Whatever happened to the Lad on Tours?

“You look like Neil Pearson”, my mother said to me the other day. It was true that my haircut rather resembled this comic actor of yesteryear, but what did I care? With my Depardieu-esque locks, I was off to Tours, France for a customary late-spring week of over-indulgence. Think fine food, wonderful wine, cracking culture and of course a cheeky chateau or two to boot!

So on a mizzly Sunday morning, armed with my flowing, mousy brown locks, a trusty duffle bag and a bucket load of coffee I embarked on the plane to Nantes (some readers might remember I went there last year for a night). Leaving the farcical EU Referendum debate behind, I breathed a sigh of relief as a I sank the usual, first G&T of the holiday, looking forward to a week uninterrupted by slippery fish, truffling buffoons and swivel-eyed loons. 

It was all about getting away from it all and immersing myself in something completely different. Perhaps this was he last time I go to could go to Continental Europe without a Visa! Who knows? Indeed who cares? This was my holiday and I wasn’t going to let Cameron, Osborne, Izzard, Gove, Johnson or Farage spoil it for me! 

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A little geography first. Tour is roughly equidistant between Nantes and Paris (around 200 kilometres each way). It is situated on the banks of the river Loire and has long had an association with wealth and prosperity alongside its neighbouring region of Anjou. The rich flood plains of the Loire Valley give fertile pastures for growing all manner of crops and vegetables and the surrounding limestone escarpments offer the perfect vehicle for terraces of vines and caves for mushroom growing. It’s a lush area, punctuated by thick woods, medieval towns and of course the world famous Chateaux. 

I visited the area briefly last year and was immediately struck by both the charm of the city and the rich culinary heritage of the surrounding countryside, it was high-time for a return and I want to share the best bits with you from this trip! 

Aside from the restaurants, I have intentionally not included links because I feel you, as the reader, should hopefully be inspired enough by this post investigate details for yourself! 

The Flight

easyjet flights from Gatwick to Nantes go daily so shouldn’t be too hard to track down. My advice is to fly out on Monday and come back on Saturday. For anyone who has ever been to France, Sundays and Mondays are dead days, everything (except for the tourist traps) is shut, a little bit of strategic planning will avoid this.

Transport

A car is recommended as it means you have the freedom to get to some of the harder-to-reach chateau you might have on your itinerary. You’ll just have to sort this out for yourself from the usual suspects of messrs Hertz, Avis or Europcar. It’s an easy, two hour journey from Nantes-Atlantique airport via two motorways to Tours. 

However, you can also do plenty on the very extensive and sophisticated train network operating across France. A short journey from the airport to Nantes’ main station, followed by a 1.5 hour journey by train to Tours is all it takes.

Accommodation

There are a number of options, it’s not a one-horse town so there’s plenty available from the budget chains to something a little more chichi, this can range anywhere from £35-£175 a night (season dependent).

My preference is for Airbnb, I stayed in a lovely apartment this time, right in the heart of town with parquet floors, high ceilings and that 'je ne-c’est quoi' you only find in French flats! 

Water pressure can be an issue as I found out but it’s a small price to pay when everything else is top notch. On this latter option, expect to pay around £70-£110 per night. 

Chateaux

Let’s put it this way, if you’ve read this far then you must have an interest in Renaissance chateau… there are plenty to whet the appetite, in fact, there’s no escaping them. From my last visit there were three which I think are essential:

Amboise - It’s striking position, built up on a promontory overlooking the Loire offers an awe-inspiring approach. Overlooking a pretty, if tourist-spoilt town, this castle is the final resting place of none other than Leonardo Di Vinci who occupies a spot in a very fine late-medieval chapel. The main building itself is sparse in its interior but set within a very tasteful gardens. The view from the top over the surrounding countryside is worth the admission itself. 

Chenonceau - Possibly the most well-known (with Chambord) of all the chateaux in the Loire Valley. Chenonceau is a visual feast for the eyes. Set deep within a wood, the structure straddles the river Cher with great majesty. The interior is not much to shout about, most of these buildings have had their best objects removed and plonked in The Louvre. However, the manicured gardens are elegant and pristine and Chenonceau’s is viewed on a sunny day, from these trained terraces, its beauty takes your breath away!  

Villandry - What a place! Villandry's gardens are, rightly, world famous. In fact, the grounds are some of the most important in the world and have had a staggering influence on modern horticulture. It has to be seen to be believe, especially the vegetable garden which is both ambitious but equally breathtaking, interesting and sophisticating it’s a must see. The chateau is also worth a look but has nothing on its setting.

Other things to do

Unfortunately, I cannot list everything, the chateau section in itself takes up a pretty healthy whack of space, but my way of enjoying a holiday is to live like the local. I don’t tend to go around, glued to the guide book, ticking things off on a list. However, a trip to Tours has a couple of ‘must see’ attractions, so I list them below. 

Tours Cathedral - What a magnificent example of Gothic architecture, this grand building is quite a spectacle. You can spend hours entranced both by the fine, ornate exterior or by the understated interior with its fine stained glass. As a church it’s free to attend however I hope, like me, you will put a donation into the collection box (whatever your religion) to ensure structures like this are preserved for generation to come. 

Les Halles (the market) - This makes Borough Market look pretty paltry. The food market in Tours has a dedicated building (a pretty unattractive one but a dedicated one nonetheless), full of the most wonderful regional treats. Think huge dishes of terrines and salads, all sorts of sausages and hams, the numerous French cuts of meat, fresh vegetables at reasonable prices, river fish… I could go one, but that is for another blog. It was a feast for the eyes, a bountiful forum full of the freshest produce. Alas, if only we had this in every quarter of this Sceptred Isle! Go and see it for yourself. 

