Craigie's Fruit Farm

 Daddy jumped out of bed on Saturday morning, and suggested going out for breakfast.  Craigies Fruit Farm had been advertising a "nature weekend", and some how this is where we ended up.


Daddy certainly seemed more miserable than usual (you remember how he feels about farms anyway!).  "It's just a cafe, except it is in the middle of nowhere" he moaned.  He certainly had a point.  Why would anyone want to visit a fruit farm outwith the bypass in the middle of winter?   Certainly not for the "Nature Weekend" - 2 miserable looking tents with a handful of leaflets each, and a spot the paper egg decoration competition (which was free to enter, but not terribly clear about what the prize would be).


The cafe is passable- even pleasant - with an open aspect out onto the Firth of Forth and the odd comfy sofa.  There's a tractor to clamber over, if that takes your fancy - and although the car park is heaving, the new extension has ensured sufficient capacity, so you don't actually have to queue for a seat any more.  But it's pricey.  Quaint, I give you - as this cheerful chicken pecks around your feet at the garden tables, but a portion of scrambled egg for me (and I'm only 9 months old mind!) was £3!


The adjacent deli is good for a wander, and has a new butchery - but the purpose is almost entitely defeated by the extraordinary pricing.  £2.95 for the tiniest tub of rice pudding!  75 pence each for a frozen scone!  That would make half a dozen £4.50, for a plate that wouldn't cost more than 40 pence in ingredients.   "Surely everyone can make a scone and bake a rice pudding" Mummy mumbled under her breath.  If only she had noticed that the breakfast pancakes were 50 pence each, when she often makes twenty or so in the morning, then she probably would have had a coronary.  Yet, entrepreneurial types take note - you might not think their Nature Weekend is up to much, but their business acumen is spot on - the place was heaving.


After buying absolutely nothing, we headed outside to say hello to the pigs.  There were tractor rides, but we didn't bother.  It was blinking parky up there on the hillside I can tell you.  All in all, if you want to cuddle a chicken and see a pig, and a lot more beside, and you don't fancy using a gallon of petrol, the community cafe at Gorgie Farm is a better bet, and they won't charge you 75p for a frozen scone either.


Come the strawberry season, we will be back at Craigies though!


Craigies Fruit Farm is amazingly open every day, whether there is fruit to pick or not!

Fete de L'Oeuf

The Festival of the Egg - that's Easter to you and me.  The day began swimmingly well - Gran Kat disappeared to the Baker, and returned with a chocolate hen.  Prior to this, I've only had the odd smear of chocolate (ice-cream and homemade cake), so a whole chocolate hen to myself was  pretty much like 0 to 60.  It was  amazing!  Never saw that chocolate bunny from Auntie Sonja though.  Mummy says you have to draw the line somewhere!

After lunch we headed to the pretty mountain village of Tourtour, which was immersed in its egg festival.  Big girls and boys painting them, huge paper mache ones in a zillion different colours hanging from every tree, splatted ones made of canvas crafted on the neighbouring hillside; and chickens - yes, hens of every fabrication and breed in every nook and cranny - real ones in boxes, pottery ones, paper plate hens - you name it!

I was taking it all in - the band, the DJ, the clucking hens.   No more chocolate was forth coming, but I liked it anyway - even if it was a bit chilly on the top of the mountain, despite the sunshine.  

Later on, I was even moved to do my first proper crawl - when I recognised one of those yummy chocolate egg things that everyone else seemed to be getting my fair share of!  It's hard being only 8 months old, you know.  I'm going to leave you with a little video I took of the Jazz Band.  They were awesome!

My First Big Fat French Wedding!

 OK, admittedly, it's not my big Fat French Wedding, but it is certainly my first wedding.  After 8 years of living in sin (whatever that is!), Granddad John and Gran Kat finally tied the knot, there by setting a much better example to the young people.

