Staying close to Dinan

We'd done what I'd wanted to do in Bretagne, so today we just drove up the hill to Dinan to walk around the old part of the city and eat. The town is known for a mighty battle between an English knight, Cantorbery and a Bretin one, de Guesclin. The French victor is still a local hero and his heart is buried in the local church. His body parts lie in four places around the region, which is unusual as the kings of France are usually buried In only three.

In any case, the town celebrates its medieval roots, and why not since it still has the flavor of an old tow, with half-timbered houses and steep cobbled streets. We toured these, and I clmbed up in the clock tower which was unexpectedly frightening. Something about the thin wood railing did not inspire confidence as I edged nervously around the walkway taking pictures.

We ended up in a fancy restaurant for lunch, Le Cantorbery, and snagged the last unreserved table. It must be popular with the local burghers, because it was packed with locals. Everyone seemed to know each other. The food was superbe. Ira started with some Cancale oysters, which he dubbed the best of the trip. He followed that up with foie gras. I started with raw salmon and slices of cooked eggplant, a combination that was heightened by the whipped sauce that accompanied it. I then had medallions of monkfish, probably the last of the trip. These were by far the best. We rolled out of there and back into the car, where we took the long way back to the hotel.

After a nap, we strolled over to l'Ami Louis for our third meal. It wasn't quite as good as the others because we tried the beef and it was good, but not as revelatory as sir fish dishes. Still and all, we managed to consume a large quantity of cote de boeuf and wine and felt mellow as we strolled back to the hotel. We kept getting distracted. There were two wedding in town, so we kept running into revelers in kilts and fancy dresses. There was a singer at one of the receptions with a fine voice. And at the end of the night as we crossed a bridge, we stopped to hear a guitarist and singer at a local outdoor cafe play some incredible songs. The sound carried well over the water, and we sat there for quite a while. I even went to get my camera to take some more night shot,

Although we technically stayed in the Lanvallay side, the Port of Dinan served us very well. It's off to Bourges tomorrow and the heart of France profonde.

Carnac the Magnificent

I love prehistoric traces, and Bretagne is full of dolmens, menhirs and burial sites. Ira and I drove to Carnac today to see some of the more complicated structures. Even on the way, we'd see the occasional standing stone, but over the centuries, you're never sure if they are in their original place or they had been moved.

The drive was long and lovely, about two hours through mostly back roads. Northern France is such rich countryside, crop yields look good and the cows seem fat and happy. And the villages certainly seem to have money, as the houses are all neatly maintained.

Just outside of Carnac lie Les Alignements, a massive grouping of standing stones in rough rows that cover acre after acre. Ira and I walked around one if there extant fields, you can't walk among them during the busy season because they are worried about soil damage. If you show up in winter, you can traipse among them. There were certainly plenty of people there today, though not the crush there might be on a sunny weekend day.

I loved just wandering by, admiring the size of the site. It continues for another kilometer or so, but we didn't visit that until after lunch.

We ate at The Magic Potion in the city of Carnac itself. It was on the second story, and we sat out on the patio soaking up the warm sunshine and eating terrific food, I had a galette with sardines in a Kharkiv and parsley sauce. Ira had one with anchovies, tomatoes and cheese, almost like a crepe pizza. Both were perfect. The galette has such a wonderful texture!

My dessert was excellent, a crepe with apples cooked in butter and mixed with a currant jam. Ira had the ice cream and fell in love. He said it's the best he's had in a long time, which is high praise for someone who eats ice cream in a daily basis. He thought if bringing the waiter over and setting him up with a shop. I remarked that he probably didn't actually make the stuff, and that perhaps Ira was being confused by a pair of blue blue eyes.

After lunch, we drove to Locmariaquer, where there is a magnificent collection of megaliths. First is the biggest prehistoric standing stone, no longer standing. It's broken into four pieces. Next is the Merchant's Table, which is a group of standing stones now covered by a tumulus or grouping of small rocks. The tumulus is a reconstruction. It's great to be able to walk inside and see the shallow engravings in the rocks. You have to duck REALLY low to get through the doorway.

After our fill of antiquity, we drove back home, had a quick period of relaxation, then went out to dinner. We chose l'Ami Louis again, and it was still superb. I started with foie gras as an appetizer, and it was so rich and creamy I want to hug every goose I come across. Ira had the before that I had three days ago, the raw scallops.

He again had the fish shout, while I tried the brochettes de lottes. Yes, more monkfish, this time served with vegetables and a creamy sauce. Itwas perfect. I hope they have monkfish in the US. Ugly creatures, but so tasty!

I am ready to call it a night. Dinan tomorrow. Not much driving, but more walking.

Emerald Coast

There's a bakery in town where we tried the couign amman, a Breton specialty that we tried in Paris and that was one of the reasons we came here! Both Ira and I were unimpressed. It seemed a bit tough. Luckily, we went back this morning and had an apple pastry that might have been the best I've ever eaten. We shared one, then immediately went back for another. It was so light and flaky and yet contained so much butter that it must be breaking a law of physics somehow.

We finally had some sustained sunshine, and it was the perfect time for a drive along the Emerald Coast. We started in Dinard, didn't get out of the car but circled the town on the sea side. Just north of town, we pulled over and strolled through a nature area with high growth on either side of the path. From time to time a vista would open up. The lighting was good, so I took a few of Ira.

