Jonathan Day

As suggested earlier in this thread, Elizabeth David had a huge influence on Alice Waters and her philosophy and culinary style at Chez Panisse. (Waters's other shaping influence was Richard Olney, who was close to Elizabeth David). But let's not forget the impact that David had on the general standard of cookery and eating here in Britain. For a long time it was pretty grim, especially outside London. Olive oil? A small, expensive dusty bottle on the chemist's shelf. Garlic? Brown and smelly, if you could find it. Rocket? Sneak some seeds in from Italy and try to grow it yourself. Bread was mostly soggy white stuff. Anchovies, if you could find them, came in tins and were often rancid. It's much, much better now, both in availability of ingredients, restaurant quality, standards of home cookery. Elizabeth David had a big role in the change, through her shop, through her influence on people like Terence Conran and through sales of her books. I first encountered Elizabeth David's work while in hospital. I was, very literally, dying of viral meningitis. This happened when anti-virals like acylovir (zovirax) were experimental drugs and didn't work very well, and the doctors were not optimistic. I was in isolation for several weeks and in a lot of pain and general despair for most of that time. One day the "library trolley" came around, bearing lots of trashy novels and a copy of An Omelette and a Glass of Wine. I read this cover to cover, I think three times; at the end of it I was resolved (1) to recover and live; (2) to read everything else this person had written; (3) to get back to cooking; (4) to go back to the UK. All of these things happened, but they might not have -- at least not in the same way -- had it not been for Elizabeth David. (I found the Chaney book, by the way, badly written and full of unwarranted psychological conclusions and implications about ED's character, sex life, etc.; the Artemis Cooper biography was thinner but less tendentious.)

A shocking number of years ago my wife and I were staying in Paris and took a day trip to Chartres. We had a tiny flat on the rue Jacob, where there was a compact but very good market. We picked up paté, bread, ham, cherries, olives (etc.), caught a train to Chartres and spent an enjoyable morning climbing around the Cathedral and hearing Malcolm Miller talk about the windows. Around 1 pm it started to rain, and the rain turned icy. No way to sit outside and eat...and no easy place indoors. So we put the food back in the bags and wandered into town. Up one street...down another...and we found a small restaurant, just below street level. Its sign proclaimed "cuisine femme" (often a good omen) and it looked warm and inviting. I remember a surpassingly good chicken, poached in a copper pot with spring vegetables and adroitly carved at table by the waiter, for the two of us. And a warm apple tart that left us ready to face the cold rain and the journey back to Paris. But I cannot remember the name of the restaurant...if it is still there. So the meal was "assembled from ingredients found in a market", and it was very good. This time, though, our shoestring ended up a bit stretched. If anyone comes across a small restaurant in Chartres, run by a couple of women, I'm missing one.

Has anyone tried the sometimes-touted method of following routiers (truckers) to the cheap restaurants they frequent? You get behind a truck or a convoy at around noon. I have done this occasionally, with mixed success: 6 out of 10 times, the food is both good and inexpensive, the other 4 it's pretty awful. It's astonishing and more than a bit frightening to see the quantities of wine that the drivers consume before getting back in their trucks. The restaurants are unfailingly child-friendly. Even in Mougins, a town that tends toward the upscale (cuisine bourgeoise and grande cuisine!) has several of these places; two of them (Le Grillon and Au Routier Sympa) very good for what they are. The latter makes pizza and roast meats in a wood-fired oven. There is a website for Relais Routiers, (click here), but its coverage is uneven. Only thing I would add to the good advice already posted in this thread is to use guidebooks that are up to date, especially if you are looking for small or out of the way places. These restaurants seem to change hands frequently, perhaps because they run on lower operating margins than the big establishments and depend on the human capital (= blood, sweat and tears) of the owners. Many of the good small places we've visited in Brittany, Normandy, Loire, Charente are now gone or have degraded, 5 to 10 years on, and new ones have replaced them. We end up buying guidebooks every year, a pleasant if slightly costly habit.

