Pants in France IV: Normandy and Brittany

Sadly, Mr. Pants had to return to work, so we parted at Gare St. Lazare, and I caught the train to Mom and Aunt Patti in Normandy.

Normandy was slate-grey, full of war memorial beaches, rainbows, and squalls sweeping in from the sea.  Lots of old churches on hilltops, and castle ruins.

Normandy was also full of oysters, mussels, apples, Calvados and Cambembert. Our best meal there was at Aunt Patti and Bob's house. Mom and Bob created a massive seafood feast of fresh oysters, fried shrimp, braised fennel, cod, and tiny thumbnail-sized mussels that are likely the best I've ever had. Thank you Bob!

Bob, top chef, on the battlements at Chateau Pirou, above. 

We visited the well-preserved Chateau Pirou, clambered over mossy battlements into old stone rooms with massive hearths, and passed by the moat under the gate with the weathered seal of Richard the Lionhearted.

We went to bed far too late for our early morning road trip to Brittany, known for megalithic tombs, rugged coastline, and a balmy microclimate.

Megalithic chamber, La Table de Marchand exterior, Brittany.

Interior, with carvings, Table de Marchand, Brittany, dating from approximately 3,800 BC. 

(I was nervous about Brittany.  I'd been there several years back with Mr. Pants and his family. A small, cheap rental house made out of particle board seemed like the perfect base for a masochistic visit to the sinisterly named Gulf of Morbihan on the stormy Breton seaside, barely visible through horizontal rain. Microclimate my ass)

This time, it hardly rained at all.
We piled into the car and headed for the witchiest corner of France. We forgot all our maps. Luckily we had Simon, a GPS system we so christened because of its upper crust English accent.

In Quimper, we saw this, probably the most charming public toilet in the world. At least on the outside.

Britanny is rather witchy; we saw Megalithic tombs, appropriately butter-colored cows lounging in fields next to prehistoric standing stones, and an unnerving number of black cats.

One of about a thousand black cats that we saw. This one at Carnac.

Superb Langoustines in Trinité Sur Mer.

 We discussed superstitions on dark country roads, where our headlights found a roving herd of wild boar.  A huge bat fluttered over our heads as we walked to dinner on the waterfront.  We downed two bottles of lemony Muscadet served to us by a dreamy-eyed waiter, at Le Quai restaurant in Trinité sur Mer where I managed, in muddled french, to order cold langoustines with aioli, a buttery sole meuniere, and a custardy prune-heavy Far Breton (local cake with a flan-like texture)  for dessert.

Another wonderful castle, Chateau Fougères.

Bretons seemed like my people, with Celtic noses, salt-spray squint, and penchant for butter.

Highlights:  Langoustines, seafood, dark country roads, megaliths, and Muscadet.

Disappointments: Our time was short, so there was no time to hit every castle or megalithic passage grave, or even every Breton village with stone houses and blue shutters...

Mr. Pants: Back home and working! But he did pick me up at the airport, muttering about traffic. Home at last.

Pants in France III: Alsace

We wound our way to Alsace along the twisting, mountainous Route des Vins. Nikos (Mr. Pants' father) drove. I maintained composure by digging my fingernails firmly into the vinyl of the backseat and stared wide-eyed at the views of the steep drop-off and tiny, church-steepled villages with names that sounded like Snuffleheim and Fluffernutten.   

We stayed overnight in the home of the stinkiest cheese (Munster) and had a room across from the church where storks were nesting amidst the turrets.  We ate like portly kings.  Alsace is all cream, white wine, dumplings, meat, and decadent goodness. We shaved years off our lives dining on cheese dumplings in a cream sauce WITH bacon, below.

We made it to Strasbourg, and its impressive, rosy-stoned cathedral.  Winding streets spiral out from the cathedral, from whose heights you can see copper-topped roofs of other churches, and steep-slanted roofs of houses with tiny windows.

