La belle France: sip, sup, satiate
So I am back in London and it is certainly not the excess weight of my luggage that gives any cause for concern. After five days of gorging myself on all things Dalmatian, I moved on to the South of France to do it all over. My aunt and uncle have a holiday home in Mazan, a tiny medieval village in the department of Vaucluse, Provence. Vaucluse is flanked by the Rhone river to the west and the River Durance to the south, while the north-eastern perimeter is defined by mountains, most notably Mont Ventoux. Mazan sits pretty much slap bang in the middle, perfect for exploring the Southern Rhone wine region and the villages from which many of the wines take their names. And everyone knows that a glass of fine wine is best enjoyed with a plate of good food to accompany it.
Indeed, some of the most beautiful terrain I encountered was on a drive we did through the Cotes du Rhone-Villages appellation, starting in Beaumes-de-Venise, through Vacqueras, Gigondas, Sablet and ending in Seguret. Seguret is classified as one of les plus beaux villages du France, and you can see why; from a distance you would think that the village was carved out of the hillside.
As if the Romanesque architecture and cobbled pathways weren’t enough to keep you occupied, its height makes for some spectacular views over the surrounding vineyards and beyond.
Back at the house, Chez Sinclair-Helms, my aunt opened a bottle of Seguret Cote du Rhone Village 2007 to accompany the cheeses. Smooth and velvety with hints of cherry and plum, this was perhaps my favourite of the red wines I tasted in those 5 days. I say ‘perhaps’ because there was some tough competition from the Les Armoiries Cotes du Ventoux 2006. Cote du Ventoux is an appellation that I had not been exposed to before this trip and I was rather taken with it; The World Atlas of Wine describes the reds and roses as lively when young and “light in every way” so given my partiality for such characteristics, this is hardly surprising.
The boyfriend is a typical male in so far as he has an innate desire to conquer things; this was most recently manifest in his aspiration to drive to the top of Mont Ventoux, not because he enjoys the scenery or because the view from the top might be worth seeing, but just because ‘it’s gotta be done’. Having no such desire myself, I was thinking only of the potential ear ache (altitude) and car sickness (windy roads) the journey was likely to cause me. So I must admit I was impressed when I took my mind off my stomach momentarily and looked out upon this:
After working our way back round the other side of the mountain, we just caught the tail end of lunch service at Le Guintrand in Colombe. The food was simple and unpretentious, the atmosphere warm and welcoming and the wine, a Cote du Ventoux rose, superb; my first of many.
Neither of us speak French so choosing meals was a bit of a lucky dip. The boyfriend had the pick for starters, salmon tartare:
Meanwhile, I only understood chevre (goats cheese) when ordering my entree. I had no idea how it would be served or with what.
I had an inkling that there were vegetables involved, but I was not expecting eggs. It was perfectly pleasant, but my appetite is largely guided by the weather and on such a hot day it wasn’t really what I had had in mind.
For mains we had the brochette de canard (duck skewers) and filet mignon (beef tenderloin). Both were in a typical Provencal jus delicately scented with herbes de Provence. The accompanying vegetables were nothing special, but they got full marks for managing to serve the duck meat rare despite the fact that it had been cut into small chunks.
Desserts were a crème caramel and a ‘cappuccino’ of blended seasonal fruits, predominantly peaches and nectarines, with vanilla ice cream and a whipped cream topping. I was full, but had a spoon of the cappuccino: clean, bright, fresh and fruity, it was the perfect summer sweet.
The best dish I ate out, la salade Ninou, was in Vaison la Romaine at Les Terrasses de Ninou. It sounded so good that 5 out of 8 of us ordered it for mains: cured duck breast, foie gras toasts and a salad of lettuce, tomato, artichokes, white asparagus and olives.
We also shared a crespeou, described on the French Wikipedia site as what roughly translates to “a cake of omelette, herbs and vegetables served with or without a tomato coulis”.
What I enjoyed most about the crespeou was that there was a subtle, but distinct difference in flavour between each layer, it wasn’t just for show. For this this reason my preference would be for one without tomato coulis, which I found overwhelmed the delicate flavours of the individual layers.