I have had good luck using dried cherries in ice creams, especially the less sweet ones you can sometimes find. I've simmered the cherries in a bit of warm water until they are slightly softened; then the "cherry fumet" gets added to the standard custard/double cream mixture. The cherries get roughly chopped and added at the start of the churning. The product is a rose colour with the dark cherries in contrast, and very deeply flavoured. Occasionally I find that double cream, if not cooked in advance, churns into lumps of butter in my machine. Have others experienced this? Finally, Andy mentioned liquid glucose, which is enormously helpful in improving the texture of ice creams and sorbets. I've struggled to find this in suitable quantities at chemists or supermarkets. Most catering suppliers, on the other hand, want to sell it 25kg at a time. I finally found a French internet site, Meilleur du Chef, that supplies it in 1kg packages -- and all sorts of other good things as well, including very good couverture chocolate.

I wonder how strongly motivated Keller was to win this award, in the same way that Gordon Ramsay was apparently obsessive about winning a third Michelin star. From some accounts -- Ruhlman, Bourdain, etc. -- I get the impression that Keller is competing only with himself, that he sets standards that are different (and usually tougher) than those imposed by outside judges. Ruhlman's book suggests that Keller would have been contemptuous of certifications like the CMC. Yet the website dedicated to the French Laundy makes much of his consecutive Beard Foundation awards. Would he do poorer work if he didn't have the chance to be named "best chef" (whether in the US or the world)? Do these awards really matter? And especially one like this, which doesn't have the history of Michelin behind it?

Bux, neither of those quotes in your last post was from me. The first was from Steve. The second was from Eugene Zuckoff. I'm not sure why it was attributed to me but would appreciate it if you would correct the post. For my part, I am of the "thinking" persuasion: not that every mouthful should be analysed, but that a well conceived and executed meal, at home or in a restaurant, can be an artistic statement, capable of being interpreted by the diner.

There are many threads in this discussion, though it has been interesting: cars vs trains, Paris vs the provinces, olive oil vs. butter vs goose fat, staying in one place vs travelling around... What makes French food particularly fascinating for me is that there is a kind of hierarchy that -- at its very best -- goes right from farmers up to the 3 star temples. I've stayed on farms where geese were being slaughtered and fattened livers extracted, and have eaten stuffed goose necks on chipped plates. And I've had foie gras served with elegant garnishes in gastronomic palaces. But there's a continuity between the levels (and I would add a "bourgeoise" level between Steve's regional and haute). And there are regional overtones that, more often than not, survive all the way up to the 3 star places -- though I agree with Steve that the regional element is progressively muted as you ascend the hierarchy and as local ingredients are augmented with "technique" and with international elements (caviare, etc.). AND, at bottom, all of it is recognisably French. Perhaps Chinese food has a similar unity-within-variety characteristic, and a similar range from local to highly elaborated. I don't know. Italian cookery seems different: the hierarchy a bit flatter, and the regional variations (when you can find them) more differentiated, even in the names things are called. And there are elaborate palaces in Rome, Milan, etc., but they don't seem to take on the significance they do in France. I certainly don't experience the link from farm to haute cuisine in the UK or US in the same way, perhaps because the distribution systems operate at larger scale...and hence are more productive. But something gets lost in the process. For me the best way to experience the French system and to connect it to a broader cultural understanding has been to stay in one region for a good while, sampling a wide range of restaurant and domestic cookery, ranging from local spots to starred restaurants. And, most of all, to get to know some of the markets and the more thoughtful suppliers, to get a sense of what matters to them. I've learned a lot talking to butchers. Frances Mayes has clearly been trying to do this in her books on Tuscany, though I have to admit I found the exposition somewhat sentimental, sloppy and self-serving. Richard Olney was aiming for a similar understanding in his work -- he lived in Solliès-Toucas and got to know the region and its wines very well. And he generally wrote with precision and rigour. In the end Olney somehow achieved an amazing level of mastery of the national cuisine(s) in its (their) entirety, wines included. But personal preferences, time and circumstances don't always make it possible to go for this sort of local, in-depth understanding. And it would be better to go from one 3-star spot to another, either in Paris or in the provinces, than never to experience France. So I suppose if I were limited to a week a year, or a week every few years, I would aim each at one region: the ile de France (Paris and environs), Alsace, the Southwest, the Côte d'Azur, high Provence, etc., each time staying in one place and seeking to get to know it well. Of course this would mean returning several times. But there are worse fates.

