In a few days, we fly to France. We’ll be in Europe for six weeks, mostly without an agenda. However, one particular activity looms large in my mind: on October 12, we’re going on a group hike up the Pic St. Loup north of Montpellier. It’s a challenging climb and requires participants to be “hike fit.”
Am I hike fit? I walk every day, but nearly all of my treks in recent years have been on Traverse City’s flat, paved sidewalks. I haven’t hiked a mountain in ages. My last sustained period of mountain trekking was 20 years ago when we lived in Colorado for a year. Even the hilliest parts of northern Michigan, such as Sleeping Bear Dunes, are not real elevation climbs.
So yesterday I laced up my new hiking boots and drove two hours to Hanging Rock State Park at the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains, accompanied by my daughter and sister-in-law.
Wanting to replicate as closely as possible the 1100-foot elevation increase of the Pic St. Loup climb, I chose the toughest trail at Hanging Rock–Moore’s Wall Loop. It’s a 4.7 mile hike with a gain of nearly 1,000 feet of elevation. And had it been a sunny day, the reward at the top would have been a dazzling view of the Blue Ridge. But alas.
From the fire tower at the top of Moore’s Wall, in the clouds.
Below the clouds, peaking through the trees, we had some mountain views.
Cloudy day, glimpsing the Blue Ridge through the trees.
And it was a lovely walk through lush mountain forests of rhododendron and spruce, up rocky paths and over bubbling creeks.
Fording the creek on some slippery, mostly flat stones.
Fortunately, in my opinion, we didn’t see any timber rattlers or bears, and the bug population wasn’t noticeable. Sometimes we walked through a light mist, making it feel like a forest primeval.
Leah makes a friend at the end of the trail. If you look closely, you can see the doe at the upper left.
As for the purpose of the hike — training for the mountain climb in France — I’m not sure it gave me confidence that I’m “hike fit.” My new hiking boots performed admirably, but I was slow, especially on the downhill. I was so afraid of losing my footing. If I were to break a leg there, how would anyone get me out? So I descended timidly.
When I’m away from it, I often go to North Carolina in my mind. And now I’m in my childhood bedroom in Cary, which will be my home base for most of the next year.
This year of charting our post-retirement future will not always be glamorous. Sure, we’ll take some trips and have some adventures, but mostly we’ll be taking care of our elderly parents. John is with his 96-year-old dad in southern Virginia, and I’m here with my 83-year-old mama.
We arrived after the upper 90s summer heat situation passed. Yay for that! It’s pleasant here now, mostly in the low 80s and sunny. A heavy overnight rain made the greenway where I take my morning walks almost jungle-like.
The lush greenway.
When we arrived a few days ago, I was excited to see that my brother had left me a welcome gift: two perfectly ripe cantaloupes from Ridgeway, N.C. These melons are world-famous, or so I’ve believed since I was a little girl. They grow near my grandma’s old house in Warren County at the N.C.-Virginia border. I’ve never had better cantaloupes, and I was so grateful to get to enjoy them before the end of the season.
If you look closely on the upper left of the plate, you can see a little of the very thin rind. This thing was so lucious; I had cantaloupe juice running down my arms after cutting it.
Most of the past few days has been spent hanging out with family, unpacking, rearranging my bedroom, and doing my mama’s errands.
The primary excitement so far was going to the Cary REI store to purchase new hiking boots. REI is a co-op, and if you know me, you know I love co-ops. So I was all set to become a member again, then I discovered at check-out that I was still a member from 20 years ago in Colorado. It’s a lifetime membership. What a deal! The REI staffer found me in the system with my Michigan address, Colorado phone number, and old university e-mail.
The boots are not for that greenway trail above; they are for France. Sure, most Americans go to France to traipse through museums and eat escargot, right? And we’ll be doing some of that, bien sûr. But we’ll also be adventuring in French nature. On our first week in le sud de France, we’ll be climbing the Pic St. Loup, a mountain near Montpellier that offers views of both the Alps and the Pyrenees from its peak.
We leave for France in two weeks. In the meantime, when I’m not helping my mama, I’ll be out on the deck with a book. I’ve already been to the local public library and checked out a couple of mysteries.
My husband, John, has just retired from his job of 42 years at The Associated Press, and we are taking some time away from our home in northern Michigan to explore the world together. I’ll be using this space, since I have it, to chronicle our adventures for anyone interested.
