Call it a combination of luck and due diligence then, and as a result we hit it right at Sénanque Abbey, we hit it right on the plateau surrounding Sault, we hit it right at various points in between, and from time to time we were wowed by bright, eye-catching sunflower fields.

Stunning views of purple-blue fields of lavender in bloom are far from the only pleasure of Provence, but such images have become so engrained in the traveler’s imagination of the perfect Provence vacation that the most common question I get from those planning to visit the region is “When is the lavender in bloom?”

When is lavender in bloom, and where?

Broadly speaking, Provence’s “blue gold” blooms from early June to mid-August, even beyond, though the edges of that 10-week window can be iffy. So let’s say mid-June to late-July to be sure.

That doesn’t mean you’ll find flowering fields everywhere during that period. Lavender—both “true” lavender and the hybrid lavandin—blooms at different times, in different locations, at different altitudes. It stays in color for a month or more before being harvested, again at different times, locations, altitudes. So don’t come expecting to find all of the fields in full color throughout the summer.

Lavender fields typically begin to flower east of the Rhone River around the second week in June in the lower altitudes in the department of Drôme (particularly in its southern portion known as Drôme Provençale) and in the northern portion of the department of Vaucluse, as well as in Vaucluse’s southern portion in and around the Luberon (e.g. Gordes, Sénanque).

One morning last year, on a 7th of June, while biking along the northern side of the Luberon, after passing several brown-grey fields, I sensed a haze of the palest of purples hanging like fog over long rows of planted mounds—or it was a mirage?

Depending on the type of plant, the weather and the altitude, the flowering begins a week or two or three later on the slopes and especially plateaus further from the Rhone River in Drome, Vaucluse (e.g. Sault) and Alpes du Haute Provence (e.g. Valensole), as well as in bordering departments.

While harvesting of the lower fields may begin as early as July 1, harvesting at the higher altitudes won’t be underway until the second half of the month, possibly not until the end of July or even well into August.

If your sense of the geography of the above-mentioned areas is unclear, see this map of approximate blooming and harvest periods.

Within the periods indicated on that map, those lovely lavender fields won’t be everywhere. You may have to go looking for them. But don’t make a detour to distant fields without first asking someone in the know, such as at a local tourist office. Otherwise, you may arrive only to find long mounds of dirt, as though the fields were a graveyard for the sandworms from Dune. Imagine how disheartening it can be to arrive at a field of dreams only to be told, “Oh, you should have been here yesterday, before the harvest. It was beautiful.”

Travelers needing a lavender fix while visiting the Riviera from mid-July into August may try venturing up to the fields north of Grasse.

Several years ago, on a 6th of August, while accompanying a group that had despaired of not seeing blooming lavender fields at the lower altitudes during their stay, I called around to find out if there had been any lavender sightings that week. Armed with an answer, I then led the group on a long detour from our long-planned itinerary to the vast fields on the eastern side of the Valensole Plateau where, bingo, there it was. Though not the bright magenta or electric purple promised in the glossies or the shocking blue or dark violet seen in photowashed travelgrams, it was a sight to behold: a true pale herbal floral lavender dancing in the breeze atop rounded bushes that snaked in long curving rows pointing toward the Alps.

From year to year and zone to zone, blooming and harvest times will vary. Therefore, when asked to help travelers with planning months in advance of a trip, I advise them to think of colorful lavender fields as a treat rather than a destination so as to avoid breaking any hearts (and getting blamed when lavender dreams turn to dirt).

Learning about Lavender and Lavandin

Along with the pleasure to the eyes, shops throughout Provence sell lavender-scented and lavender-based products for the pleasure of the nose and of the skin—soaps, creams, perfumes, fragrances, sachets, etc.—and of the mouth in the case of lavender honey (the real kind from bees working in the lavender fields). For my taste, lavender honey can be too intensely lavender for most uses, but adding a few dabs to a baguette-and-butter breakfast tartine makes for a sweet and soothing start to the day.

You’ll find lavender products wherever you go in the region. Sénanque Abbey, for example, has a large selection in their shop of monastic products. Nearby, in Cabrières-d’Avignon, between L’Isle sur la Sorgue and Gordes, the Lavender Museum / Musée de la Lavande can teach you about the growing, harvesting and distilling of lavender.

This summer, I chose the Vallon des Lavandes Distillery and neighboring fields in the Sault countryside for our picture-perfect lavender education. The drive itself from the small town of Mazan, where we were staying, offered stunning views of Mont Ventoux before we rounded one final hill and the purple fields around Sault opened before us. Sault (pronounced so, not salt, with a short, crisp o) is on the Vaucluse edge of the Albion Plateau, which covers the corner where Drome, Vaucluse and Alpes du Haute Provence meet. The Albion Plateau is one of the major lavender producing areas of Provence and therefore, when in bloom, among its most photogenic.

So (pronounced Sault), after parking at the distillery, we took an easy and delightful hike along an outlined Lavender Trail. The area isn’t heavily trafficked, but be sure to watch for cars when walking on the road portion of the 5k/3mi trail. (If you drive around the plateau, don’t just stop in your tracks to take in a view but pull over to a secure area.) While you shouldn’t walk into the lavender fields out of respect for the plants and their owner’s private property, I know of no visitor who can resist stepping into the fields for a photo, including this one.

During a tour of its 1947 distillery, the staff at the Vallon de Lavande provides an excellent introduction to the planting and growth of lavender and its common hybrid lavandin and especially to the extraction of essential oils. Lavandin represents three-quarters of the harvest at the 45-hectare (111-acre) domain. It produces six times more oil than true lavender and contains far more camphor, while true lavender, we were told, currently sells for about 180€/kg, about eight times more than lavandin. Some 150kg of plant are required to extract 1kg of oil of true lavender. The deflowered plants serve as combustible for the distillation.

