Guess being born in NYC affected my DNA; I am a city person. My definition of being in the country is anyplace without at least one hotel, two post offices, three pharmacies, four gas stations, five grocery stores, six parking garages, seven sushi spots, eight boutiques, nine cafés, and ten restaurants.

Getting away to the country was literally a breath of fresh(er) air when pollution hit the city. I couldn’t live in the country, but I could definitely enjoy breathing and living in it for a few days. A friend lives three hours away from Paris, near Tours and as she said, she could survive if there was an apocalypse just on her garden and and preserves.

There are woods nearby where she goes to forage for mushrooms every year, preserving whatever she doesn’t use immediately so that she can use them throughout the rest of the year. She made an excellent omelet filled with mushrooms she picked!

Lunch was a leek tart made with goat cheese and comté cheese.

The goat cheeses are made locally and she had three in different stages of aging from one week to three; it was like sampling wine aged from one to three years old. I liked the oldest the most because it had the most intense flavor, but the youngest cheese was perfect as a delicate almost cream cheese.

The oldest cheese log is the one on the left.

This was the youngest cheese.

Her family has lived in the area for generations, and her brother made this assortment of dried boar and duck charcuterie.

She packed her homemade deer pâté, peach and mirabelle jams “to go” so I would have a taste of the country back in the city:)

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