so... Nice. in happier times.

A couple of years ago we found ourselves in Nice, somewhere on the blog there are pictures from that trip, I'm sure, and unsurprisingly one of my most vivid memories of that trip is one of the silliest. And of course, one related to food.

While we were planning the trip I came across a magazine article by a well-known food journalist. It was the annoying kind of travel article, elitist, smug, "you'll never be worthy of the kinds of experiences I can have" but the writer did mention some discoveries in or near Nice. One of these mentions in particular, as my mom would say, got my Irish up.

we know who you are and why noone reads your stuff any more

It seems that with the help of an admiring local contact, our hero made his way through narrow, confusing and possibly even dangerous streets in the old town to a tiny restaurant known only to a few. The restaurant had no phone and didn't take reservations, and when asked, staff were quite "shirty" about it. Travelers found the place by accident or were led there by local friends, with whom they stood in the street until a place or places opened up. The food was the purest and most authentic of local specialties, etc etc. You, O lowly reader, will never find it, never achieve admission, never live as I have lived.

Huh.

So we got to Nice and the first night it was pouring and we ate at the hotel and the next morning the sky was blue and the sun was shining and we decided to try to find the mysterious tiny restaurant by  daylight. We walked from our hotel in the direction of the Cours Saleya (where the markets are). As in many cities smaller streets "T" into the pedestrian-only zone, and we decided to walk up and down a few of these.

Did I mention that I travel with a man who can find food anywhere? I'm not so bad at that myself, but my ability is instinctive and hasn't changed since I was a kid (as in, follow that man, he looks like he likes a good meal - and yes, that really was Orson Welles), while Himself's talent has been carefully and lovingly honed over years of practice.

We walked right to the restaurant. Far from dangerous-looking, the street had some little shops of the "cute" variety and a small branch of Sonia Rykiel. Merchandise - well, not the Rykiel sweaters, but a lot of everything else - was out in barrels to be picked over by strollers. You don't see this in dangerous areas. In dangerous areas, you see bars on windows. Hey, I'm from New York. I know stuff like this. So anyway, I bought my sister a set of ceramic house numbers, and I bought some lavender to freshen my carry-on, and we looked around.

A door was open, we peeked, saw a long bar with stools, a few tables with benches. Marvelous aromas - garlic, spices (cardamom? toasted coriander seed? garlic garlic garlic) dive-bombed our noses. I stepped inside, greeted the nice young man behind the bar, and asked if they were open for lunch. "We start lunch service at noon," he said. "If you don't mind leaving your name, I'll be happy to hold a table for you." I nodded, then remembered I was in France, and said 'Yes please, that's very kind of you." After I was introduced to his wife and to a lady in the kitchen who looked like she enjoyed food, he gave me a card with his mobile number on it and asked that we call if we changed our minds about lunch. Thank-yous and handshakes all around, and I rejoined Himself outside.

"We have a reservation for lunch, it starts at 12, and they'll hold a table for us. We just have to call if we change our minds."

"I thought they don't take reservations."

I shrugged. "We can call if we're not going to make it back for lunch."

"Call? I thought they don't have a phone."

I flashed the little card at him. "He gave me his mobile number."

We walked around, came back for a very good and filling lunch, everyone seemed to know everyone else, local merchants and politicians are the same the whole world over....

And as we left, I asked Himself how he knew the direction to start our explorations.

"Oh, the place is listed in the Michelin."

On the Top Secret--Eyes Only page, no doubt, because otherwise a responsible journalist (or at least a sober one) would have done some basic fact-checking, no?

"Now I have a question for you. How did you get the phone number?"

I smiled as mysteriously as one can when Food Coma is about to set in. "Your tax dollars at work," I murmured.

So the restaurant is called La Merenda, it's still there, I checked, and above I've included some pictures from its website.  The food is local specialities, and if they have zucchini blossoms when you're there, you should beg for them.

distracted by a hedgehog, fred almost misses the plane from Nice to Lyon. And some fashion notes.

un hérisson

I can't resist a hedgehog, I can't resist an owl, and I can't resist Hermès. So you won't be surprised to read that I was dragged on to the plane to Lyon kicking and muttering imprecations because the shop in the Nice airport wouldn't be open for another two hours - I accused himself of having planned this, and he had the nerve to look puzzled!

un hibou

un renard

And of course as we said goodbye to the Riviera, the sun finally deigned to show itself.

The day before was Sunday, and we drove to Cap d'Antibes for a dreamy lunch 

at a fish restaurant with the unlikely name of Bacon.

