Diary entries of a Francophile
Back to Duras, Renoir in Soumensac, and a strawberry clafoutis
In a previous post, I mentioned sharing some diary entries I stumbled upon from a visit to France in 2011 and 2012. Below is the fourth entry. The previous one is here. Each entry will end with one or two recipes written back then. Some have appeared in my books. The recipes will be exclusively available to paid subscribers. Note that there are links in this post that lead to past articles I’ve written on everything from food to the region! They’re on my website. Simply scroll to the bottom of each post and click on the link there to read the article.
Bonne lecture!
What I thought wouldn’t happen this year, happened—we are back in Duras! After a long and sweltering seven-hour trip, we arrived around four o’clock yesterday. The drive took us through the Loire, the Auvergne, the Corrèze, and finally the Dordogne and Lot-et-Garonne (home!). The Auvergne and its volcanoes is especially impressive. But the heat when we arrived—43°C! We were all melting. Still, how I love being back here.
The sad news is that Cas and his family have moved back to the Netherlands. It was quite a shock, especially considering how much they had invested in building a life here. We heard that Cas is getting twin siblings. Supposedly, that was one of the main reasons for their departure. I think Kirstie will miss him, but we were all looking forward to spending time with them again.
Hans convinced me to join him and Kirstie in the pool. Even though I felt ridiculous in my too-tight swimsuit and with my crappy swimming ‘skills,’ it sure was a fine way to cool off. Who knows—I might even go to the pool more often.
Of course, we had dinner at Le Cabri.
We were slightly anxious, considering last year’s experience (this used to be our favorite restaurant), but I think things have improved. I had a shrimp cocktail followed by magret de canard, both of which I enjoyed. Even the charlotte for dessert was lovely, as was the wine. Hans had a melon filled with port, which looked so refreshing, and a steak. Kirstie surprised us—no more children’s menu for her! She ordered the tagliatelle Provençale and a crème brûlée.
It’s Sunday. We woke up today to the kind of temperatures that warn you to wear sunscreen, a hat, and carry plenty of water. Everyone is still asleep as I sit here, writing and thinking about the plans for the day. We’re heading to that idyllic market in Issigeac and then off to the “Renoir” picnic in Soumensac. I can’t wait!
Wow. Yesterday was another unbearably hot day. I’m walking around with tissues to wipe off the sweat because I feel like I’m constantly dripping! We started our day with a visit to the market in Issigeac, but not before stopping at the bakery for some croissants to eat on the way there. As always, Issigeac was a dream—a picturesque, folkloric market.
We even managed to find a spot at that little café with the terrace under a canopy of grapevines.
My café crème was delicious. I didn’t buy much this time—just some Marmande tomatoes, Gariguette strawberries, a Quercy melon, and a few canelés.
After the market, we headed to Soumensac—my beloved Renoir picnic spot. As always, it was breathtaking. Those tall trees, the view, the hats—it’s all so painterly.
(Side note: Look at this picture my husband took there?)
For some reason, it really reminds me of Renoir’s Le déjeuner des canotiers (1880-1881):
The French know all too well that good food isn’t complicated. To me, one of the best places to see this is at the marché des producteurs held on Sunday afternoons in Soumensac, a tiny village in Lot-et-Garonne with a population of about two hundred.
Locals and tourists alike come together on a hilltop overlooking the vineyards to enjoy a meal with fresh offerings from regional producers. There is a stand selling plump escargots, one with juicy duck breasts and sausages grilled to perfection, and another with plates of rustic charcuterie. The picnic tables are sometimes even set with pretty linens, and under the dappled sunlight, real food is shared, friends are made, and local wine flows. Nothing is complicated, nothing looks fancy, and everything is absolutely delicious. The salade de chèvre chaud, which I adore, is a perfect example of French culinary simplicity: a plate of crisp lettuce topped with two bacon-wrapped pieces of young, creamy goat cheese (locally produced) and a drizzle of honey. That’s it.
We ended the day with a dip in the pool and then a jazz evening at Le Cabri. Kirstie is having a great time in the water. Even without Cas, she’s made plenty of new friends. The kids this year are particularly kind, and I’m so grateful she speaks English—otherwise things would be much more difficult.
As for the jazz night, it wasn’t quite what I’d hoped. My steak was tough, the sauce tasted of chemicals and not at all fresh or ‘Provençale.’ The savory mini clafoutis served alongside was too salty. Cheese was just two unimpressive fridge-cold pieces, some prune jam, and a three leaves of wilted lettuce. Kirstie had the confit de canard and loved it, however. She has really left childhood behind. The jazz band was okay, but nothing memorable. Still, I mustn’t complain—we’re having a truly wonderful time, and it already feels like we’ve been here far longer than just a week and a bit.
Today we plan to have coffee and croissants at the square in Duras and lunch at the pizzeria. The sun is just beginning to rise, and I’m ready for another lovely day in France.
Today’s recipe: Strawberry clafoutis
Clafoutis is a delicious ‘cakey-puddingy’ dessert that comes from the Limousin region of France. It is usually made with unpitted cherries, but I pretty much make it with any type of seasonal fruit. I am quite fond of making clafoutis with the summer’s sweetest strawberries and serving it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