Since it can be quite hot in the afternoon in summer, better to hit the Lavender Trail in the morning, followed by a visit to the distillery. Then drive up the hill to the center of Sault for lunch. We enjoyed a nice meal and a wide view over the plateau from the back terrace of O Pichoun. We followed that up with a pleasant little walk-about in Sault and sniffed into several lavender shops before the pretty ride home.

Sault holds a festival to celebrate lavender in the middle of August, when any remaining flowers are usually cut down. Valensole holds its lavender festival in mid-July.

Sault Cyclists and Mont Ventoux

In Sault in summer, serious bikers abound in their tight shorts and click-clacking cycling shoes. That’s because Sault is a stop on or the starting point for three cycling loops for sporty road bikers:

– an athletic loop that follows the gorge of the Nesque River then back along the hills via Méthamis;
– a lavender-tinged loop along and around the Sault portion of the Albion Plateau,
– and a challenging, 24-km / 15-mi climb to the bald summit of Mont Ventoux, followed by a dangerously high-speed decent back toward Sault.

Regarding the ascension of Mont Ventoux, in-shape road cyclists and those on electric bikes might feel that the first 10 miles from Sault are no more than strenuous, but the true test of fitness comes with the final 10-degree assault. Though the climb from Sault is challenging, the other two ascension routes to the top of Ventoux—from Malaucène and from Bédoin—are even more so, which is why Sault makes for a more popular basecamp. The mountains summit has recently been made more cyclist and pedestrian friendly. Be sure to check the weather report before setting out.

Spelt and Goats

Along with sightings of lavender fields, fruit orchards (cherries, almonds, apricots, etc.) and the occasional sunflower field, you may not recognize fields of small spelt (petit épeautre in French), an ancient grain that’s at home in the hills and plateaus of Provence to the east of Ventoux in the departments of Vaucluse and Haute (Upper) Provence. You’ll find petit épeautre listed on menus as an accompaniment to fish and meat dishes in the region. It’s prepared in much the same way as rice. You may also come across some goats as you bike or drive through the region, which is to be expected given the abundance of goat cheese in the local food markets.

Addresses and further information

Lavender distillery: Sylvie and Thierry Barjot’s Vallon des Lavandes, 965 Route du Vallon (Ancienne route d’Aurel), Le Vallon, one mile north of the village of Sault. Open for free visits July and Aug. Mon-Sat. and upon reservation April-June and Sept.-Oct. See schedule here. There’s a small lavender shop on site.

For other lavender addresses in Vaucluse see here.

Restaurant: O Pichoun, Avenue de la Promenade, Sault. Ask to be seated on the back terrace. Reservations recommended in summer and weekends.

Hotel: In Sault, the 3-star Hôtel Le Nesk, popular with cyclists, can also be a stopover for lavender hunters.

Cycling: In preparing your cycling trip, a good resource is the official cycling site of the department of Vaucluse, which provides information on routes, rental shops, bike-friendly accommodations, luggage transportation services, etc.). But don’t hesitate to be a cyclist without borders so as to connect with the neighboring department of Drôme to the north and Alpes de Haute Provence to the east. In Sault, Albion Cycles, which rents and repairs bikes, can advise on local cycling routes once in the area. Cyclists can also follow portions of the extensive lavender routes described here.

© 2022, Gary Lee Kraut

The post Sault, Sénanque and the Successful Search for Lavender in Provence appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

From a riverside café to recent entries in Michelin stardom by way of a hilltop restaurant, a family-run institution, a contemporary inn and a basement chef’s table, these chefs and restaurants have been selected are based on my own experiences in 2020 and 2021 and on recommendations from gastronomes, both residents and travelers, whose suggestions I’ve solicited.

This list is not intended as a Vaucluse best-of-the-best but as a way of recognizing the variety of venues for a meal prepared with fresh ingredients and capable hands, in towns and villages of touristic interest in Vaucluse. Kind service was also (and always is) a criterion in selecting these restaurants.

There are certainly other worthy options in the region, and I will add them or eliminate others as I follow the Vaucluse culinary scene through my own travels and through suggestions from knowledgeable residents and travelers. Feel free to send write to me at gary [at] francerevisited.com with your comments about any of these chefs or restaurants or any others that you’ve enjoyed that I might consider in periodically updating this list.

Avignon

La Mirande, Avignon’s premier hotel, presents several eating options, now led by Florent Pietravalle at Le Restaurant. While acknowledging his Michelin stardom, I note that I’m particularly fond of La Mirande’s upbeat basement chef’s table, La Table Haute, where a chef and a commis prepare and present an excellent, semi-rustic meal while doing their best to ensure a convivial atmosphere. Chef Jeff Mouroux and his sidekick Alexandre Malinverno took on the task during my September visit to Avignon. Buyer beware: Despite the chefs’ best efforts, the atmosphere on any given evening depends heavily on the willingness of diners to engage with each other, so only go if you understand the word “conviviality,” and hope the others at your table do as well.
Mathieu Desmarest at Pollen, 18 rue Joseph Vernet, both refined and relaxed, was newly honored in 2021 with a Michelin star. Carte blanche dinner.
Pascal Barnouin at Maison de la Tour, 9 rue de la Tour.
The Hiély family continues to treat hungry diners from near and far to quality bistro fare at La Fourchette, 17 rue Racine.
Justine Imbert’s winning, unpretentious, modestly-priced cuisine kindly served beneath the branches in the charming back courtyard at Au Jardin des Carmes, 21 Place des Carmes. A chef to keep an eye on.
Jon Chiri, an American chef at Les Halles, the central food market of Avignon, was one of my guests on the France Revisited Culinary Conversation of June 29, 2021.
When it comes to the pleasures of sitting alfresco in Avignon, I’m inescapably drawn to Grand Café Baretta, 14 place Saint Didier.

