A Culinary Trilogy Part II: Simply hated having to leave Le Touquet but I must continue on to  the second of my three seaside resort visits. I paid my bill and thanked Mme. Veronique, the charming little desk clerk who, I believe, truly hated to see me leave. Voila, it’s like that sometimes. Stopping at Jean-Pierre’s, the corner bar/tabac, I grabbed a  croissant with a super-sized cafe au lait (two thimbles full) and carefully studied my map. At this time of day, it was quiet and lovely but I assure you not in the evening when le jukebox is on at maximum volume; it’s as if Aznavour or Jacque Brel were in your “living” and everything seemed cloudy and blue with cigarette smoke. Anyway, I am heading down the coast towards Normandy because something there is calling me, like I like the swallows of Capistrano but not quite. Point of reference, my journey will take me on a southerly route away from the Opal Coast to la Côte Fleurie or the Flowered Coast, which stretches between the estuaries of the Seine and the Orne Rivers. Road warriors will appreciate the fact that my trusty little Peugeot has been holding out quite well and is simply great in holding the  road especially the back roads with those blind hairpin turns where you just hope for the best. For the life of me, I can’t understand how the car rental agency could tell me with a straight face that my car comfortably holds three passengers, driver and luggage. Unless, of course, you have four little European dwarfs then by all means throw in the dog and the cat.

On this leg of my journey, I swore I was not going to use my GPS which apparently comes with its own built-in attitude. For some reason I find “the voice” a little too smart-assed and condescending for my taste and furthermore I can’t stand  the  reproachful tone when I miss a turn or two, even when I’ve been warned several thousand meters ahead of time. Therefore, to be a little more creative I’m using a 1939 Guide Michelin Guide du Pneǔ. I can’t imagine things will have changed that much. It is Normandy after all. A historical note, the Allied forces handed out copies of the 1939 Guide Mich to all officers prior to the Normandy landings. Apparently the Allied High Command feared their progress into French towns and cities would be hampered by the Germans having destroyed all road signs in a fit of efficiency and the Guide Michelin just happened to have extremely detailed maps of towns – better than any other maps that were available to the Allies.  All-in-all, I must say I did rather well navigating with le Guide. Granted, I hit a couple of dead ends, drove into a farmhouse courtyard that bore no resemblance to any Marriott Courtyard I ever knew and once even came face-to-face with an unusually large Normand cow who immediately pegged me as an intruder and promptly showed me its derrière. I yelled  in English “I’ve had ruder things happen to me!” then again in French just in case la vache normande didn’t get the message.

 My destination is Deauville, probably the most luxury-minded town of the Flowered Coast and I’m staying at a lovely little mom and pop hotel, the Hotel Normandy Barrière , at least that’s what I told my editor because I doubt he would understand my particular need for a seawater spa after a long drive. What’s a 5-star hotel for anyway if not to indulge the little folk, such as myself, on those rare occasions? A quick word about the hotel, it’s your average run of the mill hotel built in 1912 in that light and airy Anglo-Normand style. You might expect to run into a William the Conqueror or Winston Churchill, arm-in-arm, I mean you just never know. I could see the two of them in sturdy wing chairs comparing invasion tactics. The hotel hosts all sorts of visitors with familiar names like Sarkozy, Merkel, and Medvedev (sounds like a law firm from Hell!) and of course the  regular litany of screen stars and the average rich and famous who are there because they can. I suppose yours truly wanted to just rub elbows with that patrician milieu, eat remarkably well and escape with an relatively intact liver to write my next story, perhaps  one from the Emerald Coast.