After the painstaking reviews by Cabrales et al I thought the very least I could do was to take along a little notebook to keep track of what I'm tasting. If nothing else it gives my wife and friends an occasion to laugh at my seriousness about all this. Michael Winner, the British film director and Sunday Times restaurant columnist, takes a pocket tape recorder and dictates his comments into it while he is eating. He had the table next to ours at the Fat Duck, in Bray, about a year ago; he said little to his gorgeous female companion but constantly muttered into his tape machine. You would have needed notes or a tape machine to remember all the strange (but delicious) bits and pieces we were served. I find the same goes for multi-course menus gastronomiques at French restaurants. A pleasant touch at Chibois (yes, yes, I know I keep saying good things about that place, but it was good) was a card on the table reminding us of each course...and serving as an aide-memoire later on. I've just finished reading Richard Olney's memoir, Reflexions (Brick Tower Press, 1999). In it he recorded hundreds of menus, with complete wine information -- those he served and those served to him. That's dedication to the cause! The book is well worth reading, not only for Olney's sharp insight and all the food memorabilia but because you find out what he really thought about M.F.K. Fisher, Julia Child, James Beard and other food celebrities (short version: not much).

This can also be true for flights. I have booked very cheap London-Nice flights, a segment we use a lot, by going to sites like Travelocity or Expedia on a "virgin" (no cookies) computer. Of course the site then assumes you are US-based. Prices for direct flights on BA or Air France were quoted in US dollars. If I recall correctly we found direct London-Nice returns for 3 adults and 3 children for under US$500 in all. The site happily arranged for delivery of the tickets to our home in London for something like an extra $12. Of course it then had a cookie and the next time I tried for seats, it quoted them in sterling and the prices were higher. Zap the cookie and try again: now the prices were in dollars again, and the numbers were 10% smaller (i.e. what would have cost £100 = $145 was now $90). This doesn't always work, because the US sites sometimes get shorter seat allocations and the prices rise. And, thanks to Easyjet and Go, the "no frills" prices are often less than even the cheapest available US-based fares. Same thing often works with car rentals. The sites want to know your "country of origin" and the prices are calculated accordingly. Again, there are exceptions: for a 21 day 7-seater van rental in August, I was quoted $1359 + 19.6% VAT + airport fee + taxes, this from Europe By Car, the specialist leasing and rental company in New York (http://www.europebycar.com). This was a prepaid deal. From Europcar, with my AA (Automobile Association, the British version of the AAA) discount, I was quoted £875 tax included, which compares favourably. Nonetheless it seems to me that this nationalistic price discrimination could be challenged in court, if you could find the right jurisdiction. EU? World Court of the Internet? (P.S. -- In posting this I normally would have feared accusations of "off topic" or "not about food", but since a moderator brought up this topic...!)

Why not let people tackle France in whatever way they want? If people really want to visit multiple 3-star places, and their livers can handle it, so much the better for them. I personally prefer to stay in one area for at least two weeks, and to have a kitchen available. That makes it much easier to feed the children, who have yet to acquire the French habit of sitting quietly through a long meal. We then manage a mix of small places, sometimes recommended by the locals, sometimes found by wandering around; and places recommended by Michelin, Gault Millau, Chowhound and eGullet. These tend to be more elaborate. For a truly astonishing example of 3-star mania, see Feeding Frenzy: A Race Across Europe in Search of the Perfect Meal, by Stuart Stevens. The author and his friend set out to eat at every 3-star restaurant in Europe, one per day. They succeed. It's out of print in the US but for some reason has been re-issued in the UK. Before discovering this board I wrote a short review of this book in Chowhound, click here.

