A partly cloudy, warm and misty morning with a storm in the offing.

On the way to Castelnou by the same route as on the previous day, we paused near Paziols to admire vineyards and a showy stand of oleanders. On arriving at our destination, we drove on up to the Parking at the upper end of the village and then walked down to:

Restaurant L’Hostal

Castelnou (04 68 53 45 42)

Our reserved table was by a window commanding a view of the valley far below.

Aïoli: We snatched up chunks of bread and scooped up this intoxicatingly aromatic garlic mayonnaise with gusto, meanwhile taking a preliminary sip of a mouth-filling Cuvée Particulière de la Maison--house wine--labeled Vin de Pays des Pyrénées, Cellier des Comptes.

Along with a salade verte, actually a salad containing such non-green items as olives and anchovies, we downed more aïoli—couldn’t get enough of this distillation of the heat and light of the Midi.

Looking out through the window, we noticed a semi-enclosed outbuilding with a chimney from which issued first a puff, and then a sudden billowing of smoke. A restaurant worker was feeding the flames with sarments, vine branches about one centimeter thick, perhaps to prepare our cargolade.

Cargolade: Escargots, côtes d’agneau, saucisse, boudin noir grillés sur la braise de sarment de vigne , avec aïoli: Thirty snails, blackened from the vine embers, served on a blackened wire basket. Plus two chops, perhaps of a full-grown sheep rather than a lamb, grilled on vine embers so that the surface was dark and crusty while the interior remained barely pink—a little overdone to our taste but at this rustic feast we were not in the mood to complain about details. The meat had a solid texture and plenty of flavor. Plus—continuing the catalog of the cargolade—grilled sausage and blood sausage that were also crusted over from the fire. The latter had burst open and charred attractively.

The robust country red went well with the meats. We ate more aïoli. What a bash!

Roquefort: A big slab—mild, creamy, of indescribably complex flavor.

Crème Catalane: A custard, of lighter texture than that of a crème brulée, covered with a thin, brittle layer of caramel.

Coupe Roussillon: A pleasing sorbet of apricot with muscat wine.

The total on this second visit to l’Hostal was F402.

***

We did a little shopping on the way back to Padern—cherries, a few examples of cheap local wines, wine glasses (not provided at the gîte) and ground coffee of the medium-strong blend arabica doux. The weather changed, sun and clouds giving way to overcast, wind and a spatter of rain.

We dined on left-over couscous. For dessert we had cherries with Côtes de Roussillon, noticing the similarity of the fruit in the wine.

Mr Vive the landlord dropped in, a nimble little man with the air of one living by his wits in a business where pickings were slim. He professed astonishment that we had found the gîte unclean. The previous renters had promised--promised!--to clean up. We had the impression that dodging the expense of having the place cleaned was his idea of smart business. We should have threatened to report him to the agency, but instead we poured him a glass of Côtes de Roussillon. He returned the favor by locating the coffee maker, so we could start preparing our own brew of Arabica Doux. Asked about restaurants, he spoke with reverence of that run by Mme Villa in Cucugnan.