Leeks galore, au-pairing at 16, Claudine, and the tall wheat grass

once upon a time ...

Still life with leeks by Carl Schuch (National Museum, Warsaw) - 1888

When I cut up leeks I think of Claudine

Claudine

is just behind me. She is telling me exactly how to cut them, slice them into four and dip them into water to get the field dirt out. “Field dirrrt,” She likes to empyazing the r’s.

She is French, well, she was French, but for this story, I will keep it in the present. Forty and fierce with auburn hair and green eyes, like Dolly Parton’s Jolene. I am too young to know about her as a woman, I am sixteen, just. This is my young impression. Claudine is tiny and drives her blue Mini Minor too fast. She is impatient with a fiery temper. A Sagittarius who always tells me they are the best sign. Listens to a different radio channel in every room in the house. Smells of Channel number 5, has velvet trappings instead of doors, is good at handicrafts, a fancy job in Paris where I imagine every man and woman loves her. Is quick reminding me also of Jackie being nimble, Jackie being quick, Jackie jumping over the candle stick. She fights a lot with Yuri her Russian husband and they both enjoy smashing things during their spates, with me peeping on from my bedroom which gives off from the kitchen where everything seems to happen. This is Claudine who also, on top of these accolades makes the best soupe à la tomate et aux poireaux - leek and tomato soup I have ever tasted.

This is what I relate the most to her.

Leeks!

Leeks and tomates - Edward Munch - 1926-1930 - Oil on canvas - Munch-museet, Oslo, Norway.

In Claudine’s house, we eat leek with everything, almost every day. Cold in vinaigrette or with mayonnaise, hot in a quiche with goat cheese, pickled with ginger and thyme, leek fritters, in a casserole, as a morning pick-me-up-broth called soupe magique - magic soup, caramelised and sweet made into a puree, and she even makes a leek pudding which she learnt on a trip to North England.

Every Thursday Claudine comes home with bundles of leeks almost as long and slender as she is tall from the village market. These will last us all week.

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Going back in time,

It is 1982 and I am in Soignolles-en-Brie a tiny village in the Seine-et-Marne not far from Paris. I have just got a job as an au pair having been kicked out of school for unruly behaviour and no other school wants to take me. I am packed off with two large white suitcases, to Nina, a Russian family friend who lives in Paris.

Nina finds Yuri and Claudine through her bridge playing friends. The meeting goes so well, I leave with them that weekend.

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Yuri

is dark and very dangerous, I decide, and I make up all sorts of stories about him. He is like a character from a 19c novel, one who drinks a lot, smokes furiously, is passionate and jealous over his wife, and is often very cross with me.

Claudine looks as if she stepped out of a classical painting, still called Jolene. Of all the things about her features, it is her nose, delicate and noble that fascinates me.

A Classical Beauty by John William Godward 1901/ Oil on canvas. Collection of Fred and Sherry Ross Public Domain Image

The family are Franco-Russian with a long history in the Russian theatre from Yuri’s side. This is a second marriage, tumultuous, sensual and unsteady.

Yuri is scary to a 16-year-old.

Claudine, impatient.

Yvan, their child is the joy in my young life. Only seven years younger than me.

It is deep love, him standing upright in a little blue suit with a tie and long lashes kissing his cheeks. We are inseparable. An instant bond is formed between us. Yuri often says I am as childish as Yvan. Claudine has to remind him there are only seven years difference between us.

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The house is at the end of the track; the last house but one, next to M whose dogs are kept in cages. We go, Didier and I and open the cages at night. Didier sometimes breaks the locks. The Gendarmes have been investigating the strange case of Mr M’s dogs. Didier and I lie in the tall wheat grass in front of our house watching as they prowl rather stupidly. Then Claudine drives up the track, and gets out, knee-high white boots, a white button-up coat, with her long auburn hair trailing to her waist, arms full of leeks. This means I have to leave the wheat grass and spend the evening washing the dirrrt from their slender stems.

Creatives Common License - Soignolles Church 1903

Every French thing I learnt and learnt to love comes from this place and time. Today, as I write, our country is going for the biggest historical vote of its lifetime. God forbid!

