Food & Travel Guide to Montpellier, France – What to See, Eat & Do

This is less of a food and travel guide and more of our time spent in Montpellier. A short 24 hours of bistro food, gothic buildings and oysters.

BROC CAFE

When we reached Montpellier, we were hungry. It was only 4 or 5 pm. Somewhere between lunch and dinner. I needed something sweet and Roy had to have his coffee. A cafe perhaps? It was the only agreeable place at that time. So we shuffled into Broc Cafe where students from the nearby university were enjoying frites, roasted camembert and wine. After a cappuccino and a chocolate cake with a side of cream, we decided to take a look around the city. As we were leaving, a teenager with tousled hair and gold-rimmed glasses was slicing bread for dinner. Next to him, the cooks were prepping the beef on the grill for their burgers oozing with Saint-Marcellin cheese. I knew there and then that we were coming back for dinner.

COQUI THAU

The real reason we went to Montpellier was because of oysters. Oysters from the Bassin de Thau. Coqui Thau was opened by Christian, the first generation owner of the oyster farm. On the day we visited the farm, his son Eric was out on the boat looking after the oysters at sea. A mid-morning pan of Bouzigues mussels was simmering a la brasucade. With the tang of the ocean mingling with the crisp cool air, Eric shucked the oysters so effortlessly as if he was paring an apple. My memory of raw oysters are those spritzed with fresh lemon. I had thought that that was the only way to eat a raw oyster. But that could not compare to the oysters “Nino style”, a recipe from their friend in Alicante which I had not been able to put a finger on. A drizzle of olive oil paired with something luxuriously pink made the oysters taste like heaven.

Food & Travel Guide to Paris, France – What to See, Eat & Do

France

Our first night in Paris was a whirlwind. Roy was finding his way past a million cars to the 9th arrondissement where we dropped off our luggages at our hotel and ran to our dinner reservation at Bellanger. We arrived feeling flustered and was led into the brasserie which looked like an intimate bar of fashionable people drinking wine to the tunes of a Saint Laurent playlist. Our waiter was a tall, charming man who served us a delicious tray of saucisse, grilled flank steak and leeks with mustard vinaigrette. The entire time, waiters who looked like they had just finished shooting a Jacquemus ad were bringing food to the tables. When it was time for dessert, we ordered the Paris Brest. Our waiter flashed us the most charming smile and said approvingly, “Best dessert ever guys.”

Everything feels like a blur now but I can still remember this beautiful night in Paris.

PARISIAN CLASSICS

Paris is a place of old cuisine. Places like Bistrot Paul Bert have stood the test of time, so old that even the French get preferential tables and classics like sole meuniere and steak au poivre are still served. In the 10th arrondissement, the creperie La Droguerie makes the most traditional of French crepe – ham, cheese and egg.

We were looking for a very old French dish – frog legs à la persillade – when we found Roger La Grenouille in the 11th arrondissement. Frog legs are an old world classic. Something that is rarely seen these days, even in the South of France. We only came for the things that the French do best – roasted bone marrow, duck confit, tarte tartin and of course, frog legs. During our dinner, an American couple brought in a framed drawing as rainwater trailed their umbrellas. They were not here for dinner, just to return a drawing to the restaurant. There was a commotion and then a bottle of champagne was popped. They were here during the early days of the restaurant when everyone was wearing frog hats. They got the artwork then and wanted to return it now. “It was around 30 years ago. It was a wild time,” they told us as they sipped from their glasses. “Champagne for you too!” A man from the restaurant, whom we could only presume was an important person in the restaurant’s legacy, insisted. As we drank our champagne, we saw him drinking his with tears in his eyes. It was a touching moment for a restaurant to be remembered for such a long time.

THE FRENCH CHICKEN

The French chicken. An undeniable classic. We had ours at Brasserie Martin. Roy loves the thigh and I love the breast. I always argue that when done right, the breast will be moist. To each their own. I love chicken roasted the simple way. The French way. Only salt and pepper. Maybe a little lemon or herbs but nothing more. The rest is technique, something I only leave to the professionals. The timing, the temperature, the rotisserie. At the end of it, I can truly say that the no one does a roast chicken better than the French.

SHOPPING

We started our day with a lunch of escargots, duck confit, beef bourguignon and french toast at Le Petit Bouillon Pharamond. It was a long queue but the waiter gave us a table outside where thin well-dressed ladies with cigarettes preside. The day was supposed to be just about food. Parisian food. But Paris was also fashion. After a few shirts at Café Coton (Roy of course), we shopped for cookware at E. Dehillerin and chocolates at François Pralus. Then came the time for our pre-dinner snack – a coffee, croissant and kouign-amann at Bo & Mie.

PAIN D’ANTOINE

I never thought I could like something more than a pain au chocolat in Paris. It was a simple pastry at Farine & O that resembles a pain au chocolat. It was a pain d’antoine – orange zest in the flaky pastry and strips of hard chocolate on the outside. Chefs of Paris do not only replicate recipes of a hundred years ago. They change. They innovate. They are France’s capital. Chocolate and orange are a match made in heaven.

BRASSERIE BELLANGER

A few days later, we find ourselves back at Bellanger. Me having a cabbage roll and Roy, the croque madame (he only likes the madame, not monsieur). Bellanger, together with their other restaurants Martin, Dubillot, Charlie, Des Prés and Grouvie, call themselves La Nouvelle Garde. The new guard. The classics, but embellished. There is always something trendy on the menu. Marrow gratin on oysters. French blood sausage fried and dipped in applesauce. Caviar on potato dauphine. All served on polished porcelain or silverware. This is what Paris does best: fashion.