Sadly, this picture is blurry (blame it on the Cremant D'Alsace) but I'm showing it anyway. This large copper pot was completely misshapen, beat up, and well worn. We had no idea the portions would be so large. OH well. 

Highlights:  Strasbourg's gorgeous cathedral, stinky cheese and insanely cute villages in Alsace. Also, storks! 

Disappointments: In Alsace: If you can have too much cream, then I guess, that MIGHT be a disappointment to some. We didn't stay quite long enough to explore more of the region.

Mr. Pants: Digging greedy spoonfuls of jam out of the tourist jam store samples, stomping around saying "I want Kugelhopf"(an Alsatian cake) in a mock Alsatian manner and enjoying the ridiculously quaint buildings and the cheesy dumplings. With bacon. 

Provence

We zoomed south from Paris on the TGV to a sun-and-wine-soaked tour of languid Provence, (Avignon, Arles, Vaison la Romaine) where we ate yet more ice cream.  Strawberry, raspberry, cassis and lavender were popular flavors.  

Mr Pants' little sister— born and raised in France, tagged along. She's in her revolutionary phase. I admit I'd zone out when they'd start arguing in French about Marxism. But hey, I didn't mind when I could enjoy this crispy-skinned, tender cod with asparagus mousse, because I'm just so bourgeois.

In Vaison la Romaine, our hotel was the wonderfully creaky Hostellerie Beffroi, full of wood beams and tile floors. This was one relaxed, remarkable town full of Roman ruins, a Roman bridge built in the 1st century AD, and beautiful winding stone streets. This was the view from our window.  The old bell tower still works. Even at 6 am.  

I found here, that Patricia Wells recommended some local restaurants such as Brin D'Olivier,  and La Baguette, (for vietnamese, right next to the roman ruins), and these were (not surprisingly) excellent choices. 

This was an "appetizer" of Mediterranean delights, at the tiny restaurant Le Bonheur Suit Son Cour, including mozzarella, tomatoes three ways, roasted peppers and hummus with nutty bread.  The mozzarella, served in small cups, was somewhere between a dense mozzarella ball and a foam, and called "clouds" by our waiter.  

Cheese! (waving my fists in an excited little dance). 

And nougat! Which makes Mr. Pants' voice go all high and girly like a six-year-old who REALLY wants some nougat. 

Provencal towns have ancient main squares, where locals take their evening stroll, children chase each other, people sit and drink Pastis (anise-flavored liqueur) at dusk and the men watch the women walk by and the women watch the men watching them. 

Highlights:  The whole town of Vaison la Romaine; The history- the Roman ruins and arenas scattered throughout Provence. Ice cream. 

Disappointments:  Not staying longer, like 6 months to a year.  

Mr. Pants: "This is awesome!" and "I'm SO relaxed" except when arguing with his sister.   

Me and Mr Pants- in France!

I had prepared for the Paris I remembered. Scowling pedestrians, autumn rainstorms, loud scooters, gruff waiters, and angry drivers.

Instead, the skies were pink each evening, confections were in many a shop window, and green chestnut trees fluttered amidst the greys and creams of Paris.  Scooters seemed muted as they zoomed past while we walked on bridges over the Seine. The waiters were jovial and patient with my (very) bad French. And hardly anyone was scowling. Hard to scowl when you are eating ice cream. And it seemed like everyone was eating ice cream.  We did too.

We drank silky espresso out of tiny cups, ate buttery croissants, followed a couple hours later by red wine and stinky cheese. 

We ate with celebrities, even! Gail Simmons from Top Chef sat right behind us at Le Verre Vole, where we had this lime-fragrant ceviche.

There was a late, dizzying lunch at L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon, where this generous and luscious hunk of foie just about made me swoon and had to be (reluctantly) shared with Mom and Mr. Pants.

We followed that up with a crunchy-tender sea bass with artichoke hearts and clams. 

And the famous Robuchon potatoes, or, would-you-like-some-potatoes-with-your-butter. I understand why they are famous. 