Drinking

As a town with a large, thriving student population, there are plenty of places to go and find a tipplee in Tours at any time of the day. The Place Plumereau is as good a place as any to start. It’s a bit touristy but you can get a good glass of the local, very agreeable wines: Touraine, Chinon,  Vouvray Rose d’Anjou. 

By the glass, wine is terrific value and good quality with plenty of variety, I’d recommend exploring source of drinking on your visit. The beer offering is often constricted to the usual, mass-market suspects. A brief mention should be made to Cointreau which is distilled just down the road in Angers, and makes the perfect, appropriate end to a meal in these parts. 

Where to eat

Restaurant Maison Des Halles - I had two, incredible meals at this restaurant. Right next to the market, this establishment has a menu which should appeal to both the most conservative palettes and the more adventurous. For my part, I dined (on both occasions) on calf sweetbreads, sautéed in butter until golden and served with a beautiful macaroni gratin, carrot puree and veal jus. I also sampled delicate bone marrow, a tranche of foie gras, Iles Flotante and the most delicate apple tart. The wine was excellent and of course, like any restaurant worth their salt, they had a cracking selection of eau de vie to round off the meal! 

L’Arome - A lovely little restaurant, perfect for an evening meal. Its small menu is not recommended for the unadventurous but for those who like meaty, offaly dishes, this is a must. I had a bizarre but very tasty warm cep and potato terrine, followed by a thick slice of braised ox cheek with gnocchi and spring vegetables. All this was finished off with a simple poached pear with ginger ganache. Beautifully balance, masterfully executed. 

Bistrot les Tontons - I have a bias to this place, in Saumur, not Tour, but worth the visit (accesible both by car and train). It was the charm of the proprietor which first won me over, with his perfect English, quick wit and knowledge of the menu. A bro-mance was born. Using local produce to the best effect I dined on a perfect mousse of smoked eel, a pleasingly textured steak tartare and a rhum baba. On that hot day, this largely (and I should add, intentionally) cold meal was most pleasing. Gerald, our host, chose the wines and I must say did us very proud. All I can say is please, please visit! 

There, that’s your lot! I hope I’ve given a rounded enough indication of why this part of France demands your attention and, perhaps, requires your visit very soon! 

I’m back! Continuing my travels in Reims

It’s been a shockingly long time since I posted, call it a sabbatical if you will… I’m not going to apologise. What with taking on a bigger role, indulging in the fairer sex and moving house I feel I have, understandably, been quite out of the loop. Be it from taking in the impressive Simon Schama re-hang at the National Portrait Gallery (or NPG to those in the know) or dining at Polpo, I have become something of a louche fellow about town, much in the cast of Dorothy L Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey… but I jest, I lack the requisite style, panache and the ability to drop my ‘g’ for that accolade. Let’s put it this way, I’ve had a good time and left you quite on tenterhooks for the next leg of a French adventure. 

While it seems like a long while ago it still seems burnt in my memory. I’ve been back to France since and have just booked a few more trips to that magical place (North France to be exact), but it will hopefully keep me informed to write an extended piece on the subject at some stage. Here it seems apt to pick up where I left things, in the capital of Champagne, Reims. 

For those who can cast their minds back, Reims in my mind was a rather underwhelming city. Yes, it had a marvellous Cathedral and a couple of very impressive museums, but it wasn’t really for me. I had been underwhelmed by the surrounding countryside on the train journey in. The hills were too soft, there was something of a malaise about the whole area and the drizzling, overcast sky did nothing to help things. 

No matter, as I sat in a very agreeable Champagne bar with my coup of Blanc de Blancs, nibbling on shavings of saucisson, I reflected on the mysticisms of Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha. A book read when sixteen didn’t hold as much resonance, maybe it had something to do with the location? Who knows. 

I made my way to the main drag and had a small beer before I made my way to what was the crowning glory of Reims, L’Alambic - recommended in the travel supplement of a one-time Saturday Daily Telegraph. 

Again, it was table for one in this eccentric, contemporary restaurant in which the dining room was situated in a former wine cellar. I was greeted on arrival by Karol, the charming owner of the restaurant who addressed me by name (I was the only solo diner) and led to my table, past the vast copper alembic which lends its name to the restaurant. For those not in the know, it’s an essential part of the distilling process. On a little side table next to it, proudly presented, were some bottles of eau de vie (fruit brandy) from their favourite supplier, one Rene de Miscault. I knew as soon as I saw it, I was going to enjoy the food here as this is my favourite distiller, based in a small Alsatian village called Lapoutroie in the Vosges foothills. 

I was going hell for leather on this one, and as the very attractive and engaging Karol informed me she was going to tend to my table, I knew I was in excellent hands. Here’s how it panned out: 

A glass of house Champagne 

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Smoked duck breast stuffed with foie gras, green salad, vinaigrette

A glass of Chablis

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Rack of lamb (pink) with Dauphinoise potatoes, savoy cabbage and a light ratatouille

1/2 bottle of Pomerol 

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Vanilla parfait with Raspberries drenched in Marc de Champagne

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Coffee and eau de vie (Marc de Gewürztraminer)

It was an exquisite meal, more so for its simple, bold flavours and bone fresh ingredients. It was a very clever chef who prepared the meal. The lamb was so so succulent and the Dauphinoise was luxurious without being too-rich, the use of garlic was judicious. The great surprise was the starter, the juxtaposition of the duck breast against the smooth liver… divine. The pudding was pure decadence with a real kick of alcohol and tang of fresh raspberries and coulis. I’m almost transported back now, to that low ceilinged dining room as I write. All through the meal I was given impeccable service, friendly and not overbearing. What a meal, and topped of with some of Mr Miscault’s (who I had the pleasure of meeting a few years ago) glorious Marc de Gewürztraminer.

