Lost In Limoges

From the sheep-dotted pastures of France's underpopulated Southwest, Limoges rises in all its grey glory. The city's claim to fame: fine porcelain. The half-timbered houses of the Medieval center are surrounded by strip malls and McDo. Land-hungry Brits descend with flailing pocketbooks (thanks, RyanAir). The weather is remarkably cool year-round. Sure, I live on rue de Nice, but this is NOT the Cote d'Azur. Welcome to Limoges, "the middle of nowhere"-- or as Pierre says "everywhere"-- France.

Sunday, April 23, 2006


The truck pulled up in front of the house in La Chapelle Saint Laurent (Pierre's parents) and honked. It was pretty small, compared to our big American trucks, with a pig painted on the side, and Viandes painted in red letters on the front. We chatted with the amiable driver as he hopped out of the front seat, walked around to the side, raised the siding, and quickly transformed this truck into a butcher shop! A charcuterie on wheels! The display of meat was mouth-watering. Posters of pigs were plastered on the walls, and the butcher even had one of those deli meat-slicers ready to cut the ham and saucisson. His specialty is boudin, or blood sausage, which I'm not too fond of, but the rest of it is pretty awesome.

(Sadly, Pierre told me that this kind of old-school charcuterie is becoming obsolete. With new government regulations, the old timers are being phased out...)


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