Châteauneuf-du-Pape

Top culinary honors in the village go to Julien Richard’s gastronomy at La Mère Germaine, 3 rue Commandant Lemaitre, in the lower part of this hillside village. Meanwhile, in proper weather, my lunchtime appetite is drawn toward the top of the village, just below the chateau ruins, for a great view and reliably pleasing cuisine at Le Verger des Papes, 2 rue du Château. If you won’t be visiting wine producers out among the vineyards, you can begin your Chateauneuf-du-Pape education with a tasting of two or four wines in the atmospheric wine cellar of Le Verger des Papes. Pursue your education at Vinadéa, 8 rue Maréchal Foch, official boutique of the appellation.

Beaumes-de-Venise

Each evening of my two-night stay in Beaumes de Venise while on a biking trip began with an aperitif at the Café La Forêt “Le Siècle,” a local watering hole at 65 cours Jean Jaures. For dinner, La Table des Balmes, 31 place de l’Eglise, had a well-placed terrace for a satisfying meal in the center of the village. I was even more satisfied by my dinner the following evening in the semi-hidden setting of the semi-Provençale Auberge Saint Roch, 9 route de Caromb.

Vaison-la-Romain

And the buzz goes to… Christophe Wernet at the hip and creative bistro LUM, 55 rue Trogue Pompée.

Pernes-les-Fontaines

Hugues Marrec at Auberge de La Camarette, 439 chemin des Brunettes. La Camarette is une auberge, an inn, rather than un restaurant, says Hugues Marrec, because one doesn’t come to an auberge in search of an extensive menu but instead confident that that the chef is cooking up something worthwhile. Read my article about Chef Marrec here. He was also one of my guests on the France Revisited Culinary Conversation of June 29, 2021 His little inn has only two rooms, worth considering for a night or more if dining here.

Cavaillon

Prévôt, 353 avenue de Verdun, home to the melon king Jean-Jacques Prévôt, accompanied by his daughter Sandra-Rose. It’s been several years since I’ve eaten here, but my memory of Jean-Jacques’ warm and informative tableside manner and of the tasteful, fragrant fare that he prepared for our group of five diverse eaters (a vegan, a vegetarian and three omnivores), not to mention the trip report of recent visitors, keeps this restaurant on my Vaucluse list.

Mazan

Christophe Schuffenecker at La Salle à Manger,  8 place Napoléon, the gastronomic restaurant at the hotel Château de Mazan, four miles west of Carpentras. Awarded a Michelin star in 2021. Update: Christophe Schuffenecker has since left Mazan to manage his own restaurant, La Colombe, six miles north in Bédoin. It’s set to open in early spring 2022.

Fontaine de Vaucluse

Fontaine de Vaucluse, at the source of the Sorgue River, provides a breath of cool, damp air in an otherwise dry region. No need for an address for the friendly, traditional, family-run eatery Philip, just follow the path along the rushing waters leading to the fountain from which the river springs into daylight and you’ll reach it. The restaurant, created in 1926 by Isabelle and Gaston Philip, is now in its fourth generation of family ownership. There’s a fascinating story about the ownership of the land on which it sits. Ask about it when here.
La Figuière, 3 chemin des Gougette, gets a shoutout on the recommendation of traveling gastronomones who laud the hearty and traditional Provençale-leaning cuisine served here, in the shade.

L’Isle sur Sorgue

Enjoyable moments of refined simplicity by Daniel Hébert at Le Jardin du Quai, 91 avenue Julien Guigue, and by Benjamin Fabre at La Balade des Saveurs, 3 quai Jean Jaurès.

Roussillon

Among the ochre hills of Roussillon, Restaurant David at the hotel Le Clos de la Glycine, 1 place de la Poste. I’m adding this to the list on the recommendation of epicurean friends who recently had a deliciously soothing meal there while on a hiking trip in the Luberon.

Cadenet-Lourmarin

Nadia Sammut at Auberge La Fenière, 1680 route de Lourmarin (D943). At her gastronomic restaurant, Nadia Sammut’s precise, innovative cuisine and generous personality can restore the spirit of the fallen, as you can read about in this detailed article of mine. Also watch my Culinary Conversation with the chef here. La Fenière is also a hotel.

Maubec

One of the wonderful cliché fantasies of a stay in Provence involves going food shopping at a farmers or village market then returning, perhaps via vineyards or lavender fields, to a cozy kitchen where you’ll transform your fresh, local finds into tasty dishes while sipping Rhone Valley wines or a Provence rosé, in good cheer, in friendly company,… and in English. Which is why so many chefs in the region offer regular or occasional cooking classes. Jean-Marc Villard, 409B chemin du Carraire in Maubec, is one of them. Several of the other chefs or eateries noted on this list also occasionally offer cooking classes (La Mirande, Jon Chiri, Hugues Marrec, Nadia Sammut and others).

Food markets

A traveler in France would be remiss to not visit a food market, whether in a city, a town or a village. Among the most notable in Vaucluse are the Tuesday morning market at Vaison-La-Romaine, the Friday morning market in Carpentras, the Tuesday morning market at Gordes, the Thursday morning market at L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, as well as the daily (except Monday) central food market Les Halles in Avignon. Plug in a day and/or town on this map to find a nearby food market while traveling in Vaucluse.

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut.

The post Cuisine in Provence: Notable Chefs and Restaurants in the Vaucluse Region appeared first on France Revisited - Life in Paris, Travel in France.

