Doing ordinary things

This weekend, I receive a tutorial in leather cleaning, visit a hardware store, and make a huge pot of moules à la crème.

The sign outside of Maison Emprin, Montpellier.

Sometimes, I’m doing ordinary things – buying groceries, going to appointments, picking up dry cleaning – then, on an afternoon in January, I pause for a cup of coffee and I’m sitting in a pretty square in the winter sunshine and it’s a moment of gentle pleasure, a moment when I feel half on holiday, half jolt of shock that this is my life now, doing ordinary things under a different sky.

Montpellier in January. Doing ordinary things under a different sky.

On Friday, I had to go to Montpellier to fulfil one of those endless life admin tasks and I rewarded myself with a walk, in much the same way you might reward a child with a lollipop for being brave at the doctor’s office.

Montpellier is full of those shops happy to sell you all the things you think you need for a beautiful life – woollen blankets in just the right shade of sage, plain linens for 120€ a metre, reading glasses which immediately bestow you with the appearance of at least an additional 20 IQ points, you know the sort of thing. In one shop, I found a pretty bag in a botanical print which was supposed to prolong the life of your salad in the refrigerator. I held it up to Séan.

“Isn’t this a good idea?”
“It’s 32.50€. That’s a lot of lettuce.” It’s infuriating how often he is the voice of reason.

We walked along the rue du Palais des Guilhem in the Écusson neighbourhood, the ancient heart of the city. I saw a cobbler’s and wondered if it might be the place to find the saddle soap I’d been looking for to clean my handbags. Inside was a hymn to order. There were racks of neat insoles and belts in rich colours, shelves of shoe lasts, brushes and polishes. In the back of the shop, a man was working on a pair of boots.

I asked the owner if he had saddle soap. (I had to look it up: savon regenerant.) Of course, he said. I picked up some brushes and asked him what sort of polish would be best to clean my bag. He explained the difference between polish and paste. He asked if I wanted to know how best to use them. My eyes must have lit up, so enthusiastically did he embark on the tutorial.

I mean, I know how to clean shoes. I was raised by a father who thought shiny shoes were a mark of good character. But I wander about in this life always keen to learn a new thing, a twist, a secret, the sort of trick that will make everyday things just a little bit better. In case you also want to share the lesson, dab the bristles of the brush into the paste, use very little, carefully work it into the leather, into every crease, leave it for 20 minutes then use a clean brush or a soft cloth to remove the polish. Leave it for another 20 minutes then buff it again with a soft, white cloth. “This makes sure there is no more polish to rub off on your clothes,” he says. “Sometimes people come and tell me they got polish on their jackets, but that’s because they use too much polish and don’t take it off carefully enough.” The man who had been working on the boots in the back carried them to the counter. The soles were beautifully stitched and the leather as bright as a conker.

That evening, I looked the shop up to send the address to a friend. I wasn’t surprised to find that the owner was a fifth generation shoemaker and that the shop had been there since 1962. If you’re ever in Montpellier and your shoes need some attention, your feet couldn’t be in safer hands.

Putting my new knowledge into action.

After my shoetorial, we walked to rue Saint Guilhem, a long street full of cheese shops, chocolatiers, bakeries, wine merchants, cafés and delis. I wanted to visit Maison Emprin, a homeware shop that’s traded in this street since 1896. Today it’s run by the fifth generation of the Emprin family, and it’s where you come if you want to buy anything from a stove to a teaspoon, a shopping trolley to a mousetrap, an iron to an air conditioner, jam jars to paint brushes. Outside, the sign on the wall says Droguerie, Quincaillerie, Jardinerie. My love language. (Though you might be tempted to translate droguerie literally, as drugstore, it’s not where you’d come to pick up your asprin – that’s the pharmacie – it is somewhere you’d come to buy things to clean and care for your house. Quincaillerie, one of my favourite French words, means hardware store. Jardinerie means garden shop.)

After a gentle hour, looking at cake tins, wine glasses and fine china, I bought some glass cleaner and a special powder to clean the bins. I’m struck that while there can certainly be pleasure in acquiring new things, there is true happiness to be found in taking care of what we already have, even if it is at the bottom of a bin.

Emprin, then and now,

Cordonnier Ergé
13 rue du Palais des Guilhem
34000 Montpellier
cordonnerie-erge-montpellier.fr

Maison Emprin
29-31 rue Saint Guilhem
34000 Montpellier
emprin.com

Moules à la crème

Mussels in cream

I was walking past Jade Coquillages this morning on my way to have coffee at the Marine, and on their stall was a huge crate of mussels, alongside the oysters, prawns, tielles (octopus pies), jars of fish soup and rouille. This is a dish of such easy luxe – a few ingredients, some fairly simple prep, and you have the most elegant lunch you’ll ever eat with your bare hands.

I could eat mussels for days, so I allow 1kg per person. You may be less greedy than I am.

Serves 2, 4 as a starter