Toros de fuego

There are no health and safety issues associated with our toros de fuego. Absolutely none. Two grown men circling the terrain des fêtes with a firework-laden papier-mâché bull present absolutely no risks to the public or themselves. It's safer than it looks actually. And I noticed that one of the bearers had prudently donned his motorbike helmet.

When we first moved here, the toros de fuego were the highlight of the three-day fête du village in August. These village fêtes used to happen in every village, but they weren't much like English village fêtes. There were always fairground rides, shooting galleries and candy floss. Sausages and chips. A bar selling copious amounts of beer and muscat. Ghastly black-and-silver clad seventies-style rock bands with massive sound and light systems and female singers chosen purely on looks rather than singing ability, who played till 4 am. For some reason we were the only village that had the toros, so people used to come from miles around. We were gobsmacked when we first saw it, because it's the kind of thing that just Wouldn't Be Allowed in Britain. Or if it was, the insurance would be prohibitive.

Our fête, like most others, fell by the wayside about ten years ago, after one drunken brawl too many. But our village social club, the Amicale laique, revived the toros de fuego a few years ago for the Fête de la St Jean, to the great pleasure of young and old alike.

Thist was the first of the three outdoor meals we organise every summer. Menu: escalivade, moules-frites, and fruit tart. For 240 people. So that would be 200 kg of mussels and 50kg of chips. Luckily the mussels were supplied already cleaned, otherwise we'd have had to start work on them last Saturday. And we bought the tarts from the boulangerie.

About six of us spent the morning cutting up vegetables for the escalivade. Even in our catering-sized oven, it had to be cooked in six batches, so I spent a peaceful hour and a half in the afternoon finishing off the last few trays. Meanwhile, in the rudimentary kitchen at the terrain, the two massive pans had been filled with mussels up to the brim, and the chips were being pre-cooked in a very artisanal deep-fryer made out of an old washing machine, with a basket lovingly crafted from chicken wire and capable of taking 5 kg of chips at a time. I can't say the result was very satisfactory, since the chips simmered gently in oil rather than frying, but luckily we also have a proper deep-fryer for crisping them.

Once everyone was seated and the escalivade had been eaten, the Amicale laique team swung into action, and we got everyone served with moules-frites in about 20 minutes -- not bad for a bunch of amateurs! I got home at about midnight, exhausted and reeking of chip fat. Today's challenge is much easier: salad, couscous and summer pudding for a mere 12 people.