I used to be a firm believer that those who have the means to travel should go forth and discover the world.
Now I’m not so sure.
I can only imagine how much more pleasant the cities and towns and villages and markets and restaurants and cafés and bars would be without the incessant buzz of voices étranges—in particular those belonging to The Loud Crass Yanqui. (And, yes, I’ve criticised before in these pages The British Yob who goes overseas to hole up in British pubs and drink till he’s as pissed as a newt. Both trans-Atlantic sub-cultures are equally offensive.)
For those, however, whose mouths water in anticipation not only of all those delicious bites awaiting them but also the wonderfully quiet and lengthy meals during which myriad delectable memories will be implanted, I offer you my brief (city-by-city) guide to some of my favourite places for food in Provence, informed by my most recent trip, a fourth gustatory journey to the land of olives, rosé, and pastis:
Aix-en-Provence
There’s more to gastronomic travelling than cramming in as many Michelin-starred meals as one can stomach.
Take Aix, for example, one of my favourite cities in the world—somewhere I could easily live out my years. Sure, there are lots of great restaurants in the city of 140,000, but to me a trip to Aix isn’t complete without a portion of bolognaise at Pizza Capri, just off Cours Mirabeau and next to Les Deux Garçons (where I’ll enjoy a pastis or two while people watching, but won’t bother eating at again after two less than inspiring meals).
The line of students queuing up during lunch hours should be recommendation enough that the pizza is delicious and cheap—that’s how I discovered the small stand. There are plenty of choices but the bolognaise is the standout. Hell, the sauce is better than most of the bolognaises I’ve tasted in Italian restaurants. Reheated for a couple minutes, the thin (though not crackery) crust takes on a wonderful crunch that complements the slightly cheesy and rich meat sauce. All portions fall between €2 – 3.
Apt
Bistro le France on Place de la Bouquerie is what one should imagine when the word “bistro” is uttered: local fresh ingredients prepared with a minimum of fuss. If you’re planning on lunch following the fantastic Saturday market, make reservations. Most of the tables had “reserved” signs on them when we arrived for our 12:30 lunch; a few lucky (and early) diners were seated without reservations; most were turned away, quite disappointed. I know the feeling from our 2003 trip.
I started with the foie gras mi-cuit, buttering the sliced baguette with the unctuous yellow fat before topping it with thick slabs of foie gras and then seasoning it with a little gray sea salt. If that doesn’t sound good, you might as well stop reading now. If it does, there’s no point in describing how it tastes. You know.
For my main plate, I had the pintade du Luberon rôtie: half a local guinea fowl roasted and served with a green courgette stew. After last year’s cocotte de pintade aux épices at Casa Olympe in Paris, I’ve been craving pintade and Bistro le France’s didn’t disappoint. A perfectly roasted bird, the guinea fowl’s dark meat was moist and flavourful in ways that yanqui fowl can only dream to attain.
To finish, I had a wonderfully refreshing melon sorbet liberally doused with Beaumes de Venise. A perfect end to a simple and delicious lunch under sunny blue skies.
All the other dishes (artichoke barigoule; melon with jambon cru and Beaumes de Venise; steak tartare; magret de canard; gratin de noix de saint jacques et lotte; fig crumble; grapefruit sorbet) were relished with equal pleasure.
Classic bistro fare. €107 for two (including apéritifs; entrées; plats principaux; desserts; a bottle of 2008 Bastide du Claux rosé; and cafés).
Ansouis
Why La Closerie hasn’t made the pages of Pudlo . . . well, perhaps that’s a good thing. Perhaps I shouldn’t even mention La Closerie . . . let it remain the secret of locals and savvy travellers. That doesn’t seem fair, however. Not to the husband-and-wife team who continue to please discerning palates with (mostly) local and fresh ingredients given a subtle yet innovative twist. (If you go during springtime, order the asparagus soup. It’s been different every year, although I’m especially fond of the version served with mousse de volaille.)
While my profiteroles filled with braised pork, canette with figs and girolles, and dessert of poached figs with fig sorbet were all wonderful, The Wife’s entrée of lobster risotto and plat principal of roasted pigeon with cassis were the day’s best dishes. What was I thinking not ordering the pigeon? The cassis sauce had the right amount of sweetness and acidity to balance the perfectly roasted rare pigeon’s gaminess.
The service is always extremely friendly, and since our first visit in 2005, the wife (who runs the front of house) has become fluent in English. (Still, that’s no reason not to be polite and speak French, even if yours is terribly rusty.)
Reservations are recommended; if the weather is cooperating, ask for a table en terrasse at lunchtime and enjoy the view.
The wine list is dominated by local wines. I typically order a Château la Dorgonne from nearby Tour d’Aigues.
