled around, but adrenaline and excitement had taken over, jolting me with energy. There were no complaints of any kind, only accolades, as I’d learned when mingling with the guests the previous day. Plus, per tradition, on this day I wasn’t allowed to step foot in the kitchen. In addition to the granny brigade, the villagers of Champvert brought in the traditional dishes of southwestern France. Still, I hadn’t met the most important person, the man who could bring down the château—and me—with his decision. I tried to relax, but it was beyond difficult.

The courtyard bustled with activity—people laughing and eating. The large stone tables had been covered with beautiful French linens with poppy patterns. A self-serve buffet had been set up with every quiche and tarte salée one could imagine, like a beautiful pissaladière made with onions, shiny black olives, and slippery anchovies, or the one with tomato, honey, and goat cheese. There were many salads, and foie gras, and roasted chickens. Most of the men played pétanque on the court. Phillipa, Jane, Laetitia, and the granny brigade chatted amicably with the other ladies from the village and the guests, drinking tea. Lola played in the garden with the other children, hunting down the chocolates I’d hidden, placing them in cute white wicker baskets—an Easter egg hunt. Toward the back of the terrace, Gustave manned the large spit turning the méchoui— a full roasted lamb, his bottle of pastis in hand.

I watched all of this from Grand-mère’s suite. People smiled and waved to the window, my grand-mère looking like the Queen of England sitting on her wheelchair throne.

“Ma chérie, I’m quite cold. Could you put a fire on? There are logs just over there.” She tried to motion with her hand. But couldn’t.

As I got the fire going, a sadness tore at my heart, my stomach. So did fear. The truth was, she wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse. Agnès had told me she’d pushed herself too far. Right about now, I couldn’t have cared less about the audit.

“Ma chérie, go join the others,” said Grand-mère. “I’ll be fine. Agnès is with me. I want you to enjoy yourself after working so hard. You’ve made this old woman very proud.”

“Are you sure? I’d kind of like to sit with you.”

“I’ll be falling asleep in no time,” she said, waving me away. “Off with you.”

There was no arguing with Grand-mère. I headed outside to mingle with the guests, catching up with Rémi. When he saw me, he placed his hands over his heart. “Ouah, I didn’t think it was possible for the most beautiful