“Désolé monsieur, nous n’avons pas de l’eau”
Not quite the auspicious greeting we had hoped for on deciding to try the new restaurant further up the valley from our own village.
“Est aussi, nourriture froid seulement
Not getting any better, we thought. No water or hot food. We looked around at the carefully constructed shabby environment and then back at the effortfully effortless garb of the person imparting this bad news. One of our companions began emitting, and then hastily concealing, snorts of amusement. Our first attempt at demonstrating to friends that our region was just as up there with modern city living was floundering badly.
“High Altitude Hipsters”, he sniggered. “What do you expect?”
As has been noted elsewhere in this blog, eating out in our region is often characterised by traditional village cafes, in our village for example, offering a robust mix of tobacco infused basic home cooking and cheap cold red wine. By far the best value eating is to be found in village cafes, local auberges and restaurants. But ONLY at lunchtime. Given the need to fill those empty hours between the morning work period and its afternoon aftermath – under most circumstances a good two hours break – the French worker piles into the nearest local eatery, expecting to be fed a full three course meal including bread, wine and coffee for around €12-€15 a head.
How restaurants do this is nothing short of a miracle. In most establishments these ‘menu du jour’ are not of the sausage and chips variety found in the UK. They represent proper French cooking with cheffy salads beautifully presented, expertly constructed sauces, and simple but delicious puddings. The wine rarely tastes like vinegar and the coffee is usually that bitterly barista-like flavour so beloved by the French.
Part of the secret lies in good, from-scratch cooking, but probably more importantly this is due to the restricted menu. Often there is only a choice of one or two items per course. Most restaurant reviewers naturally regard this as a sure sign of a good restaurant, a chef that knows what s/he is doing. Either way, you will be constantly amazed at what is on offer. However, woe betide you if you fetch up at the same restaurant in the evening, where as if by magic the same dishes then appear on the a la carte menu. If you choose them you will pay double for the pleasure of ordering them compared to the midday meal.
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On this occasion we had eschewed the usual set menu midday approach and had instead made our way to and had opened the hidden door to a restaurant we had seen advertised locally. The mountain village in question had lost its existing restaurant some years previously and we wanted to see how the new guys were getting on. First impressions were favourable. Modern metal braces holding up a small hanger shaped, glass-surrounded eating area, running alongside a bar listing interesting and funkily named local red wines. Although too cold for this time of year, the outside garden looked interestingly stocked with herbs and edible vegetables, covered by a large taughtened parachute. The same purposely understated mix of wooden floors and tables, set off by old but definitely not twee decorations. Hipster heaven.
The Aude and Ariège regions of France have always attracted those looking for an alternative life, particularly in the mountains. Both regions have a history of depopulation and have over the years welcomed outsiders, less concerned about their habits and beliefs, more interested in their spending power and contributions to the local economy. Each new wave of settlers reflects their genesis. As we walked into this new restaurant it became immediately apparent. They were modern examples of this trend. Hipsters. In the mountains. Miles from anywhere. Not just hipsters but high altitude hipsters.
My male friend and I looked at each other. Both of us bearded and clothed in jeans and check shirts clearly looked the part. Equally, we both share a penchant for artisan produce, especially craft beer. This was our kind of place. We quickly forgave them their deficits. After all, their problems had arisen because of the once in 20 year floods that had struck the region just a week previously. Several months rain had fallen in as many hours, devastating lower laying communities and causing boiling torrents of water to forge new pathways down the sinewy mountain valleys, taking the local water treatment plant with them.
We enjoyed our cold meal very much. The quinoa was lovely, the pomegranate seeds delightful. The local(ish) IPA was full of hoppy goodness and the chestnut pure made a fine addition to the hand knitted yoghurt. Our check shirts and beards blended in well with the aged wood and faux artisan nick nacks. The smooth jazz and alternative indie music tracks were the perfect companion to the slightly unreal environment, stuck as it was in the middle of an old monastic garden in a medieval alley at the heart of an ancient mountain hamlet. There wasn’t a non-hirsute male face in the place. Traditional French cooking in a traditional French restaurant at a traditional French price it was not. But it was delicious, relaxed and a breath of the new/old in a resolutely traditional area. We loved it and we go back often.
We never did find out why the food was cold though.
