It was sunny in early morning, but then dark clouds streamed across half the sky and for a time all we saw of the sun were occasional fans of light sweeping search-light fashion across the lowering skyscape. We did our laundry and put it on lines in the hope of beating the rain.
Brian and Helen planned to spend the day continuing their exploration of Trets. We dropped them off in the village and then turned north-west with the idea of exploring the area of the Montagne du Luberon between Lourmarin and Apt.
After a pleasant drive along winding scenic roads in alternate sun and rain, we arrived at our lunch target—Auberge de la Loube, in Buoux—only to find the place closed Thursdays. The nearby Auberge de l’Aiglebrun, which we had passed on the way from Lourmarin, also proved to be closed for lunch, in this case because of an electricity outage. We continued toward Lourmarin and after drawing another blank at le Paradou on the outskirts of the town (open but deserted—the same power outage?) we at last pulled up at a place actually serving lunch.
Ave Philippe de Girard, Lourmarin 04 90 68 07 33.
Arriving at 1:20 pm, we got the last available table in a small, square dining room that might once have been a private chapel. The stone walls and the low, vaulted stone ceiling reflected the noise of a local crowd trading pleasantries with each other and the waiters. The Mediterranean symbol of plenty, the laden olive branch, figured as a decorative motif on the walls, the menus and the oilcloth table coverings.
The friendly waiter and co-proprietor of the restaurant spoke clear and fluent though ungrammatical English, and he offered menus in English as well as in French. We saw that the English version was replete with examples of the pitfalls of navigating a foreign tongue with only the dictionary for a guide to spelling. We set it aside to peruse over coffee.
Apéritif à la pulpe de melon: A pleasant start with so-so marinated black depitted olives. The drink was said to be light on alcohol, but it had a pleasant bite to it as well as a good melon flavor.
Bandol Château de Pibarnon Rouge 1997 (stated to be from the highest slopes of Bandol, F210). Dark and strong with good nose and middle but lacking length.
In connection with this bottle we had the interesting experience of being mistaken for wine mavens. Inspecting the label before the waiter pulled the cork, Jean made to ask for confirmation that the vintage was 1997, but she slipped in French and said 1996 instead. At this, to our surprise and puzzlement the waiter suddenly left on an apparently urgent errand. What was he up to? The answer came to us after he returned, several minutes later, with a mournful mien and news that the 1996 had been used up. Apparently he had taken us for connoisseurs of Bandol, nostalgic for that particular vintage--considered by experts a particularly fine one, we realized finally.
Panier de jardinier et son anchoïade: Various common vegetables—carrot, potato, endive etc. served with a little bowl of an anchoïade much milder than the one from the Gardanne market but still with an agreeable gamy touch from anchovies.
Salade végétarienne: Various vegetables and salad greens with vinaigrette.
Noisettes d’agneau au coeur, tapenade (not "nuts of lam with anchoving" as rendered in English-language menu): Unusually tasty lamb filet, just nicely pink inside, served with a sauce that seemed to have been made with red wine with addition of tapenade. The enrichments of black olive and anchovy were noticeable but far from dominant—a beautifully proportioned sauce. The vegetable garnish was unexceptional.
Gigotin de volaille au jus d’estragon: Here again the meat and accompanying sauce had a particularly fine flavor. The thigh of chicken had crisscross marks from trussing, suggesting it had been cut open for inserting leaves of tarragon or other herbs, then trussed for cooking. The deep flavors of the meat seemed to be in line with that interpretation.
Flan Antilleais: Custard seeded with tiny dice of citrus fruits, topped with thin friable sheet of caramelized sugar, and served on crème anglaise with a cog-teeth pattern of what appeared to be coffee or toffee. Excellent custard and fruit flavors.
Nougat glacé maison: Charlotte of almond-flecked nougat on a raspberry sauce with crème anglaise. Again excellent flavors.
Farigoule: A fragrant and bracing digéstif, faringoule is a liquor made from thyme and other herbs of Provence. The waiter explained that the name comes from old Provençale farigoulette, meaning thyme. He referred to another similar drink, génépi, made from a herb of that name, an alpine wormwood which grows at higher altitudes. We resolved to try it on some future visit.
Over coffee, excellent like everything else at l’Oustalet, we philosophized about the daunting task of translating French menus into English. The results seem to cluster around the extremes of the correct but sterile and, at the other end of the scale as represented by l’Oustalet’s effort, the erroneous but entertaining. All translations into English have one thing in common, though; far from capturing the reality that the search for a nice lunch is a grand adventure, they represent it as merely silly.
The total at l’Oustalet came to F638.
Upon leaving, we noticed by the toilet a wash faucet amusingly formed like a duck bill, in an installation decorated with an olive motif.
***
In the evening we learned that Brian and Helen had had an enjoyable day in Trets, including lunch at Pizzaria Sissi (F181). We passed up Helen’s invitation to share a steak she had just grilled (not easy since it smelled wonderful) in favor of a salad.