The title of this travelogue may sound a bit like a small New England railroad specializing in perishable freight, but it is meant to convey a very different picture—that of a château-dotted, vine-ribbed pair of French provinces along the river Loire and its tributaries. Visitors to Brittany and the château country overflow into the unassuming Anjou-Maine area without knowing it. Tucked in between more publicized neighbors, it is less picturesque than Brittany, less endowed with famous chateaux and gardens than the Touraine. But it produces better wine than either of them, and its regional cookery is every bit as good.
We have followed the gastronomic convention of consolidating these two provinces in a single group, although the Anjou greatly out shines its northern neighbor. In fact, if it weren't for Monsieur Ricordeau and his wonderful country hotel in Loué, the Maine would cut a very pale swath indeed. Anjou consists of a single département, the Maine-et-Loire, while the Maine contains two départements, the Mayenne and the Sarthe. That's enough geography for today.
There couldn't be a more peaceful country than this-gentle, unhurried, full of repose and the joie de vivre which is always present in a wine-growing community. Irs villages arc usually the same. Tilled with cream-colored story-and-a-half houses built of the easily carved chalky stone of the region. Its fields are separated by hedges, its roads lined with regiments of poplars. The people are unpretentious, gay, and fond of their own wine. On last August fifteenth, the traditional French holiday. I motored through the Anjou but neglected to count the number of village festivals, bicycle races, and bowling matches encountered along the way. But they ran well into the dozens. The Angevins are fond of their own food, too, and for good reason. Nature has been kind to them. The Loire is wide and generous by the time it passes through here, providing fine shad and salmon, which ascend the river in the springtime, perch, tench, and an abundance of eel. They have their own way of cooking eels with prunes in the Anjou-a bit startling at first taste, but good. The lean, bony pike is their particular star, and quenelles de brochet au beurre blanc is a regional dish which belongs in the very top bracket. This suave beaten butter is the glory of the Anjou, along with its wines. It has subtle touches—a whisper of shallot and a few tear drops of wine vinegar just to point it up. The cookbooks say that the butter really turns white if you heat it just right and beat it long enough. The Anjou version is a frank pale yellow, and 1 don't believe it's because their cooks arc indolent with the sauce whisk. There just isn't a more delicious sauce for fresh-water fish. Rumor is that it's fattening, too. If you want to taste it, prepared by a native Angevin, without leaving Paris, the little Left Bank restaurant known as Chez Chataigner, at 75, rue du Cherche-Midi, offers the opportunity. Monsieur Chataigner is a master at it. as we mentioned in July.
The gastronomic glory of the Anjou is obvious—its magnificent wines. The temperamental slopes of the Loire River produce a succession of notable and quite dissimilar wines as it winds across the French countryside. Muscadet is very dry; Vouvray is delicate; Saint-Jean-de-Brayc is one of the rare red wines which taste better when iced; Pouilly-Fumé and Sancerre are fragrant treasure from the upper valleys. Anjou is equally favored, Its whites are superb as dessert wines-fragrant well balanced, strong in alcohol. They bear little resemblance to Sauternes, but they can rival the best of the château white wines except in their ability to travel well. The pinkish wines of the Anjou are pleasantly dry and very popular during varm weather. Finally there are a few reds, delicious, but lamentable travelers. It is a rare privilege to taste the admirable red Champigny in its home territory of Saumur.
The white wines are classified by the varied slopes of the Loire region, and the complete chart would take pages. It seems wiser to select a few classic names to paste in your hatband. From the Coteaux de la Loire, the Right Bank vineyards, comes a divine amber liquid called Coulée-de-berrant. The villages of Savennières and La-Roche-aux-Moines produce the best from this region. The Coteaux dc Layon, which contains the Left Bank vineyards south of the river, is a seductive slope crowned with a number of abandoned windmills. This is the source of the memorable Quarts de Chaume and a whole series of bacchic splendors,the best coming from the village of Rochefort-sur-Loire. From the Coteaux de Saumur comes a lighter, dryer wine with a touch of flintstone in its sprightly bouquet. It responds readily to the conventional champagne method. Large quantities of sparkling Saumur are stored in chalk Caves on the outskirts of the town. Finally, there are lesser wines from the banks of the Loir (without an “e”) and the Sarthe. The grape which produces most of these treasures is the same-Pineau de la Loire. The best years: 1921, 1928, 1933, 1934, 1937, 1942, 1943, 1945, and 1947.
Travel in the Anjou is easy and pleasant. There is plenty to see, for the place is saturated with history and filled with reminders of the Plantagenet kings. There are two good overnight stops with better than adequate hotels-Angers and Saumur-and a dozen or so nice little country inns for rural repasts. Let's have a look:
Angers (Maine-et-Loire)
The former capital of the Anjou is a busy city on the banks of the river Maine, a center of fine wines, roofing slates, and umbrellas; the home of that crystal-clear liqueur made from oranges and considered compulsory in a Sidecar, Cointreau. It is a logical center for visitors to the Anjou,and its hotels are good. The cathedral of Saint-Maurice is worth a visit, particularly for its stained glass. The Musée de Tapisseries in Angers is truly extraordinary. Installed in a former Episcopal palace, the museum is unique in France, containing some of the world's most astonishing tapestries. The feudal chateau of Angers, built in alternate stripes of gray slate and white sandstone, is still impressive, though partially dismantled. Its seventeen plump towers were once much higher and capped with conical roofs. Henri III ordered the chateau destroyed during the religious wars, but the governor entrusted with the demolition boondoggled (to use an ancient French phrase) as much as possible, until the King's death saved most of the immense fortress. At the peak of its splendor the château was the home of the famous Foulques family, who bore the title of Counts of Anjou and were picturesque characters all. One of them, Foulques-le-Réchin. divorced two wives and lived to a ripe old age only to suffer the indignity of having his ravishing young mistress, Bertrade de Montfort, stolen from him by none other than Philip I, King of France. The family teamed up with royalty when a tender Foulques lad of fourteen, named Geoffroy, was married to the twenty-nine-year-old granddaughter of William the Conqueror. He met the challenge well, The result of the marriage was a lad named Henri Plantagenet, who later married Eleanor of Aquitaine after she was divorced by the King of France. Tilings hummed from then on. Within two years the young man had acquired many French provinces and had become Henry II, King of England. Quite evidently the role of the Anjou in history is not to be ignored.
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