Food & Travel Guide to Provence, France – What to See, Eat & Do

France

I’ve come to know Provence through the taste of aioli, a sauce made of garlic, egg and olive oil. This is the sauce of the Mediterranean side of France. While butter is a staple, Provence’s climate in the far south yields aromatic herbs, tomatoes, apricots and above all, olive oil. The aioli is a humble reminder that France is a big country and its cuisine varied. But despite this variety, Provençal cuisine is still very much French. Complex cooking techniques that turn rural ingredients into polished masterpieces. Through this, the aioli took shape and became the sauce I reach for whenever fried potatoes are sent to the table.

FISHING VILLAGES

The South of France is a place of fish, fishing and fishermen. They are the rival to Brittany and Normandy in the northeast. Going to Marché aux Poissons in Marseille is a visual journey of fish. With their boats anchored to the port, the fishermen sell their catch and shout the names of what they have on the table. There is the seabass, the sole… then there is the monkfish, hideous but wonderful in stews. To the east of Marseille is Cassis, another fishing village. On Quai des Baux, we take a seat at Le Grand Bleu where a waiter is holding out a bucket of fresh catch to a woman at a table who is carefully inspecting the fish. Roy truly revels in the full experience of eating fish. Like one who is enjoying a glass of wine, he debones the whole grilled seabass using a fillet knife and sprinkles the fish with fleur de sel. Then, he places the plate of fully filleted fish in front of me. I can’t help but find myself lucky to have a husband who enjoys filleting fish for me.

TOINOU LES FRUITS DE MER

Seafood is a way of life in France. At lunch, you will always see a lady picking at a crab and another scooping out urchin from a spiky black shell. Always with a champagne in hand. Our first taste of French seafood really began at Toinou in Aix en Provence. It was a meal of oysters and urchins on a bed of ice with Bordier butter. Butter and oysters? Could this be true? So we asked our friendly waiter and he said with a shrug, “Ahhh some people like to put the oysters on the bread with butter. I don’t really like it but others do.” Around us, everyone was taking their time with their platters of crabs, oysters, whelks, urchins, and at times spreading butter on bread. In the end, we spread the bread with butter and sea urchin. This is the only way I will eat sea urchin now – with bread and butter.

CHATEAU D’ESCLANS

A rosé wine is the colour of Provence. A beautiful shade of pink that colours the walls of Provençal towns. We are at the Château d’Esclans in search of France’s most famous rosé. “It’s called the Whispering Angel,” Anne-Sophie tells us as she fills the glass with shimmering pink. The Whispering Angel is not dark or deep like a Bordeaux. It’s light, fruity and fashionable. All I can think of as I take sips from the glass are summers in the South of France and dinners of shellfish platters and langoustine gratin in the sunshine, all through rose-tinted shades.

DUCK

As a Chinese, I always find that I have an affinity with duck. Like the duck confit. Roy is terribly old-fashioned when it comes to duck confit. “The skin must be crispy,” he insists. For me, duck confit is about one thing – fat. Melting fat glazing over meat and potatoes. It adds a hearty shine to the food. The duck confit at Le Bistrot is exactly that. The duck skin is crisp with fat that had melted into a gloss. Even after finishing the duck and potatoes, I am helping myself to a baguette to polish up the fat. Fat simply can’t be ignored for some dishes.

CHATEAU DE MASSILLAN

Near Avignon, we are staying at the Château de Massillan. The chateau – like all others in France – look like something out of a fairy tale. While Germany has the Grimms, France has Perrault and Villeneuve. The chateau is owned by the son of a farmer, someone who enjoys cultivating organic produce. These produce are used by the chef in the chateau’s restaurant. During our stay, we find ourselves drawn to Orange, a nearby town that is as old as the Roman Empire and where there is an ancient theatre.

BOUILLABAISSE

The bouillabaisse is a dish I could only dream of in the pages of French cookbooks when I was young. I knew the dish as two long columns of ingredients and a more-than-10-step cooking process. It was a dish that only the most seasoned chefs could do For the days leading up to Restaurant Côté Mer, I could not stop talking about the bouillabaisse. It was “bouillabaisse this” or “bouillabaisse that”. And so on the day of our reservation, Roy drove through the grey stormy weather to Fontvieille. The rain was coming down hard in splashes, some roads were blocked as there were floods. But that didn’t stop us. We reached the restaurant at a late hour. There were no customers except us. The rain it seemed had an effect on business. But the chef was ready with our bouillabaisse. The meal lasted for more than an hour. She presented the fish, all five of them. She cooked, deboned and served them with a pot of homemade soup. Then we finished the meal with crème brûlée and baba au rhum. The latter was served with a bottle of cognac as if we were not already drowsy enough with bouillabaisse.

A MENU-LESS LUNCH

A menu-less meal is what they would call it a few centuries ago. Inns provided whatever they had in the kitchen to travellers who needed something to eat. It was on the way to the Provençal towns when we decided to stop in Sorgues for a really early lunch. The lady at Chez Gabin was surprised when we asked for “le déjeuner”. She looked at a man behind the counter with raised eyebrows before they shook their heads and said, “monsieur, only café and croissant.” Ah… lunch only starts at noon. She looked so perplexed until an idea came to her and she asked, “maybe something simple, we can do? Pasta?” As we sat down, she opened the appetisers for us. A spread of terrines, eggs, salad, champignons and saucisson. Then out came two plates of spaghetti with roasted pork. Just something they had whipped up using whatever they had at that early hour. It was this lunch that became the prelude to Roussillon and Gordes. Our stomachs feasted, then our eyes.