I had forgotten to record the most unusual thing about that dinner at L'Oasis. This was a seawater granita that they served with the oysters. Sounds trendy and horrible, I know, but it wasn't; it was gently salty, with wonderful mineral flavours that matched the oysters perfectly. If it were possible to have nothing but those oysters with the granita, I would go back. I am resolved to re-create this dish some day...

I have eaten once at the Mas Candille, last fall. The property is old; it had once been popular amongst locals but had fallen into disrepair. When we arrived it had just been taken over by an ambitious new team and completely renovated. The welcome was warm and the setting beautiful. We had drinks in a small bar, near a fireplace. The restaurant doesn't seem that large, perhaps because it is divided into smaller rooms. It felt very comfortable, yet it was clear that the team was aiming high. The service and food suggested that they already envisioned their first star. Unfortunately I don't recall exactly what we had (this was before I knew of egullet and hence the notebook wasn't with me), but it was all rather unfussy and very well executed. I remember a deeply flavoured vegetable soup (I think it was garnished with a bit of foie gras) and a daurade (sea bream) that was very fresh and perfectly cooked: not a bit overdone, but hot throughout, something not easily accomplished in a restaurant. The entire restaurant is non-smoking, and they warned us of this when we made our reservation. In the new Michelin listing the Mas comes out at the top of the restaurant list for Mougins, up there with the famous Moulin (which we didn't think was nearly as good, and was far more expensive). The new menu looks good, but it is not clear from reading it whether they have maintained the simplicity we liked last year. We will certainly be back to find out. (link to the Mas Candille menu, in French) (Same thing in English)

We recently visited L'Oasis in La Napoule. Unfortunately I've lost the notes I took, so this will be a bit sketchy. It is a lovely room and it must be even nicer when the interior terrace is open in summertime. The staff were not as impressive as those at Chibois, but friendly nonetheless, with a cadaverous headwaiter and a slightly bumbling (but earnest) table staff. Two of the four of us wanted to order from the carte, two wanted different menus. In the end we were strongly "encouraged" to take one of the two fixed menus for the whole table, I think because it made co-ordinating the courses easier. It couldn't have been done to maximise the bill, because this move reduced it by something like EUR 80. The headwaiter allowed two of us to substitute oysters for what would have been a crab-and-avocado starter. There was a wide choice of breads, and I had a good baguette and an outstanding tarragon bread. There were two amuses: salmon "rillettes" and some unmemorable tiny pastries. The oysters were outstanding: very lightly poached, served with a very delicate horseradish mousse, and a thin and crispy rice galette. I normally like oysters just as they are, or perhaps with a bit of lemon, but this combination worked very well. We then had the course that had led me to ask for this menu: a "risotto" of basmati rice with sea bass and clams. This was a disappointment: the rice wasn't properly cooked (it had a texture that was at times soupy, at times chalky) and the sea bass was overcooked. The clams were delicious, though, and I had one or two bites where fish, rice and clams came together in a very pleasant mouthful. Mains were pavés of beef, veal and foie gras. The combination worked well, and the light sauce that went with it was clear and nicely flavoured. There was then an unmemorable "composed" cheese course (chevre and tapenade, served far too cold), and the dessert trolley. I had a dark chocolate tart that was good -- but no better than many I have had before or even made. The sommelier helped us find two very pleasant wines (alas, I noted these, lost the notes and therefore can't remember them!) at prices far better than I had started with. The bill for 4 people: EUR 447. A pleasant dinner, better than many I've had, but not nearly as memorable as what we had at Chibois, and far better than what we had at Vergé. Nonetheless I don't plan to go back any time soon. When I booked the reservation, I asked whether they had non smoking tables available. "We certainly do," said the receptionist, "and I've booked one for you." The first half of our meal was fine and non-smoky. Then a party arrived at the table nearest ours; a woman took a Gauloise out of her purse and -- before lighting it -- started waving it around. I called the headwaiter. "Yes," he said, "I saw the indication on the booking and I tried to put you at a table that wouldn't get much smoke. We don't have non-smoking tables. But I will see what can be done. I cannot move you, because we are full." Whispered words with our neighbours, after which the Gauloise-bearing woman shuffled to the far end of that table. "You will be pleased to know," he said, "that madame has agreed to sit at the end of the table furthest from you. And, what's more, she will smoke no more than one cigarette this evening. I trust this is fine with you, and I suggest that you thank madame." I nodded, and he swept over to the next table and said, in a loud voice, "Monsieur asks me to convey his sincere thanks to Madame." True to her promise, she smoked one Gauloise in the course of the evening. Again: not as good as Chibois, which has a choice of smoking or non-smoking rooms, but much better than Vergé's L'Amandier, where the waiter shrugged when someone at a neighbouring table lit a huge cigar. But there was a certain earnestness to the service, however clumsy, and a fair outcome. I hope we can encourage many restaurants in France to offer non-smoking tables or even rooms. For me this is a matter of gastronomy rather than health! As Sarah noted, we saw young children dining at L'Oasis. In fact I am struggling to recall a single upscale restaurant in France, over the last few years, where we have not seen young children. For the most part they comport themselves perfectly. I wish I could work out how the French elicit this behaviour!