Goodbye, Michigan.
If anyone had told me how much work would be involved in one of us retiring, I might have urged John to keep his job. Our summer was filled with an agenda of chores large and small. It included administrative tasks such as getting John signed up for Medicare, and countless hours of physical labor involved in preparing our house for potential renters.
We drove away yesterday afternoon exhausted. Plus, our house looked so terrific (as long as we avoided the basement) that we wondered why we were leaving it. We’re already missing our friends and neighbors, and we’re grateful we didn’t sign a long-term rental agreement.
Saying goodbye to this old house, for now.
First stop: Chicago.
We’re visiting our son, daughter-in-law, and nephew in the Windy City for a couple of days. Chicago is a leading contender for a home base for us, if we decide to leave northern Michigan. It has the same downside as our current home — winter– albeit with much less lake effect snow. Having a year-round climate that enables us to get around safely as we age is a primary consideration.
Chicago scores big in transportation, with a decent transit system, walkable neighborhoods, and easy access to the rest of the world from O’Hare. It’s also reasonably affordable for a city offering so many amenities, including excellent healthcare facilities. Most importantly, we have children here, and possibly future grandchildren. And our daughter, Leah (the other femme of this blog), could easily live here without a car. She doesn’t drive.
Lunch with the nephew at a neighborhood place, the Little Goat Diner. I’ll pay more attention to photo background next time.
Provence has not been off the beaten path for decades, if ever. This sun-soaked land of artists, dreamers and rosé is France’s most popular destination for foreign tourists outside of Paris. Renderings of its idyllic landscapes hang in galleries all over the world. Its food is iconic. The life-in-Provence memoir is so prolific as to almost be its own genre. It seems that every famous person who went to France in the last 100 years decamped to Provence for at least part of the time and wrote about it. The last 100 years? Let’s try the last 1,000. Provence has been a travel subject at least since the time of Julius Caesar.
We also went there.
Our Provençal itinerary begin in the charming town of Uzés, which may not technically be in Provence but is the source of the water used in the Roman aqueduct that includes what is arguably the region’s most celebrated masterpiece of antiquity, the Pont du Gard.
Uzés is a lively market town. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, several streets in the center of town evict motorized traffic for glorious vendor stalls to take over. Food, clothing, crafts, hunting knives — you can buy it all.
Uzés is also a nice base for day trips to natural wonders, wine-growing areas and the best-preserved Roman sites in the world.
If prehistory is your thing, the Chauvet Cave, or rather its replica for tourists, is a short drive from Uzés. From there, you can journey through time to your heart’s content. Orange, Nîmes and Arles have Roman temples and amphitheaters, some of which are still in use.
We drove from Uzés to Nîmes to meet our son, who had traveled from Paris on the high-speed TGV train. A short walk from the station is the Arena of Nîmes, which was built during an era of chariots.
On the way back to Uzés, we stopped at the Pont du Gard, a marvel of engineering in any time.
Our time in Provence was unfortunately limited. We managed a drive through the Camargue on our way to Montpellier, but we didn’t get to visit Marseille, Avignon or any of the hill villages. We will go again.
I can recommend some books for the armchair traveler. Much of Julia Child’s memoir, My Life in France, takes place in Provence. The second course could easily be Provence 1970, which provides another perspective of that time and the Childs’ inner circle. A somewhat bizarre memoir is Lawrence Durrell’s Provence, which may be hard to find but gives a deep, personal dive into Roman and medieval history.
My friend, Madeleine, offers small group tours of Provence during the winter months, pandemic restrictions permitting. I haven’t had the opportunity to go yet, but if her tours are as good as her chocolates, you will not be disappointed.
In wine, Provence is perhaps most associated with rosé. I haven’t tried them all, although if I live long enough, I may make that a goal. My favorite everyday rosé for the past few years has been the Galets Rosé from Chateau Mourgues du Grés. I usually buy a case of it when it arrives each summer at my local wine shop. I had the Chateau marked on my Google Maps for a stop while we were in Provence but unfortunately we ran out of time. Next trip!
What to eat with that rosé? Well, almost anything. Rosé is one of the most food-friendly of wines. It’s a nice accompaniment to the famous dishes of Provence such as bouillabaise (from Marseille, the oldest city in France) and ratatouille (a classic dish that predates the animated rat film). Make those if you have the time, but I’ll suggest an easy, weeknight dish from Provence that is perfect for all those late-summer veggies we’re about to lose: tian. Dorie Greenspan’s recipe will be just perfect with a bottle of rosé.
