Posts tagged france travel
Posts tagged france travel
Have a glass of Pastis, watch a Marcel Pagnol movie or look at Paul Cezanne’s paintings and get yourself into the mood. Today is all about Marseilles and real Bouillabaisse. We had a discussion over dinner, but I am still convinced there is no other city in the world that argues more about its specialty than Marseilles. Sure, New Yorkers think those crappy pizzas that are synonymous with their city are good and are vocal about it. Chicagoans are fervent of their beautiful deep dish pizzas. But the level of enthusiasm pales in comparison to that of Bouillabaisse. Family members cease to be family members, neighbors’ houses razed while they are on vacation and gardens gnomes gone swimming with the fish Godfather style. Marseilles even has a charter that tells you rather than guides you as to which fish may swim into the Bouillabaisse and which cannot.
Live Conger Eels at the Old Port of Marseilles
We started the day early with croissant and pain au chocolat from a Boulangerie in Cheval Blanc then braced ourselves for an exhilarating ride thru Marseilles morning traffic. A few times I was obligated to play chicken with a Gauloise smoking truck driver as we fought for lane domination. If you ever lacking colorful adjectives for that play you are writing just take a ride thru rush hour. We finally docked the Renault near the Vieux Port and took to the streets by foot. The first stop was a store that specializes in all things Provencale.
I am always nervous when Lisa goes in here. It is much like when I slip into a bookstore and come out 16 cookbooks fatter trying to pretend like nothing happened. Lisa bought several gifts for family and friends back home.
For the next few hours we wondered thru the streets of Old Marseilles dodging dog turds, photographing cool looking doorways and drinking Pastis. One has to work up an appetite for Bouillabaisse.
Marseilles is the second largest city in France and the largest port in Europe. The earliest human evidence, dating back 30,000 years, have been found in the underwater caves near Cosquer and depict two Frenchmen fighting over what are the correct bouillabaisse fish. Marseilles was founded in 600 BC by Greeks from Phocaea as a trading port under the name Massalia. It transferred to Roman control, was conquered by the Moors and now us. The streets are so narrow and small that you are amazed your car fits let alone the one racing towards you at a cool 137 kilometers per hour.
After a delicious pastis in old Marseilles we returned to our cars and drove to l’Epuisette for an epic lunch. L’Epuisette is somewhere you should go to at least ten times before you die. The bouillabaisse needs to be ordered 24 hours earlier.
I present our epic meal at l’Epuisette in pictures
as words will fail to adequately describe it.
Auguste, my cousin Catherine and Roland’s amazing child,
gave Beaumont Sophie le Giraffe
Amuse Bouche number one: three mousses
Bouillabaisse, Asparagus and Mushroom
Amuse Bouche number Two
Scallop larded with Bacon in a Cream Sauce
Aioli, Gruyere and Rouille
With Garlic Crouton for the first course
Bouillabaise: an Act in two courses
Bouillabaisse is ALWAYS served in two courses. First the broth the whole fish were cooked in is served with croutons smeared with rouille and covered in gruyere.
The broth is wonderful and perfumed with pastis, saffron and garlic.
After first and possibly second helpings of broth are served the whole fish are presented as to show ‘Mais Oui, we know the correct fish’
The congel eels, chapon, grendin, rascasse and st. pierre are lined up fileted on your plate waiting a few ladle fulls of broth to be spooned over
Note the correct silver utensils for eating fish. Every piece of silverware is correctly sized and fitted for proper surgery on the course in front of you.
I would have licked my plate but people were watching. Bouillabaisse is a religion. After decades of street battles and disappeared garden gnomes the Chefs of Marseilles created the Bouillabaisse Charter of 1980 to codify the ingredients and still the guns of war. 11 restaurants signed on and the war rages.
The Best Cheese I have ever Eaten, bar none
The cheeses were served with an unbelievable fig bread
Followed by desserts
Valrhona Chocolate Tart; Mango served like a poached egg;
a futuristic tarte tatin and Mango and Yuzu Cannelonis
Following desserts was trio of mignardises
Lemon Tart, Raspberry Macaroons & Chocolate Bombes
"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."
― Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin
The French have the good sense NOT to serve coffee till you are finished with your sweets. I never understood why someone would want to hide the flavors of an apple tart with the overpowering flavors of coffee. If you think about it, it simply makes no sense. A good meal is to be lingered over and enjoyed. No rushed and hurried experience that promotes indigestion. Servers won’t even bring your bill till you ask for it. I have gotten into so many arguments over the years about the French relationship to eating versus the American. Maybe like an infant, we are just a young nation and haven’t learned proper conduct at the table.
Outsanding View from the Dining Room
Ocean waves crashed below creating an unparalleled experience
A short post today as not much happened and I am tired. Sometime you just need to take a vacation from your vacation. I reached saturation yet again, this time caused by too much sightseeing. The thought of having to drive somewhere for anything seemed crazy although we did manage one short car ride into the center of Cavaillon for a quick pastis, rotisserie chicken, and bread to consume with our five hour standing rib roast. It takes patience finding decent bread in Cavaillon.
Cavaillon is a rough and tumble town in the middle an agricultural area known for spectacular melons. Our daily forays for pastis have centered on going to a particular sketchy bar with off track betting. It kind of adds to the mystique of pastis drinking, even making it slightly dangerous.
On the way back to the maison we bought bread at a distant Boulangerie, rotisserie chickens and at the Inter Marche, the French equivalent to Safeway, we bought sea scallops with roe sacks attached. Walter and Dan also scrounged up a premier cru Margaux, excellent Sauternes, a few lobes of foie gras and a piece of pate for good measure. None of us seem up the task of moderation in our wine and food purchases.
The seafood counter at the French version of Safeway
After a quick lunch of a huge green salad, spit roast chicken, wild cherry tart and espresso Dan and Stephanie took off for Avignon with Andre while the rest of us lounged around the house. I seasoned the meat and started the five hour slow roasting process.
Lisa, Beau and I played in the warm sun with an occasional blast from the Mistral to remind you Spring hasn’t sprung all the way just yet. The Mistral is the famous wind that blows through Provence. It has been attributed with various healing capabilities as it is said to blow the pollution away from the big cities in Provence.
With the beef slowly roasting at 200 degree for five hours I started on making ratatouille and potatoes Gratin. We opted out of eating our daily foie gras ration.
Bone tired from near Cavaillon, Bon Soir
Pastis has become part of the daily ritual. Tous les jours before dinner we have a beautiful glass of Berget Blanc mixed at a ratio of 1:5 with water and a bit of Orgeat Syrup. Never before in my 48 years on planet Earth have I enjoyed Pastis so much. I must attribute my crazy cousin Andre with this. His joie de livre is contagious.
Much like adjusting the focus on your camera every trip to France has clarified my heritage and who I am just a bit more. I think I finally understand why I am what I am and am slightly confused why it was revealed now so late in my life.
Everyone on planet Earth desires the greener grass on the other side of the fence. Very few of us are lucid enough to understand, like in the great book the Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, that our treasure can be found right in our own backyard though we may have to take an adventure just to find that what we desired was always in front of us. In life, the road Lisa, Beaumont and I walk will definitely cross thru Provence. It is in my soul and it is my destiny.
Today we went to iles de la Sorgue in Vaucluse, an insanely beautiful little town built on a series of small rivers, or fingers of the river. We walked thru a large outdoor market featuring pottery, clothes, honey, almonds, Brebis cheeses, music and antiques before stopping for the menu du jour at a riverside restaurant. In a lot of ways it reminded me of l’Auberge de Sedona and inspired me to capture the essence here and bring it with my A game. Sometime when you work in the restaurant business you get jaded by the experience you give people. You see the beauty that first attracted you everyday and get blinded by it. The food is no longer special because it is always the same, day after day. But in that is the beauty. In repeating something with the same intensity and passion over and over and giving of yourself to someone you don’t know. Giuseppe Cipriani once said “Imagine a world made up only of objects, a world of idle tools, a restaurant of nothing but tables and chairs, a large empty theater or a deserted plaza in summer. They cry out for the service of man, the service
to give them life. We call on man to display his splendid capabilities. And We observe with undivided attention, because the little nuances in the quality of his service give a flawless measure of his mind, they tell us frankly what his soul is worth, Because, To serve is first to love.” That encapsulates a truth many restaurant workers have forgotten – to serve is first to love. Sometimes we just need to step back and remember why we love someone, something than express it with what god has given us.