We continued driving along the sea, occasionally driving through villages and sometimes trending inland through fields of corn, with pastures filled with brindled cows and shaggy sheep with horns that curved back from their heads.

We made for Cap Frehel, a large natural area with wild vistas and acres of dense brush and heather. The sun was shining and the colors of the terrain were brushed with purple, yellow and dull red. The lighthouse at the point was built in 1950 in a stern but still wonderful style. I clambered up the steps for a high view while Ira kept his feet on the ground. 

The cliffs had a red tinge, which contrasted marvelously with the light blue waters. H sky was filled with blue and white clouds massed along the horizon. The wind at the top of the tower was fresh, and I felt a little breathless gazing north, trying to see the islands just out of eyesight.

We continued our drive and ended up on St. Brieuc for lunch. We hit some traffic because of construction, but we found a parking spot in the centre vile and sat down for a lovely meal of galettes at Le Ribeault. Ira had one with chèvre and a side salad tossed in top. I had one with scallops, shrimp and leeks in cream sauce. Luckily, I had a petit pichet of muscadet to cut the richness. We shared a dessert crepes made with the groseilles and it was marvelously tart, with butter and chantilly.

After that, it was just a case of getting out of town while avoiding the jam. We're getting good at traffic circles and routes! Now we're resting until dinner. More to come...

Breizh is Bretagne for Brittany

One of the reasons we are in Brittany is because of our experience at Breizh Cafe in Paris a few years back. We ate buckwheat crepes and fell in love with them. Since the restaurant has outposts in Paris, Tokyo and Cancale, we decided to pay them a visit on this trip in the homeland.

Bretagne has its own culture and language. At one point it was culturally a close to England. It's French name, Grand Bretagne, makes this clear. The Arthurian legends come from Bretagne lays or poems. So Breizh--roughly pronounced "brights"--is how you say the region's name in its own language.

First off the bat, we drove close to Mont St. Michel. Neither Ira nor I wanted to visit as there's just too many people there, but we wanted to eyeball it and that we did, both from the main parking area and from the road as we drove to Cancale. It's wonderful just as shape and sculpture.

We drove the small roads to our lunch spot, with Ira navigating, through lush countryside filed with small villages and cows and crops. There was some type of cabbage or kale that was planted in great quantities. 

We missed the first turnoff for the Port de Cancale, which is what we wanted, and drive through the center of town, typically Breton with narrow streets and winding routes. We quickly reoriented and made our way down to the bay's edge. It was low tide, so the first surprise was to see all of the boats sitting in mud. At high tide, they all rise with the seawater, a cycle that repeats itself every six hours or so.

We found Breizh Cafe more by luch than anything else, it was raining at the time and Ira and I only brought one umbrella, so to come unawares into our destination was a pleasant surprise.

Our waiter was a mutt. We chatted with him once the lunch rush wound down (and he dealt with an emergency call to their telecommunications register system, which was down). His mother was Irish, his father half French from Indochina and half black from Africa. He spoke both English and French at home and had an accent in both. He was charming... But we're not here to talk about people...

We started with a round dozen of local oysters, full of their salty liquor, and so tender in hue he tongue.

The buckwheat crepe or galette (ble de noir) is savory and altogether amazing. It's edges crisp and almost trellised, the center soaking up the contents, in my case onions and ham and egg and for Ira, ham, egg and mushrooms. I must learn how to make these. It'll be a winter project.

Ira and I split the chocolate crepe for dessert, a decision that Ira regretted and brought up over the course of the afternoon as we wended our way back home, along the Emerald Coast. We stopped at Pointe du Grouin, where the color of the water was so amazingly green. Not in the photos of course, as the sun hid whenever I got out of the car! Trust me it was magnificent, and we'll be along the coast a bit further west tomorrow, so maybe I'll catch it in pixels then.

Driving through St. Malo, both Ira and I loved the industrial port area. It looked designed and chic in great and yellow with futuristic cranes and groupings of building that had their own mass and symmetry.

Then, we plunged in country and drove along the western edge of the Rance, capturing views of boats, cornfields, cows and lush looking villages. There's plenty if money in Breizh!

Dinner was in Lanvallay, at l'Atelier Gourmand, a quaint little restaurant in a timbered old building right next to the water. Our welcome was warm and to room cozy. We sat next to Italians, and French people filled the tiny room. We shared an appetizer after our big lunch, a baked Camembert topped with pepper and sesame seeds. We also shared a small bottle of muscadet, though I drank most of it. Ira had the moules marinieres with frites. They were plump and tender and numerous. (I helped.) I had brochettes de lotte, that wonderful monkfish I had yesterday, this time on a bed of spinach and leeks. Lot is my new favorite fish. 

We didn't share desert this time. Ira had a pave de chocolate, which is a big slab of chocolate cake, dense and dark and rich. He loved the small bunch of groseilles blanches that came as counterpoint to the richness of the chocolate. These are grapes somewhere between gooseberries and currents, tart and flavorful.

My dessert was a croquant gourmand au caramel au beurre sale de Madison, which turned out to be a tower of alternating shortbread and vanilla ice cream swimming in the most luxurious pool of caramel you can imagine. The hot, sharp espresso I had to end my meal was like a necessary medicine to all that deep sugar. We strolled home almost at a toddle, even a totter, after all that food, all those tastes!