Several miles short of Auberge La Fenière, my destination on day one of a solitary cycling tour of the Luberon region of Provence, I mistimed braking for a village speed bump and landed on the tarmac, tangled in my bike. The car coming up behind me was far enough back to stop well before reaching me. A car coming in the opposite direction slowed down and stopped alongside. The driver rolled down her window and asked if she should call for help. I stood up, pulled my bike to the side of the road, picked up my saddlebags, and told the driver that I was alright. I twisted the front wheel back straight, uncoiled and reset the brake lines, bent the mud guard back into position, and set off wobbly on the final miles to La Fenière, thinking all the way, “Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap.”

I wasn’t alright. I was battered, bleeding and my ribs hurt. Already I was late arriving at La Fenière, a property (hotel, restaurants, vegetable garden, pool) that owner-chef Nadia Sammut calls a “lieu de vie” or living space. Earlier in the afternoon, I’d lost my way—allowed myself to lose my way—on the slopes of the Luberon Massif and dawdled along its vantage points. I’d planned to arrive at least an hour earlier so as to check in, shower, speak with Nadia, then rest up before dinner. “We’ve been expecting you,” said the receptionist, and seeing my bloody forearm, “Oh my, what happened?” “A little accident.” “Do you want me to call someone? Do you want to go to the hospital?” “No, but if you have some bandages that would help.” She gave me an emergency kit with bandages and antiseptic.

Up in my room—a bright, peaceable space with a long view of the back of the property and the nearby hillside—I looked at myself in the mirror. I was banged up alright. My ribs and thigh and wrist were sore. I had three more days of biking ahead of me. Should I call it quits now? I cleaned and bandaged myself. The bleeding—rough scrapes but no gashes—would soon stop. How badly was I injured? I couldn’t tell. But I shivered at the thought of how lucky I was, aware that my fall could have been worse, much worse. (Yes, I was wearing a helmet.) I had a reservation for the second seating at the restaurant, so I napped for an hour then went downstairs.

As I reached the lobby, I saw Nadia passing through the patio dining area and the kitchen. I introduced myself and apologized for arriving too late to speak with her earlier. In the rush of dinner I had a first glimpse of her generosity of spirit. “I hear you had an accident,” she said, “Are you alright?” I assured her that I was. She said, “We’ll take care of you,” she said, “and we have all morning tomorrow to talk, if you’d like.”

Ernest Hung Do, the sommelier and maître d’, came over to my table to say hello. I told him that I’d just had a “little biking accident” and could use something strong, say, whiskey, to start. He went inside and returned with a bottle of perfumed gin. He explained how and where it was made. But rather than pour a glass, he told me that he didn’t recommend that I have it. Nadia’s meal is constructed to evolve from dish to dish, he explained, and strong alcohol would affect its proper unfolding.

“What do you recommend instead?” I asked.

“Why not just let the meal express itself and I’ll bring some wine?” he said.

“Fine,” I said, “I’d rather not make choices tonight anyway. I’ll follow your lead, and Nadia’s.”

Two dozen peas and a verbena leaf

Nadia Sammut is a culinary explorer. The 12 or so dishes of the 160€ “expérience” tasting menu proceed through a fluid evolution of ingredients and textures that awaken the senses, from the intentionally bland opening to the iodized middle to the smooth finish. (There’s also a 120€ “découverte” tasting menu, but no à la carte menu.)  Nadia’s quest isn’t so much to astonish, I think, but to create harmony. Ernest’s, too, for that matter; the meal was accompanied by Ernest’s coherent yet unobtrusive wine pairing.

“Precise” is how I thought of the slow parade of small dishes that evening, while “consciousness” is a term that Nadia Sammut applies to her culinary approach. The two terms meet in what appeared to be the simplest of dishes: two dozen peas and a verbena leaf the size of a daisy petal. Deceptively simple, though the full description of the dish is more complex: petit pois, crème de placenta de fève, verveine, bourrache, cardamone noire râpée, huile du domaine de Jasson. Still, I can only think of the dish as two dozen peas and a verbena leaf, and for me it lit up the patio. It was my satori moment.

Yes, it’s a dish that can easily be ridiculed: She charges how much for two dozen peas and a tiny leaf? But there you have it, the appetizer through which I realized that such culinary moments are a way of bringing one into oneself: one’s taste buds, one’s environment, one’s sense of self and of a shared meal, both with one’s table companion(s), if any, and with diners at other tables with whom you might never exchange a word. I hadn’t forgotten the physical nature of my fall several hours earlier, but I was no longer restrained by the trauma of it or by my awareness that the following day or two would reveal the full extent of my injuries. Two dozen peas and a verbena leaf allowed me to settle into the—do I dare use the word?—enlightenment of the meal, the surroundings, the evening and my travels into the Luberon. What a beautiful biking day it had been, landing me here!

No, I wasn’t cured from my fall. But I was, for the moment, soothed of it and conscious above all that it could have been much worse. (Five days later I would consult my doctor in Paris. As impressed as he was that I’d continued biking for three days after the fall, he told me that he would have recommended against it. He sent me for x-rays of my left wrist and right ribs. Turns out that I had broken a bone in my wrist, though it was the ribs, apparently without fracture, that hurt more.) But for now, I was pleased with my good fortune of feeling well enough to experience dinner at La Fenière and digesting my trauma while enjoying a precise and natural gastronomy, Nadia Sammut’s gastronomy of nature.

