Paques en Quercy
It is going to be an early Easter, and in the Quercy a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of food – the other matter being on his mind all year round.
All the markets are stuffed to bursting with bitter spring greens, tender and delicious; points de chou, broccoli de pays, navet and colza. The fabulous poultry stalls are lining up duckling and guinea fowl, pigeon – still considered a delicacy in this land of gastronomy, and correspondingly expensive – and delectable little quail. It’s a family time, and feasting is what most families will do for much of Easter day. We will have family visiting too, and we will take them to one of our favourite little restaurants, tucked away and almost anonymous – as most good restaurants are – in an old converted house in Castelfranc.
We hustled in there the other night, not only for a splendid dinner but also to check that a table would be available over Easter; because it’s small, very small and liable to close for a break with little warning.
Michel greeted me with his usual charm and two bristly kisses, before leading me to a table in the corner, spread with white linen and garnished with satisfyingly heavy cutlery and shining glassware. Heavy crimson curtains and a matching glow from the charcoal grill in the corner add a feeling of luxurious comfort, leavened by Michel’s uniquely homely attire. From the kitchen Jean-Marc brandished his whisk, bounced his eyebrows and asked if I fancied a soufflé.
His soufflés are quite wonderful and I rarely get through a visit here without succumbing to one. The speciality of this restaurant though, is a rib of beef, fresh from the market. Jean-Marc will show you your cut before handing it over to Michel to be flung on the charcoal brazier with casual insouciance. All the meat in this remarkable little place is cooked this way, carefully, but with a complete lack of ceremony and right in front of your eyes. A rib of beef is far too large for one, of course, so you have to have a like-minded companion to share it with. That evening my like-minded companion and I plumped for a light and aromatic soufflé de chevre followed by the rib and absolutely no dessert! A rich bottle of Clos Triguedina’s Prince Probus accompanied this enticing menu, very little bread and lots of water.
In the opposite corner a young couple were demolishing vast salads and feeding each other olives every other bite. I sipped my ice-cold kir and listened to the music of whisk-on-metal-bowl in the kitchen. The master was at work. The happy buzz of a large family at the next table distracted me slightly. The youngest member wore a large napkin round his neck and was enthusiastically consuming his grandmother’s foie gras.
Souffle
‘Il monte!’ announced Jean-Marc, popping out of the kitchen and referring, somewhat obliquely, to the soufflés. He brought them out with great pride ten minutes later, golden, savoury and utterly delicious.
A distinct pause was necessary before the climax of the evening made its debut. Michel brought out the candidate; it was admired, approved and tossed on the fire.
‘At the young lovers’ table magret de canard had replaced the salad. They had one plate between them, and instead of helping themselves from it, they helped each other – intimately! The young gourmet at the other table got up to admire the steaks on the grill and was given a taster from his father’s newly cooked entrecote to encourage both his taste-buds and future palate.
Our rib caused the next diversion. It was served at the table, sliced for ease and tasted quite sublime; the wine was as dark as elderberries and as rich as chocolate gateau.
Sitting back with a sigh of contentment, I accepted a coffee and Armagnac from Michel. Across the room our lovers had given up the pretence and the food, they were holding hands across the table and drowning in each other’s eyes.
This is a nice place, small, charming and beautifully laid out, but informal. Just right for a celebratory Easter supper.
© Amanda Lawrence 2008
Tags: French Food, Restaurant
