BRILLIANT COLORS, CLACKiNG METAL BALLS, THE TASTE OF anise on the tongue, and the smell of
wild herbs: it must be Provence. The sky by day is intensely blue and by night is starry
indeed. Brightly colored fabrics billow in the wind. Old men in woolen caps gather around
the courts to toss balls and argue in the ritual game of petanque. They, like everyone else,
sip the anise-flavored pastis. A delicious fragrance arises from the fields. Most
prominent—and deliberately cultivated—is lavender. But wild thyme, marjoram, and the
mildest rosemary fill the open spaces like sweet-smelling weeds. A most memorable hike
takes us tramping through the herbs, crunching them underfoot as we head for a forest
of oaks. Ahead of us, Noirette trots across a carpet of dead leaves, swinging her nose
from side to side like a Geiger counter. Short legs move quickly to keep up with the nose.
A mutt, she is shaggy and black, with brown eyebrows
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THE BLACK TRUFFLE'S GREAT
CULINARY GIFT IS THAT IT
IMPREGNATES FOOD WITH ITS
DEEP FLAVOR. IN PROVENCE,
TRUFFLE SEASON RUNS FROM
THE FIRST TO THE LAST FROST
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