On a recent visit I was amazed by the vitality of the Marché Forville. As a previous poster has commented, it beats anything in Nice. The fish were fresh (most of them still live) and the range and quality of fruit and veg was very good. What I hadn't quite realised was that this market seems to sell as much to the catering trade as to ordinary punters. So I wondered where else you can find a major market in a large town that is equally open to customers and to the trade. Borough Market in London certainly distinguishes "trade" days from "retail" days. You can get into the market at Rungis, in Paris, but it's inconveniently located and you really aren't meant to be in there. I have been in small towns in Italy where the farmers' market is patronised equally by restaurateurs and their customers, but not in larger cities. Where else does this happen (in a larger city) in France? I also found it encouraging that more restaurants seem to be offering menus structured around what was fresh at the market that day (Menu Forville, etc.). Cannes is still a bit of a dark spot on the culinary map and this can only be a change for the better.

The kitchens in some French gites and even some fancy rental villas are truly awful. For some reason the Italian places we have rented have had better equipped kitchens. I remember one gite in Britanny where I had to scrub the kitchen for several hours before it was safe to cook anything in it, and the pots that didn't leak were rusty. For a long time I packed a good cooking knife on every trip we took. It is nice to see that many rental listings now have a more detailed description of the kitchen. I agree with Robert: the Côte d'Azur is a good place as the centre of a gastronomic holiday, not only because there are good local places (as mentioned in my post, Mougins alone has something like 50, many of them interesting) but because you are in easy striking distance to Italy, Monaco, "real" Provence...

Steve, I misunderstood you. I thought you were saying that terroir was a matter of preparation method. During the 80s I was either in the US or Japan, with one or two trips to London/Paris, never to the South. So I never tried the Moulin. In France I have a copy of Les légumes de mon Moulin and as I recall it was focused around his garden. As far as I know, there isn't much of a garden left at the Moulin, perhaps because of the motorway extension that has caused Vergé so many problems. Robert Carrier (Feasts of Provence, 1992) gives the Moulin lavish praise. He mentions the following dishes: courgette blossom stuffed with foie gras and truffles scallop salad with artichokes and organge dressing cassolette of breast and thighs of pigeon, sauce salmis with bitter chocolate and cinnamon aumonières (beggars purses) of chicken: chicken quenelle, cream, truffles... cheese malfatis made with St Moret and basil cream sauce peaches and pears poached in red wine with peppercorns and lavender honey I can see some local ingredients here, but no more than at Chibois, where we had morels, scallops, tiny squid, sea bass, langoustines, veal, aubergines, capers, and fruit desserts. But, not having been in the South in the early 1980s, I can accept that standards and terroir may well have slipped.