"The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times."
― Paulo Coelho,
We dined on Croustillade de Chevre et Figues, Tartar de Tomato et Concombres avec Gambas, Lieu Jaune with Penne au Pistou et sa Petits Legumes and fresh macerated strawberries with cream and walnut fig tart. We downed a white and red local Provencal wine and just enjoyed watching life float downstream past us.
They served us a puree of Tomatoes and Basil to start
Tartar of Tomatoes and Cucumbers with Gambas
Lieu Jaune is a fish with a similar flakiness to cod. Here it was served on Penne pasta mixed with pistou (Provencal Pesto) and garden vegetables.
Beau adored watching ducks chase morsels of bread thrown to them
"There is only one thing that makes
a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”
― Paulo Coelho,
I should really get out of this Pastis haze and back the entire story up to begin from the beginning. We started the day returning to Avignon to buy meat, fish, vegetables and more at the Les Halles market. French shopping is just so absolutely different than ours. The market place features several different food vendors plying their wares. There were fish mongers, butchers, fromageries, boulangeries, pastisseries, green grocers and even spice sellers.
I bought a plethora of fish for dinner tonight and a huge hunk of meat that quickly became the talk of the market place. Everyone crowded around to see what the crazy Americans were buying. The standing rib roast is cooking at 200 degrees for five hours as we speak, er ah, type. The smell makes me dream.
All sorts of shellfish for sale with this amazing vendor
Mounds of spices are found at the spice stall
"What is a personal calling? It is God’s blessing, it is the path that God chose for you here on Earth. Whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we are following our legend. However, we don’t all have the courage to confront our own dream."
― Paulo Coelho
We returned home to find Dan, Stephanie and Simone waiting for us at the rental. We popped a nice magnum of Dehu Grande Reserve champagne and ate Ardeche salami, Figatelli salami, Olive Salami, Serrano ham Dan brought from Spain, Bayonne ham and little Crevettes Gris in a mayonnaise I whipped up.
We continued with a simple salad of Beef Heart Tomatoes layered with pungent basil and creamy Burrata drizzled with an extra virgin olive oil. The burrata was made in Italy and driven down. If you ever need to taste what summer should be like just bite into this. We drank a Pinot Meunier still red wine from Rene Geoffrey that went surprisingly well with the salad. I was happy about that because everyone thought I was nuts to suggest the combination.
For a main course I made an extra simple risotto with fava beans, purple artichokes, thumbnail sized calamari, chorizo, basil and tomatoes topped with langoustines, sea scallops with the roe attached, clams, white asparagus and a crispy piece of skate wing. We drank a magnum of an absolutely vibrant Meursault from 1998. It had an amazing straw hay hue and angels sang with every sip.
Our daily cheese tray was replenished with yet another Epoisses I never had seen before. The cheese tray now included two Epoisses, Saint Maure, a local aged goat cheese, Langres, Ami du Chablis, Beaumont de Savoie, Tomme de Savoie and a few other cheeses we forgot the names. We cracked a magnum of 1989 Volnay Clos des Chenes. The 1989 Volnay left me speechless. As you probably guessed I am a Francophile. There is not one single producer in America that can touch a wine like this… not one. Our wines are so one dimensional compared to this it is crazy. We make fruit bombs with high alcohol. The 1989 had no sediment whatsoever and sang and sang and sang it’s little heart out. And these are not even the good producers of Burgundy.
The night descended into darkness as the Marc came out. I vaguely remember cooking foie gras a while later with Dan saying he wanted to have his portion swimming in the pool. France has been challenged to a drinking duel on Wednesday for our family get together… Viva la bon vie!
Every town has its own bakery! GOD BLESS!
We left the Chateau de Varenne reluctantly. I seriously love this place and the owners who run in. We stopped in the centre ville for espressos, croissant and a handful of other pastries that we had picked up in the village bakery. For the French, baking and pastries are usually two different disciplines. For those keeping track, I am expanding equally and all over. My clothes no longer fit and now I just roll in a sheet and pretend I am a Roman. Everyday has become a toga party!
