THERE IS NO QUICK LUNCH IN FRANCE
A leisurely meal with plenty of red wine became a very civilized habit
The French lunch hour is sacred and in the small villages of rural France even the dogs are quiet.
Old traditions die hard in the villages and as we drove around the Dordogne region we noticed all roads led to home.
Men wearing the traditional berets and riding sturdy looking bikes often had a baguette or two tied on the bike. We deduced they were on their way home for their gigantic home-cooked lunch — no dried up sandwiches would do for them.
We were on a road trip driving around France and it took us a while to figure out that we, too, should adopt this very civilized habit of the leisurely French lunch, as we had the usually skimpy French breakfast of baguette, coffee and orange juice.
In our planning stages for the trip we imagined romantic roadside picnics, with all the lovely pates and cheeses and wine spread out on a checkered tablecloth, gazing over to the church spires. I even packed a little bag with picnic essentials, corkscrews, etc.
The reality was different. We were famished and grouchy by lunch — and then we had to shop for it. So began the hunt for a village lunch as we drove along.
We had many wonderful meals, but one Sunday lunch was memorable.
Our little rented car screeched to a halt outside a shabby but inviting auberge in the outskirts of a village in the Dordogne region.
Inside, lunch was well underway and some serious eating was in progress.
The tables were covered in white linen tablecloths and mismatched napkins; it was shabby but lovely.
Madam found a table for us in the crowded dining room (a promising sign) and within moments we were drinking an aperitif.
No menu was offered, but a wonderful coarse pate with delicious bread was plonked down. Minutes later a carafe of red wine arrived at our table.
We started to feel a happy glow of contentment as we ate and drank everything that was put before us. Next came succulent roast chicken, surrounded by cloves of garlic and marvellous, crunchy roast potatoes, followed by a green salad with French dressing.
Our carafe of red wine was replenished.
Then, after a short interval, a fluffy plum clafouti, accompanied by a creamy custard sauce, was set before us.
It was so delicious we finished every mouthful, thinking this was the end of the meal. It was not.
Madam's husband brought over a bulbous bottle of cherry liqueur and two glasses. It was fruity and delicious.
We weren't finished yet — a huge slice of ripe brie cheese was set down. We were full to bursting, but the pace was leisurely and eventually we worked our way through that, too.
Then, two cups of strong espresso coffee were offered.
Because of our poor command of French, all we did was smile and eat and say “merci” at intervals.
The dining room was nearly empty when we asked for the bill. It was only a pittance and included all the wine and liqueur.
We finally lurched from the restaurant in a very happy glow and decided to take a walk around the village and then have a snooze in the car before we felt safe to drive.
It goes down in my memory as the best French country lunch I ever had.
I wish I could find that auberge again.