France: November 5 -- Le Roi Carotte

Sunday was a day to sleep late, a day to take a drive, and -- bien sûr -- a day to take in sunday lunch.

The goal of the day was, foolishly, to find a market and buy some food. Sunday markets aren't that common, but they exist. Unfortunately, I was under the mistaken impression that I could waltz in somewhere in the afternoon. In any case, we decided to head off along the Dordogne to St. Cyprien, a village on the way to Bergerac. The sun was out and the sky was a clear blue, so at the very least we would have a nice drive. We did.

Driving between 12 and 12.30 in the french countryside can be a harrowing business. There aren't many cars on the road, because most people are enjoying lunch. However, the cars on the road are there solely because they are on their way to lunch and getting late. So they drive fast and make dangerous passes on tiny country roads. In any case, we survived, and as the time began to tick closer to one o'clock, we realized that we really needed to find a place ourselves if we were going to eat at all.

We stopped in a little village called Rouffignac, but there was only a couple of hotel restaurants that served typical tourist food (confit). Confit is of course good, otherwise I wouldn't sell it at high prices, but you get tired of the typical tourist confit they serve. Anyway, the places were nearly empty, never a good sign. We decided to cross the Dordogne to the next village. After a little walking we found a sign to a place 1 km away so drove there -- to Le Roi Carotte.

It was a lovely small hotel with a restaurant filled with a few big french families. The proprietor greeted us and let us eat as long as we weren't in a hurry. This was key because everyone else had ordered and it would take a while before he was to get to us. But we weren't, and it was pleasant. We sat at a small table next to a big window. We wiled the time away with a Pastis, before receiving our appetizer. Stig had the paté de foie gras, which differs from foie gras in that it is surrounded by a pork paté. I had a dish that was new to me, pears roasted with Roquefort, served on a salad with a nice sharp dressing. The saltiness of Roquefort blue cheese complements sweet fruit quite well, so it was good. We started drinking a very local wine, a Domme Tradition 2004, made in Domme 20 km away. We decided it definitely contained no cabernet, and asked the man which grapes it was made of. The answer? Cabernet, and merlot. Oh, well.

What better for sunday lunch than a cassoulet, that rich dish with beans and pork and duck confit in a creamy brown sauce? It came bubling hot, though with the traditional sausage. Everyone else (almost) at the restaurant got some other bubling stew out of the over, though I didn't see it on the menu, I guess they kept the dish of the day a secret to us foreigners. But the cassoulet was filling and good, and Stig had confit. Mind you, good confit.

Now, remember the window we sat next to? The sun shone right through it, and though it was a relatively cool day, we started to get hot like greenhouse tomatoes. Really hot, like sweating and desperate to get out and cool down. Next time pick the table in the shade....

It wasn't before three that we drove the rest of the way to St Cyprien, where there wasn't much, so we turned back and did a little sightseeing along the river, popping into a castle atop a big cliff. Pretty.

There isn't that much more to say. We drove back hoping to find an open shop but all shops closed at 12 on Sunday, so so much for that. We went home, fixed up an omelet, heated up the doggy-bag pizza and feasted on some cabicou cheese, actually quite mature and good, the stuff we bought the day before. Off early to bed before the big meeting with Valette the next day!