This corner of France is so rural yet a jump away from Paris. With wood pigeons calling, vast fields of wheat grass, Henri the taciturn man who lives in a shack by the iron Cross and speaks to Jesus and no one else but me and Yvan. The gipsy family in horse and cart stop by our window selling baked bread on Tuesday morning. The meat van passes on Wednesday, the half school day for Yann. The long grass, there, just in front of the house where we play hide and seek, or lie for ages looking up at the clouds, or just walking the river in water boots, then Yvan chases dreams and places them into jam jars along with newts and tadpoles.

Video from Pixabay

Falling in and out of love with Didier who later goes to fight in Lebanon, and dies. Young and silly and in courtship, he takes me once to Paris to visit his aunt and uncle Hélène and Roger who have a cheese shop in Belleville.

(I found this charming film which is how I first met Paris at 16.)

My first step outside life in the UK.

My first job,

My first love,

reading into the night Christiana F, the book of the moment,

letting the stray dog in, only Yvan knows, and keeps our secret…

And cutting leeks…

Each day, cutting Claudine’s leeks!

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Uncle Shoreh

is a White Russian (Lithuian) Jew, not a real uncle, but a family friend. During the Russian uprising, his family ran to Paris with everything they owned. He is rich and funny, and kind and without children. He is the guest for ‘leek day Saturday.’

All hands on the deck. Clean this, pull out that, dust I can not find, cut flowers from the garden, hide the stray dog's bowl in the bushes, one more game of hide and seek in the wheatgrass.

Didier invites me for a ‘Boum, (Saturday afternoon disco,) as he has a new set of speakers. I sulk for a while when Claudine hands me the knife and fills the basin while Yuri drags in two bundles of leeks from the cellar. He is the main cook and pans fly off the hob. He is hoping, Claudine later tells me, to get some money from Shoreh to finance a Russian Restaurant in Melun.

Shoreh arrives earlier than expected. He brings 8 red roses for Claudine. He spoils Yvan and forgets I am the au pair, so he spoils me too, pressing a hundred Franc bill into my apron pocket. He then takes out the bottle of vodka, and pours us all a drink, telling us he wants to cook roasted leeks with walnuts, lemon rind, honey and olive oil.

The vodka passes around, warm and giddy and lovely.

Claudine is in a good mood, Yann makes a garage under the large table, Yuri and Shoreh banter.

And in between we clean leeks…Field dirrrt…Jeannette…the Field dirrrt.

This day is one I remember every tiny, beautiful moment. It is my first real day where they all forget I am English struggling with my French, and a tatty, almost still school-girl with bad maths and known for feral truancy. They treat me as an almost adult.

We sing along to Valery Leontiev, Yuri's favourite - the Russian singing Idol of the time. Yuri puts on record after record and we dance like hell!

I go outside to view from the outside looking in.

I forgot to tell you, the kitchen is painted in blue and orange, which clash with the roses.

This is what I see.

Created by Jeanne

Then we eat, very late in the afternoon.

Menu

Leek and mushroom dumplings with sweet red wine sauce

Cheese and leek fritters with fresh chopped mint and dill butter

Roasted leeks and roast lamb, walnuts, lemon rind, honey and olive oil

Sweet leek pancakes tossed with brown sugar and soured cream

Washed down with rhubarb wine and Vodka.

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There is a break before late supper - Soupe à la tomate et aux poireaux - tomato and leek soup -  The men play cards, Claudine snoozes, vodka full and happy. Yann comes with me into the village, I want to see if the boum is still on.

We skip down the road, his hand in mine, we skirt the wheat grass, Monsieur M. waves. I have a feeling of guilt about the dogs, but the feeling does not last long.

As we turn into the square by the church Indochine’s song L’aventurier streams out into the evening air…

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I want to go back one day to Soignolles-en-Brie, yet I hesitate for it can not be the same. No, I want to remember that leek day, and leave us all there, locked into that precious time.

Some memories must never be disturbed!

Merci, thank you, and if you enjoyed this, please share. I love writing these journals.

I have wanted to write about my first adventure into French culture for a long time, and held off. Last week in my veggie basket from the farmers market were long and slender leeks, and so this story came out. Finally!

Have a great week, and month ahead.

With love,

Jeanne

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