The chocolates at the Fat Duck are made by the wonderful Artisan du Chocolat (89 Lower Sloane Street, London SW1, 020 7824 8365; they also sell at Borough Market). The commercial brains behind the outfit is a former colleague of mine; she described her negotiations with Heston Blumenthal. The tobacco flavour has become something of a signature for L'Artisan and is typical of their range. So I would be surprised if Heston Blumenthal had invented the flavour, but I don't know for sure that he did not.

About three years ago my wife and I had dinner at the Grand Vefour. We had come to Paris from the south, where suits and ties were nowhere to be seen. I arrived in neatly pressed navy trousers and a starched button-down long-sleeved shirt, but no jacket and no tie. It was a hot summer day and jacket and tie didn't seem necessary. Wrong. I was taken into a small room, handed a tie and an ill fitting jacket and told to wear them. After that we were treated with great respect and care and we had a very good dinner. But it was clear that jacket and tie were de rigeur. I think the Grand Vefour still had two stars then. I am sure that a sport jacket and tie would have been fine. I don't remember the meal except that at one point a group of Japanese men (black suits, white shirts, dark ties) came through the restaurant and walked up a flight of stairs to what was apparently a private room. A short time after that a waiter came through bearing an enormous hemispherical bowl, perhaps half a metre wide, filled with black truffles. The aroma was overpowering, and we couldn't help turning our heads. Seeing our interest, he then brought the bowl over so that we could view the truffles and inhale their scent, then walked up the stairs carrying the bowl to the Japanese. I've ever since thought of this as an amuse-nez.

A minor and respectful disagreement. For me, terroir (not to mention "local terroir") is not about whether luxurious ingredients are used, or even whether the preparations are elaborate but (1) local ingredients, sources known to the cook, with real care for quality and freshness; (2) preparation that respects the character of the ingredients: "food that tastes like itself". You can have a strong sense of terroir in a simple meal, or in a very fancy one. I am looking at a menu from Raymond Blanc's Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, in Oxford. Here is his take on Salade Landaise: "pressed duck confit with a truffle jelly served with a summer salad." The Salades Landaises I've typically had in France contain duck gizzards, perhaps some duck foie, smoked duck breast, perhaps some ham, and lettuces. Has Blanc lost complete touch with terroir? It depends on how the dish is put together and how he sources his ingredients...all this, of course, assuming that the Manoir has been philosophically transported to the Southwest of France. I don't know what true Oxford terroir would entail! I do think Chibois tries to respect local ingredients, and indeed he recently opened the Bastide for exhibits and tastings of local olive oils and products from around the region. That signals some respect for terroir. To be clear, I am no promoter of Chibois. I have only eaten there once, and must say that I enjoyed it enormously: better than some 3-star places in Paris. But one visit is hardly enough to judge a restaurant, and I defer to those who have visited it more than once...as I intend to.

Loulou and La Petite Maison have both been on my list of places to try, for some time now. I agree that there are many small places with less pretension than Chibois, Maximin, etc., but high quality ingredients and a desire to cook them well. But they will never earn Michelin stars! I agree with Steve about the high levels of development on the Côte d'Azur, but still find it easy to locate peaceful areas within a quick drive of Nice or Cannes. We chose the area because of the relative ease of getting there from London after a short flight and a drive of less than 30 minutes. So far it has not disappointed, though I am well aware that cognitive dissonance will cloud my judgement! I must admit that my reaction to the flight into Nice-Côte d'Azur is very positive: the blue water and the sunshine on the hills is pleasant after the grey of London. Have overall standards slipped? I am sure they have, both in the South and in Paris, where it is very easy to pay a lot for horrid food. In Mougins we have been lucky to find very high quality ingredients in local shops, mostly by avoiding the supermarkets and getting to know the merchants. But I know that the artisanal butchers, bakers, greengrocers and fishmongers have a constant struggle to maintain standards and to earn a decent living. How much harder for restaurateurs. My own theory is that the missing ingredient is not produce, or skill, or even money, but time. Hence my comment above about a short drive. Hence the onslaught of frozen or precooked or "instant" dishes that we know can only be prepared with hours of careful work. In France I shop daily, sometimes twice a day, but that's because we are on holiday or running at a slower pace than normal. In London, with a busy family and two working spouses, there isn't the time to choose or cook with this kind of care. And this trend must impact on demand and the willingness of customers to put up with inferior outputs from restaurants. I wish it were different in la France profonde, the deep countryside, but I have not found it so. Many of the small villages have become ghost towns, and the few people living there get in their cars and drive to the local supermarket or McDonald's. I remember cycling into a small town off the Charente, where we had been on a barge trip. One old man was sitting, disconsolate, on the steps of a locked church. "Are there any shops around here?" I asked? "No," he replied..."this town is dead. There are no shops. And there once were 3 bars right here!" Another reason for liking the area above the Côte d'Azur: some of the economic vitality of the coast has kept the smaller inland villages lively. We can hope that the Slow Food movement does something to reverse all this, but that will take time too...!