While eating croissant there was a smell lingering in the air from the market of spit roasted chicken and other meats. Damn that’s intoxicating! A guy at the
village produce market wheeled up his rotisserie and is spit roasting everything over potatoes. I am still drooling thinking of the scent burned into my memory.
We drove to a little flea market just outside Avignon watched over by a beautiful castle. The flea market was incredible! Lisa and I wanted to buy every little piece of French junk and haul it home. Plates, silverware, kitchen towel holders, medieval bondage gear… you name it. Something for everyone. French flea markets are surreal. The food at French flea markets is surreal.
We listened to excellent Gypsy guitar music while heating dozens of oysters, white anchovies and shrimp with a bottle of Picpoul. The beautiful sun shone down on us and the gods smiled. I think I just figured out my retirement plan.
I bought a few Tiffany silver spoons for combat duty at l’Auberge de Sedona, a cookbook written by various French grandmothers and some cool espresso
spoons. Satiated we hopped back in the overloaded Peugeot and continued onward forward to Avignon, the home of the 13th century popes.
Avignon is a magical place. Often referred to as the “City of Popes” because of the presence of popes and antipopes from 1309 to 1423 during the Catholic schism, it is currently the largest city and capital of the département of Vaucluse. This is one of the few French cities to have preserved its ramparts, its historic centre, the palace of the popes, Rocher des Doms, and the bridge of Avignon. It was classified a World Heritage Site by UNESCO.
We walked around Avignon and indulged ourselves fully in the vibrant tourist trade. Lisa, Beaumont and Kathy went for a ride on a Merry-go-round. Beaumont had such a huge smile on his little face spinning around and around in the bright colors and lights. Afterwards he wanted to ride more and more and more! We would put him down and back he would run.
We stopped at a bookstore where I dropped an arm and leg on the latest French cookbooks. Lisa bought some beautiful tablecloths, napkins and a gorgeous watercolor of Avignon. It is easy to spend in France. Themes that will reoccur demain et demain.
We finally stopped for gallons of water, ice cream, chocolate cake and café. The French pour such small glasses of water it is pitiful. Being dehydrated for several days requires me to fill up like a camel when I can. The French consider drinking water only for invalids and small children. The waiter must have been impressed with the quantity of water little Beau was consuming as we guzzled down the carafes.
On the way home we stopped at the equivalent of a Safeway and bought truffle sauce, a 10 Euro whole lobe of Foie Gras, pigeons, duck fat, beautiful white asparagus, ratte potatoes, Jambon de Bayonne and other delicacies. Walter, ever the angel even bought an espresso machine because I lamented about not having one at the rental. Hangover mornings require serious coffee!
It felt amazing to be in the kitchen cooking again. I prepared a simple dinner of sautéed white asparagus with a poached egg in an asparagus hollandaise. Simple flavors, simple textures. The main course was Savoy cabbage with pancetta topped with a slab of foie gras and pigeon breast in a truffle sauce.
Lisa made a huge green salad followed by too many great and strong cheeses.
We drank a baby 1999 Volnay from a small producer that really doesn’t even count in the grand scheme of Burgundy producers yet this 1999 Volnay was
singing and super youthful. There is something, a quality you cannot reproduce when it comes to experiences. To be drinking a great wine that has never moved is mind altering. Wines, especially Burgundies, are very delicate and fragile creatures. The vibration of the cargo ship, trucks and people carrying alter it’s DNA changing it forever. The 1999 Volnay absolutely sang with the raw milk Epoisses, the best ever of the trip!
Viva la France! I am in stinky cheese Heaven… bon soir
Today was a bit of a reunion day for us. Our good friends Walter and Kathy Kinney arrived just in time for dinner from California after not sleeping for 10,000 hours on their herculean trip from Sacramento. My cousin Andre rejoined us after one day in Grenoble having his Harley serviced. Beau now has to play against a four man zone defense in bars, restaurants and cultural sights.
The day started wonderfully with café au lait at the Chateau and croissant and pain au chocolat in nearby Orange. We decided to take it easy, do a little sightseeing and maybe, just maybe eat some food. We started by visiting the famous ancient Roman theatre that has withstood the ravages of time. It is the best preserved Roman theater in all of Europe and has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site.
