Cassoulet

Hotel le P'tit Monde, Martignac, France, March 13, 2012

ONE OF THE THINGS I looked forward to, concerning this little tour through France, was learning something about the current state of retail gastonomy. When we first traveled in France, thirty-eight years ago, retail gastronomy – by which I mean bakeries, charcuteries, public markets, and of course the restaurants, bistros, brasseries, cafés and whatnot ( and the number of descriptive nouns gives you an idea of the possibilities) — they seemed quite in advance of what we knew from our own dear United States of America.

Before long, though, things changed. We noticed we much more enjoyed eating in Italy, even in Netherlands, than in much of France. There the more serious restaurants grew fixated on Consistent Quality, always the enemy of authenticity. The rest of the retail gastonomy industry seemed ever more beholden to the big agrichem businesses, they and the shipping and marketing imdustries. We began to stay away from France, and spend more time exploring various corners of Italy and Spain.

Surely, though, I reasoned with myself, France has seen the light. Always reasonable, analytical, she would have come to terms with the recent errors of her ways, found a way to blame them on a foreign influence of some kind, and have reasserted her perennial title to supreme arbiter of matters of taste by reclaiming her patrimony, her heritage, her regional authenticities in the face of globalism.

Tonight was our second night in this French tour. Last night, as reported here, dinner was in Burgundy but strongly celebrating the Southwest. Tonight we are in Perigord and our menu was definitively Perigord, though with little nods to Savoy and the Jura, both on the menu and the wine list. Much as I love tartiflette and Apremont, we resisted those extra-departmental touches and went with the local.

That turned out to be, first, salad with lettuces, gesiers (confit of goose giblets sliced thin), and walnuts, dressed with a very discreet mustard walnut-oil vinaigrette; then, for me, cassoulet, with pig's trotter and sausage but no goose, the proper breadcrumb topping, drizzled with walnut oil. (Lindsey had goose confit instead of cassoulet.)

I was a little bit dubious about a cassoulet lacking confit, but it tasted almost exactly like our own cassoulet. I think this was because of the quality of the ingredients, the likelihood that goose stock was involved in the cooking of the beans, and the unctuous melding of pork-fat and garlic. I wanted to ask how this cassoulet was made, but decided there wasn't time; it would have kept us all for hours.

Dessert: walnut cake. This was so good and so unusual that we did in fact ask for the recipe, and here it is:

Husband (Juracien) at front of house, wife (Perigourdine) in kitchen. All well with the world.

 

Blanc du Bergerac, rouge du Bergerac, en pichet

 

•La Chaumière, 53, rue au IV Septembre, Montignac; 05 53 50 14 24