In some circles the Côte d'Azur has a bad reputation for food. And it is indeed possible to eat very badly there. There is a theorem in culinary economics to the effect that transient and uncritical tourists lead to terrible food. And as some friends have complained, usually after reading Peter Mayle, "after all, the Côte d'Azur isn't Provence". This last claim is at least debatable because the boundaries of Provence are vague. The entire area, right through to the Italian border, is part of the region called PACA (Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur). Julia Child, the American television cook, wrote lyrically of her "home in Provence", which turns out to be in Placassier, firmly in the Alpes Maritimes. Robert Carrier's Feasts of Provence starts out in Nice and works its way west. Perhaps Provence is a state of mind. Or, as the priest in our village firmly asserts, perhaps it no longer exists. In any event it is also possible to eat good interesting things there. There seem to be two rules: first, get away from the coast and up into the hills; second, find areas where there are lots of restaurants and the people care a lot about what they eat. There are exceptions to the first rule. I have had some wonderful meals at Don Camillo, in Nice, even after Franck Cerruti went to run Ducasse's palace in Monaco. And although Clément Bruno's reputation is overhyped, his Nice outpost, "Terres de Truffes" (truffleland!) had interesting, well prepared dishes, all of them, desserts included, made with truffles. Bacon, in Antibes, makes a mean bouillabaiise; the fish is very fresh and carefully chosen, and if you can get a table overlooking the water, the place is magic in the early evening. But for the most part we have had better luck up in the hills. In Peillon, L'Auberge de la Madone is still good, and the service and setting exceptional. In Grasse, we recently had the "menu découverte" (tasting menu) at the Bastide St Antoine, an absolutely outstanding dinner. The approach to the Bastide is not impressive: you drive through a road filled with used car lots and rather dodgy looking small factories. But the place itself is lovely, the staff young and enthusiastic and the food superb. A first dish of truffled morels with a just-cooked egg, then scallops with artichokes, tiny "pistes" (squid) on a chick-pea mousseline. Then sea bass, langoustines, and an astonishing roast of veal that had been rubbed with dry capers, cheeses, and two fruit-based desserts. The flavours were, right from the start, almost explosive but always very clear and clean, and we left the table feeling refreshed but not overly full. We drank a ch. Simone 1999 and a Crozes-Hermitage 2000 (Domaine Robin). And the Bastide offers non-smoking rooms. We had another very good dinner at Maximin, in Vence, though the service was not nearly as warm nor the dishes quite as well prepared. The second rule is a corollary of another theorem of culinary economics: tough local competition coupled with discriminating local demand makes for good eating. This is the basis of "clustering" -- as with the Italian ceramics makers or the German manufacturers of printing equipment. When local customers will insist that the newspaper send a messenger to replace a morning newspaper where some of the ink is smudged, and when there are lots of companies making printing presses and inks, you can bet that the quality is good. We've found that this rule generally applies in Mougins, a tiny town surrounded by something like 50 restaurants. Yes, it is true that Vergé and the Moulin de Mougins have slipped. Apart from an astonishing truffled squash blossom, the food last year was unremarkable and the service sad and haphazard. Locals tell me that this decline started when Vergé quarreled (unsuccessfully) with the village over a motorway extension, which now cuts the Moulin off from the old village and brings noise close to the "bit of Provence" that it seeks to create. Now, the main clientele seems to arrive in tour coaches from Cannes and Nice. It was easy to see why the Moulin slipped from three Michelin stars, hard to understand why it retained even one. Yet this year it has jumped back to two stars, so perhaps there is hope for this place. Outside the Moulin, though, there is very good eating in Mougins. La Terrasse, in the old village, can deliver superb meals. We had wonderful fish at the just-reopened Mas Candille, where the entire restaurant is non-smoking. The critical and caring attitude about food extends to the lower-end restaurants as well, and to the butchers in town, the fishmonger, the vegetable merchant and the numerous bakeries in this small village. The only places to avoid are the low-end Vergé outpost in the old village, L'Amandier, and the Feu Follet. The food at the former was actually good, but a diner at the next table lit a stinking cigar. The menu asks that customers not smoke cigars or pipes, and we (quietly, politely, in French) asked the waiter for another table. But the place was full...tour buses again. "What do you want me to do?" shrugged the waiter, illustrating the decline that seems to have struck the Vergé empire. The Feu Follet was once well known in gastronomic circles, and I have been told that it was once a favourite of Simone Beck, Julia Child's French collaborator. Now it has gone sadly downhill, and we found the food and service horrible on two successive visits. * * * A final complaint we sometimes hear about the Côte d'Azur is that "there is no local wine". That, of course, is also true of Normandy and Britanny. And it is not quite true of the Côte d'Azur. There are some very pleasant wines from Bellet, in the hills above Nice, and the vineyards are worth a visit. See http://www.vinsdebellet.com for more information. All in all, if you are prepared to search a bit, there is good eating to be had here.