Orange was a Roman colony called Arausio, founded in 40 B.C. by veterans of Caesar’s Second Gallic regiment. It developed rapidly during the reign of Emperor Augustus and it was at this time the Roman Theater of Orange was built. Although highly prized by the Romans, this theatre suffered the same fate
asthe Roman Empire and it was closedby imperial command in 391 A.D. Bythistime Christianity had become the de facto state religion andthe Churchopposed all pagan spectacles.The Roman Theaterof Orange was abandonedcompletely when the Empire fellin the 4th century A.D. It was sacked andpillaged bythe Barbarians andwas usedas a defensive postin the Middle Ages. Duringthe 16th century wars of religion it was used as a place of refuge andrapidly filled upwith dwellings.
It was only in the 19th centurythatthe Roman Theater of Orange slowlyrecoveredits originalsplendor, thanks to the restoration worksbegun in 1825 atthe behest ofthe authorProsper Mérimée, whothen held the position of directorof “Monuments Historiques”.
Up and down steep stone stairs we wandered. The center ofthe stairs hadbeen so wornover1,000’sof years of useand it was amazingtothink how manypeople hadclimbed the exact stairsfromRoman times to now. They still haveplays during evening hours and even operas and rock concerts.
We played hide and seek and peek-a-boo in the old stone corridors. Beau gave a few screeches that went unnoticed which frustrated him and delighted us. He did throw one good temper tantrum when we wouldn’t let him climb down the steep stairs. Both Lisa and I got vertigo just looking down them.
Being a bit of a history buff it fascinates me to no end to think of how long Europe has been civilized in comparison to the USA. My uncle Philippe once visited the USA and I showed him early American history from New Orleans up
thru parts of Southern Illinois that had been settled first by French in the early 1600’s then the Spanish and finally the Americans. He was completely unimpressed as his house in Marseilles was far older. I suppose we have Indian mounds like Cahokia and ancient cliff dwellings like those found all over the southwest that date back a reasonable amount of time. But then Europeans also have what us Modern folks like to call ‘prehistoric sites’ too.
We wandered around the old streets of Orange looking in windows, searching for cookbooks and trying our best to keep Beau amused. After eight days of constantly being on point our nerves were wearing thin. Every parent who has ever travelled will understand exactly how we felt. One day we will look back and laugh but right now our hair just greys more. Half of France can testify that my son Beau has an amazing set of pipes. The other half just hasn’t met us yet.
We finally became very hungry and decided on having crepes at a nearby restaurant. We happily walked into a near empty restaurant, sat and ordered some crepes and a modest half bottle of wine. Quickly the restaurant filled and little Beau got it in his head that maybe he was the proverbial Fat Lady and he was gonna give a star performance to his new audience. Beau pulled every trick out of his bag including projectile vomiting on his maman while she ate her ham and potato crepe. Poor Lisa looked as though she wanted to throw in the towel and admit defeat. Her next thought being maybe it wasn’t too late for an abortion. Sensing Beau’s short life might end abruptly I downed my wine, inhaled my crepe and grabbed Beau and ran outside to have a father and son moment. I stepped back in long enough to see steam pour out of her ears and her head spin three times. I told her relax, eat your crepe and come outside with deux café and a nutella crepe. I nervously kept glancing at the second floor bathroom window in case she tried to flee. Ten minutes later she joined me followed by the waitress with our dessert crepe and coffee.
Having a child is a lot like working in the restaurant business. It is love and hate relationship. Anyone who claims to just like it is lying. Outside I tried a new tact with Beau. Instead of caving in to what he wants just to shut him up on vacation I decided to refuse his whims and make him sit still on my lap. I was determined to win the mind battle over my 15 month old son. Soon I was back to feeding him nutella or whatever else was close at hand to by minutes of silence. Beau 10, Francois 0.
We retreated to the safety of our car and headed back towards the Chateau for a much deserved nap. Beaumont passed out in the car as we pulled into the gates of the hotel. If we could just carry him all the way in and lay him down in bed maybe, just maybe, we might get a few minutes of hard earned rest. No, Beau woke up and the day got longer.
