Sunny with some clouds and a faint breeze

For breakfast we had the fruits for which the Roussion region is especially noted, peaches and apricots. The white peaches were fine, but the apricots we had this morning were only so-so. Apricots are potentially the finest of fruits, but they are also one of the most perishable and one of the most susceptible to crop disasters. In our experience on this trip, apricots delivering some measure of the fruit’s unique flavor were always partly rotten.

After breakfast we took a walk along Padern’s river, the Verdouble, near its confluence with the Torgan. Later in the morning, about 11:30 am, we set out for Fitou, where we planned to have lunch at restaurant Cave d’Agnès. The winding eastward route led us across a rocky coastal plain upon which occasional vineyards were as oases in the desert. This took us longer than expected. We worried about being late for lunch, which is not usually served after 2:00 pm. We were relieved to arrive at our target restaurant at 1:15, and worried again after finding it was closed. It was 1:40 before we located a substitute:

Fitou

The Parking was located atop a medieval rampart reached only by a steep (about 35 degrees) ramp, perhaps a converted stairway. Though in a hurry to park and get started on lunch, I took the precaution to stop and set the car in low gear before inching up the slope.

Terrine de foie de volaille: A reminder how good chicken-liver terrine can be—in this case attractively flavored, soft but not too soft to hold its shape, lightly browned on top. There may have been a faint hint of nitrite.

Assortiment de crudités was notable for a couple of slices of an extremely fine Cavaillon melon.

We drank a little of a pitcher of a red Fitou that was fruity with good body and perceptible but not aggressive tannins. When our menu choice seemed to call for a white wine instead, the manager brought us a complimentary pitcher of a white wine of the region. It was hard and yet somewhat fruity, with a sherry-like edge like a typical white Rhône.

Fruits de mer: Reasonably fresh-tasting squid, octopus, and mussels served with a sauce tasting like gazpacho.

Culinary note: We had the impression that in this area, instead of gazpacho it is more usual to speak of salsa.

Thon à la tomate. The tuna was of no more than routine interest, and the gazpacho-like tomato sauce seemed to have all the zest cooked out of it hours or perhaps days previously. But the abundant, rough-cut deep-fried potatoes that went with the dish were crisp and loaded with sealed-in potato flavor. And the other accompaniment was even more pleasing—a substantial portion of peas stewed with lardons, onions and seasonings, a dish similar to the classical petits pois au jambon à la languedocienne but employing lardons in place of cured ham.

Demi-coquelet grillé: Like the tuna the chicken was of no more than routine interest, but fortunately it also was accompanied by the same fries and stewed peas.

With so-so desserts, a tart and a flan, the total at Vidal came to F230.

While the restaurant’s main offerings were mediocre, a few special items—the Cavaillon melon, the fries, the stewed peas—made the visit enjoyable.

***

Succumbing once again to the attraction of places celebrated on wine labels, we took a meandering drive around the Rivesaltes area, and thence by a circuitous route to Estagel. Our thoughts had switched to the fruits for which the region is noted, specifically apricots. Here we were in mid-summer in Languedoc—surely we could locate an eminently edible apricot, we thought. Not so. Our inquiry at a promising-looking shop, Domaine Fontanel, elicited the palms-upward gesture. The season had been bad for apricots—rain in the ripening season—and they didn’t have any more that met the shop’s exacting standards. We must have appeared crushed at this news, for the sympathetic patronne hastened to offer a sip of a decadently rich Muscat de Rivesaltes as a consolation--and also, it must be added, a sound business move. We left with some excellent nectarines and yellow peaches, and directions to an associated store in Tautavel where we subsequently bought a bottle of the Muscat.

By the time we reached that store Jean was starting to sag a little. A wind-born virus, the saleswoman volunteered as she bagged the bottle of Rivesaltes, and she mentioned an over-the-counter remedy that "everyone relies on." But as it turned out, all Jean needed was rest.