The real fun started though when I went up to the reception desk to pay the bill and I was encouraged by Karol to enjoy a glass of homemade cherry liqueur before I left! Let’s just say that I stayed for more, trying the full range of homemade ratafias and I experimented with my broken French and she spoke to me in her impeccable English! Of course two or three more toasts were consumed, this time from her stash of Miscault! Plum, Mirabelle (a type of plum) and pear were dispatched very merrily before I paid the bill and staggered out for a night-cap and a Gitane or ten! 

What an evening, what a host and what a restaurant. If you find yourself in Reims, make sure you visit L’Alambic for an experience you will never forget! 

Raiders of the Lost Fromage: Raucousness in Reims

It was time to leave the west of France, the majestic Loire, the charming landscape, delicate foods and gentle wines behind and head east. The robust cuisine, the bold wines and the distinctly northern European feel would be in sharp contrast to my previous destination. Having been to Alsace before, I had an inkling of what to expect, but nothing would prepare me for the welcoming people and, frankly, the pointless hedonism that was to characterise this half of the adventure. 

The sun shone as I left Tour, armed with a good slab of pate, a crusty loaf, some wild strawberries and a half bottle of red. It was a simple lunch but one which suited the long journey I was taking across the breadth of France. As I finished my customary pint of train station beer, I focused my attention on Reims, the legendary capital of Champagne, the next leg of my French tour. 

It was a long journey, with a brief stop in Paris, where I saw the inside of the Metro and Gare L’Est but little else, but I was content having enjoyed that nice, rough and gamey country pate and a light red. An hour later I was in Reims, holding such a significant place in French history, not so much for the famed wine but for its place in confirming the legitimacy of country’s monarch. 

In this relatively, gentle landscape, the cathedral dominated. It’s an imposing structure, more built for pomp and grandeur as opposed to beauty. Whatever your feelings when you see this building, it certainly merit a visit. Who can forget the iconic WW1 image of this bomb battered church, implying as it did a sense of stubborn defiance and fortitude in the midst of the destruction. 

Where the Loire Valley had been sunshine, the weather turned in the north east, shifting to that close, overcast, drizzly sky, unique to the UK, northern France and the low countries. Outside the cathedral it was not a picturesque town, in fact I found it to be quite ordinary and there was a definite malaise in the air, you could see the terrible legacy everywhere of a city which had been at the centre of many of Europe’s most devastating conflicts. 

But enough of bleak history, let’s get down to brass tacks. I got a little diorientated, turning and weaving through these rather uninspiring streets looking for a very unassuming hotel on a very unassuming street.

Hotel Gambetta was finally found after an infuriating series of exchanges with locals who I fear were trying to lead me off on a wild goose chase every step of the way. I arrived, and tried to check in...

“Non monsieur, ne pas le reservation.”

“Excuses moi?!?!”

“Non... desolee’

Fuck that, I’d booked a room at this sodding place and I was tired, it was not a mood to cross me. However, I fixed my most saccharine smile, trying to be civil; there must have been some mistake, an error in the booking?

Apparently not, he said looking through his book of printed off reservations. I was adamant, standing my ground, an angry young man quaking in his little boots (or suede loafers). It’s one of the very few times I have felt confrontational but I had paid for the room so I felt a little aggrieved. 

By this time, knowing he could speak the lingo, I switched back to English. He kept phaffing and then looking through his database for this booking. He was about to cast me out on my arse but, being a nosey bastard, I craned over the desk and there saw my booking which he had overlooked... oh dear. 

There are times to be smug and there are times to think that you might like a room, I chose the latter. Once I had discovered the error it was all smiles and courtesy. I apparently could have the master suite, a privilege, it had just been completed. 

Just completed was an apt description, the paint had barely set on the walls. As the proprietor opened the door to show off this new addition to his portfolio, the smell of freshly laid matt emulsion hit my nostrils. It was quite overpowering, my first impressions were that  I was going to expire this evening in a mixture of paint and alcohol.

“Sir!” he announced in his very good English, “here it is...” 

I surveyed the scene, it was impressive, an eight bedroom apartment, I could’ve had a party in this top-floor cavern. It was not furnished, apart from a single bed and the sockets had not even been adhered to the walls. The paint fumes were almost overwhelming... 

“You could cook in here, have a meal this evening...” Said my landlord, pointing at the Meile unit at one side of the living area, very proud. 

“On what? The floor?!” I retorted, then pointing to the expanse of unfurnished room facing me. 

“Well, it’s yours to do as you like this eve!” He nudged me and gave a disconcerting wink. Creepy as it was, I liked this charlatan who had palmed an unfinished, three room apartment on me to try and make up for an error. I went with it, paint fumes (I soon became accustomed) and all. 

Embracing this rather odd situation, I dumped my bags and headed into Reims. Yes, the Cathedral held a mystical charm as did a neighbouring full of medieval and 19th century artifact, but I was here for the gastronomy and I had been well briefed.

First and foremost, I found a little Champagne bar serving a cheeky Blanc de Blanc, non-descript but gorgeous against some shaved saussicon sec and a few salted almonds. I indulged in my book, occasionally looking up to see couples entwining and businessmen in fervent conversation, a working city. 

Taking my leave of these rather fun people I made my way slowly, stopping at a few watering holes, to another stand out restaurant L’Alembic... I shall cover this in the next post! 