By six o’clock we decided to head into Chateauneuf du Pape and wander a bit before dinner at Maisonetta. Just as we reached our car Walter and Kathy pulled in and we help carry their bags to their room. As soon as we got back to our car again my cousin Andre pulled up on his Harley.
We now rearranged the cases of wine stuffed in every free space of our car to fit all five adults and one cranky child. Off to Maisonetta we drove. Andre convinced us to have a pastis cocktail at a small seedy bar before that should you dare to light a Gauloise cigarette at the same time you may actually spontaneously burst into flames. Happily up the hill we walked.
Maisonetta does not look good on the outside, in fact a bit scary. Its menu is half Italian and half French. We sat down at the table with a Jacques Brel album on a small easel. None of us could figure out why. It was only when the
waitress brought everyone an album that we realized it is the menu. The menu offerings are limited by American standards but all was well prepared and quite honestly many choices to choose from if you like your food.
We started with beef carpaccio, tomato tartar with mozzarella cream, a charcuterie platter with duck prosciutto sausages and more, and sautéed foie gras on a bed of leeks. All were super delicious and enjoyable. We drank bottle number one which was a Chateauneuf du Pape 2007, followed by a 2008 then a 2009. We were happy people.
Kathy is amazing with Beaumont that he even open mouth kissed her several times. I am not entirely convinced by boy’s intentions were noble, in fact one time he winked at me. The five man defense worked like a charm and after a while little Beaumont was confused which way was up and which was down. Lisa and I even got to eat food at the same exact time. Happy Feet!
By the time the main courses arrived we were happy as can be. Lisa and Walter ordered a Magret of Duck with Honey and Lavender; Kathy a grille Loup de Mer with olive oil drizzled over; I had tagliatelli carbonara and Andre had the most amazing Reblochon Gratinee served with boiled potatoes. Holy Crap was that good. Take one whole reblochon cheese, season it, put in gratin dish and bake. Andre, ever being the devil, order a trou normande of Poire Willem, French for pear flavored fire water. I guess we ordered so much that the Chef came out and poured us all a free glass.
We ended to night happily full, buzzed & safe back at the Chateau… Bon Soir!
Tomorrow we journey further into Provence.
I am writing this at the end of the evening and I actually cannot lie on my stomach any longer. I have the appearance of a reverse turtle with my feet and head no longer touching the bed simultaneously. Joyous bloating and discomfort have become my constant companions.
I actually fooled myself into believing that I wasn’t going to eat today, I mean aside from breakfast and dinner. Today was supposed to be about driving from Beaune to Chateauneuf du Pape, four waking hours away from culinary temptations. Somehow between the charcuterie breakfast at our hotel in Beaune and dinner I managed to eat more. Squirreled away in the seats of our car I found remnants of chocolate macaroons and ganache dipped in dark chocolate from one of the thousand chocolatiers we stopped at so far.
My cousin Andre said a temporary goodbye to us over an unexpected lunch at a roadside restaurant. When I saw the menu I could not resist trying the Pommes
Aligot with grilled Toulouse Sausage. Pommes Aligot is a potato dish I started making many years ago when I worked at a small Relais and Chateaux property in New York State. Two of my weekly guests had gotten back from France and requested I attempt this dish for them on their next visit. I scoured amongst my 2,000 cookbooks and found a recipe and prepared it the following week. Pommes Aligot is basically the smoothest, buttery, creamy mashed potatoes you ever made it your life with so much cheese added that it stretches like molten rubber when you stick a spoon in and lift it high in the air. It’s so elastic you might even be able to tie a knot if you tried hard enough. It became part of my regular repertoire ever since then and never having tried an authentic version I was curious how mine stacked up. I rarely boast but I think mine is superior. To make today’s version even more heart healthy the Chef added a nice grilled Toulouse sausage. The car groaned under the added weight as I crawled back into our car for the final leg of the drive.
I honestly think I would be still circling around a rotary somewhere in Paris had it not been for our Garmin GPS. French streets are not exactly marked in a way that we Americans are accustomed to. In fact I would go a bit further and say rental car companies out to show a video to any foreigner attempting driving here. I drove down two lane roads today that looked more like someone’s ramshackle driveway. There is not a chance in hell we would have found today’s castle we are staying in. Yes for those keeping track, it is castle deux.
