The Notion of a gastronomic guide to the French provinces is far from a new or novel one. More than four centuries ago travelers were using an informative little book entitled Chemin de Paris à Lyon à Venise, which contained all they needed to know about stagecoach schedules, village taverns, city hostelries, and suitable stabling for horses.
In the seventeenth century there appeared special guides for each province. Some of these contained advice which is quite applicable today, especially this: “Don’t be seduced by pompous publicity.” The traveler is warned that he will do much better in the city of Nancy by stopping at the Auberge du Grand Cerf rather than at the Hostellerie d’Appolon, where “an irascible host will persecute you without motive.”
The most detailed guide book of the nineteenth century advised voyagers to bring with them rope, a jack, a hammer, a pot of grease, candles, firearms, padlocks, a complete bed with pillows, traversins, sheets, and a deerskin, which was to be inserted between the hotel mattress and the sheets to discourage voracious nocturnal visitors.
A final and disquieting bit of advice makes it clear that travel had its perils long before the advent of the automobile. It was: “Be sure to draw up your last testament before departing.”
But although the idea of an epicurean guide is centuries old, the need for newly edited information is constant, a fact which has led to this modest series of articles. Incessant change occurs in the status of country inns and hotels, especially when the upsets and hardships of a war intervene. Each of the French provinces now offers new inducements and also, sadly enough, a defunct group of former gastronomic glories. In common with certain wine years which have gone over the top, some strongholds of fine food inevitably fade into oblivion. There are many savory exceptions, of course, and it is gratifying to find two noteworthy ones in the Dèpartement of the Yonne, the vine-clad northern wing of Burgundy which is our subject for this beguiling month of May. The names of these two country hotels alone will justify this chapter to those persons who are traveling in France this summer. If you are about to dash madly for an ocean liner, jot down these names in your notebook and skip the rest of my story: Hôtel de l’Etoile in Chablis and Hôtel de la Poste in Avallon.
But if you have a few more minutes to spare, read on, as the Yonne holds other rich rewards, particularly in the realm of wine, idyllic landscape, and architecture.
The great Carême did not make many friends among the architects when he ventured his definition of the arts. “The fine arts,” he stated flatly, “are five, as follows: Painting, Poetry, Music, Sculpture, and Architecture, which has for its principal branch La Pâtisserie.” Despite this master’s skill at concocting minarets, pagodas, and Roman towers out of spun sugar and pastry, one feels that he hit architecture a little below the belt, or should I say below the dado. The province of the Basse-Bourgogne will refute his naïve slur with a vengeance, without losing any stature as a principality of noble food. For this gracious, decorous parcel of ancient France is filled with a succession of beautiful towns which read like pages from an architect’s sketchbook… Sens, Joigny, Auxerre, Vézelay, Avallon. By a pleasant coincidence, each of them provides a better-than-average country inn. Add to this the famed town of Chablis and the undulating wealth of vineyards which surrounds it, and you have an epicurean magnet whose enticing pull is difficult to resist. The twin arts of architecture and gastronomy, adroitly aided by the fragrant vintages of Chablis, beckon to you, promising a memorable reward if you will but travel to Lower Burgundy! We recommend this calm, pastoral province with unhesitating enthusiasm.
If you motor southward from Paris through Fontainebleau, your road follows the River Yonne to Sens, a town of some 16,000 souls. A few notable old half-timber houses are still standing in Sens, but its greatest treasure is the Cathedral of St. Etienne, one of the most significant Gothic edifices in Europe. Its North tower remains unachieved, and its façade, dominated by the immense statue of St. Etienne, is somewhat severe. Nevertheless, the Cathedral of Sens leaves one fairly breathless by its beauty and massive scale. Architecture scores heavily here, but the art of the table is far from forgotten. Sens is famed for its sweets and biscuits, which may be in short supply just now, and also for its snails, hams, and andouillettes, those pungent and aromatic sausages made from anonymous spare parts of a pig, which may prove to be something of an acquired taste.