There are greater traumas, of course, not all of which can be soothed by kind service, a good meal and a peaceable setting. Still, all traumas need to be digested, don’t they? Linguistic aristocrats and associated snobs in France will tell you that it’s gauche to wish fellow diners a “bon appétit” before a meal; “appétit,” they’ll say with condescension, refers to the unpleasantries of digestion, which isn’t something one should mention at a polite table. But digesting one’s worries and traumas and anxieties is clearly commendable and worth wishing on one another, like raising a glass to each other’s good health. Furthermore, Nada, having dealt with celiac disease, naturally and implicitly wishes a healthy, nourishing digestion for all of her guests. Bon appétit for sure.

Gluten-free and rooted in Provence

Nadia’s “cuisine libre” (free cooking) approach, as she calls it, is neither a refusal of nor in opposition to the cuisine(s) of Provence. She remains deeply rooted in the region. Her family has lived in the Luberon for several generations. In 1972, her grandmother opened a little bistro in an old hayloft, called une fenière in Provence, in the village of Lourmarin. She then worked with her son, Nadia’s father. And when he married, his wife, Reine, learned how to cook alongside her mother-in-law. Reine Sammut eventually took over the restaurant and, in 1995, became one of the rare women in France at the time to receive a Michelin star for her cuisine. Well-known throughout Provence and beyond, Reine prepared rather traditional gastronomy. In 1996, Nadia’s parents then bought the property that is La Fenière’s current location in the countryside between Lourmarin and Cadenet. Though no longer installed in a hayloft, they brought the name with them.

At around the age of 30, between 2009 and 2011, Nadia was often quite ill from celiac disease. She says that she was basically bedridden for two years. As she explained during our lengthy conversation the morning after my dinner experience, “I said to myself, ‘This can’t be! With my culinary heritage I have to learn an inclusive approach to food that’s respectful of the environment and respect of individuals while being gastronomic and delicious.’”

She began working with her mother in 2015, soon taking the reins of Reine’s kitchen. In 2017, Nadia herself was awarded the Michelin star for La Fenière. Reine stayed with her in the gastronomic restaurant for another year, at which point, as Nadia tells it, her mother said, “You’ve got do it alone now because you have your vision, your intentions, your recipes, and it’s important that you continue to convey them.”

Though celiac disease is a significant part of Nadia’s personal story and of the development of the culinary explorations that have given her much recognition, she would rather not have her cuisine labeled solely as gluten-free. People come for the experience, she says, not for their celiac problems. Of course, there’s often a table or two where someone will speak with her about their digestive issues because they know of her personal experience. She doesn’t mind. She’s had clients who arrive in culinary distress, worried about every little thing they might eat, and she aims to calm them down. “By the second dish,” she says, “they’ve relaxed and are simply happy to be having a good meal, and that sense of happiness extends to the rest.”

Had I not known in advance that the meal would be gluten-free I doubt that I would have noticed. Presented with the chestnut bread, I thought, hmm, chestnut bread—and it was delicious—and then chick-pea bread—that too—without wondering about the absence of gluten. (Nadia operates a mill for the various flours that she then uses in her breads and other flour-based products that are served in the restaurant and available in specialty stores.) Just as one doesn’t think when eating a good piece of fish that it doesn’t taste like beef, one simply enjoys the dish. (Omnivores, by the way, drawn in by the evolution of the meal and the discovery of each small dish, might not even notice that that none of the dishes contains meat.)

“I have no obligations in my cooking,” says Nadia. “First, I don’t cook traditionally because I can’t, so for me there’s an enormous field of permanent research on plants, on living things, on the way to present naturalness and simplicity.”

Asked about her relationship with traditional Provençale cuisine, Nadia claims a clear and present affinity with it, including the techniques that she learned in part from her mother. “Provence,” she says, “has developed its culinary techniques in relation to the products that were available to work with. Provençale cuisine is also that of economy. People paid attention to what went into their cuisine; they didn’t throw anything away. Provençale cuisine is very plant-based. It’s a distinct yet varied cuisine comprised of different smaller regions. People don’t eat the same way in Marseille or in the Camargue or here in the Luberon. Its diversity is quite beautiful and should be brought to light. Its recipes, its beautiful recipes, haven’t been extinguished, and they need to be created and recreated, transmitted from generation to generation. The heart is transmitted with them, that’s a beautiful part of the energy of life.”

Regenerative and holistic

I’d arrived on opening night, so to speak, June 9, 2021, the first evening that La Fenière was welcoming diners since its 2020 Covid closing and months of evening curfew. Dining out without watching the clock was new to all of us, a time of renewal, particularly for those who, like me, prefer a late or second seating in a restaurant.

Nadia uses the term régénérateur—regenerative, something that makes you feel replenished—in speaking of the environment that she set out to create at La Fenière. That environment extends beyond the gastronomic restaurant to include the bistro on the property, the lodging, the landscape, the service, the swimming pool, the kitchen garden, the occasional activities and workshops, and the overall atmosphere. She speaks of the importance of being “conscious” of oneself and one’s environment.

“What’s essential in my life and what I think I’m able to offer others is that sense of self-awareness. To do so requires being connected to both matter and nature. And I believe that the best way to let go is to feel good, to have a sense of trust in a place, to be conscious of where one is. All that is regenerative… I like that people feel good and, beyond feeling good, that there’s a kind of interaction with themselves.”

Nadia is generous enough with her time and spirit to interact with clients if they wish, even during the meal. As she put the finishing touches on dishes in a corner of the dining patio the evening of my visit, diners would occasionally get up to see what she was doing, to ask her questions, and Nadia willingly engaged with them. She came by each table twice to deliver and explain a dish.

