A culinary tale.

Hello and welcome to the latest blog from The Olivia Rose Diaries on September 8th 2024.

We’ve been at our housesit in the Tarn for nine days, with one more to go before we return to Le Shack. Our temporary home is situated deep in the countryside, and if you imagine a wheel, with us at the centre, we have spent our days cycling out along the imaginary spokes to a series of small villages, most of them officially acclaimed as some of the ‘most beautiful villages’ of France.

A few days ago we visited Cordes-sur-Ciel, one of the largest and most visited of the beaux villages, and after a long hard pull up the hill our first priority was a coffee. A terraced café at the heart of the village looked promising but the head waitress didn’t bother to raise her head as I said hello, always a warning sign. She waved her hand vaguely for us to pick a table, so we headed over to one where we could keep an eye on our bikes.

‘Non, not there. Those tables are for lunch.’

Given that it was 10.30 in the morning this seemed unnecessary but we moved as directed. I noted how scratched and dented the metal tables were, no tablecloths, no flowers, with faded and threadbare seat covers on uncomfortable chairs. Michael ordered a coffee, I ordered a tea and then asked what patisseries they had.

‘Non. We don’t do them. Only lunch.’

‘But it says here on your menu that you..’

‘The menu isn’t correct.’ She looked at me as if it was my fault. ‘Is that all?’

‘I guess it is.’

Our drinks arrived, she gave us the bill and waited pointedly. I offered my credit card.

‘Non. We don’t take cards.’ I looked at her in surprise. Everywhere took cards and this was a large restaurant in a hugely popular place. The square was already filling up with tourists, selfie sticks at the ready, posing against the statue, the walls, against a doorway. I could feel myself beginning to wish I was somewhere else.

‘Do you take cash then?’ This was probably an unnecessary question, but I wanted to see if the word yes’ was actually in her vocabulary.

She just nodded, whipped the ten euro note from my hand and gave me two euros change. We weren’t surprised to find that the coffee tasted as if it had never seen a coffee bean.

This scenario is not uncommon in the big tourist destinations. It happens in many countries, not just France, and is a sad consequence of what can happen when a town or village loses it’s soul.

A few days later we met up with some friends for lunch in our nearest village, Castlenau de Montmiral. They had heard about a café that was also a second-hand bookshop, a winning combination if ever there was one.

From the outside it looked run down and decidedly shut, but a tiny handwritten note in the window said that it was open. We opened the door to a different world. Comfy sofas crammed in so tight there was hardly any leg space, hundreds of books stacked on wooden shelves, with a few empty tables inside and a terrace outside with panoramic views over the valley. Given the unpredictable weather we chose to stay inside and the table was swiftly laid up for us by the proprietor. The menu was simple, a choice of two types of salad or a croque-monsieur with dauphinoise potatoes.

As we chatted with our friends I could hear the owner chopping away in the background, playing the role of the chef as well as the book enthusiast. When my salad appeared I looked at it in awe, a huge plate of goat’s cheese and walnuts,  juicy sweet tomatoes and black olives, crispy croutons and crunchy salad leaves, all tossed in a dressing that accentuated the different flavours rather than drowning them, which is what my salad dressings usually do.

Our host came over later to check that we were happy.

‘It’s wonderful,’I said, my plate only half empty. ‘But I may be here for a while.’

‘Take your time. There’s no hurry when it comes to food ‘

Afterwards we strolled around the quiet streets, no more than a handful of tourists for company and not a single selfie stick in sight, happy that the balance had been restored.

This is why I love to travel and why France still delights me. I find so much that is pleasing in the quiet, less populated places, the surprises tucked away in the backstreets and the small businesses who have a passion for simple things done well.

We leave on Monday, cycling for a hour to Gaillac, taking the train back to Tarbes, and then a final 30km ride back home. Rain is forecast…. let’s hope it doesn’t materialise.

See you soon.MJ