There are two hotels in Sens where you can taste these and other Burgundian specialties with confidence and delectation. One is the Hôtel de Bourgogne, a long-established house over which Monsieur Trognon has presided for some thirty years. The other is the Hôtel de Paris et de la Poste, located near the Cathedral. Its genial proprietor, Monsieur Sandré, is a Chevalier du Tastevin, which should give more than a hint of the integrity and charm of his cuisine.
If you continue southward and watch the map closely, you will find the village of Villevallier, where the architecture isn’t so noteworthy, but the little Pavillon Bleu is. Here you may dine most agreeably on Burgundian fare, particularly snails, trout from the river, or coq au Chablis, in a shaded garden overlooking the valley of the Yonne.
Should you arrive in the riverbank town of Joigny near lunchtime you are fortunate, for the rustic Hôtel Escargot awaits you here with a distinguished selection of local dishes. Needless to say, snails are among them—in season. Monsieur Froment’s cellar contains some particularly fine Chablis. If you would have an architectural apéritif before luncheon, I recommend a short climb up the steep streets of the town to a most extraordinary brick-and-timber house whose ancient carved beams fan out to represent the Tree of Jesse. It is unique in France.
Architecture assumes the ascendancy in Auxerre, the next stop along the river road. This cheerful city fairly bristles with fine Gothic towers. Besides the Cathedral of St. Etienne and the Abbaye de St.-Germain, there are two other notable churches and a perfect fifteenth-century picturebook clock tower which arches the main street. Either the long-established Hôtel de l’Epée or the attractive old Tour d’Orbandelle will take adequate care of the hungry sightseer after he has made a tour of Auxerre.
The fairest flower of the Yonne, of course, is the sublime hill town of Vézelay. For centuries pilgrims have been coming to this medieval shrine where Saint Bernard inspired his Crusaders in the twelfth century. The matchless Romanesque Church of the Madeleine is one of the rarest treasures of French art. Its sculpture is an utter inspiration. Vézelay would merit a visit, even if you had to nibble a piece of hard tack for luncheon. But fortunately the worthy old Hôtel Poste is in the heart of the citadel, ready to take good care of present-day pilgrims.
Ten miles eastward is another hill town, Avallon, with Romanesque treasures of its own. The ramparts of this ancient stronghold are still standing. Its houses bulge with old towers, and its steep-roofed clock tower stands just as it did in the fifteenth century. Few portals in this world can approach the splendor and richness of those on the south façade of the Church of St. Lazare. Avallon offers a handsome aesthetic reward indeed. It may seem a trifle gauche to mention mere transitory Burgundian food in the same paragraph with ageless Romanesque carving, but in the present instance it doesn’t seem irreverent. For here is a genuine citadel of fine cooking, probably the very best in Burgundy at the present time. They just can’t cook badly in Avallon, and you will be well dined wherever you turn.
But Avallon’s noble Hôtel de la Poste is an experience! It is famed throughout the countryside as one of the few remaining shrines of la grande cuisine. Guide books triple-star it, and gourmets make lengthy detours to include it in their itinerary. This venerable hostelry dates from 1707 and right at the moment is at its epicurean peak, due to the skill and lofty standards of Monsieur Huré, its proprietor. The fine dishes of Burgundy are all here, including such particular favorites as jambon chaud á la chablisienne and poulet au gratin. The wine cellar possesses aged treasures from great years or fresh young vins du pays to act as a foil for these exquisite dishes. You wouldn’t expect such fare to be cheap, and it isn’t, but if you are accustomed to just the average New York restaurant check, you will probably be startled at the fairness of your addition.
But the epicurean portrait of Avallon is not yet complete. On its outskirts are two other temples of good Burgundian fare which merit your confidence. One is the Relais Fleuri at La Cerce, a pleasant little spot three miles east of Avallon. The other is a joyous auberge in the Vallée du Cousin, two miles or so west of the town. This is called the Moulin des Ruats, and it is a bit more festive, picturesque, and exotic than other Burgundian inns. It is presided over by a gracious lady named Madame Berthier, whose son is the chef. This neighborhood is beribboned with small streams which provide trout and crayfish for the artistry of this gifted cook. You may find, however, that the subtlest fascination of the place is its clientèle. If you like to play guessing games on the subject of which guests have taken marriage vows and which have not, this may enthrall you.
