If the Capelet fits…

A busy Bastille Day weekend, which is not Bastille Day weekend, actually. Plus I try my hand a sports commentary, and a recipe for Turkish-ish aubergines.

Greasing the pole for the Capelet.

Here we are in Bastille Day weekend, except we must not call it that. This day, which commemorates the storming of the Bastille prison in 1789 and marks the beginning of the French Revolution, is known here as la Fête Nationale or simply le Quatorze Juillet (14^th of July). For years, there I was Bastille Day-ing about the place in such a careless manner that today I could blush red, white and blue. The French don’t seem to care much. I was never corrected by them. The well actuallys usually come from a certain sort of British person who lives to let you know they have been here longer than you, they’ve seen it all, done it all, often - that very day - drunk it all, and are on cheek-kissing terms with the mayor (though to be fair, that doesn’t seem like too exclusive a club).

This year, the festivities began on the eve of la Fête Nationale with a noisy, lengthy exuberant fireworks display on the port. Villages around the edge of the lagoon hold theirs on different evenings over the weekend, so if you’re clever about it and position yourself just so, you can enjoy several displays on consecutive nights without even leaving the village.

The morning itself dawns. The sun is shining. There is hardly a lamppost in the village that doesn’t flutter with a tricolore. And then, around 11am, you hear it. The town band, the singing and chanting, as the heroes of hour process, leap, bounce, run from the village to the port, all dressed in white, some carrying large tricolores and others, the red and gold flags of the Occitan region. Today is the day of the first Capelet of the year, an event that is as much a part of summer here as the sound of the cicadas.

The procession goes past the house.

A barge floats in the harbour with a ship’s mast perched on it, suspended at an angle over the water. The mast is coated thickly with grease. Towards the end of the mast is a post with a top hat on it, and another one a couple of metres further on. Our heroes, refreshed from a morning processing around the village singing and hydrating with pastis, take turns to climb the pole, to attempt to reach the first hat. Early forays are shortlived, but as more men go along the mast and scrape off some of the grease with their feet (the most mannerly ones also grab handfuls of it if they can, ,as they plunge from the mast into the water), they edge – thrillingly – closer and closer to the first hat. When someone grabs the hat and falls into the water, all of his fellow capelateurs plunge in with him for a celebratory swim as the band plays its victory music on the quay. Then, for a little relief from the tension, some men attempt the pole in drag, before the serious business of gaining the second top hat commences. Who needs the Wimbledon final, honestly?

The top hat is captured.

Oddly, on this most French of holidays, I found myself missing the flavours of my old home. For more than twenty years we lived in Stoke Newington in north east London, with its many Turkish and Kurdish restaurants and cafés. My life there smelled of grilled lamb, garlic and coriander and my favourite greengrocer had produce to rival the finest French market. The Turkish family who ran it took huge pride in arranging their crates of aubergines, tomatoes and peppers, in keeping them just so, constantly weeding out anything which was even slightly faded, wrinkled or past its best. Fistfuls of parsley, coriander, mint and dill were kept sprightly in pots of water. Apricots were lined up in their crates so the seams in their flesh formed parallel lines. Small children were given bananas or other pieces of fruit, out of kindness, but also as the owner explained to me, ‘They’re our future customers!’ Whatever he says, I still believe it is mostly out of kindness.

I usually make these stuffed aubergines with minced lamb, but that can sometimes be hard to find here outside of the halal butchers of Béziers, so I quite often use minced beef instead. They are gently spiced with cumin, a little cinnamon and chilli and you bake them all in one dish with the rice. You can make it ahead if you want to, too. It is very forgiving. Just as summer should be.

My lovely Turkish green grocer in Stoke Newington.

Stuffed aubergines with rice

This is so easy and good. You can double or triple it up for a crowd, too. If you have too much sauce – it depends a little on how big your aubergines are – any that you have leftover is great with pasta for a quick dinner.