When I travel I suppose I’m somewhat of a creature of habit; rather than constantly buzzing around the glitteratzi I like to leave the beau-monde and seek out those little off the beaten path restaurants. So after a little detective work, I found what I was looking for, a charming little establishment with a spectacular menu to beat the band. As I usually do, I chatted in French with the delightful owners about the weather, the food, the tourists and the economy of course, could things get any worse, the price of this and that… etc. But since I was un Americain et non pas un Anglais they were eager to tell me about their prodigal son Philippe who was in California with his technology business (un start-up voulez-vous).  I began my evening’s culinary journey with a half-dozen oysters Gelée Légère à la Citronnelle paired very nicely with a chilled white Burgundy Côte de Nuits. A little more chit-chat with Monsieur then I moved on to some simply outstanding Foie Gras de Canard Vanillé en Robe de Pistaches -or duck liver pâté in a pistachio crust. You could have stuck a fork in me, right then and there, I was that done! I should have stopped but I knew in my heart of hearts I would hate myself in the morning. So, with steely doggedness and my diner companion, a bottle of Bordeaux Médoc a young Pauillac that I could not resist, I ordered the suggested plate – an old standard in Normandy to be sure – but a dish you can never, ever go wrong with, the Poulet à la Normande.  My choice did not prove me wrong I can assure you. It was a hearty and flavorful dish with the apples, Calvados, and fresh cream all dancing wonderfully together with that slow chicken. I emptied the basket of sliced baguette twice so as not waste one single drop of sauce. This main course is very much du pays which is how I like to operate on these dangerous missions because to do less would mark me as an etranger -and shoot me before that ever happens! I usually tend to shy away from la nouvelle cuisine as I am not a particularly big fan of two stalks carrots balanced against a whisper of meager-but tender veal medallion. That’s not dinner but rather an hors d’oeuvre! I digress. For desert, I was content with just a humble slice of apple tart made with those lovely green Normandy apples from the owners’ very own orchard. It was suggested and I agreed, to just a wee touch of Calvados over the apples. After a couple of express with just whiff of Calva, I was ready to do battle in the casino.  

There are as many variations on the Poulet à la Normande as there are people in Normandy but I believe this recipe hits the nail of on the head.  I hope you enjoy!

Poulet à la Normande
Adapted from “Chez Panisse Fruit,” by Alice Waters.
(serves 4)

Ingredients:
1 (3 1⁄2-pound) chicken, cut into 8 bone-in pieces
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
5 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 onions, diced
2 carrots, diced
3 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
1⁄2 cup Calvados
1 cup apple cider (cidre brut, svp)
1 cup chicken stock
30 pearl onions
3 medium apples, peeled, cored and cut into 8 wedges (the ones in your orchard should be fine)
1 cup crème fraîche.

Directions:

Season the chicken with salt and pepper. In a large, heavy saucepan, melt 2 tablespoons of the butter with the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the chicken skin-side down and brown on all sides. Transfer to a plate.
Pour off most of the fat from the pan. Add the onions, carrots, thyme and bay leaf and cook until the onions are translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the Calvados, warm slightly, then stand back and ignite it. Once the flames die, and you are still have hair on your head, add the cider, scraping up the brown bits. Bring to a boil and reduce by half. Add the stock and return the chicken to the pan. Simmer, covered, for 20 minutes. Transfer the breast pieces to a bowl. Cook the legs and thighs for 10 more minutes and add to the bowl. Keep warm.
Meanwhile, soak the pearl onions in warm water before peeling. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a large skillet. Add the onions and a pinch of salt, cover and cook over medium heat for 10 minutes, shaking the pan occasionally. Uncover, add 1 tablespoon butter and increase heat to medium-high. Place the apples in the center of the pan. Sear on each side for 10 to 15 minutes, until caramelized.

Strain the Calvados sauce and return it to the pan. Add the juices from the chicken. Whisk in the crème fraîche. Simmer until the sauce coats the back of a spoon. Season. Add the chicken pieces and warm through

Serving Suggestions: Serve with sautéed mushrooms and sautéed potatoes, or green peas and braised onions. I’m starved!! Perhaps a little Calva to get us all going?

Now about those wines…


Terrassous, Côtes du Roussillon, 2007 Blanc – “Les Pierres Plates”
Domaine Carrette, Pouilly-Fuissé, 2008 Blanc – “Ronchevat”
Chateau Greysac Red Bordeaux-Médoc 2007
Mas Du Soleilla, Languedoc, 2006 Rouge – “Les Chailles” 
Chateau Saint-Georges-Saint-Emilion

*Related culinary travel story: Seared Scallops with Tarragon Butter (Le Touquet and The Opal Coast)

**Looking for another Normand-style fix with more eggs, butter, heavy cream and Dijon mustard? Then try:

Pork Chops Normandy-style  For some reason the American Heart Association has refused to endorse this dish!