Vaucluse, Provence -- Peter Mayle Country

[Waitman]

I like real estate porn as much as anyone who's ever glanced at the Long Island Sound estates and 5 bdrm pre-war co-ops on offer in the back pages of the New York Times Magazine. I like food porn, not surprisingly.  I'm a male; it's a given that I like porn porn, especially if shot in a 5 bdrm pre-war with props including small vineyard Champagne and dark chocolate.  But, what I really like is France porn: from the glossy, shot-on-film works of Dumas and Hugo to the frankly feminine suggestive scribblings of MFK Fischer to Peter Mayle's pulpy 50 Shades of Provence.  And so, when I found out that I was going to Peter Mayle country, my heart beat a little faster and my (digestive) juices flowed.  I was going home.

I confess, I've read that stupid book, with its equal-opportunity condescension towards local peasants and visiting Brits and soul-sapping first world problems maybe nine or ten times.  I stumble across it while trying to disappear one of the many piles of books that spring up like new hills along a fault line in random places in my house on a cold February afternoon when warm red wines aren't making the sun shine for me, start in on the first chapter and find myself hooked again.  So, shoot me.

I was more or less roped into this -- admittedly,there have been more challenging ropings -- a group scene during which, in some senses, my worst fears were realized (kind of a conservative crew and a lot of boring music on the bad stereo).    And I did not select the location. I'd never even heard of the village, and did not know that we were to be plopped down walking distance from Peter Mayle's home village of Menerbes until I got back to my home after the Big Reveal and Googled Oppede-le-Vieux.  I was worried about the tourists and groupies (despite being one).  But I was happy.

After driving up from Marseille, we ended up the first night eating in Menerbes, at Les Saveurs du Gourmands, which is #1 for the town on Trip Adviser.  This ranking is based "“ I would guess "“ on the reviews of people who have read Mayle's book but never eaten a decent French meal (Michelin doesn't bother to list it).  I don't remember much except for the overcooked fowl of some sort drenched in buerre blanc, a random chocolate thing for dessert and my friend trying to foist her pasta on me under the guise that she wasn't that hungry.  A pleasant enough room and good service, but really more a place to take the monied and unadventurous than anything else "“ a bit of a low point.

The next day, after exploring the market at Isle sur la Sorgue en balade -- and scoring some "antique" absinthe spoons at the brocante -- we dropped into the Michelin Bib Gourmande (high value, menu under 31 euros for three courses) La Balade Des Saveurs. Busy on market day, service was a touch relaxed in a room that looked like it could be rented for a bridal shower at a mid-scale chain hotel (the terasse was unavailable due to the market) but the meal was tasty "“ particularly the trout and the pea soup -- and a relative bargain.  Also they were polite when I broke a liter bottle of olive oil on their floor, perhaps because the plastic bag captured most of it.  Bummer given the quality of the oil.  I was out the door before they figured out that I'd broken the soap dispenser in the bathroom trying to fix it, as well.  A bad day for Franco-American relations..

A market like Isle sur la Sorgue has a high souvenir content and a high grocery-store greens and vegetables content. And a troubling amount of the bread sucks. But there's always a gang of cheeses and charcuterie, and we scored good bread and excellent olive oil (sigh) and some salt cod for later in the week and a gang of cepes (aka porcini), which were in season, for about $12/lb, which was sweet.  Unfortunately, when we got home after the bullfights in Cavaillon we had to share them with our housemates who had discovered too late that finding food in rural France on a Sunday evening can be tough, and who literally surrounded us zombie-like as we go out of the car, moaning "did you bring back anything to eat." It was our mushrooms or our brains, I think.

Our next dinner lifted us from the fungal forest floor to the starry heights above Bonnieux, at the 2-star Bastide de Capalongue.  We chose the discount Menu Aux Quatre vents "“ a steal at €140 (actually not as bad as it looks given the inclusion of tax and tip)  "“ and worked our way through six or so mostly prim and intellectual courses.  Service was flawless, of course, though the décor and attitude and costumes combined to take the edge of the formality of the food and service. I will say that the mushroom course (in late September, mushroom courses apparently spring up around Provence like mushrooms springing up around Provence) was the single greatest mushroom dish I have ever eaten.  Given that every cook I came across on the trip (including me) was working with them, chef Eduard Loubet's tart (really, just an attractively arranged pile of slices on a bit to pastry) with hazelnut jus, served with a cepe veloute   stood head and shoulders above the others, bringing the flavor to an explosive intensity.

