Friday: CIBOURE, SWEET THOUGH IT BE, is obviously not the Melling/Smith target destination, although this second visit to the settlement confirms an aspiration to spend a longer period of time in the vicinity. Spain is just a few minutes down the road, the Pyrenees overlook the scene, it’s Basque, the food is topping and the coast is mighty fine — it has phare interest albeit not on a particularly epic scale.
But for now, we need to make tracks.
We are not stop-abeds so are on the road before daybreak. The foothills of the Pyrenees must be addressed. and after all of five miles we peel off our route to partake of croissants and grand crêmes at Ascain, a fully Basque hill-village on our route. After our repast, we obtain bayonne ham and local cheeses in our made-to-order baguettes from the village traiteur (plus a bottle of local cider) and eventually get back on to the switch-back roads east.
Unfortunately, the golden weather you will have been aware of in the preceding posts of this voyage, well it doesn’t exactly follow us into the hills. It is cloudy, hazy, and mostly dull. No rain as yet. So the long views of the wondrous Pyrenees are denied us. Their majestic profiles loom from time to time but show little of their true robust character. But it is what it is. We stop off in Espelette, a centre of red chilli growing: can you believe, the place has an AOC (Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée for chillies FGS) — they decorate their architecture with them accordingly. I include snaps to confirm this.
As we follow the twists and turns of thankfully generally quiet roads we encounter a number of flocks of sheep actually on the road (they make fine sheep cheeses all over these lovely hills but they usually graze in the fields hereabouts).
We are not stop-abeds so are on the road before daybreak. The foothills of the Pyrenees must be addressed. and after all of five miles we peel off our route to partake of croissants and grand crêmes at Ascain, a fully Basque hill-village on our route. After our repast, we obtain bayonne ham and local cheeses in our made-to-order baguettes from the village traiteur (plus a bottle of local cider) and eventually get back on to the switch-back roads east.
Please note the distinctive venacular style. No rank stonework here, my dears. Basque build is generally crisp, white with ivy-green or ox-blood-red doors, struts and shutters, barge boards etc., under generous snow-competent roofs. We like it very much. Always have. Pity it rains so much. Today it is dry. The second snap is of the post office… they carry through the style you see (and the chillies) even here. I like a good post office, me.
After stopping to lunch at Nay, beyond the reach of the Basque influence now, and which boasts the national museum of berets – they made them here apparently, perhaps still do, why not – we decide that time is once again an issue, so we do the next bit, from Tarbes, on the A64, toll notwithstanding. Not all the way to Castelnaudary you understand, which is where we are booked to lay our heads before the final day of our transfer to 1rueFB.
We arrive at Castelnaudary at a reasonable hour and find our oft mislaid hotel without missing a turn or overshooting a junction. It's been a while since we were here and here we are once more. The hotel is somewhat out of town…
Supper is therefore in an adjacent restaurant, but we’ve eaten here several times now and deem it good. The locals think so too if patronage is anything to go by.
Let me explain. Castelnaudary is Cassoulet City. Cassoulet is made in quantity here, there are shops that sell it exclusively, they export it, etc. When you fetch up in Castelnaudary (possibly by boat on the Canal-du-Midi) your first thought when it comes to your evening repast (or lunchtime delight, one or other, but not both) is their wondrous local speciality, namely cassoulet. Other dishes may tempt you but when it comes down to it, you know there is but one dish that can truly address your Castelnaudary needs, and that begins with the letter C.
Cassoulet is served up in a traditional brown earthenware bowl in which it is lovingly cooked and is delivered to your table bubbling straight from the oven, under a crust of toasted breadcrumbs. As you may know, it is principally a stew of fat white beans cooked in stock, in concert with confit of duck, goose or pork, sausages and pork fat, nuggets of ham etc, etc. You drink a robust rouge with it and ensure you are famished before starting in.
I’ve managed the individual bowl version on previous occasions, as well as despatching a two servings bowl shared with the son-and-heir heretofore, but tonight we are up against it. I’m surprised that Mme Melling agrees to go for the double but she does and after a passage of time the dish (bowl) is before us. It would definitely satisfy three hungry diners… we order another pichet de rouge…
We almost manage it: I follow through with my second Coupe Colonel of the trip, after the three-quarter empty bowl has been retrieved from our table by the serving staff… but I can tell you now, the Melling/Smith duality do not eat again, even a morsel, for up to twenty four hours thereafter. Satiated, that’s what we are, if slightly overfaced.
Cassoulet is served up in a traditional brown earthenware bowl in which it is lovingly cooked and is delivered to your table bubbling straight from the oven, under a crust of toasted breadcrumbs. As you may know, it is principally a stew of fat white beans cooked in stock, in concert with confit of duck, goose or pork, sausages and pork fat, nuggets of ham etc, etc. You drink a robust rouge with it and ensure you are famished before starting in.
I’ve managed the individual bowl version on previous occasions, as well as despatching a two servings bowl shared with the son-and-heir heretofore, but tonight we are up against it. I’m surprised that Mme Melling agrees to go for the double but she does and after a passage of time the dish (bowl) is before us. It would definitely satisfy three hungry diners… we order another pichet de rouge…
We almost manage it: I follow through with my second Coupe Colonel of the trip, after the three-quarter empty bowl has been retrieved from our table by the serving staff… but I can tell you now, the Melling/Smith duality do not eat again, even a morsel, for up to twenty four hours thereafter. Satiated, that’s what we are, if slightly overfaced.
Time was when we'd buy a cassoulet to bring to the residence for supper upon arrival: our small collection of cassoulet bowls, both here and in Blightey attest to this. If you are domiciled in Castelnaudary of course, you take the empty bowl back to your supplier in exchange for your next serving… it's an AOC, naturally! By the way, cassoulets come in all sizes, from individual through to platoon sizes! They come in tins aussi, but they are a mere shadow of the home cooked variety.
I apologise for not supplying snaps of the feast but the resto was but dimly lit, we sported no cameras – and photographing one's dinner is so yesterday, don't you think?