My most frequent interaction that evening, however, was with Ernest Hung Do, the sommelier and maître d’, a gentle, knowing, kind presence throughout the meal. Ernest came to France from Vietnam as an infant, his family having fled the country in waves of refugees known as “boat people.” As a young man, he became particularly interested in fish and became a sushi master with his own restaurant. He was named best sushi master in France one year. In 2013, he sold his restaurant since he’d become increasingly interested in all things vegetal, a move from the sea to the earth. He met Nadia’s sister, a food journalist, in Marseille, and her sister said, “You and Nadia speak the same way about food, you should meet.” That was seven years ago. They have been together ever since, as companions and as business partners. “We truly work in synergy together,” says Nadia. I asked Ernest, given his background as a chef, why didn’t he want to work alongside Nadia in the kitchen? “Because I wanted to leave her with her vision in the kitchen while presenting her cuisine and wine to clients.” He does an excellent job of it. (He credits Nadia’s father as one of his mentors in learning about wine.)

“What I do, I believe, is goes beyond the dish,” says Nadia. “I like to lead people to ask themselves questions. When you start out with something that’s bland, you ask yourself ‘Why bland?’ But what’s bland is essential for digestion, it’s essential in silence, in calm. And then something rises up, for example on the shrimp. What especially interests me is that people feel and have sensations. Of course, the dish is a part of an overall experience, and it’s essential that everything about that dish be precise. Then once you have that precision you can talk about everything else. That’s where a meal goes beyond the dishes themselves.”

Each dish grabs attention for its finesse and balance. Following the aforementioned shrimp—it was a raw Mediterranean shrimp with a squid ink emulsion, with a squid ink “chip” that nearly struck me as enlightening as the verbena leaf—the fluidity and complex harmony of a cream of bitter lettuce with an oyster in a sourdough tempura was my favorite dish. After that, the rouille in a dish called “memory of a bouillabaisse” was a discovery in and of itself.

Here’s how Nadia describes her inspiration for the penultimate dish, chickpea ice cream served with a shot of rum: “When I opened that rum a few weeks ago—it’s a friend of mine who makes it, Guillaume Ferroni, in Aubagne [near Marseille], aged in casks sometimes from Rasteau and in this case from Beaumes de Venise—when I opened that rum I said to myself, “Ah, that’s it, that’s what I want to feel,” because even though I don’t drink alcohol, just smelling it made me feel something. I don’t want sugar in my cuisine because sugar releases dopamine, which is quite different than serotonin. I want to work with serotonin, what’s called the hormone of happiness, not the hormone of pleasure. Happiness is more intense; it’s a lot more timeless. It’s something that awakens the interior of our body, not just to make us say ‘Wow’ but to make us conscious, which is much greater.”

“Wow,” is what I also said to myself when I tried the chickpea ice cream and rum. A warm honey-and-chestnut madeleine then served as an endnote to the meal.

La Fenière, a living space

Nadia’s gastronomic restaurant is the centerpiece La Fenière but there are other aspects to the property as well. Above the restaurant, in the main building on the property, there are 12 bedrooms, created in 2017. Nadia plans to develop 30 more lodgings on the opposite end of the property in the form of ecolodges. There’s also a second restaurant on the property, a Mediterranean bistro called La Cour du Ferme. There’s a swimming pool. There are hiking paths. Small-group activities are sometimes organized, such as cooking workshop taught by Nadia on Saturday mornings. Yet I wouldn’t call La Fenière a resort. It’s homier than that. There’s no grand décor, no ostentation. More boutiquish, more palatial, more photogenic accommodations are found elsewhere in the Luberon. What then to call this place?

Nadia calls La Fenière a “lieu de vie” or living space, a place of “positive living, of regeneration and of inspiration,” where guests are invited to “participate in the world in which they wish to live.” That may sound too psychic or new-age for some travelers looking to explore the landscapes and villages of the Luberon, though having stated her goal, Nadia doesn’t demand or expect obedience. She would just like visitors to slow down and be conscious of their surroundings. Thus, the hotel has a two-night minimum.

To me, La Fenière is a cultured, unglamorous countryside estate with an earthy restaurant—an earthy restaurant with an exquisite, inventive, sophisticated, earth-and-seaworthy 160€ tasting menu, but an earthy restaurant nonetheless.

An olive tree stands at the center of the patio around which, weather permitting, the tables are set. A concert of frogs played nearby as I sat at one of them that evening. As their song softened, I became aware of the sound of a bees buzzing in the yard and of Ernest’s soft steps over the paving stones. Was it a form of shock from my fall or a form of denial that I may have fractured my ribs or broken my wrist? Whatever it was, that evening at La Fenière I was one happy, regenerated, conscious traveler.

La Fenière, D943, 84160 Cadenet 84160. Tel. +33 (0)4 90 68 11 79. A 2-night minimum is required at the hotel. The gastronomic restaurant is open only when Nadia is present. The bistro remains open even when she is not. Those staying at the hotel on a Friday evening should ask in advance if Nadia will be giving a cooking class on Saturday morning. Cooking classes are also open to those not staying at the hotel.

Near La Fenière in the southern Luberon: The château and village of Lourmarin; a shaded seat in a café or restaurant by the water basin at Cucuron; olive oil tasting at Bastide du Laval; Mérindol and the history of Waldensian (les Vaudois); the 12th-century Cisterian Silvacane Abbey at La Roque d’Anthéron; the garden conservatory for plants used for dying and coloring in Lauris. Tourist information about the village and the entire Luberon region of Provence can be obtained at the Lourmarin tourist office, Place Henri Barthélémy. The Luberon is in the Vaucluse department or sub-region of Provence. For more articles about Vaucluse see here.