A wonderful gem that always leaves us smiling. €100 for two (including apéritifs; entrées; plats principaux; one dessert; a bottle of Château la Dorgonne; and cafés).
Bonnieux
Le Bastide de Capelongue. The home of Édouard Loubet, perhaps my favourite chef. And a man who knows his herbs and flowers, familiar and exotic: sage, lovage, wormwood, sunflower, burnet, lavender, verbena, hyssop, wild thyme, poppy, catnip, marjoram, mint, borage, eucalyptus, rue . . .
I could probably write a treatise on Loubet, owner of two deserved Michelin stars. My first Loubet meal was at the two-star Moulin de Lourmarin in 2003 and it remains to this day the best I’ve eaten. Not that I’ve ever been disappointed by Loubet. Something always takes my breath away (this time it was the Boudin de Congre Poché et Rôti, Un Jus Mousseux à la Verveine de mon Potager, Petits Légumes Poêlés—boudin of conger eel with verbena “soup” and poached baby vegetables) . . . and even if I return to an old comforting favourite—Carré d’Agneau au Serpolet des Claparèdes, Légèrement Fumé et Infusé en Cocotte de Fonte, Gratin de ma Grand-mère (rack of lamb smoked with wild thyme and my grandmother’s gratin)—I’m left with a deep appreciation for Loubet’s practised artistry.
Whether pairing heart of sunflower with summer truffle, coffee and pastis in a hollandaise, wild sea bass in a salt crust (a childhood memory of the Corsican coast) with sage and crispy orange rind, langoustines with liquorice, cedar soufflé with clove ice cream, or chocolate with summer truffle (to bring us full circle), Loubet’s flavours are always innovative yet harmonious . . . which isn’t always the case with daring chefs.
Oh, and do start with the house cocktail—truffled champagne . . . it’s the perfect match for the crudités, the world’s finest anchoïade, and the stunning view of the southern Luberon.
Reservations are a must and it’s rightly expensive. We always go for lunch and sit en terrasse, me in shorts (how bloody wonderful) to properly enjoy the four-to-five hour meal.
Lourmarin
My favourite Provençal village, despite its being on every tourist’s list of must-stops. (Before moving to Bonnieux and Capelongue, Loubet was chef of Le Moulin de Lourmarin. That’s certainly a reason to hold this charming village so near and dear to my heart.)
For Sunday dinners, I recommend La Récréation—in particular La Récrée’s seven-hour slow-cooked organic lamb. You may not even need reservations (we didn’t this year).
Simple Provençal cuisine. €64 for two (including apéritifs; entrées; plats principaux; a bottle of wine; and cafés).
I’ve only eaten once at the one-star Michelin Auberge La Fenière, way back in 2003, but Reine Sammut (twice voted Best Woman Chef in France) deserves a mention for one of the best entrées I’ve eaten: carpaccio of St Pierre (John Dory) drizzled with Cucuron olive oil flavoured with vanilla pod seeds, and finished with sea salt. Over six years later and I’m still dreaming about that one. It’s a shame we haven’t returned; perhaps next time. As I remember, Johnny’s pork and Tia’s pigeon were also stellar. OK, no perhaps . . .
Marseilles
This charming yet rough-appearing port city always brings to mind one thing: bouillabaisse. Make that bouillabaisse Chez Fonfon.
Tucked away in a cove a couple klicks from the Vieux-Port, Fonfon presents the perfect end to a holiday in Provence. The rust-coloured soup is a deep and complex celebration of the sea without the slightest hint of fishiness; the accompanying fish (served after you’ve supped the first of endless bowls of soup) offer different textures and flavours of the Mediterranean, but the broth’s the absolute star. It’s impossible not to fill up on croutons slathered with rouille and aïoli and then softened in the broth, so don’t bother trying. Eat and slurp till you’re bursting.
At €45 per person, Fonfon’s bouillabaisse is one of the most expensive in Marseilles. Bouillabaisse, however, is one of the world’s great soups, and Fonfon’s is so unearthly good, I’ll never eat bouillabaisse anywhere else.
Reservations are an absolute must.
Nice
Grand Café de Turin for raw oysters and moules frites . . . hell, for all the fruits de mer. The atmosphere is not your typical sedate Provençal . . . it’s as energetic as the oyster shucker.
Chez Thérésa for socca. Either at her restaurant or at the Cours Saleya market. I’ve driven the 211 kilometres from Grambois to Nice solely for her smoky and sublime chickpea crêpe. Enough said?
Oui. Enough said . . . for now. This list’ll give you a damned fine start on your culinary tour of Provence.
Je vous en prie.
And let’s be quiet out there.