Raiders of the Lost Fromage: Lad on Tours

As I sit writing this post, I am in the thoroughly genteel setting of The Albion in Islington, it’s full of trend-setters, of which I am most definitely not one bedecked in a pink-striped shirt, blue chinos and suede loafers. However, the setting does provide welcome inspiration to chart the next step of my French adventure.

Leaving Angers by train, I enjoyed a crusty baguette filled with cold butter, Rosette (a type of saucisson from Lyon) and cornichon with a couple of cold bottles of lager as the hilly countryside around my previous destination gave way to lush, verdant fields implying that this was an area which prided itself on a rich agricultural heritage. I was not wrong, The Touraine (of which Tours is the capital) is one of the most fertile areas of France, famed for  its rich bounty of produce from fine wines to vegetables and livestock. 

It was boiling hot when we pulled into the city and, huffing and puffing, I attempted to locate my apartment. I had intentionally opted for a self-catering option in Tours as I was determined to head to the city’s renowned covered market in search of my dinner. As I searched for my accommodation I came across the one frustrating stumbling block of Tours, its non-linear layout. It seemed that, unlike so many French settlements which generated outwards from a main square, Tour was pockets of activity within sleepy residential spaces. 

I got to the apartment, it was 13:50, I found everything firmly shut, ‘back at 14:30’... merde! It was sweltering and the stupid trundle suitcase I had brought on the trip had a distinct allergy to cobbles. It had taken me a little while to find this place, unmarked as it was on any map and I was a hot and bothered little fellow. I rang the bell, they were going to let me in... not they weren’t. A grumpy looking woman came to the locked door and aggressively hammered on the sign with a digit, ‘Non!’ she exclaimed ‘retournee a 2:30’. Well, I felt well and truly beaten... wiping my brow under the sun I pondered what to do before I returned. 

Luckily, as in most of these situation, a bar magically appeared. One which coincidentally enough closed at 14:30 on a Monday (for any layman, France is a commercial ghost town on Mondays), I was parched and the rather unrefreshing brown Belgian beer the proprietor pour me - assuring me that this is what the ‘Englishman’ was partial to - I suppose it was better than nothing. Perhaps I might have preferred a Pelforth from the condensing tap at the bar than a luke-warm Leffe. However, the chap had seen my predicament and gave me the beer on the house, I could not complain and found myself in that awkward situation where I had to respond to his hospitality by drinking with gusto. 

With a brown beer weighing heavy on my ever expanding belly, I went back to the apartment. It was rather spare but perfect for what I needed, a base from which I could gorge myself on charcuterie whilst I quaffed deep on the local tipple. 

Dumping my bags I set out to Tours famous covered market, Les Halles, to purchase my dinner, the most important consideration of the day. Nothing beats great charcuterie and after ten minutes of walking to the west of the city centre I was greeted with the Mecca of porky products (probably not the most appropriate metaphor). There was everything one could imagine, from fifteen different types of cooked ham and almost as many dried, stacks and stacks of salamis, tantalising terrines, quivering jellied meats, smoked sausages, bowls and bowls of prepared salads... I was in heaven! 

I left the charcuterie with mountains of salami, head cheeses, pates and various salad. I then dipped into a marvellous bakery and purchased two warm, crusty ficelles (a thin, crispy type of baguette). Now that I had the basics, it was time to tackle the fruit seller, purchasing wild strawberries, luscious white peaches and plumptious grapes. I was nearly there, all that was needed now was some excellent local wine to pair with this beautiful food. 

Tipping into a little independent wine shop, it was just a lucky coincidence that there was one in close proximity to the market. I thought to myself, let’s not go crazy, let’s get a few half bottles, some gems from the area, a little tour through the vintages of the Loire Valley, of which there are many. I plumped for a Muscadet (produced just south of Nantes), a Sancerre (a gentle, sophisticated white from further into the French interior) and a Chinon (a light to medium-bodied red from a picturesque area just to the North of Tours). I was all set for dinner in my little ‘studio’; a rather generous word for the student accommodation I was staying in, which had a vending machine dispensing microwaveable blanquette de veau. 

Depositing my spoils, I decided to take in one of the main sites of the city, the cathedral. A most wonderful medieval structure, it was magnificent, easily one of the best that I saw on the trip. It was elegant and exuded sophisticated grandeur, hinting at the wealth of the region in years gone by. it struck an imposing gaze over a settlement which has not been blighted by sky scrapers and still retains some old world charm. Being off-season it was relatively quiet and as such offered a tranquil sanctuary in what was otherwise quite a bustling city, teeming with students. 

Following a few late afternoon/early evening pints of nondescript, papery pints of Stella Artois and a shot of Kraken rum at a ‘trendy’ bar which verged a little too much on the Goth side for my liking (perhaps not such a good recommendation from the guidebook) I headed back to the apartment for a self prepared feast of charcuterie and cheese in the company of some very fine drink. 

Plating the first course I enjoyed some exquisite Rillette de Tours, the local delicacy. It was unctuous, fatty, strands of soft pork suspended in a savoury mix of spice, lard, herbs and salt. The bone dry Muscadet cut through the grease... a pleasing combination, whetting my  appetite for an array of tasty charcuterie. 

The ‘Rosette‘ saucisson was robust as I moved onto the light Chinon, pairing well with the goaty, farmyardy Crotin de Chavignol, a small local cheese from the area. The jambon blanc was moist and tender, subtly flavoured and well paired against the stronger flavours of the fromage du tete and monceau (two types of terrine made from pigs head). It was a firework display of flavour, complemented by some cracking bread and a little bit of cold butter, it made the wine slip down a treat. 

