Advice
During my formative years, I was rarely without the benefit of advice -‘remember a verbal agreement is not worth the paper it is written on’- favourite of one particular schoolmaster, -‘if a man offers you his word or his bond, always take his bond’- another offered.
My grandfather suggested that I should never play poker with someone called ‘Doc’ and also never eat at somewhere called ‘Moms place’.
It was a challenge to remember those and legions more that were always on offer. But a recent suggestion from a good friend that we eat at ‘Bob’s Place’ brought them all flooding back.
It is in the Carmargue, said my friend, and quite difficult to find, does your car have the three word system? The only three that came to mind were not fit for print. Just give me the address, I said, my car will rise to the occasion.
OK, it is about 20 minutes south of Arles in the middle of nowhere!
The conversation continued and after an e mail or two the time and date were agreed and all I had to do was get there.
In the middle of nowhere it was, and still is. And my car rose to the occasion as a result of which we were half an hour early.
It was a dark and stormy day and having parked the car on wet grass and hopped hopefully in my pretentious blue suede shoes, we arrived at the door to an ancient house where a push of the ancient front door showed a dark interior lit by a roaring fire.
A few patrons were seated and a band was tuning up in a nook in the centre of the room. We were greeted warmly and mentioned our friends name and were immediately taken to another room, also lit by a roaring fire.
Our table was set, we were seated, nibbles arrived along with the wine list and we started to take in our surroundings.
The atmosphere here had been laid on with a bricklayers trowel, old posters for corridas, stained by wood smoke, lined the walls, and Bob, whose name turned out to be Jean-Guy, patrolled making sure that everyone was looked after.
I felt like I was back home in Ireland visiting my farming relations; it was a good feeling.
As our friends arrived so did our starters, a basket of Cruditée with anchoiade, a plate of bull charcuterie and heaps of Poutargue. We would not go hungry.
A choice of main courses was offered, Magret de canard cooked with a raspberry vinegar, Confit de canard, Casi of lamb — the upper part of the leg — cooked with a fresh ginger sauce, a bull rib or Pluma de cochon, all of these to be cooked on the open fires. Note I did not say barbecued, nothing so mundane, cooked meant leant on iron props and moved around as the mood took our passing Bob.
I ordered the pork which turned out to be the best piece of pork I remember eating, all other diners felt happy and fulfilled. It was simple and simply delicious, the atmosphere, of which we became part, had a long afternoon written in to it, but more storm clouds were arriving and we had many long miles to go that night before we reached a town Oh.
It is important to book (0490 97 00 29) and to remember that they are not open on Mondays and Tuesdays.
Now here comes the tricky bit, had the day been sunlit and warm, we would have eaten outside and the cooking would have been done in a large brick built fireplace fuelled by wood and cared for by Bob, the food would have been wonderful and the excellent service, excellent and the Gypsy Kings would have still played and entertained, but we were spoilt by the unique distressed interior and the down home feeling. I shall of course return but I am almost tempted to wait until next winter to do so. Almost!
My advice is Book and go.
Pip, pip
Trencherman