Next: Rhone-Alpes. I think there will be tartiflette.
We’re changing things up a bit. Maybe it’s because restrictions are being lifted and some people — those who don’t own old houses in need of expensive repairs — are now able to book their own flights to France and my frustration at still not being able to go makes writing about pretend travel too unbearable.
So this is what I’m going to do. For regions of France that I have not personally visited, I’ll share my research and curation skills to provide what I think are the most interesting resources about the place.
And I will continue to make food because that is what I do.
Corsica, pointing at northern Italy. By Greece_in_its_region.svg: TUBSderivative work
Corsica, or Corse as the French call it, is a large, distinctively-shaped island in the Mediterranean closer to Italy than to France, but it has been part of France since 1768. The following year, Napolean Bonaparte was born there, and the rest, as they say, is history.
The rest, for me, is the promised resources for learning more about L’île de beauté.
You can rarely go wrong by starting with The New York Times. This 2016 travel piece is a semi-insider’s introduction to Corsica’s history, culture, food, and scenic attractions.
One reason I’m scaling back my travel coverage here is because it seems pointless when I can just refer you all to the excellent episodes of Échappées belles. This French travel show has been to Corsica at least three times: an overview, a focus on Haut-Corse, and a gourmand special. Even if you can’t understand French, you’ll enjoy the scenery.
So after reading that, I googled for some herby Corsican recipes and decided on the simplest: a mint omelette. I can’t get the Corsican cheese, of course, so I opted for fresh goat cheese as a substitute and plucked the mint from my garden. That and 3 eggs gave me all the ingredients I needed:
ingredients
If you’ve never made an omelette, it’s easy. Crack the eggs into a dish, then beat them until well-blended. Heat an omelette pan or skillet (preferably non-stick) and add a little oil or butter if you’d like. Pour the egg mixture in the pan and cook over medium-low heat. You can stir the eggs gently with a fork to help it along, and once the bottom starts to set, if you don’t want your omelette very runny, left the edges up slightly and tilt the pan so the uncooked eggs move to the edges. When the omelette is done almost to your liking, add the filling. In this case, it was chopped milk and crumbled cheese. Then fold it in half and serve. Salt and pepper and any other seasonings can be added to the interior before you fold or sprinkled on the finished omelette.
A mint omelette, served with bacon.
I also made a Corsican soup recipe from Let’s Eat France, but I forgot to photograph. It was delicious! Basically a vegetable soup with red beans and lots of herbs, including more mint, and I finished it with a leftover mint sauce to bring out the herbaceous flavors. There are lots of variations of this soup recipe on the internet, and maybe it would be fun to try them all, or just riff on one with what you have on hand.
Coming next: Provence, with my own travel stories and photos
When I conceived the idea for a virtual tour de France, the Languedoc-Roussillon area was the halfway point but also my ultimate destination. All the roads in my mind lead to it. Our last visit to France was our first to this region, and it captured my heart. My goal is that in retirement, the Languedoc will be our home base for travel and other adventures.
Languedoc-Roussillon
This region, along with the Midi-Pyrénées, is now called Occitanie in the current administrative divisions of France. Culturally and historically, it was part of the region of Occitania that included most of southern France, parts of Spain and some of northern Italy. Occitan was its dominant language and still has some native speakers. For centuries, the hexagon we now call France was largely divided by language: the langue d’oïl of the north and the langue d’oc of the south. It is beyond my expertise to attempt a blog-concise summary of this relationship and history, but for those who enjoy historical fiction, some of Kate Mosse’s novels will get you acquainted.
For our visit in May of 2018, we drove from Carcassonne to La Tour la Pagèze, a winery that includes B&B guest accommodations. We found it through the Gites de France booking service, which we also used for our winery stay in Gascony. Five of five stars for both!
I can’t attribute any single experience for my continuing love affair with the Languedoc, but I can decisively say it started with Claudine, who owns La Tour la Pagèze with her family. Claudine welcomed us as if we were dear, long-missed friends. Her warmth and hospitality now define the south of France for me. We arrived weary after a week of traveling and a drive from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, and Claudine’s remedy for that was a complementary bottle of chilled chardonnay on her balcony overlooking the vineyards. All of this, a large private room with a balcony, and an outstanding breakfast the next morning, for about 40 euros.
