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Happily, the Mayles knew when it was time to go home. Encore Provence resonates not only with the acute perspective of someone who is supremely glad to be back on French turf, but also with the wit and relief of a refugee who has a solid American yardstick by which to measure the good life. The Mayles had tried valiantly to adapt to American culture: they learned about California wines, they shopped by mail, they took vitamins, they tried to watch television, they attempted to watch their cholesterol; there was even a period when they tried to be good citizens and drink eight glasses of water a day.
Can the author of A Year in Provence andToujours Provence possibly have anything more to say about the sunny south of France? Yes, especially when he's chronicling his newfound dual roles as an expert in all things American ("we are in some way considered responsible for the spread of American tribal customs," he writes, "everything from le fast-food to les casquettes de baseball, which have begun to appear on previously bare French heads") and as a defender of all things Provencal.
Mayle sounds most defensive in a chapter devoted to former New York Times restaurant critic Ruth Reichl, who penned a Times piece chronicling a bad vacation in Provence and then wrote off the entire region, concluding that she'd "been dreaming of a Provence that never existed." For Mayle, that Provence is clearly alive and well, if--as he aptly demonstrates in a lighthanded chapter entitled, "Eight Ways to Spend a Summer's Afternoon" (pretending to read, planning your own chateau)--you're in the right state of mind to savour it. --Kimberly Brown --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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In "Encore", Peter briefly revisits several topics covered in the original, as well as several more which were apparently overlooked. The range is quixotic: the cultivation of olive trees, an explanation of the three grades of virgin olive oil, the smelly art of selecting fragrances for designing perfumes, foie gras as the key to longevity, discovering the perfect corkscrew, touring Marseille, the almost-underworld of the village truffle market, how to execute the Provençal full shrug, the obligatory elements of the Provençal village, and, umm ..... the shotgun murder of an amorous meat cutter. And, of course, many hedonistic references to the local food and wine. All are treated in the utterly charming and dryly humorous Mayle-style that makes his books so delightful.
Bravo and merci beaucoup, Mr. Mayle! You've provided another enjoyable spice to my life.
That enlightened mecca where wine's first sip is greeted with a "shudder of appreciation" has welcomed him home. He warmly returns its embrace, as he delightedly attests through anecdotal narrative and assiduously drawn, smile-provoking portraits of idiosyncratic Gallic friends.
For starters, we learn of a handsome village butcher who favors housewives with more than choice cuts. Such generosity results in his untimely demise, but "everyone turned out the day they buried the butcher. They all had their reasons." We are inducted into the mysteries of buying a new car, cheerfully informed of the essentials of a proper village, and taken on a cook's tour of Marseille, where it is suspected "that not only fish are changing hands at the daily market on the Quai des Belges."
Lucien Ferrero, we discover, has "a nose in a million," having "personally created more than two thousand perfumes," and we accompany the author as he zealously pursues the elusive perfect corkscrew.
When asked by future visitors when the best time is to come to Provence, Mr. Mayle sidesteps that persistent query with "after lunch."
"Only then," he explains, "can you take full advantage of the long and unencumbered afternoon that lies ahead. The bill is paid, the last mouthful of rose' swallowed, the empty bottle upended in the ice bucket as a farewell salute to the waiter."
The author finds that one of his most daunting tasks is trying to convince guests of the necessity of a siesta, for they've arrived in Provence "with their work ethics intact and their Anglo-Saxon distrust of self-indulgence poised to resist undisciplined, slightly decadent Mediterranean habits."
For those wishing to be convinced - the line forms behind me.
As always, Mr. Mayle is a witty, convivial, boon companion. Save for one chapter in which he lambastes a former New York Times food critic for her criticism of the area (perhaps a gentle braising would have sufficed rather than a full roast), Encore Provence is pure pleasure.