Other than a quick potty break along the Spanish Motorway, this little boulangerie, located very near Amelie les Bains was our first stop. Linda, our co-hostess, pulled into a miniscule parking area and we climbed out of our cute little French Hyundai which, fortunately, spoke GPS English. The most wonderful smells filled the air. Fresh bread--the just baked, non-preservative kind--was close at hand. I fell in love with France in that parking lot.
Gaynor, our hostess, and a regular here, began ordering our breads in what impressed me as very respectable French. A couple of warm baguettes were popped into thin paper bags and then croissants--large croissants. Now, for a selection of breakfast breads. We chose small raisin rolls (I'm sure they had a name, but I never learned it), and then a croissant-type bread that had been rolled around chocolat bits--which, next to strong coffee, turned out to be my favorite starter of the day. With our order selected and paid for--the euro challenge begins--we carefully placed our bags of goodies into the car. I had just learned that a stop at the boulangerie or patisserie means we're very close to home.
That evening, we opened a lovely red wine from the area and enjoyed Gaynor's Coq au Vin. She wanted our introduction and welcome to include the quintessential French meal. In our case, it might have been titled Coq au Vins, as I definitely saw more than one type of vin being poured into that gorgeous Le Crueset pot on her stove. That dinner was the first of many evenings around a table filled with conversation, laughter, delicious food, and generous wine pours. It was the perfect beginning to our week.
A day or so later--recovered from jet lag--we drove, in less than thirty minutes, to the Mediterranean for a walk on the beach and a relaxed lunch. The Med was quiet that day--tourist season is winding down--but the area was especially beautiful as the nearby mountains seemed to grow out of the shoreline itself. As we wandered through the town, we found an outdoor café near the marina. Denise and I are about to meet our first Galette.
A galette (per my Wikipedia research) is a thin buckwheat flour pancake that is most often garnished with egg, cheeses, meats and/or vegies. The traditional galette, I believe, contains an egg, ham, and cheese. Similar to an Egg McMuffin perhaps, but oh, so different. We each ordered a galette--they looked fairly small in the photos--and I chose this beauty containing chicken and mushrooms in a sauce layered with crème fraiche. The egg is always part of the galette package. The galette was much larger than this picture would indicate and very, very good. I would say the galettes were a success. If you're in France studying a menu that includes no English, do not fear the galettes.
We often spent a portion of our afternoons walking into the village of Amelie les Bains to window-shop, followed by people watching from a café where we enjoyed coffee, wine or hot chocolat. Dogs of all shapes and sizes are not only allowed at the restaurants, but welcomed. Many sit at the table with their owners, while the larger and older canines snooze at their feet. Cafe's were our source of Wi-Fi--or wee-fee as it is called in France--and, much to my surprise, I found I missed the constant communication my iPhone provides. The little devil has me hooked!
On one particular afternoon, we made reservations for a late dinner at a small hotel restaurant nearby, and began our stroll up the hill...the long way home.
To our surprise, the small hotel specialized in very large dinners. I think I could have avoided this over-sized situation had I been able to speak French just a little bit better or, perhaps, to have been able to speak French at all. As it was, it seemed the better part of valor to simply smile gratefully and begin to work my way through this over-flowing bounty.
I ordered steak here because I am afraid of snails and unknown seafood. I know, it's not the way I have presented myself. I have tried very hard to maintain the persona of a gastronomic traveler who waves away the menu and simply requests, "Surprise me." It has all been a lie. I always read a menu carefully and choose judiciously. Especially now that I have begun to experience occasional heartburn after an evening of late overindulgence.
But, back to the subject at hand. This textbook-sized steak is probably a skirt steak. (I have some background in beef parts.) It is not a particularly tender cut of beef such as we Americans are used to, but the French have a marvelous way of ensuring that it is perhaps one of the tastiest steaks you will encounter in your lifetime. It is accompanied by the French version of French fries. These were absolutely wonderful--even after the ratatouille juices beginning to ooze under them. The ratatouille? Deserving of it's own movie. The pureed carrots? Surprisingly good. The green salad? Nicely dressed and a most refreshing finish to this obscenely gigantic meal.
Which brings me to another issue with French food. Where are the smallish portions I had expected to see that keep French women from getting fat? Is that simply a myth? Or, even worse, could it be that French women aren't fat because they have an immense amount of will power and really do take only one bite of their meal? I don't know the answer...yet.
NEXT: In which we learn the Delights and the Dangers of CASSOULET.