Claudine’s story is as beautiful as her hospitality. (I learned this in Franglish, so hopefully I understood correctly.) Her grandparents migrated from the Catalan region of Spain as laborers in the vineyards of the Languedoc, and her parents also worked in the vineyards. It was their family dream to one day have their own. About 20 years ago, Claudine, her husband Miguel, and her brother Jean-Marie, saved enough to make that dream come true and purchased the Domaine la Tour la Pagèze. My understanding is that the parents have passed, but the winery honors their memory with its Cuvée Joseph, one of the few bottles I packed in my luggage to enjoy at home.
Claudine’s generosity was not an aberration for the region. For dinner, we drove to the nearby town of Fleury d’Aude and wandered into a small café. The sign at D’ici et d’ailleurs referenced an intriguing globally-inspired tapas menu. The owner welcomed us, and our bad French gave us away as tourists, so where from? he inquired. Nous venons aux Etats-Unis. He was ecstatic: we were only the second Americans to dine in his restaurant! He explained that his menu was influenced by his wife, who hailed from Madagascar, and he kept bringing us delicious tidbits he wanted us to try. My only regret is that I was too busy chowing down to snap photos.
After a restful night’s sleep and a sunrise over the distant sea from our balcony, we ate our fill of Claudine’s generous breakfast of breads, cheeses, yogurt, fruit, and an egg or two. Worried that we might get hungry again (how could that be possible!), she packed us off with a loaf of cake for our day trip to Narbonne. “You must go to Les Halles!” she insisted. More food!
I have been obsessed with Narbonne ever since. A small city not previously on my radar, Narbonne basically ticks every box for me. A river, or rather a canal, runs through the heart of the city, connecting to the Mediterranean and the Canal du Midi. The central zone is pedestrian-friendly, with a plethora of restaurants and services. Its mild Mediterranean climate, wine-growing environs, and easy access to other destinations via the high-speed rail station could make it an ideal retirement base.
The city is steeped in history, serving as a provincial capital for the Romans. In the pedestrian center by the canal, a remnant of the Roman road reminds passers-by of this history.
Unfortunately, while visiting the magnificent year-round indoor food market, Les Halles, I was too overwhelmed to bother with my camera. The cheeses, the spices, the olives, the fruits, the fish! To think that could be my grocery every morning if I lived in Narbonne… ah.
I insist it was Les Halles that won me over to Narbonne, but my husband credits the gentleman at lunch. Although we weren’t in the slightest bit hungry, everything in Narbonne closes between 12 à 14 heures (noon to 2 p.m.) for the midday meal, so we joined in. We chose a canal-side restaurant, and while I do not remember what we ate, I remember what we drank, courtesy of a fellow diner. The couple at the next table heard us speaking English and ventured to inquire as to our origins. In a mix of Franglish, we understood them to have a son who lived in Chicago (as did we!), or perhaps he had just visited there. Anyways, the proud papa was a huge fan of Chicago as well as having great civic pride in his native city. He wanted us to try the local wine and gifted us with the remainder of his bottle. (I do love a country where people routinely order a bottle of wine for lunch).
Back to Claudine’s for the evening with our stash of bread, cheese, olives and fruit from Les Halles, and another complementary bottle from the winery, this time the excellent rosé.
John, on the balcony of La Tour la Pagèze
Leaving the next morning was the saddest departure of our trip, and we vowed to return, a promise we still intend to keep as soon as we can cross the Atlantic again. (I know, France has reopened to visitors, but unfortunately we own an old house that will be zapping our travel funds with repairs this year.)
We drove from Fleury to Uzès, a delightful town technically in Occitanie but on the border with Provence, so I’ll include it with that chapter in our tour. We returned to the Languedoc after Uzès for a few days in Montpellier, a city that may give Narbonne a competition for our future home base.
The best thing about Montpellier for me is its approach to transportation. The city center is a car-free zone except for a few permitted delivery vehicles, whose access is controlled by retractable barriers in the pavement. A system of colorful trams circles the perimeter of the district to provide access to points beyond.
Montpellier is a lively university city surrounded by beaches, vineyards and landscapes of outstanding beauty. It also has a TGV station where a high-speed train can put you in Paris in about 3 hours.