But then, there were marinated anchovies on a plate of almond milk with a quenelle of eggplant "caviar" and a couple of cubes of an undistinguished white Spanish melon.  It looked impressive.  Or at least modern.  It's in his cookbook. But no one ingredient seemed to dance as well with any other on the palate as well as they did on the plate. By the time we got to the rack of exquisite lamb served simply in a lovely clear reduction, I kind of ached for the anti-intellectual potato gratin "de ma grand mere" with its creamy, starchy goodness, that accompanied the chops.

I like eating at restaurants like this.  I learn a lot, I see where things are going, and it's always interesting to see what a talented chef can do, even if you don't love it. And, let there be no doubt, it's good eating.  But once a trip is enough.

I'd skip the Cavaillon market, unless you need to pick up something at the last moment for a kayak trip beneath the Pont du Gard (quite fun).

After a tough day of cycling through Provence on rented bikes ("tough" being a relative term, here, we weren't shoveling coal or in the office) we decided we needed to catch a sunset atop one of the numerous hilltop villages in the neighborhood, and chose Gordes.  Simply put, there are few better places anywhere to watch the sun set than from the terrace bar of La Bastide de Gordes, particularly, I suppose, on evenings when you're not sitting within earshot of a group of Americans saying things like "a goddam 5-star hotel and they don't have a bartender that knows how to make a decent martini." Also, particularly if you don't mind paying   â‚¬19 for an Americano (wine was about €9). (France: one minute, you're getting quite drinkable wine for six bucks a bottle, the next you're paying 25 bucks for a drink.)  It was worth it.

We skipped the restaurant, which was expensive and empty, and all the places on the hilltop, which all looked like horrid tourist joints, and followed the signs down the hill to the restaurant at the Hotel de Carcarille, another one of those unfortunately decorated but high-value spots.  it was first time I've ever had kidneys, and they were quite good (and tasted a bit like sweetbreads and not at all like piss), while madame had scallops. Madam la Patronne was exceptionally friendly, especially given our awful French and limited spending (a plat, a menu and just three glasses of wine) and the dining room was populated (thinly, but energetically) with locals. Very good karma all around.

One morning we zinged around the mountains to the market at Aix-en-Provence,about an hour away, where we had good luck rounding up the season's last heirloom tomatoes and fresh scallops with roe (!) for a dinner we were cooking for our housemates.  We didn't buy bread there, though, because just west of Menerbes, between the two entrances to Oppede on the D3 there is a brilliant wood-fired boulangerie run by a baker who looks like he learned how to bake on work release after taking a tire iron to a couple of drunks who were messing with his woman or maybe, worse, rooting against Olympique Marseille. Many kinds of excellent bread, croissants that crunch against your teeth and melt against your tongue and the irresistible "sachristie" which seemed like sweetened puff pastry twisted into a sort of rope and baked crisp before being dusted with sugar.  Best bread this trip. Go there.

We spent the last day bicycling "“ and touring both the Musee de Tire-Bouchon and the Musee de la Boulangerie -- and ended up lunching  on one of those side streets that are main drags in old French towns like Apt and stumbling into L'Intramurous, (120/124 Rue de la Republique).  We found the food good (a lasagna-ish thing), the owner delightful -- he quite enjoyed explaining in Frenglish that "cagole" is more than just the name of a Marseille beer -- and, when we ducked inside to the loo, the interior brilliantly knick-knacker-ish.  Not fine dining, but good fun, and charming enough to have been featured in a couple of French glossies.  Warning, though: when looking for a website (none that I can find), I stumbled across TripAdvisor and the reviews range from "our best experience in Provence" to "My only bad experience in Provence."

Many hours after leaving Apt, figuring that our legs might be good for one last hill, we decided to conquer Menerbes which, despite its nearness, we hadn't been to since that first memorably forgettable dinner. While climbing up a narrow (aren't they all?) street towards the centre-ville I saw it on my right "“ whether I remembered the name from some bit of fan fiction or the description from the book I'd read so many times, I don't know.  But I knew.  I spun my bike around and after we finally found something to chain them to we walked back down.  It was perfect.  Newsstand on one side, crotchety locals in the tiny bar up front ignoring the spectacular view in back and, in the back, semi-clueless Anglophones on the terasse, trying to soak up the golden sunlight on the vineyards below while keeping bored children in line"¦. It was The Bar de Progres, Peter Mayle's "local" from Year in Provence.

