Breakfast at our house is always the same, whether it is in America, England, or here in France. It is always simply baguette, croissants, and sweet cream butter and good raspberry jam.
Cassis has a handful of hundreds-year-old vineyards. Today we went to La Ferme Blanche, or the white farm, and tasted their whites and roses. The white was floral; the rose was fruity. We left with a bottle of white Excellence, which tastes of the smokey wood barrel in which it is aged. While at the vineyard, we also pulled berries of the nearby Platane trees, and picked apricots. It was idyllic in a Bacchanalian sort of way.
Dejeuner in Town
The shores around Cassis are carved into Calanques, enormous and individualistic fjords that offer idyllic respite from the busy ports and beaches. We took a boat tour for an hour through five of them, and while no food was involved (other than sea air working up an appetite), they were stunning. Here’s a glimpse of sparkling waters and jagged cliffs.
After our heavy daube last night, I wanted to cook at home, but try new things in the style of all the Provencal dishes I’ve been observing around me. I served green olives brined with Provencal herbs, a carrot salad with spicy Dijon, a red pistou tagliatelle with the ubiquitous zucchini, head-on prawns with masses of garlic and lemon, and for dessert, a simple arrangement of ripe pears, Grenoble walnuts, and Petit Ecolier chocolate biscuits. Et voila. Moi, Provencal.