To remember our time in the Languedoc, I prepared a Bourride à la Sètoise, a fish stew from the fishing village of Sète near Montpellier, as well as a Crema Catalan in honor of Claudine’s heritage.
Both dishes tasted better than my photos would indicate (I must get better at food photography!), and I hacked them from a compilation of recipes. Here’s a starting point for the crema catalan, and for the bourride.
As for wine, the Languedoc has much to offer. In recent decades, artisan makers have been working hard to overcome the region’s reputation for mass-produced table wine. Some very interesting and delicious wines are now made in Languedoc-Roussillon, and because they can’t command the prices of more famous regions, such as Bordeaux and Burgundy, exceptional values can be found. (See Jancis Robinson’s summary here and here for more info).
My go-to wine for the past year has been Michel Chapoutier’s Bila-Haut from the Cotes du Roussillon Villages appellation. It is $13.99 at my neighborhood wine shop and seems to pair well with every food.
A Seattle wine shop (whose owners have a home in the Languedoc) imports wines from some of the best small producers there. I’m looking forward to my first shipment from The Princess and the Bear and will try to update this blog with a review.
Back on our virtual Tour de France (the only way most U.S. citizens can currently visit), we will make a brief stop in the south-central region formerly known as the Midi-Pyrénées.
The principal city of the counts and of the region is Toulouse, the fourth largest city in France and a hub for tech, culture, medicine and education. One of my regrets from our last trip is that we bypassed the pink city on our drive from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. No vacation is ever long enough to do everything one might want. A stopover in Toulouse would have necessitated removing another destination, and Toulouse was among many possibilities that did not make the cut. Since adding #toulouse to my Instagram feed, I’m sure not to bypass it again.
Technically, our only stop in the Midi-Pyrénées two years ago was a short walk-around the center of Condom. We refrained from snapping selfies with the town sign, and we didn’t linger as it was a drizzly day and we were eager to get to the sunshine of the Mediterranean. Our only photos of Condom are the cathedral exterior and mail delivery via bike.
Although not technically in the Midi-Pyrénées, the medieval walled city of Carcassonne seems to me most aligned with this region. Its claim to fame is its role as a Cathar center, and its rulers generally allied with the counts of Toulouse. The well-preserved castle and fortifications are one of France’s top tourist attractions and definitely worth a stopover. We had a great view of and access to the city from our AirBnB. While some of it is a bit kitschy, overall a visit to the cité is almost a magical time-travel adventure.
Views of Carcassonne.
Now for the food. The most iconic dish of the region is the cassoulet, a hearty slow-baked casserole of beans and meat. Toulouse and Carcassonne are both famous for it, and of course we ordered it for dinner in Carcassonne.
When the time came for me to try it at home, I had difficulties. I followed, to the best of my ability, Paula Wolfert’s recipe for Cassoulet de Toulouse. The most essential ingredient — the large, white Tarbais beans — are one of those protected French agricultural products that normally you would need to import at great expense, but checking that box on my cassoulet ingredients list was surprisingly easy. I hesitate to tell you people about this source, because wait times for shipments have already stretched to weeks this year, with many products being sold out, but I’m good to my readers and my friends. The amazing heirloom bean purveyor, Rancho Gordo, grows the bean in California from French seed stock as “cassoulet bean.”
Getting all the meat ingredients during a pandemic proved too much for my patience. I gave up on the plethora of pork products and settled for a pork shoulder and some bacon. I wanted to be lazy and purchase duck legs confit, but I couldn’t find that and made my own with the sous-vide as recommended by Paula Wolfert. I also failed to procure the toulouse sausages which made me furious at myself because I have a deli right in my neighborhood (Raduno) that makes these rare beauties, but I remembered I hadn’t picked them up about 30 minutes after Raduno had closed for two days and the beans were already cooking, so I couldn’t delay. And finally, I burned some of the beans on the bottom. I’ll need to try this again. I can’t even add my photo because it was so ugly. Well, here’s the duck legs:
I’ll leave you with a book recommendation. Historical fiction and fantasy fans may enjoy Kate Mosse’s Languedoc trilogy set in and around Carcassonne. I’ve only read the first one, but it helped me imagine what life was like in the medieval cité and I was grateful I had read it before visiting.
Also, I discovered there’s a strategy board game called Carcassonne. Comment below if you’ve played it and can recommend.
Next: the Languedoc with sunshine, the sea, and wine wine wine.
