Not long after we arrived here on the Rue I noticed that a house across the street, previously shuttered up tight, was slowly coming to life. Each day out came a serious looking fellow of a difficult to say age with a thick gray mustache and beard and a myriad of tattoos. He wore exotic leather sandals with soles that curled up over his toes, you know the kind you see on movie characters who ride Arabian horses through the desert and cut people’s heads off with giant curled swords. In my head he was mysterious, dangerous even and I had all kinds of wild stories attached to him.
Despite my intrigue, timidity trumped curiosity so I never got beyond a quiet bonjour to him. Then one day Neil and I were huffing up the hill and there he was again. He stopped in the middle of the street and offered us a deep and solemn bonjour and said, “Jean-Claude.” Finally someone in France opens with their name. He paused for a moment, looked at us intensely, “Do you like apples?” Of course we like apples. Then he raised his large arm and with a toss of his hand directed us to his truck.
Next thing I knew we were driving up the road with this stranger who in my mind was the local mafioso bringing the feckless immigrants to a local dog fight arena. He stopped in front of a large plot of land full of bushes and trees and got out. Curious indeed. I decided to trail behind the men you know just in case I had to make a break for it.
The ground was covered with hundreds of apples and the bushes were heavy with blackberries. Suddenly the formerly stoic Jean-Claude was smiling and talking about his bounty and then turned to Neil (not to me now, to Neil), “You know these apples make a lovely tarte. But I would avoid the darker ones, they can be a bit sour.” And with that they were off into Betty Crocker land. Well I never.
He offered us the use of his land whenever we liked and even invited us in for a tour of the small house next to his where he keeps his office. I was ready for anything, bounty hunter, hired assassin, arms dealer but settled for the truth … plumber. While his line of work may not be exotic his office sure is with shark jaws, huge snake skins, African statues, military medals and a cold war peace commendation signed by Donald Rumsfeld. So much for my dark side theory.
Since then he has come to our door many times with apples and other fruit and Neil has gone to his door with bowls of hot apple crumble. Next thing you know the two of them will be quilting and going for facials. This week he returned from his vacation with a gift for us, a jar of Corsican honey from his father-in-law’s farm.
He’s the sweetest man you could ever meet and as I’m writing this yet another bag of apples has appeared on my doorstep. I think he and Neil are kindred spirits because in addition to sharing a passion for all things fruity JC also consents to be plastered all over the internet.
And, just in case there was any doubt of his connection to Rusty, Jean-Claude offered me this one from his personal archives:
God love him I say. Oh yes Jean-Claude and I are going to get along just fine.
Look at that orchard! And those pants….. what a great neighbor to have. Seriously.
He’s fantastic.
What a beautiful spirit. And those arms! I imagine they’re perfect for being wrapped in.
I heard Jacques Pepin on NPR yesterday. Leonard Lopate was saying how JP refuses to waste any leftover food, that even apple rinds find their way into simmering tea. Sounds good, no?
does he look like hemingway in person as much as he does in pictures?
Yes he does actually!!
The Hub also makes apple crumble – from our apple tree. Maybe they can all start an international association.
I was going to comment on how JP looked like the archetypal French countryman. Until I saw that last photo. I love his pose in the first one, though.
Yes! They SHOULD form an international association and I can manage it for them. Brilliant!
I know isn’t he positively splendid in that pose!!
This reminds me – tell Neil there’s a tarte making competition at the Carpe Diem bar (no apples though, it has to be salé).
Is there a tarte eating competition to follow?
Ha! You’d win that no problem garbage guts!
I think I LOVE that man!!!! Is he married??? Oh, I forgot……..I am. Shucks! Darn!
LOL!! Yes he’s married but I’ll tell him you love him.
Hi Bobbi!
so nice to finally have a chance to sit and read your blog…….beautiful! Awesome job!! fr Nova Scotia :)
Woaw!! JC rocks, he’s the bomb of the rue pertuisot (Crocodile Dundee street). Why do I never meet him yet, he seems so nice!
He’s REALLY nice! He was just here bringing us a bottle of wine he made in 1986 and was very pleased to see himself on the blog. I (meaning Neil) have to translate it for him tomorrow.
JC has to be in the movie!!! and we won’t need to dress him, looks like unless we do some stunts and need multiples, he is quite well costumed himself!!!!!
How did JC know that Neil is the chef? Maybe it was their wardrobe connection?! Qui cares, right? You got your apple crumble and bottle of wine! Love the photos of JC. He looks like he should be in a movie.
I know this man…. He’s my father!!!
Bonjour!! J’adore votre père! Il est vraiment un bon voisin!
Bonjour depuis Madrid! Oh! Après le post sur les pommes de Jean-Claude, faites en un sur les crèpes de Jacqueline!
Buenos días Loïc, su padre nos ha hablado un poco de usted. El es un auténtico caballero… nos alegramos mucho tenerle y su madre como vecinos!
And this is why you can never really stereotype people. Except for the ones on Jersey Shore.
A gentle giant who bearing apples. What a neighbor! Have a slice of tart for me, will you, with a chunk of sharp white cheddar.
OMG, JC is the long lost twin of Paula Deen’s husband. Take a look.
Bonjour, Qui est-il? Mystère? Tout ce que je peux dire c’est que nous l’apprécions beaucoup et qu’il est unique.
Ha! Awww, Jean-Claude. He looks like a French Santa Claus. And he leaves sacks of goodies to your doorstep! :D