I could feel my belly expanding as I cast my eyes to the ripe fruit. The Sancerre worked its magic as I tucked in, veritably gorging myself on this excellent produce... what a treat and what a pig I felt. Truly a spectacular meal, I was glad I had resisted the temptation to buy some sausages from the butcher to augment this feast! 

With a stomach full and a slightly self-satisfied smile on my face I decided that, rather than try my luck on the Tours bar scene, I would call it an early night and limber up for the next, exciting leg of the trip, which would see me hop over Paris to the very different, North Eastern side of the country. As I drifted off into a food induced slumber, I thought of the delights that would await me when I got to Reims.

Next time: I head to the capital of Champagne where hotel problems, fine wine, exceptional food, Irish pubs and some rather exuberant expats awaited...

Bloody Good Chap goes to France: If sex was a sandwich

It was time to leave Nantes, so stopping off at a bakery on the way to the station, I grabbed a baguette filled with saucisson and cornichon and a black coffee to stiffen my resolve. Although the night before had not been too heavy, I had enjoyed a few nicely chilled beers and a couple of glasses of eau de vie in the buzzing city centre at the popular Circle Rouge. Being a solo traveller I had attracted a bit of attention with my trusty book in hand, ‘Ad Men and Bad Men’ and of course played the role of affable tourist answering a stream of questions on my English credentials. 

Arriving at the station I had a little time to kill, so I opted for the first of many customary train beers. As the rather sub-par Kronenbourg original (non of this 1664 rubbish) slipped down, I kept hearing the the opening bars of Shanice’s 1991 chart topper ‘Smile’ to a point where it became quite irritating. Of course it wasn’t the R ‘n’ B classic but a weird jingle for the constant stream of announcements from the team at SNCF. It was a sound that was going to characterise the trip as I experienced the French railway system. 

The lush countryside of the Loire Valley unfolded before me as we wended our way to Angers and I munched away on that delicious sandwich, full of cold butter, cured meat and piquant pickle. Before I knew it, the ancient city of Angers revealed itself and it was time to enjoy the second destination on the trip.

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Any fans of medieval history will be familiar with Angers, the seat of the legendary Geoffrey of Anjou and a wealthy dukedom. It houses a number of treasures, including a set of UNESCO tapestries of the Apocalypse and a great collection in their museum of fine arts. Furthermore, the city is beautifully preserved full of fine architecture so there is plenty to see and do. Unfortunately, it was a Sunday so the town was somewhat sleepy, but that didn’t stand in my way too much.

I dumped my bags at the ever reliable Ibis Hotel, a French institution and hit the town, but not before I had a discouraging exchange with the hotel’s concierge, who told me that the only place to eat in the whole place was the rather uninspiring hotel restaurant. I’m sure the food would not have been that bad, but I was not hear to dine in the bar at a chain hotel. I knew I could do a bit better, even when taking pot luck. 

It was time to explore the town, take in the cathedral and, have a glass or two of the local tipple, Rose d’Anjou. A strange wine, this beverage is not that popular in the UK and is a little bit rough and ready, however, it goes down quite agreeably on a piping hot day when chilled, especially with a bowl of finely sliced saucisson in a well-appointed square in the shadow of an ancient tower. 

An hour in the Fine Arts Museum was rewarding, especially for the small but impressive room of 16th and 17th Century Flemish old master paintings and some sombre but beautifully crafted 12th and 13th Century iconography. It was well worth the 6€ ticket and I recommend popping in if you find yourself in Angers.

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I become a habitual snacker when I go on holiday, making the most of the change in cuisine and, pottering around the quiet Sunday afternoon streets, I found the most amazing of fast food emporiums: The rotisserie. It was an emporium of meaty wonder and a rare place of activity as the sultry sun beat down. 

I entered and the enticing smell and site of chickens ‘turning and turning in a widening gyre’ or rather spits greeted me. But that was not all, there were trays of Rillons (confit pork belly), sausages, Morteau, roasted lamb, bowls of sauteed potatoes, pots of homemade mayonnaise, chopped hard boiled eggs... 

This was real fast food! Rather than the disgusting array of draft soft drinks, there were half bottle of wine and plastic glasses, cans of beer or freshly squeezed juice. We desperately need this in London for the masses. I went for a Rillons sandwich with a can of lager, it was unctuous and delicious, sticky, slightly gelatinous, slightly greasy, utterly deliciously. If sex was a sandwich, this would be it! 

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Dinner soon came around and despite the Rillons sandwich, a little aperitif of Rose de Anjou and a bowl of olives whetted my appetite for a simple plate in an equally simple restaurant. Yes Basserie de Gare (opposite the station as you might guess) was basic, but not unpleasant. It was a fine evening so I took a table outside. Scanning the menu and looking at the rather pedestrian offering I saw something that had long been on my bucket list of things to try, Andouilette. 

For American readers this is not to be confused with the Cajun Andouille which is a spicy pork sausage, this one is actually made of pigs intestines rolled into a cylinder and bound in more intestines. It has quite a high, offaly smell and an acquired, chewy texture. It’s not for the faint-hearted and is certainly an alien taste to the Anglo-American palate. I ordered with some trepidation, and the waiter was rather surprised, ‘really?’ he said. This made me more determined, ‘of course!’ I replied, ‘d’accord’ returned, he went away shaking his head, probably thinking I was made. I ordered a glass of Sancerre (another Loire Valley wine) and awaited my fate...