A Video Culinary Conversation with Nadia Sammut

Nadia Sammut was one of my guests at a France Revisited Culinary Conversation with three chefs of the Vaucluse area of Provence, along with Jon Chiri and Hugues Marrec, on June 29, 2021. Nadia appears in the introductory portion of Part 1 and then again for nearly all of Part 2. I invite you to watch at least the first 10 minutes of Part 1 in order to situate Nadia in the region and among the three chefs that I selected for this culinary conversation before proceeding to Part 2, here:

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut

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Hugues Marrec named his eatery une auberge or inn, rather than un restaurant because, he says, one doesn’t come to an auberge in search of an extensive menu but in the belief that that the chef will be cooking up something satisfying. And satisfying it was when I biked by for dinner and then stayed the night in one of the inn’s two bedrooms.

Auberge de La Camarette, where he offers a 38€ fixed-price menu, including wine, is situated within Domaine de La Camarette, a wine estate managed by his wife Nancy and her sister, located just outside the pleasing little town of Pernes-les-Fontaines, a dozen miles east of Avignon and four miles south of Carpentras.

Without aspiring to the moniker “gastronomic restaurant,” and shunning the term “semi-gastronomic,” Hugues’s culinary approach might best be described as polished, straightforward terroir. “When you’re surrounded by good fresh products you can’t help but want to cook with them,” he says. Indeed, one need only bike or drive around the Vaucluse area of Provence for a few days to glimpse the variety of local agriculture in the area. La Camarette itself, in addition to vineyard, has an olive orchard as well as wheat, barley and chick-pea fields. The herbs and lemons that Hugues uses in his kitchen come from the family garden. The vegetables may come from neighboring farms. The eggs come from Pernes. If there’s rabbit on the menu it will come from a local producer, the lamb from the Apilles area of Provence, the pork from Ventoux area, and the bull from the Camargue, in the Rhone delta.

If you’re put off by eating beets during beet season or eggplant during eggplant season, blame Mother Nature rather than Hugues Marrec.

It isn’t just the products that are local but a sizable share of the clientele as well. “My clientele is used to making traditional Provençale dishes at home, so that’s not what they come here for,” he says, “other than the occasional daube in winter.” While his isn’t Provençale cuisine in its traditional sense, Chef Marrec clearly prepares a cuisine of Provence. More leeway is given for the choice of fish, which may come from the rivers of Provence or from the Mediterranean or the Atlantic. After all, it would be a shame to refuse a Brittany-born chef the possibility to prepare saltwater fish.

In 1998, at the age of 20, Hugues went to Sun Valley, Idaho, to work, as a commis (assistant) chef. One year later, he was promoted to head chef at one of the resort’s restaurants, proof of both the quality of his training in France and of his ability to adapt and flourish. He lived in Sun Valley at two different periods before the age of 24, for a total of 3½ years, and may well have stayed longer had visas for French not been reduced during the Freedom Fry era of the Second Gulf War. He’s also worked in the UK and in Ireland.

Early in his stay in Sun Valley, Hugues met Nancy Gontier, a Frenchwoman his age from Provence—Pernes-les-Fontaines to be exact. Nancy had come to Sun Valley as an intern in the hospitality industry. After leaving Sun Valley, he and Nancy stayed in touch as they went their separate ways to pursue their respective careers, then met up again when they were both working in London.

In 2006, the two settled in Nancy’s hometown, more specifically her home vineyard. Domaine de La Camarette has been in the Gontier family for several generations. Nancy’s grandparents arrived in the area from Algeria in the early 1960s, where her grandfather’s family, winegrowers in Algeria for several generations, already had connections. Her grandfather purchased La Camarette to develop its farming and vines. (It’s called Camarette because long ago the farm belonged to a certain Camaret family.) The vineyard portion of Domaine de La Camarette covers 45 hectares (111 acres), producing Ventoux appellation wines for the most part—Ventoux being a blend, mostly grenache, syrah and mourdevre—while also producing some single-grape IGP (Protected Geographical Indication) Mediterranée wines: 100% syrah (red), 100% sauvignon blanc (white), 100% mourvèdre (rosé).

Once here, Hugues worked in a restaurant in the vicinity while pondering and preparing for the opening of a restaurant at La Camarette in May 2008. He initially ran it as a one-man kitchen, with Nancy doing the service. But they had a child (they now have two) and it soon proved to be too difficult for the couple to manage everything. Furthermore, Nancy, was managing the wine estate, where her sister would join her in 2009. So he added personnel at the restaurant, which has since expanded.

The 17th-century farm building that is now the inn was created around an earlier bread oven that’s still visible inside. The restaurant is open year-round other than during short vacation periods. Weather permitting (typically May to mid-September), meals are served in the shaded courtyard in front of the building.

Stay away if you require several options on a menu because a meal at Auberge de La Camarette is a 3-course fixed-price affair consisting of a set appetizer, a choice of two main courses (one fish, one meat), and dessert. Included in the price of the meal, currently 38€, are an aperitif and two glasses of wine from Domaine de La Camarette. There is also a wine list for those who would prefer a bottle from elsewhere. A cheese course is proposed at a supplement. The menu changes weekly. There’s no menu online, and Hugues would rather not tell those who call what’s on the menu in a given week. It isn’t that he wants to keep it secret but he’d rather have guests arrive with a willing and open appetite. For indecisive diners, Hugues says, an added advantage of a set menu is that it removes “the stress of the restaurant experience.”

Rest assured, the dishes are recognizable; you’re unlikely to be confronted with something unknown, unusual or artsy. There’s always a choice been a fish and a meat dish, and vegetarians (probably not vegans) can be accommodated if they let their server know that when they arrive. The evening I ate at La Camarette, the main-course choice was between cod and rabbit. The following week the choice was between local trout and duck. Duck was also on the menu when a friend dined at La Camarette and sent me this beauty shot.