Just as a child will put aside the frosting on his cake, so our most toothsome morsel has been saved for the last. This is Chablis, a name that everybody knows, but a town that comparatively few have ever visited. You won’t be sorry for the detour to Chablis, if only for the Hôtel Etoile, a country hotel you’ll never forget. The village is not particularly enticing except during the vendange when the streets are animated with purple-stained carts and pretty, full-hipped young grape-pickers. The doors of the wine cellars are open then, and you can hear the creaking of the old oak presses and smell the haunting, fruity odor of newly pressed Pinot Chardonnay. The wines of Chablis are a chapter in themselves, for another day, but the Hôtel Etoile must have a few words.
Here is an honest, unsophisticated country inn, frequented largely by country people. Monsieur Bergerand, its proprietor, belongs to a noble generation of painstaking chefs, and he is absolutely devoted to the ideal of scrupulous quality. It is a privilege to sit in his old-fashioned dining room, especially on a Sunday when it is filled with ruddy-faced Burgundian families in their best clothes. They have wit and charm, these robust people, and an earthy humor. La gastronomie joviale reigns here, in a most inspired form! Depending upon the season, Monsieur Bergerand can serve you woodcock, quail, partridge, truffles, trout, or tripe à la mode. He is famed for his chicken pâté in crust, for ham, for fish or pullets cooked in authentic Chablis, and for a most remarkable orange soufflé. Above all, his way of cooking that old faithful, coq au vin, is noteworthy (a recipe follows later). And it is a momentous experience to taste the gamut of white wines of Chablis, four or five of them in a crescendo of excellence, at Monsieur Bergerand’s hospitable board. Even without oysters!
In these still troubled days when food is none too plentiful, perhaps you are wondering how people like Monsieur Bergerand and Monsieur Huré can achieve such culinary splendor. The secret lies, I think, in their patient ability to make the absolute best out of whatever they have. As an illustration of this admirable Latin quality, may I cite a revealing experience in the chill February of 1944, when I visited a group of French Intelligence officers in Italy. They were quartered in the deserted town of Venafro. They invited me to stay for lunch, which I anticipated with no particular relish, since both French and Americans were living on canned rations at the time. To my stupefaction, the luncheon tasted like something from Lapérouse.
We began with a rich, undefinable brown soup. Then came a potato soufflé, crowned with a crackling cheese crust, scented with bacon. Finally there appeared at each place a small individual cabbage, stuffed with real meat and permeated with the perfume of fragrant herbs. This was more than my curiosity could stand, and I asked to meet the cook, ostensibly to congratulate him. He was a genial fellow, quite willing to divulge his secrets. He cleared up the mystery of the soup at once. It was based on American peanut butter, using dried peas and bacon rinds as foils. The soufflé was made from dehydrated potatoes, boiled, mashed, and whipped into a fluff by the expenditure of much muscular force. The delectable cheese crust came from little cans of cheese and bacon which were rescued from boxes of K rations, then grated and sprinkled atop the whipped potatoes.
But what about that stuffed cabbage? Eh bien, that was a little special, admitted the chef. First of all, he found the cabbages in an abandoned Italian garden. The herbs and spices he already had in his traveling kitchen. But that meat stuffing? “Eh bien, that comes from those cans of Mayott et Bayons which the Americans give us,” he explained. I failed to understand, and he became more explicit. “Voilà les Mayott et Bayons,” he said, showing me some cans of that dreary C Ration known as Meat and Beans. “It’s all quite simple. I open the box, and then with a knife I push the bayons to that side and keep the mayott on this side. After a good many boxes, I have enough mayott to stuff my cabbages. C’est tout!”
Monsieur Bergerand doesn’t stuff his partridge with C Rations today, nor does Monsieur Huré base his superb potages on peanut butter, but you may be sure that they are using equal ingenuity to make the utmost of the generous bounty which comes from their Burgundian soil.
Now for a quarter of good Burgundian recipes, adapted for your American kitchen. There are varied schools of thought on the preparation of the classic coq au vin. Some cook the bird in red wine, some in white. Some allow the meat to become impregnated with the wine. Others add the wine sauce late in the game. The latter method, which is employed at the Hôtel de l’Etoile in Chablis, is delineated below.