The view was great, the beer was cold, and my trip was complete.

[Poivrot Farci]

Next time you find yourself in the area,  get a copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes and go 30 miles northwest to pick up his trail from the end.  Its a craggy part of the Languedoc-Roussillon where sheep and goats outnumber both the Huguenots (reformed protestants, the Musée de Désert is their Smithsonian) and Catholics, who, up until the time electricity arrived  -which is to say around the time many of the men left for the second war and the population continued to dwindle-  segregated themselves, keeping to their upper/lower parts of town like in Florac, the Lozère sub-prefecture town of barely 3,000.

I spent every summer there up until college in a village of 60 people a mile down the road called "La Salle Prunet" (the plum-tree yard).  Once a year in August, for the "plum festival",  the bread oven was fired up and greengage plums were given to each household so they can make pies, tarts and pastries to be baked inside.  Afterwards, stuffed tomatoes, potatoes boulangère, zucchini & eggplant gratin and other savories assembled from each house's potager  would gently bake throughout the evening in the waning residual heat.  The smell of that, and the embers, fosters a formidable appetite.

Chestnuts (and the smaller marrons) and goat's milk pelardons rule the pantries, the former roasted, soaked in brandy, confit, as a jam, dessert, in custard (coupetado), savory purée and the latter is enjoyed throughout the country in various degrees of ageing (for the older ones, they are said to be perfect when the punchy smell kills the hovering flies) and acquired AOC status in 2000.

Elsewhere in the Cevennes, the protestants built dwellings out of granite and schist, for which chestnut trees have a particular affinity while the Catholics further in the Gorges du Tarn used limestone and the architects were sure footed funambulists, like at Castelbouc, perched above the river's edge, naturally.

As per the ribald tale, all the men of the village had left to fight in the crusades leaving Lord Castelbouc to selflessly satisfy the lonely lasses all by his self.  Exhausted, he died from his capricious efforts and the ghost of a buck is said to have risen and flown over the castle, its namesake.  The Catholics destroyed it in 1592 so that it would not be used as a haven for those heathen protestants.  Ste. Enimie further down Les Gorges is a Medieval village anyone can fawn over. Word on the street is that Enimie pleaded the good lord to help her rebuff her suitors.  He gave her leprosy, thrice.

Then there is Malbosc; a hamlet that clings to the cleavage of a perky valley below the menhir fields of Les Bondon and the sound of the rustle of leaves and stream and occasional goat's bell below is just right.

Daniel Castel makes the finest pottery around.  The most gracious of hosts, friend of 20 years and a rare artisan of the highest order who spins 7,000 pieces a month by hand and builds his kilns.  The pottery "sings" after a day's bake.

On the flight east, fly Lufthansa, and don't be bashful about kindly asking to be upgraded to the superior class if the plane is packed .  Despite the reputation of towing a strict line of regulations, the Germans are very apologetic and happy to please.

[Steve R.]

Don't know how I missed Waitman's original post here but thank you both for these great write ups.  Although we spent a month in Provence this past May-June, we were at the northern edge in Vaison-la-Romaine and spent much of our time in that area.  However, we did get down to Avignon, Aix & Marseille for day trips & explored the surrounding areas of each a little (too little).  A day trip to the market in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue was much as described above, but it was early in our trip and we stupidly didn't buy non-food items, thinking we had all the time in the world to return or get comparable stuff elsewhere.  Didn't turn out that way.

For those planning to go to the region, I'll put in my recommendation for Vaison-la-Romaine, as it's both a great base (with one of the best cheese shops, Lou Camesteou - Mme. Josiane Deal presiding, as well as a very nice Tues. market of its own, great Roman ruins and a picturesque "old town" area) & a good location to not only travel to other parts of Provence, but very close to Nyons (well worth a visit) and points north.  It's also close to Seguret (a beautiful hill town), Sablet (with its own small brocade market) & Gigondas/C-du-Pape.  Just sayin'.