I must say the dish that arrived did look very inviting, a rustic white sausage with appealing grill marks, a pile of fries and some simply dressed lettuce arrived. I tucked in, and I must say that I don’t know why I was so apprehensive. Tasting the andouilette dispelled any negative illusions that had been communicated to me by others who had tried this delicacy. Yes there was a slight barnyard-y element to this, as one would expect of anything associated with the digestive tract, but it was not unpleasant. I love chewy, gelatinous textures and I consumed my meal with gusto, almost as soon as it had arrived, it was gone! 

I did not go for a pudding, I didn’t need it, instead I went back into town for a digestif, in particular a glass of Cointreau, another local tipple (it’s produced on the outskirts of Angers). Luckily, bars are open on Sunday evenings and so I was not disappointed. It was a great way to round off the day, accompanied by a half-pint or three of beer. Another perfect ending to another delightful day...

Coming up: I head to Tours to discover why it’s one of France’s most famous destinations for charcuterie. 

Bloody Good Chap goes to France: Dinner with the Baron [Restaurant Review]

Le restaurant Baron-Lefèvre

33 Rue de Rieux, 44000 Nantes, France

+33 2 40 89 20 20

As promised, I am producing a few extra posts which are designed to dwell on a few of the exceptional meals I had on my French adventure. 

I chose Le restaurant Baron-Lefèvre having read some very glittering reviews of the establishment on Trip Advisor and, having taken a look at the website, I was captivated by the modern, airy look of the restaurant. Plenty of exposed brickwork, steel railings, a playful green house on one wall and an open kitchen on the other, it looked inviting and contemporary. I then read their philosophy of staying true to local Nantaise cuisine, taking advantage home grown vegetables (for which the area is renowned), the abundance of the  sea and river, lamb reared on the salty marshes and time-honoured techniques of classical French cuisine. I made an advance booking. 

I arrived at Le restaurant Baron-Lefèvre and was ushered to my table for one. The nice thing about France is there were a couple of other lone diners and I was not made to feel unwelcome or a spectacle as so often happens in UK restaurants. Nor was I given a reduced level of service which also seems to typify dining solo. 

The menu was full of interesting preparations, a few classics, a couple twists on classics and some house originals. What I immediately noticed was the simplicity of the preparations and an emphasis on 2-3 core ingredients, proudly stamped with local provenance. There were plenty of mouth watering plates from a simple platter of langoustine (Dublin Bay Prawns) served on crushed ice to a traditional salt marsh rack of lamb with spring vegetables. However, there were a few things that leaped out at me. Here’s what I went for: 

White Asparagus with Sauce Mousseline 

Loire Valley Cremant (sparkling wine) 

White asparagus is not nearly as popular in the UK as it is on the continent where it takes precedence over the green variety. It has a subtler flavour, with a faint taste of oysters. Perfectly cooked, each part of the vegetables was tender and accompanied by a foaming, decadent sauce Mousseline, which is essentially a Hollandaise with the addition of whipped cream. Deliciously decadent, but judiciously portioned, it whetted my appetite for my main course. The dry, sparkling cremant was a light counterpoint which worked well. 

*

Eels in a parsley and garlic butter sauce with Nantes spring vegetables

A Carafe of Muscadet

Eels and apprehension go hand in hand in the mind of the Englishman and I do think this a sad state of affairs, as there are few greater pleasures that the taste of eel flesh with its tender, oily flesh offset by a reassuringly organic earthiness found in river fish. The Loire abounds with Eels so this really is the place to eat it. This time, I had it prepared in a very classic style in a parsley, garlic and butter sauce surrounded by tiny new potatoes. It’s a winning combination and made even more special with a small cocotte of turned carrots, fresh peas and green asparagus tips. Wanting to drink the local tipple, I went for a carafe of Muscadet, where its fresh, slightly acidic taste worked well with rich food. A truly stunning dish. 

*

Rum Baba with Tropical Fruits

Cafe Noir

Given the richness of the main course, I was tempted to pass on pudding until I saw that one of the specials for the evening was a traditionally made Rum Baba. Although a speciality of Lorraine (where I visit later in the trip) I could not resist - it’s one of my favourite puddings, a sure way to my heart. I was presented with a  light doughnut type pastry on a bed of pineapple carpaccio and raspberries, topped with a generous portion of Chantilly cream then liberally doused with white rum (which soaked into the pastry). With each mouthful I felt my stomach agreeably expanding! It’s highly alcoholic so there was no need for a digestif but I a well made black coffee cut through the richness! 

The total bill was €57, which, given the amount I had consumed was not to bad at all. It was a superb meal, if you are in Nantes, I thoroughly recommend making the time to visit. 

Coming Up: I head to Angers to explore the seat of the Dukes of Anjou, sip on Cointreau and enjoy an andouilette. 

Bloody Good Chap goes to France: Nantes a care in the world...

Nantes rarely seems to get much of a look in on the tourism agenda, yet, having spent the first 24 hours of my trip in Brittany’s former capital, I must say that I highly recommend it to those looking for a short weekend break, or a destination from which to start a big adventure. It could be anything from dipping down the Atlantic coast or following the Loire as it contours through the French interior to a leisurely drive/cycle through Breton pastures. 

I will warn those culture vultures and Medieval maniacs that Nantes is not a ‘pretty’ place, rather a working one, built on fishing, shipbuilding and biscuits (LU’s Petit Ecoliers come hail from here). It bursts with affluence and the glitz and glamour someone might associate with a major city, yet it is only a minor player. 

The layout is stereotypical, grand boulevards cut through sections of non-linear streets, punctuated here and there by squares teeming with ornate churches, casual cafes and rip-off restaurants. 