Rhubarb fool ice cream A rhubarb fool has rhubarb and thick cream. I think this is even better, because it's an ice. This can be made with whatever quantity of rhubarb you have available, though you may have to run more than one batch through your ice cream maker. Rhubarb Creme fraiche or thick cream Sugar Water Slice rhubarb into roughly 2cm pieces, discarding ends and removing stringy bits. Put it in a saucepan. Make sufficient sugar syrup with equal weights of sugar and water (i.e. 100g of sugar to 100ml of water) to barely cover the rhubarb slices. Poach the rhubarb in the syrup until it is extremely soft. Put a stick blender into the pan and puree the rhubarb, or pour the mixture into an ordinary blender and puree. Add thick cream or creme fraiche to taste. You could leave this out altogether for a sorbet. If you've added cream, put the mixture back on the heat until it just bubbles; this will stop the cream from turning into butter in the ice cream machine. Strain the mixture (though if it has poached long enough this is not necessary) and cool. Spin in an ice cream maker. Serve immediately. Keywords: Dessert, Easy, Ice Cream Maker, Ice Cream ( RG1233 )

Rhubarb fool ice cream A rhubarb fool has rhubarb and thick cream. I think this is even better, because it's an ice. This can be made with whatever quantity of rhubarb you have available, though you may have to run more than one batch through your ice cream maker. Rhubarb Creme fraiche or thick cream Sugar Water Slice rhubarb into roughly 2cm pieces, discarding ends and removing stringy bits. Put it in a saucepan. Make sufficient sugar syrup with equal weights of sugar and water (i.e. 100g of sugar to 100ml of water) to barely cover the rhubarb slices. Poach the rhubarb in the syrup until it is extremely soft. Put a stick blender into the pan and puree the rhubarb, or pour the mixture into an ordinary blender and puree. Add thick cream or creme fraiche to taste. You could leave this out altogether for a sorbet. If you've added cream, put the mixture back on the heat until it just bubbles; this will stop the cream from turning into butter in the ice cream machine. Strain the mixture (though if it has poached long enough this is not necessary) and cool. Spin in an ice cream maker. Serve immediately. Keywords: Dessert, Easy, Ice Cream Maker, Ice Cream ( RG1233 )