[Waitman]

Elsewhere in the Cevennes, the protestants built dwellings out of granite and schist, for which chestnut trees have a particular affinity while the Catholics further in the Gorges du Tarn used limestone and the architects were sure footed funambulists, like at Castelbouc, perched above the river's edge, naturally.

Last time I was in France, we drove up from protestant stronghold of Uzes (subdued by Richelieu himself) and stayed just outside of Florac, in Cocures, for three days, knocking around the back-country: discovering but not  reading Robert Lewis Stevenson's book, kayaking through the Gorges du Tarn and eating at the town's two Bib Gourmand restaurants.  It is indeed a beautiful and austere region and I am very keen to get back and eat chestnuts -- especially now that your expertise is available on line.

[Waitman]

Don't know how I missed Waitman's original post here but thank you both for these great write ups.  Although we spent a month in Provence this past May-June, we were at the northern edge in Vaison-la-Romaine and spent much of our time in that area.  However, we did get down to Avignon, Aix & Marseille for day trips & explored the surrounding areas of each a little (too little).  A day trip to the market in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue was much as described above, but it was early in our trip and we stupidly didn't buy non-food items, thinking we had all the time in the world to return or get comparable stuff elsewhere.  Didn't turn out that way.

For those planning to go to the region, I'll put in my recommendation for Vaison-la-Romaine, as it's both a great base (with one of the best cheese shops, Lou Camesteou - Mme. Josiane Deal presiding, as well as a very nice Tues. market of its own, great Roman ruins and a picturesque "old town" area) & a good location to not only travel to other parts of Provence, but very close to Nyons (well worth a visit) and points north.  It's also close to Seguret (a beautiful hill town), Sablet (with its own small brocade market) & Gigondas/C-du-Pape.  Just sayin'.

Some years ago, we stayed just down the road in Vacqueyras.  I think you may understate the coolness of the market at Vaison La Romaine, which I believe no less than Patricia Wells calls it her favorite in Provence.  The trip wine threats of Gigondas, Vacquers and Beames de Venice are all with 10 kilometers of each other (I think) if you can pull yourself away from the better-known Chateau NdPs, and Beames de Venice has a public pool where you can relax after a hot Provencal day marketing and drinking and where gentlemen will be required to rent Speedos if they did not bring a pair.

[Steve R.]

Some years ago, we stayed just down the road in Vacqueyras.  I think you may understate the coolness of the market at Vaison La Romaine, which I believe no less than Patricia Wells calls it her favorite in Provence.  The trip wine threats of Gigondas, Vacquers and Beames de Venice are all with 10 kilometers of each other (I think) if you can pull yourself away from the better-known Chateau NdPs, and Beames de Venice has a public pool where you can relax after a hot Provencal day marketing and drinking and where gentlemen will be required to rent Speedos if they did not bring a pair. 

Well stated.  Yes, V-la-R's market was great and we spent our time there every Tues during the month we were in residence (only two blocks away).  And yes, Patricia Wells has her Provence cooking classes there"¦ we rented an apartment from good friends of hers, but sadly didn't get to meet her.  We're hooked on Beaumes de Venice (almost had some last night at one of our favorite local restaurants, but opted for Dashe's Dessert Zin instead) & spent a bit of time touring thru Gigondas country, even finding one domaine that distributes to Bklyn.  No one wants to see me in Speedos"¦ not even me.

[Joe H]

Fantastic thread.

[Waitman]

Well stated.  Yes, V-la-R's market was great and we spent our time there every Tues during the month we were in residence (only two blocks away).  And yes, Patricia Wells has her Provence cooking classes there"¦ we rented an apartment from good friends of hers, but sadly didn't get to meet her.  We're hooked on Beaumes de Venice (almost had some last night at one of our favorite local restaurants, but opted for Dashe's Dessert Zin instead) & spent a bit of time touring thru Gigondas country, even finding one domaine that distributes to Bklyn.  No one wants to see me in Speedos"¦ not even me.

My daughter was traumatized by the Speedo incident.  So was I, but in a Speedo and sipping the wine that was available from the snack bar at the public pool, I felt extremely French, which made up for a lot.

Visitors to the region with access to a kitchen should consider the local appetizer of Cavaillon melon (which drew raves at the dinner I alluded to in the original post, even though it was not gussied up) split in half, its central cavity filled with Beames de Venice.