La Canicule
It was the summer of 2019, and I had somehow ended up in Southwestern France about an hour from Toulouse, in a town called Merviel. The “town” was one single stretch of road, preceded by open fields and some haystacks, on which approximately 7-10 houses were clustered, before the unnamed road went on to other, larger towns. Across the street from us was a middle aged couple who owned a small farm with many chickens roaming around. They were kind enough to share fresh eggs with us during our visit. The house itself was eclectic, with a dilapidated loft-shack that my friend’s husband called the “dojo” where he could practice his martial arts moves.
The closest large town was Mirepoix, and it is unknown if that is where the carrot, celery, and onion base for sauces, stews, and other dishes was invented. Mirepoix was a medieval town, with houses, a church, and other structures dating back 1,000 years. It was a charming place, with a bustling market held every Sunday. The market included every kind of cheese imaginable, live chickens, roasted meats, the freshest produce I had ever seen, and colorful bouquets of glorious flowers. It seemed like everyone in the surrounding towns and villages came to the market - either to sell their wares or to buy goods to sustain them for the week until the next market day. It was clear that this market had been in business for centuries, perhaps not to this great extent, but you got the distinct impression that generations of French men and women had frequented the market in Mirepoix.
The week following market day was when things started heating up. It crept up with a sudden ferocity that left us longing for the cooler days that preceded the heat wave. Driving on the highway, we saw signs warning the public of La Canicule, and imploring us to “hydratez-vous!” It was on the way to the Women’s World Cup match in Montpelier that the heat became unbearable enough that not even the sea breeze could bring relief. As we roasted in the stadium, sitting in seats that had been oversold at least 3 times by FIFA to other patrons, we became resigned to sitting in sweaty pools in our metal seats that were heated by the sun. At least it was better than running back and forth on the soccer pitch for the better part of 90 minutes!
The following day we thought about how best to escape La Canicule, and determined that an underground experience would offer the most relief. So we set out for the town of Limoux, the birthplace of sparkling wine that would eventually give way to its better known cousin, Champagne. As we entered a winemaker’s store and descended into the cave, each step brought literal degrees of relief, until we were fully embraced by the cool air underground. We relished in nature’s air conditioning as we sipped a welcome drink of Cremant de Limoux. The hour-long tour was over far too quickly, and so we soon found ourselves back outside, blinking in the brightness of the daylight and feeling our cool skin once again succumb to the heat.