Le Coq à la Mode de Bourgogne (Coq au Vin)
Cut up a good, meaty roasting chicken as for a fricassee. Put 1/8 pound butter in a heavy pot and, when it is melted, add about the same amount of diced lean bacon. Let this brown lightly in the butter, remove, and put to one side. Lightly brown the chicken pieces on all sides in the fat. Remove them, with some of the fat, to another casserole. Cover and continue cooking in a slow oven (300° F.) for about an hour, or until the chicken is tender.
To make the sauce, put the bacon bits back in the original pan, add 6 onions, allowing them to brown a little, a bouquet garni, 1/2 pound mushroom caps, 1 truffle, chopped, and salt and pepper to taste. Pour in 3 cups good red wine and 1 cup chicken stock. Simmer all together for about 1 hour, or until reduced to 1/2 the original quantity. Stir in 1 generous tablespoon beurre manié, made by blending 1 tablespoon butter with 1 tablespoon flour, to thicken the sauce a bit. One or two tablespoons Madeira enhance the flavor. Pour all over the chicken, allow to simmer together for 5 minutes, and serve.
Boeuf à la Mode en Terrine
This is a good cold meat to serve in hot weather. It is made by placing in the bottom of a deep pot 2 calf’s feet and 1 pig’s foot, cut or broken into manageable pieces. On this place alternate layers of sliced chuck beef and sliced pork in the proportion of 2 1/2 pounds beef to 1 1/2 pounds pork. Salt and pepper plentifully between the layers and add 2 medium-sized onions, 3 carrots, all sliced, 2 cloves garlic, 3 sprigs parsley, 3 bay leaves, 6 or 7 cloves, 1 teaspoon thyme, and 1/2 teaspoon each cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg. Cover with a few pieces bacon rind or pork rind. Pour in 3/4 cup white wine and 3 tablespoons brandy, cover closely, and simmer for 5 or 6 hours. Remove the meat only and chop it coarsely or leave it in pieces as desired. Strain the juice over the meat through a fine cloth. Allow to cool and jell before serving.
The Burgundian’s understandable instinct to cook in wine, whether the dish be fish, fowl, or meat, has led to a toothsome group of specialties. Here is one of their appetizing ways of cooking eggs in red wine:
Oeufs à la Bourguignonne
Pour into a pan 1 cup red wine and 1 cup bouillon. Add a bouquet garni, 1 onion, sliced, 1 clove garlic, salt and pepper to taste, and a pinch each cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. Cover and cook for 10 minutes. Now remove the pieces of seasoning and poach 4 to 6 eggs in this liquid.
Remove the eggs and keep them hot. Strain the liquid, reduce it over the fire to 1 generous cup, and then bind it with 1 generous tablespoon butter blended with 1 tablespoon flour. The eggs are placed on slices of bread fried in butter, and the sauce is poured over them.
A wine taster will usually nibble a morsel of bread or cheese or a nut in order to clear his palate for successive wines. The native Burgundian has devised something much better than this, however. It is la gougère, a sort of cheese brioche, which is an absolutely perfect companion piece to a goblet of good Burgundy, be it red or white. But it goes with a hundred other things, too. These amounts may be cut in half, for a small gougère.
La Gougère
Heat together in a saucepan 2 cups milk, 1/4 pound butter, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. When they reach the boiling point, remove from the fire and add 1 3/4 cups flour. Return to the fire for a minute or two, stirring continually. Remove from the fire again and add 8 eggs, 2 by 2, stirring continually and working in each pair of eggs thoroughly before adding more. Now add 1/4 pound Swiss cheese, cut in very small cubes, and finally 2 tablespoons heavy cream. Butter a pastry ring (or two, if you are doing this entire recipe) and place it on a buttered cooky sheet. Pour the paste into this and stick a few small cubes of cheese into the surface. Brush a little beaten egg over the top and bake in a rather slow oven (325° F.) for 40 minutes to 1 hour. Do not open the oven door while la gougère is rising. It should emerge brown, crusty, and puffed up.