Arriving at 9:00am on a Saturday, I found that the city was yet to awaken - it was deathly quiet as I pitched up at my cheap, but very cheerful hotel! Dumping my bags, I headed off to explore and grab a cup of coffee. The local square was characterised by a large fountain and families enjoying their baguettes avec buerre et confiture, the sky was ominous, the climate hazy. Having only had four hours sleep the night before, I was in need of something to perk me up. Alighting on a tabac I found my first opportunity. 

I have never really been a cigarette smoker and had fully intended to enjoy a cigar or two on this trip. However, my eyes alighted on a packet of Gitanes Filtre and I instantly knew that this would be my choice. No longer available in the UK the might Gitane conjure up a real sense of nostalgia, my father’s brand of choice, the smell took me back to the rugged landscape of the Lot-Garonne in the south west of France. 

I quickly found a cafe, “un Muscadet s’il vous plait”, I said with confidence. No one batted an eyelid, the fact that I was ordering a glass of wine at 10:30am seemed entirely normal. Anyway, it was my holiday, so restraint be damned! One wanted to say about the wine that it was ‘Heaven with Gitanes...’ (a Brideshead reference for my more literary followers). All I needed now was a stripy jumper, a plate of oysters and ecrevettes (large prawns) and the look would be complete. After all this procrastination, it was time for lunch.

The Gallette (buckwheat pancake) is synonymous with the area around Nantes and seemingly there was an establishment on each corner offering all manner of sweet and savoury fillings. there was a place the guide recommended, and yes, it was near my hotel. I pitched up, but it looked tacky and soulless compared to the one next to it. So it was that I took the road less travelled by, not for the first time in my life, and went to the smaller, rather less ‘bells and whistles’ establishment. 

As soon as I stepped over the threshold, I knew I wanted one of the famous Breton ciders, clear and flat, it’s served by the china bowl (boelee) and decanted from a pottery jug. It slipped down a treat as I tucked into a Gallette filled with onions, ham, cheese and of course, the obligatory egg, with an irresistibly runny yolk! This was quickly followed by a flambeed crepe topped with rum and raisins. It was a fine meal and a perfect introduction to my quest to sample as much regional cuisine as possible. 

The afternoon was spent pootling around town, stopping every now and then for a refresher. One place, Comedie de Vins, springs to mind where dry white wine played off against a plate of salty sardines and a bowl of saucisson as the sky became clear and the evening sun shone on my brow.

Here I take a moment to pause... as dinner deserves a short, stand alone post, given that it was one of the two big meals that I decided to indulge in on this bloody good adventure... 

Coming up: I delve into the culinary delights of Restaurant Maison Baron Le Fevre. 

Bloody Good Chap goes to France: Introduction

Most stories start from the beginning, and some start from the end and go back to the beginning... flashback stylee (on this occasion the misspelling was intentional). But on this occasion I am going to take an unconventional turn and start from the middle of my trip as it was at this juncture that I found the essence of why I chose to travel solo, across the breadth of France, in the first place. 

Picture the scene: The author of this piece downing shot after shot of slivovitz chased with half pints of Ardennes-style beer on a barge perched on the Meuse. This was ‘Mawhot’ Charleville-Meziere’s main evening hangout, named after a legendary lizard that is said to inhabit the murky river waters that flow through the town. The crowd that evening was lively, and the rare-arrival of an Englishman was something of a novelty, especially one wearing rust-coloured cords and wearing a blue tweed sports jacket... adding to the experience, it could only be the Bloody Good Chap. Patrons decided to try to out-do each other in terms of largess and I was plied with all manner of lethal spirits as Aswad’s Greatest Hits played on the establishment's sound system. 

Just as the band's 1988 smash ‘Don’t Turn Around’ had finished, there was a call for silence as a buxom creature took to the floor with an accordion and started to play Breton sea shanties. This seemed rather odd, considering that we were, perhaps, in one of the most landlocked regions of France, but I went with the flow. Soon we were all dancing arm in arm, my new friends Yvette and Matthieu encouraging me to join in the singing and dancing, then ‘Request for the English! C’mon Marie, one for l’Anglais’... 

I don’t know if you have ever heard Kashmir by Led Zeppelin played on the accordion, and in retrospect I think I committed blasphemy in asking for this 8:28 minute epic to be delivered in such a style but... the fog of plum brandy, brown beer and a pack of Gitanes clouded judgement somewhat. This slow song is, how should I say, much, much slower when played in the style requested, but it didn’t matter, it was all in the spirit of the occasion. We partied that Wednesday night away as the famed rain of the low countries beat down on the roof of the barge, and the bartender got ready to pour another round of liqueurs and small beers. 

We finished around 05:30, and I woke up feeling like death, with a tongue like sandpaper, ruddy cheeks and stinging, crusty eyes, but very happy. I had found out what it was all about to travel solo, meet new people, have new experiences  without the encumbrance of friends or family in tow. It felt liberating and showcased the friendliness and inclusiveness of my destination. 

In this seven-parter series, I intend to take you through each of the seven locations I visited on my journey: Nantes, Angers, Tours, Reims, Charleville-Mezieres, Metz, Nancy and Strasbourg and hopefully give you an insight into each of their unique characters. Perhaps it might even inspire a future visit or holiday. 

Coming up: In part one, I delve deep into the traditions of Nantaise cuisine sampling some delicious food, mulling over Muscadet and trying out some of my broken french! 

Before sunrise - Vienna part I

Until this point in my life I had only every heard of Vienna through the somber Ultravox chart topper and Richard Linklater’s masterly film ‘Before Sunrise starring a young Ethan Hawke and Juliette Delpy. If anything it is through the goggles of the latter that I liked to imagine this romantic city, full of history, baroque grandeur and mystique. I must say that from my recent trip I was not disappointed, although I had a little more cashola than the two protagonists of that film of fleeting ecstasy and youthful carefree. 