And finally this gorgeous passion fruit souffle with exotic fruit sorbet. 

At Le Baratin, we were glared at by the front-of-house man, then mollified by the unforgettable and simple food the woman in the kitchen created. Like this plate of artichoke hearts, beans and anchovy.

And this crispy, buttery skate. 

Mom and I made it to the venerable Brasserie Balzar, where the surprisingly genial waiters brought a massive bowl of chanterelles with garlic and butter, a beet salad and roasted chicken with frites, followed by post-lunch expresso. 

Then it was off to Provence, Alsace, Normandy and Brittany, so stay tuned for our next post! 

Highlights:  All of the above. Being with the remarkably insouciant Mr. Pants on his home turf. 

Disappointments:  Not having more time there. 

Mr. Pants:  Happy to be home and seeing his Dad and sister. Elegantly flouncing along with his fancy scarf, tied the french way, of course. 

RN74: Downtown Swank.

I was early.
Mr. Pants wasn't set to get here for 45 minutes, so I thought I'd have a drink at the bar and soak up some of that swanky ambiance. The hostess seated me at the bar next to a cool, european-looking man. Thank you, hostess.

He has a row of drinks in front of him.  SIX of them. All different.

"Rough day?" I ask.

He laughs and says no, he works there, and oversees the cocktail list and the bartenders.

Thinking of my job shuffling paper, I think damn, how does one get in on this gig?

I'm glumly contemplating this as my Old Fashioned comes and Carlo (ciao, Carlo!) sips at all six of his drinks and takes tiny notes in a tiny notebook while we discuss cocktails.

The Old Fashioned was wonderful, with trendy square ice cubes, perfect (subtle) amount of sweet, and fragrant orange peel swimming in the caramel colored Woodford Reserve bourbon. Always nice when they ask your preference, though I should never expect anything less.

The clubby bar and lounge area just teems with the high-heeled and well-heeled. Candlelit low tables encourage elegant slouching into the leather upholstered booths. It has a whiff of a corporate feel, though, and feels the slightest bit stilted, as it is part of a restaurant group.  I was prepared to dislike the food.

We split the duck confit arancini to start, with pistachios, cherries, and foie gras sauce. A small portion in a large white bowl, these were starchy, crunchy balls of meaty goodness that went perfectly with our  reasonably-priced French pinot noir.

I tore into the Painted Hills Boeuf Bourgignon It was a long rectangle of braised meat, with sauce and some of the tiniest veggies (carrots, potatoes) I've seen.  Pureed celery root lay under the veggies, everything was beautifully plated, and beautifully cooked.

Mr Pants got the other thing I wanted on the menu that night (no not Carlo!)  The grilled Idaho rainbow trout, with cool perfect cubes (again with the geometry) of a smokey, bacony glazed pork belly with  lentils and green beans. Again, everything was cooked to absolute perfection, green beans, firm, slightly crunchy, the fresh, crispy trout melted in the mouth.

My dessert was just decent, a sort of Opera torte- with espresso curd, but Mr. Pants got an intriguing mix of fruit and almond ice-milk, blackberries, blueberries and strawberries, with fragrant basil meringues. That's right, basil meringues.

Highlights: Cocktails, main dishes like Boeuf Bourgignon, Trout, ambiance.

Disappointments: Prices are pretty high, though you can find drinkable wines for less than you might think. Corporate feel.

Mr. Pants:  Happy and well-fed.  The cool wine board, (that alerted everyone to the most recent bottle of wine ordered) was reminiscent of the old train station flip-boards and reminded him of his youth in France.

Skillet

You'd probably think having bacon jam on top of your meat would be overkill, but no. Skillet's burger is proof. Many may know that about Skillet already, if you've sampled "The Burger" at Skillet's mobile truck.  It's a decadent, well-seasoned burger (with bacon jam), and the soft brioche bun and crispy fries just adds to the appeal. 