It’s been two years since we were last in France, and future travel is uncertain with Americans currently being banned in Europe and most of the world, so our pretend tour de France is back on!
When we last “visited” France, we were in the historic and magnificent region of Aquitaine, now called Nouvelle-Aquitaine, in the southwest. Because this region is so large and diverse, we divided our tour into three parts: Bordeaux and the Dordogne, Gascony, and the Basque country. The latter is all that remains for our tour of Aquitaine.
Many of us are feeling isolated in these days of social distancing. The Basque know something about that, although not because of viruses. The Basque language is an isolate, meaning it has no known relationship with any other language. Perhaps that is one reason some Basque people have sought independence from both Spain and France.
The bulk of the Basque region lies within the border of Spain. The French part is in the southwestern corner of the country, along the Atlantic coast and the Pyrenees.
A good base for exploring the Pays basque français is the lovely small city of Bayonne. It’s easily accessible by the high-speed TGV train from Paris, and le gare, like most train stations in Europe, is centrally located for accommodations, restaurants and touring Bayonne and its surrounds.
We stayed in an AirBnB in the old town and enjoyed two and a half days of walking the cobblestoned streets, taking in the sights, sounds and tastes of the historic city. We did not visit the famous nearby resort of Biarritz, mostly because the weather was cool and rainy, not tempting us to the beach. Also, Bayonne had enough attractions to keep us occupied.
A view of the old town from one of Bayonne’s many bridges.
We were delighted to learn that Bayonne considers itself the capital of chocolate in France. The Spanish brought cacao back from their pillages in the Americas, but they initially kept it to themselves. Jewish refugees fleeing from the Spanish inquisition in the 17th century made chocolate in Bayonne, and soon their Basque neighbors took up the craft and excluded their teachers from practicing it.
Eventually, chocolate-making expanded throughout France, Europe and the world. Bayonne may not be home to the most famous chocolatiers in France, but a visit to the old city is a sweet ritual beloved by many in the southwest. We enjoyed a cup of the famous hot chocolate at Cazenave, on the Rue Port Neuf, in the company of a mother and daughter from Pau; la mère told us she had made a yearly pilgrimage to the small chocolate café with her parents and was continuing the tradition with her daughter.
My daughter perhaps starting a tradition of a chocolat chaud at Cazenave. It was served with toast.A chocolate artisan on the Rue Port Neuf, Bayonne’s famous chocolate street.
One can’t live on chocolate alone, although Bayonne might tempt you to try. Fortunately, the city can satisfy savory meal demands equally well. Ham, or jambon, is a Basque country staple, and visitors to Bayonne will find it as ubiquitous on menus as is duck in other parts of the southwest. Bayonne even has a museum of ham.
Typical charcuterie board served at a Bayonne wine bar.
Bayonne is about an hour by bus or car from San Sebastian, which claims to have a higher concentration of Michelin stars than any city in the world. Alas, we didn’t cross the border to Spain, but that means we’ll need to return and have a more extensive tour of Basque country.
Meanwhile, we’re reliving our Basque experience with a couple of iconic dishes. Chicken with tomatoes and peppers is, aside from thinly-sliced jambon, among the most popular menu items in Basque country. Many recipes exist for this dish. I chose one from French chef Daniel Boulud, mostly because I just finished reading Bill Buford’s delightful memoir of his cooking life in Lyon, Dirt, and Boulud was frequently mentioned.
Basque chicken
I served this over slices of French sesame peasant bread from our excellent local bakery, Common Good. But I also had a hankering for Sarlat potatoes, which are not Basque but from the neighboring Dordogne region. I shared the recipe in the Bordeaux segment. It’s currently my favorite way to cook potatoes.
Sarlat potatoes
Finally, I spent most of the day working on a Gateau Basque. Many, many recipes exist for this delicious pastry cake. I used Paula Wolfert’s from her Cooking of Southwest France (sadly, out of print), and it’s definitely more involved than most recipes available online. It required early-in-the-day preparation of three components: Basque Aromatics made from steeping lemon peel in Armagnac and other liquids, pastry cream, and dough. The cream and dough were flavored with the aromatic liqueur and chilled for a few hours. Then I rolled out the dough into two rounds, spreading the cream between the layers and baking it for about 45 minutes. It was lovely and delicious!
Gateau basque. Basque chicken and potatoes Sarlat.
Our time in Bayonne and Pays Basque was much too short, but we’ll be back!