There were lots of people at the wedding besides me, including Great Auntie Sonja and Great Uncle Dave - (Gosh - that makes them sound positively ancient, doesn't it?)  Although Granddad complained a lot, I was the only one who cried.  I believe it is traditional for weddings - however, I should point out, I wasn't overly emotional or disapproving.  It's just that 3.30pm is prime nap time for me, and I didn't appreciate being woken up.  I didn't get any of the pink champagne either.  

WAITTING!!  WHY AM I WAITING?

Things did however look up once we moved onto the reception at Bastide des Magnans.  Dating from the 18th century and surrounded by mulberry trees, this attractive restaurant with rooms was originally a monastery, and now provides a most charming setting for a gastronomic adventure.  


Baby Led Weaning rules OK!  Yes, Yes, YES!!  I had it all.  Three hours of delicious tasty morsels, as I careered through the 4 course menu.  Who else but a baby led weaner would have sat so patiently?  First there were the nibbles (l'amuse bouche, if you want to get all technical on me).  I especially enjoyed the polenta cakes.  The starters were fabulous too: asparagus tart (white and green) in a creamy sauce.  I managed to work my way through a large slice, before scoring this delicious chilled tomato soup.

The garden in the summer - we MUST go back!

No one thought I would have room for any main - but it was delcious garlic roasted lamb with a rosemary jus, with baby veggies.  I even managed to squeeze in some of Auntie Sonja's baked cod.  Then there was the cheese course - a bit of a worry, I'm afraid - I mean - what happened to pudding?  Then it arrived after all - raspberry mouse, chocolate tart and icecream.  However, the real delight, which left me (literally) squealing for more was the lavender scented creme brulee.   Heaven on a plate - even though Mummy wouldn't let me try the sugar topping.  I am only 8 months old, after all.


So, it is official - I am a gourmet baby.  Tsshhh...  everyone was amazed...  but it is only custard after all.  I didn't get to try the coffee - but just when it seemed the Fat Lady really had sung, they turned up with the petit fours - that's French for even more dessert!  The little lemon meringue pies were divine.  The only calamity of the evening came when Daddy ripped the Rum baba from my sweaty grip, panicking in case it might actually contain alcohol.  It didn't.  Boy, did I protest! 

The Bride and Groom!

So there you go - my first gourmet dinner and my first wedding.  On the whole, I liked it.  I liked it a lot.  


Here's the happy couple.  I think they look rather lovely, and I love their taste in food.


Big kisses to Grandad and my new Gran 


Love Madeleine  X x


Les Bastide des Magnans is open daily for discerning diners of all ages. 

Pretty in Pink

 What are grandmothers for?  To spoil little girls of course.  How lucky am I? For this week, I have been visiting my brand spanking new Gran at her home in Provence, France.   New in the sense, that "we" only just got her officially.  She married my Granddad on Easter Saturday.  

Visits to Gran Kat and Granddad John are always full of presents.  Here I am in the ballerina outfit that Gran bought me from Canada, playing with my new Ostrich, Catherine's beads and Granddad's cigars.  (It's a filthy habit by the way Granddad - give it up immediately!)  As well as new clothes and toys, Gran Kat also managed to sneak me my first taste of chocolate  (Sshhh... don't tell Daddy!).

Sinister Dolly was still there, still playing peek-a-boo.  Here I am trying to explain, yet again, that although we are similarly dressed, I am far, far more interesting!  I am, aren't I?

St Maxime

Talking of exciting, this trip did include something quite new: my first proper experience of the seaside.  We had a spade and buckets and everything.  It has to be admitted, it wasn't totally a success.  I sat down in the sand, and having peered at it with some interest, I followed by usual modus operandi for close inspection.  Before anyone could stop me I had stuffed a huge handful into my mouth.  It was disgusting!  I didn't really recover after that, despite the fact that I am too young to be disappointed that the Carousel hadn't opened for the season yet.  The spade tasted good though.  Maybe next trip I will enjoy it all a bit better!  


Roll on Summer!