If Les Terrasses de Ninou laid claim to the best dish, then La Poterne in Brantes certainly won on location. Brantes, like Seguret, clings to the side of the mountain “almost suspended above the Toulourenc valley like a valiant sentry”. La Poterne is worth a visit for the view alone.
The menu was straightforward, 1 plate of the day, 2 tartines (a type of open sandwich), 3 omelettes and a dessert, all served with a generous portion of salad.
I was keen to revisit the Provencal markets at L’Isle sur la Sorgue, where I had been with my aunt and uncle the last time I was in France. L’Isle sur la Sorgue is most famous for its antique markets, but in recent years the food section has really taken off.
By far the best discovery we made this time round was crème d’artichaut a l’ail (artichoke and garlic cream). Sadly, it is one of the few things I don’t have a photo of, but the gentleman who sold it to us took great pride in telling us that it won a gold award at the New York Fancy Food Show. He also suggested adding it to meat dishes or pasta, but we just ate it on crusty bread (we’d practically inhaled the whole jar in the time it would have taken to boil the kettle).
While I did enjoy sampling the local Provencal cuisine, I must say that some of the best meals we had were at home. The gastronomic gene runs in the Brown family; whether it is cooking it, eating it or both, we all do it well and so it figures that where we gather in large numbers, fine food is never in short supply.
On our first night my aunt made this delicious salad made with figs fresh from the garden, buffalo mozzarella, basil and jambon cru (the closest one can get to prosciutto without insulting the French).
The figs were the star of the show; sweet, plump and juicy, neatly contrasted with the saltiness of the jambon cru. Normally, my preference is for the more traditional combination of figs and goat's cheese, but this buffalo mozzarella was of such a high quality that in this case I make an exception; I still marvel that it could be distinguished amongst all the other bolder flavours.
I couldn't resist the golden chanterelles I saw at the markets. I had no specific plans for them so I looked to Mastering the Art of French Cooking for some inspiration on how to prepare them a la francais. It was important that the flavour of the mushroom be the focus, so I went with the champignon a blanc recipe, where the mushrooms are cooked simply in butter and lemon with a little salt. However, because I was serving the mushrooms on toast, rather than as a side dish, in the end I found this too bland and added parsley, white wine and a little Dijon.
My Dad’s main contribution to proceedings was a Morrocan themed dinner. It doesn’t look much from the photos, because in true Brown style it wasn’t on the table until 10.30pm when there was no natural light... but looks can be deceiving.
Merguez sausage, garlic yoghurt, couscous and, best of all, a spiced fruit stew. The stew was a spontaneous invention so I do not have an exact recipe, but Dad tried his best to remember the ingredients so that I could test it out another time. Figs, dried apricots, dates, red onion, tomato, cumin, coriander seed and cardamom - they are the ones that stick in my memory.
Other things that will remain in my memory are my uncle roaring like a lion, my aunt in her panama hat, the green crisscross patchwork of grapevines, the dry, cracked soil which they spring from. The crisp and refreshing zing of cool rose, the tingle of the sun on my burnt skin, the trickle of water in the fountain, my desire to strip off and jump in. The reds, golds, purples and greens, the white craggy rocks all around, the sensation of driving through a painting, my realisation it was one by Cezanne.
Reader Comments (2)
Eagle eyed bloggees ( is that what you call people who read blogs???) may notice a photo of a dish in here that doesn't get mentioned in the text.I am referring to the rabbit ragout. Vicky is going to write up this recipe for sure as it is absolutely yummy -and perhapd she will fess up about how we were dragged half way round Provence ( huge exaggeration, but still...) looking for the perfect rabbit butcher - and in the end it turned out that you can buy rabbit in the local supermarket.
At the time it was painful, but the ragout was so yummy all was forgive, bring it on Vix! x x
Indeed I will be putting the ragu recipe up sometime soon, it is another wonderful dish from Angela Hartnett's Cucina. It is an Italian recipe from the Emilia Romagna region, hence 'ragu' rather than the French 'ragout'. Until Mazan I had only ever made it with duck, since rabbit is harder to come by in London and more expensive. Watch this space.