Leaving Bayonne via the drawbridge across the moat outside the city walls.
Finally, our virtual tour takes us to a region we have visited in reality. We were fortunate and delighted to spend a couple of days in Gascony, le Gascogne, in May 2018. We are eager to return for a longer visit.
A quiet village in Gascony.
Gascony is the home of d’Artagnan, the young hero of Alexandre Dumas’ marvelous adventure novel, The Three Musketeers. The fictional d’Artagnan was inspired by the life of a real 17th century Gascon, and both legends are amply honored throughout the region.
Dumas was one of the best storytellers ever to take pen to page, and The Three Musketeers has endured for its entertaining blend of swashbuckling adventure, romance, villainy, friendship, palace intrigue and history. Read it for all of that, but you won’t learn much about Gascony as the young d’Artagnan leaves his home at the beginning of the tale.
Joanne Harris’ novel, Chocolat, was also set in the region, although the film version starring Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp used a Burgundy village for its exterior scenes.
Gascony is not well-defined as a region, and although some visitors describe it as the “most French” part of France, that’s probably due more to the relative sparsity of tourism (even Rick Steves hasn’t found its back door) that makes “unspoiled” seem synonymous with “authentic.” Indeed, Gascony is quintessentially French in the sense that the nation of France was formed from many kingdoms and duchies that had their own culture, language and identity. McAninch writes in Duck Season: “As was the case with much of southern France, rural Gascony and its subregions were essentially countries unto themselves almost until the twentieth century: loose assemblages of isolated and self-sustaining peasant communities conducting their daily life almost completely outside the purview of the French national identity.”
The Gascons and the neighboring Basque people share a heritage. In pre-Roman times, the inhabitants spoke a language related to modern Basque, which is an isolate unrelated to any other known living tongue. Wars and invasions of the Early Middle Ages split this part of southwestern France and northern Spain into separate identities of Basque and Gascon. From the Middle Ages until well into the 20th century, the Gascons spoke a dialect of Occitan with many regional variations.
Our first foray into Gascony last May was on the wind-swept Atlantic coast. We rented a car in Bayonne and drove north into Armagnac country, stopping for lunch at a seaside restaurant near Ondres.
On the beach near Ondres, France. A blustery day on the Atlantic coast.
Domaine de Paguy
By evening we arrived at le Domaine de Paguy, an ancient estate nestled among the vineyards in the Landes area near the village of Betbezer. Our hostess, the charming and generous Myriam, operates her family’s Armagnac distillery as well as the bed and breakfast accommodations. We highly recommend this accommodation if you’re ever in the area. We enjoyed a tasting of the full range of Bas-Armagnac produced by the domaine, comparing the spirit at 5 years of age, 10 years, 20 years, and so on. Armagnac can be difficult to find outside of France as very little of it is exported, but those who love it will seek it out even if they have to special order it or ask their son to bring a bottle up from Chicago.
We were most enchanted by a local fortified wine which we had not even known existed prior to our arrival at Domaine de Paguy. Myriam poured us a taste of Floc de Gascogne, which she said translates from the Occitan language as “flowers of Gascony.” It’s made from a blend of grape juice and Armagnac, and when I tasted it, I knew I would be checking bags on the return flight. We purchased three bottles, and only one remains. I’ve been hoarding it for a special occasion, and that will be our dinner à la gascogne next week.
Breakfast at Domaine de Paguy
Aviary at Domaine de Paguy
Le Cadet de Gascogne, St. Justin, France
Le Cadet de Gascogne dining room, a bit of a modern Scandinavian vibe
Lamb
Strawberries in thyme sauce
Our stay at the Domaine de Paguy was peaceful, delicious and beautiful. We had the best meal of our entire trip at the restaurant Le Cadet de Gascogne (a reference to the famous musketeers in the nearby village of St. Justin.
La jeune femme (Leah) at le Domaine de Paguy
The Gascon countryside has its share of beautiful bastide villages, Roman ruins, vineyards, market towns and a peaceful ambiance. We explored the medieval village of Labastide d’Armagnac and just east of there stopped at Notre Dame des Cyclistes, a 12th century Knights Templar chapel that now houses a small museum honoring bicyclists and Tour de France champions.
Notre Dame des Cyclistes
Labastide d’Armagnac
Join us next week for a Gascon feast of canard (duck) and accompaniments, and, hopefully, a video episode.