Chateau de Varenne is a gorgeous Provencal castle built in 1738 by the first mayor of Avignon. It has amazing grounds with swimming pools, gardens and
children’s toys strategically located all over to almost make Beaumont forget about the numerous fountains, puddles and springs.
Though my mother was born in the Champagne region of France she grew up in Marseilles and her father had a beautiful resort, now run by my uncle Pierrot, in Perigord. The smell of boxwoods perfumed the air while the gravel walkways
reminded me of my youth. Fond memories swelled in my heart. The Chateau is painted in all the classic Provencal colors of ochre, blue, red and green. JOY.
The roads surrounding the castle are narrow for one car despite being for two and snake up and down the small hills of Sauveterre. Driving the same roads slightly loaded on the local Chateauneuf du Pape wines requires skill and tact, though just enough wine makes you more courageous and too much makes you foolhardy. If our GPS would break now I never would be able to find my way out.
Beau running down the center of a two way street in Chateauneuf du Pape
We drove to the center of Chateauneuf du Pape just in time to buy some amazing wine at Clos de Mont Olivet, one of our favorite producers here and also another supplier to my friend Peter’s company Michael Skurnik. We bought four bottles of just bottled 2010 Cuvee Papet, the special reserve that Robert Parker gave 96 points for, a magnum of 1976 (Lisa and our friend Dan’s birth year) and two 2011 white wines bottled three days ago.
After the tasting, we stopped into a small wine/gourmet shop for yet another tasting and stocking up on various small sausages including a black sausage from Corsica and an olive sausage. We climbed the narrow streets to the castle ruins overlooking town.
For dinner we ate at La Mere Germaine located in the heart of town. Have you ever walked into a restaurant knowing full well you aren’t going to eat well yet you still do it anyway? We walked in and the omens were blaring. Beau’s head
spun three times and he vomited green split pea soup screaming obscenities like the demon child in the Exorcist, empty dining room, cheap décor and they lost our reservation. It really wasn’t that the food was bad – it just wasn’t great for what they charged. A guide Michelin wannabe. The meal started with a pleasant tapenado with croutons. Beaumont helped himself to one basket of bread and two dishes of tapenado. Where does the little one put it? As caring parents I realize eating that many olives may not be good but it kept him quiet for three minutes and it was well worth it. The amuse was a buttery asparagus puree with microgreens. I started with Zucchini Blossoms stuffed with a seafood mousse, shrimp and the tenderest calamari ever while Lisa had her fifteenth plate of Foie Gras since touching down at Charles de Gaulle airport. The duck foie gras confit was delicious and served with white asparagus compote. So far so good. The main courses were a way over salted sautéed Loup (sea bass)
served over perfectly tender vegetables and my way over salted Filet of Charlois Beef over the same vegetables as Lisa. The flavors were good, just not great. Dessert descended into amateur hour at the Harlem Theater. Lisa’s Macaroon with Red Fruits was very mediocre and my Tiramisu with Pistachios and Praline was just okay. By now, little Beau had forgotten what an angel he could be and began making up lost time in torturing the nerves of his parents. We took turns taking petit Satan out to the fountain in front so he could splash in the water and perhaps exorcise a few demons along the way. The night ended
with both of us feeling super bloated and slightly drunk. Chateauneuf du Pape is a lot heavier than the Burgundies we had been drinking till now.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! What an incredible start to the day! Despite staying up later than I wanted sorting thru over 300 pictures taken yesterday I feel great. Beau still hasn’t fully adjusted to the time change but is doing better. He is a little crabby and needy when he wakes up but after a double espresso he seems to be able to cope. Just like his Daddy.
After checking out of the Chateau, we stopped at a small Boulangerie along the highway for two croissant and two pain au chocolat. PURE HEAVEN! I often wonder why American pastries are over sugary, especially breakfast ones. I suppose that leads me to my second gripe about American food norms – why the hell are children’s menus so god awful for children or even adults for that matter. Who the hell really wants to feed their children deep fried chicken, grilled cheeses or mac and cheese? Nothing wrong with very occasional delves into unhealthy food but could someone explain why kids cannot eat the exact same food in smaller portions as the adults eat? Beaumont has been the shining star of that example. In his short five months of eating he started with duck confit went to truffles and now has progressed to sweetbreads and kidneys. Never once has he looked me in the eye and bitched that there weren’t fries, fried chicken or ketchup.