The Bacon family have been in the restaurant business since the 1500's, and they know how to keep customers happy. My starter was a raw seafood salad

I dove right in, and then I had Bourride, a local fish soup

and Himself had Bouillabaisse -- note Gallic version of lobster bib! --

with its accompaniments of aioli (garlic mayonnaise), garlic cloves and lightly toasted garlic bread.

You rub the garlic on the bread,

spread the aioli on top, and 

float your little creations in the soup til soggy. 

Heaven.

And the following morning, with due fanfare, off to the airport, direction Lyon.

So, Lyon: a few highlights for you, well, for me anyway --

the reflection of the local stock exchange (the Bourse),

 not straight on but reflected in the mirrored façade 

of the Monoprix across the street from it, and

the top story of the Bourse seen from the escalator 

to the second (third) story of the Monoprix.

Setting up for dinner at our favorite bouchon, Le Garet.

A butcher at the lovely market, Les Halles de Lyon, chopping beef by hand for boeuf tartare, it's better that way, the meat doesn't get slippery but stays fresh and delicious although this is something that shouldn't be prepared too far in advance.

chocolate shops, candy shops, pastry shops, fishmongers, poulterers, butchers, fancy greengrocers, and  plenty of places to grab lunch or breakfast, true to tradition Les Halles opens early and closes early.


My lunch at Les Halles began with a few snails, then grilled gambas (giant shrimp, 3 are more than ample). Oxymorons are one of my favorite lunch dishes, light and don't leave you too stuffed to enjoy dinner. About those snails, what most people like about snails is the part where you get to soak up the sizzling garlic butter with the bread. In Lyon, however, the predominant seasoning on the snails is parsley butter, so you actually do get the flavor of the little critters, which is delicate and fresh. Surprised?

Fashion note:

shameless display of travel weight bulges

recognize anything?

that blouse was a find! It also worked well with this jacket, bad lighting but you'll figure it out.

I found that blouse to be such a workhorse that when I got home I ordered another one! Unfortunately it was packed by someone whose last job was stuffing newspaper into wet boots, but I don't think the wrinkles are permanent.

For those of you who follow closely, that tweedy thing was not the jacket I originally planned to take, but this one weighed less, and I was at that stage of packing when every ounce had deep and significant meaning. The jacket is quite warm, being synthetic, and sadly can't be worn unless the shirt underneath has a collar to keep the fuzz off the neck. Nonetheless, it's quite well cut.

Tomorrow: those of you who sent dressing room photos will see them posted.

sunny days in Nice: garlic Sunday

balcony-sized lemon trees

profuse anemones

The Cours Saleya is the central part of Old Nice. Most days, there's a fruit and veg market there, which highlights the gorgeous produce of the South of France. We had a late lunch booked on Sunday, and the sun was shining, so a stroll through the Sundays-only flower market seemed the perfect way to work up an appetite. Or two. The flowers, plants and small trees were delightful, and guess what? There were still plenty of vegetables, fruit...

the garli

There were beautifully scented bunches of dried lavender, and beautifully scented bunches of fresh garlic. And what seemed to be an infinite variety of spices and fresh and dried herbs, and of course freshly picked wild mushrooms.


Wondering what happens to all that garlic? Wait....

the aioli

the bouillabaisse

the bourride

Lunch was at Bacon, a venerable restaurant in Cap d'Antibes beautifully situated overlooking the Meditteranean. Bacon is known for the high quality of its fish and also for its delectable bourride and bouillabaisse. Bourride is a creamy (white) garlick-y fish soup, with a lot of fish. Bouillabaisse, of course, is also a hearty  garlick-y fish soup, based on a strong and flavorful broth. It is served with croutons of baguette, and with a very garlick-y peppery mayonnaise called aioli. As you can tell from the yellowish tones, saffron is a key ingredient here as well.




If you choose the full soup meal, you get a basin of soup/broth (plus aioli, natch) first, and your main course is a very copious serving of the fish that was cooked in the soup. Second (and probably third) helpings of both courses are offered. Of course, you don't have to have the soup. When not chatting with the customers, the owner walks around with the freshest of fish from which to choose, and discusses with you how you'd like it prepared.At lunch, a "tasting" portion of bouillabaisse or bourride is available. Trust me, it's enough. We started with a salad of raw fresh fish (excellent) and moved on to the soup. We each had a hefty tasting portion.
Then we rested. Sunday, after all.