I arrived in the old city at 11:30 on a sunny September morning and proceeded to check into my hotel, located on the edge of Old Vienna. The Hotel Am Parkring was immediately welcoming and, after having grabbed a quick shower I hit the streets to find something to whet my growing appetite (I had neglected to partake of breakfast). Fortunately, for a comparative ‘rube’ a friend who resided in this fair city gave me a recommendation. Cafe Korb, located just off the main square Stephensplatz promised to offer the finest Wiener Schnitzel in the capital (that is flattened veal escalope, breadcrumbed and flashed fried). Served with a potato salad dressed in vinaigrette and accompanied by a crisp, hoppy beer I wolfed it down enjoying the deliciously crisp, savoury flavour of the meat against the sharp, clean flavour of the potato salad. It was a perfect introduction to the holiday and gave energy for an afternoon of getting to know the city. 

The centre of Vienna is characterised by an imposing, Gothic church. It’s an ornate building, not much to my liking but inside is a different matter. Some of the most amazing carvings can be seen in there, my favourite and one which is touted rightly by the guide books is a charming depiction of the cathedral’s sculptor which cheekily pokes out of one of the walls to give a more human face amongst the grim agonies of the saints getting martyred and the holier-than-thou saintliness of the blessed virgin. 

Of course going into a cathedral is thirsty work, especially when you have followed it up with the garish and flamboyant interior of Peterskirche just round the corner. In need of a refresher I found a very agreeable bar opposite this latter location. Le Cru is a lovely little bar come shop specialising in Champagne and Champagne only. Buying from both the big names and from the smaller, boutique supplier you can be sure of an original vintage and something a little different. It’s not the cheapest place with a flute costing between 8€ - 14€ depending on what you go for but, of the two I tried I must say that I couldn’t fault the quality or the temperature served.To make matters better, as I was ruminating on the culture I had taken in, I was served by a young lady who was rather reminiscent on Vanessa Paradis - another blessing indeed! 

Much like Rome, Vienna’s streets are a museum in themselves with amazing carvings, moulding and plasterwork arresting the visitor’s attention endlessly. It was then that I happened upon the inevitable cigar shop - damn how they seem to appear like oases to me in these far flung locations. It was then that I thought that I could take advantage of the fact that you could smoke in most establishments in the city, especially coffee shops. It them became my mission, after purchasing a very smooth, Partagas No. 3 I chanced upon a lovely little place on Franziskanerplatz, a pretty little square about three minutes down from the bustling centre. 

Kleines Cafe was full of locals enjoying an afternoon coffee, and, as is my custom, I like to try and blend in, steeping myself in the local culture (albeit with a massive cigar as opposed to the Lucky Strikes that everyone else seemed to be chain smoking). The outdoor seating was filled so I opted for a seat in the small front bar with vaulted ceilings, glass tables and worn leather banquettes. It was one of those places you could imagine the great turn-of-the-century intellectuals, philosophers, artists and poets crowding around, enjoying a glass of Gruner Veltliner (a popular Austrian white wine) debating the hot topics of the day and fermenting ideas. 

I opted for a strong black coffee and a glass of fire water, the local apricot schnapps and the perfect foil to the rich taste of the cigar. I positioned myself where I could see when the next table would become available outside and as soon as one freed, with the deft leap of a jungle cat, I pounce securing a spot to puff merrily away on my stogie as I enjoyed the afternoon sun. 

Pangs of hunger were not too far away and, after a very badly made Old Fashioned at Kruger’s American Bar, an experience saved only by a conversation with a charming Danish lady from the pharmaceutical industry, I returned to my hotel, showered, shaved and donned a jacket in readiness for dinner for one. 

There is something strangely enjoyable about dinner for one, especially in a foreign country and, being a Friday night I drew a lot of looks when I took an outside table at the very pretty little restaurant around the corner from my hotel called Zu Den Drei Hacken. The evening was balmy and although I had been making beer my drink of choice on that day, I decided to go with a chilled glass of Austrian riesling which dry and crisp. I started simply with some slice ham with horseradish on black bread which was tasty if a little unexciting but given that this was a traditional restaurant I wasn’t too surprised and anyway I was holding out for the piece de resistance the deep fried and breadcrumbed calf’s brain. 

When i told people after the event that I had sampled this delicacy, I was met with incredulity and warnings of CJD and BSE yet I would urge you to try one if you regard yourself as a foodie. So inspired by the great Stefan Gates I embarked on this organ adventure. When I ordered the dish I was imagining the dish as prepared by the Italians, chopped into delicate little morsels coated in a crispy shell. The waiter looked rather surprised as he took my order and asked if I would like it fried or roasted. I plumped for the former and wasn’t disappointed. With a flourish the waiter produced the dish, a whole brain on a plate, it was huge, the size of a small victoria sponge. I ordered an Austrian Chardonnay to go with it and it came with an acidic potato salad and some dressed frisee. 

Now, before you balk, brain is delicious and I urge you to give it a go. It has a soft, creamy texture which I can imagine would put people off but has a buttery, delicate flavour and is incredibly rich. The salads were a perfect foil cutting through the offal’s fattiness. My clean plate and full belly at the end of the meal was testament to how good it was but I found that I had not the room for pudding so I finished the meal with a glass of schnapps and a strong black coffee. 

I found a suitably appointed little bar for a nightcap and drowsily contemplated my next day. It seems that brains are a good narcotic as I slept like a log that night!

Thanks for reading. In a few days I will publish part two so stay tuned!