On the three hour drive south to Beaune (Burgundy) we stopped twice at a gas station for coffee and once for gas. It is really amazing to notice cultural
difference between France and America. At the first gas station, I stopped in their version of a quickie mart for bottled water and was amazed they sold, amongst other things, real Madrange ham. Unbelievable, something you actually would want to eat if you didn’t have time for a proper meal. The coffee I got actually was good, full bodied and not watered down or served burnt in Styrofoam cups in a variety of big gulp sizes. The diner equivalent had a variety of great salads, cheeses, hot dishes that actually looked good and wine. No unhealthy prefabricated Sysco brand chemicalized food. I honestly puzzle where we went astray food wise in America. In my 2,000 plus cookbooks I have numerous books from America in the early to late 1800’s. Believe it or not, at one time we actually ate real food believe or not.
The second round of comparing cultures came when we went to the supermarket for bottled water and to do laundry. On the surface the supermarket looked similar to any in America but upon further investigation I found blaring differences. The first and largest difference was found in the seafood aisle. They offered everything from the briny delectable crevettes gris (grey shrimp), langoustines (sweet, succulent deep sea lobsters), dourade royale, rouget, monkfish, etc. etc. The variety of fish was amazing. When I lived in Mendocino, it always was astounding to me that along America’s longest coastline they would have you believe that only salmon, halibut, and two other fish are found if we judged it by what was sold in grocery stores. Walking further into the store I found lobes of foie gras, beautiful guinea fowl from a small farm and elk.
For lunch today we went to a restaurant a friend has been raving about for at least ten years called Ma Cuisine. I now understand exactly why he raved and will say GO THERE NOW!
The sign leading to gastronomic paradise…
Ma Cuisine in Beaune
My cousin Andre met us there for one of the best, simple and regional meals I have had in decades. Lisa and I started with Ham Persillade, a Burgundian classic that also will find its way onto l’Auberge de Sedona’s charcuterie plate.
Last night Beaumont was l’enfant impossible… today both Lisa and I were absolutely jittery about which Beau we would dine with. Today we were blessed with little angel Beaumont, the petit gourmand.
Beau started with tasty little black olives
Segued into daddy’s veal kidneys in a mustard sauce and maman’s ris de veau (damn, I swear that boy cannot eat enough sweetbreads!) and finished on the cheese plate complete with probably the most perfect Epoisses I have ever eaten. To paraphrase Brillat Savarin, ‘a meal without cheese is like a beautiful woman with one eye’ – she may satisfy you in the short term but damn what happened to that eye!
For Beaumont’s last two acts at Ma Cuisine he took a short stroll with Papa exploring the various puddles that filled the cobblestone walkway in front and slept – YES SLEPT! Hallelujah!
This is what heaven looks like to me
Anyone who truly loves wine will appreciate the following picture. I took it shortly after Ma Cuisine and before descending into a cave for wine tasting…
I honestly am not even sure of the winery’s name we visited. There was door it said come in drink some wine and we scurried in. They gave you tastlevin, little cork dorky wine tasting silver cups and told you have at it, take the tour on your own at your own pace… and only drink one glass of each of the 14 wines, please. Wines were strategically placed down in the cave at various points.
We ended up buying several bottles including a moderately priced ancient wine to share with friends joining us in Provence in a few days. The rest of the afternoon was spent stopping in cheese shops, charcuteries, chocolate shops, knife shops and walking all over the picturesque town of Beaune. I could live here very easily if I just could hit the lottery.
Hardly hungry and closely hitting the proverbial food wall we returned to the town center for dinner where Beau gave his best dining performance of the trip. He actually slept through all three courses including Lisa’s kir royale! Hallelujah!
I actually prodded him after I took this shot as I wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah!!!
On the way out of the brasserie he was awake long enough to get some cute little 15 month old French girl’s phone number before blissfully returning to sleep!
The quiet streets of Beaune just minutes ago… bon soir!