Skillet sits on the ground floor of the Chloe apartments with that irrationally enraging cutesy dog picture on the side of the building.  But the diner is cool with that color green that is simultaneously retro and modern, and there's a decidedly non-dinerish addition of a full bar, complete with what seems to be a requirement these days; a bartender with a hat. 

But fried chicken with fennel seeds?  Fennel seeds on what should be America's national dish could be a deal breaker for some. I consider myself a fried chicken connoisseur; my Seattle favorites include Steelhead Diner, Blue Acre Seafood, and Ezells.  And I'm not sure this one would be in the same company as those, but you can get it with a slightly sweet cornmeal waffle, so I did.

I was unsure of those fennel seeds at first, there were quite a few of them on the chicken. Darn it, I want my fried chicken to be completely crispy, salty and really bad for me.  I ended up liking it. After a few moments of pointless complaining, I was happily licking my fingers. A well-made Old Fashioned served in jar, paired fantastically with the chicken. Hmmm bourbon, fried chicken, do I need to move south and become a Republican? What the hell is happening to me?


Mr. Pants got chicken pot pie a great version —neither greasy, or heavy, with salad on the side. He stopped talking altogether while polishing that off. Eating is more important.

Went for breakfast the first time, a sublime, pure-tasting rhubarb compote over decent, fluffy griddle cakes, and a pretty-good side of house-made guanciale. 


Lunch on our second visit involved that burger and a great Cobb Salad, the salad for those who don't really want salad. Great proportions, ripe avocado, bright tomatoes, salty bacon, bleu cheese and more. Hard boiled egg not hard boiled, however, and it bled it's yellow yolk all over everything.  Which was overkill for me. Yet it seemed ungracious to complain as I finished the whole thing. 

Highlights: Rhubarb compote, fries, bacon jam on burger, cobb salad, chicken pot pie, agua fresca, Old Fashioned cocktail.


Disappointments: Griddle cakes weren't anything special, burger came cooked medium, not medium rare, cobb salad, while good, had a softer cooked egg than it should have. Should have been hard boiled. Little things.


Mr. Pants: loved his pot pie, salad and french fries. Like me, noted little missteps, carped about them, then forgot them.

Uneeda Burger! Yes you do.

I needed to get to Uneeda Burger fast. The people behind Restaurant Zoe, and of course, Quinn's (one of our favorite neighborhood haunts) had opened up a self-proclaimed "roadside burger shack." I DID need a burger.

We parked ourselves at an outdoor picnic table in the sun, after ordering at the counter.  Seating is mostly outdoors,  though some tin chairs and small tables are inside.

I got the number 8, a juicy, mushroomy, sophisticated burger with Crimini Mushrooms, Gruyere cheese, carmelized shallot, Porcini mushrooms and black truffle salt.  

Mr Pants got the Philly Smash with charred peppers, onions, Gruyere and a so-called special sauce, suspiciously similar to mayo.  I took a bite out of this bright, summery burger and wanted to hang on to it till it was finished.

I tasted our friend Mark's hand-pulled Empire Ice Cream "black and blueberry"milkshake while he stepped away from the table. (He still doesn't know). Fantastic, fresh, could almost visualize the cows, rolling green hills and blueberry bushes.

Other burgers at the table were a bacon and carmelized onion, with shoestring potato concoction that I got to taste. This burger was generous with the carmelized onions and a smoky, salty bacon.   I don't know why they omitted the words cardiac and arrest in the name of this one.

Skinny cut fries were on our trays too, along with an order of monstrous onion rings, which were good, though heavy on the breading— more like an onion doughnut!

I'm going back to flirt with heart disease and try the quarter pounder classic with cheddar, and the salted caramel shake. 

Highlights:  Burgers, shakes, beer selection.

Disappointments:  Fries were fine, not great, and needed a bit more time in the fryer.  Seating is what it is. Whaddya want, a tablecloth?

Mr. Pants:  SO happy.