Auberge de La Camarette, 439 Chemin des Brunettes, 84210 Pernes les Fontaines. Tel.: +33 (0)4 90 61 60 78.

The inn has two comfortable bedrooms, one at 80-90€/night, the at other 90-105€, including breakfast. Each has its own bathroom. I can well imagine this as a choice stop for two couples or friends traveling together or for a family of three or four. Those staying overnight may well have an opportunity to chat with Hugues and will also be able to have a thorough tasting of Nancy’s wines at the vineyard. There’s a small swimming pool and a shelter for bikes for those on a cycling tour. Next door to the inn, Hugues and Nancy operate two guest houses available for weekly rental. Hugues also conducts occasional cooking workshops.

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut

A Culinary Conversation with Hugues Marrec

Hugues Marrec was one of my guests at a France Revisited Culinary Conversation with three chefs of the Vaucluse area of Provence, along with Jon Chiri and Nadia Sammut, on June 29, 2021. Hugues appears in Part 1 then again for several minutes in Part 2. See the timeline.

In Part 1, below, the conversation proceeds as follows:

0:00:00 Gary Lee Kraut’s introduction
0:00:44 The 3 chefs introduce themselves
0:02:00 Why these 3 chefs?
0:04:15 Situating the Vaucluse region of Provence where the 3 chefs are located
0:07:45 Some agricultural products grown in Provence
0:10:33 Conversation with Jon Chiri
0:25:28 Conversation with Hugues Marrec

In Part 2, below, the conversation proceeds as follows:

0:00:00 Introduction to Part 2 of this Culinary Conversation
0:00:15 Gary Lee Kraut introduces Nadia Sammut
0:03:15 Nadia Sammut, her background, her cuisine, her philosophy
0:28:14 What is Hugues Marrec preparing for dinner tonight?
0:32:45 What is Nadia Sammut preparing?
0:35:48 Gary’s endnote

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Somewhere along the way of my haphazard, improvisational French culinary education I got interested in olive oil—the diversity of olive oils—the different levels of greenness and maturity, olive varietals, oils produced after slight, controlled fermentation of the olives, and aromatic olive oils. It’s done wonders for my cooking; with few ingredients, I can enhance a salad, vegetable dish, fish or beef with a drizzle of this or a sprinkling of that.

I’m still an olive oil amateur, mind you, but I did get invited onto the jury of an international olive oil competition earlier this year. There were several juries, including a jury of olive oil professionals and juries of individuals experienced in tasting things. Mine was one of the latter. The challenge of being a juror isn’t to say I like this one or that one (anyone can do that) but to articulate your impression of each one, to compare judiciously and to defend your position, if necessary. I don’t know if I was up to the task, but I was certainly into the challenge. Here’s a picture of other members of the jury wondering what I’m doing there.

What was I doing there? I was using and improving my education in olive oil.

That was in Paris, but of course the most interesting way to educate one’s palate, improve one’s ability to articulate, and to meet producers and have fun along the way, is through travel, which for me means leaving Paris. Hitting the road and meeting people who know how to talk about what they produce or create—that’s the way I enjoy educating myself, and I take great pleasure in introducing travelers to those producers and creators.

Bastide du Laval in Cadenet (Luberon)

It was while biking in the Luberon area of Provence—lots of olive orchards in Provence—that I first stopped at Bastide du Laval. You don’t even have to be interested in olive oil to enjoy a walk among the orchards there with a beautiful view out to the Luberon hillscape.

In 1998, Roland and Carine Coupat, after living in the United States for a dozen years working in the tourist and travel industry, decided to return to France, and the following year they bought a wine estate in Cadenet in the Luberon area. While continuing to work in the travel business in France, they planted thousands of olive trees on the property. The trees grew and so did their son Léo. Léo now runs the place, which has about 4000 olive trees spread over 37 acres. Olive oil is the main product but there’s also still vineyard on the estate that produces some easy-drinking wine. Meet Léo.

Like most producers, Léo Coupat makes a wide range of olive oils. As I say, there’s a question of greenness, maturity, varietals, etc. Some of them are more to my taste than others—rather, some I would know how to use more than others. Visitors can have a free tasting of them all and also learn how olive oil is made. Any olive oil education should avoid the study of aromatics for the first semester, but here, on a second visit and with a little experience on my palate, I bought a bottle of Bastide du Laval olive oil with natural truffle aroma. I wanted to figure out how to use it without overpowering a dish. You know truffles, right?, truffe in French, those pungent tumor-shaped mushrooms that are dug up in, among other places, Provence. Call it truffle oil if you like, though that makes it sound as though the oil is from truffles whereas it’s produced by mixing truffle aroma in with the olive oil.

So what to do with this truffle oil? Léo advised me to start by drizzling a little on pasta to get a feel for how to use it. Start with some neutral extra virgin olive oil, he said, so that the fresh pasta won’t stick, then add just a bit of truffle oil, taste, then add more until you’ve found what you consider to be the appropriate dose. So that’s what I did, with a little salt and pepper, and topping my dish with parmigiano reggiano. Quite simple and quite good, I must say. My truffle oil education is now off and running.

So what do I try next? I’m thinking a slight drizzle on roasted or mashed potatoes, maybe grate some cheese on that. I’ll have to think about what cheese to use. If I were a French truffle hunter (or an expensive restaurant during truffle season), I’d add some bits of truffle in scrambled eggs for lunch or dinner, so I suppose that a nip of truffle oil instead of the actual truffles could work. Worth a try. But keep is simple, let the truffle oil do the work. You don’t need a dozen ingredients to make a pleasing meal. A sprinkling on grilled meat? Absolutely, with some herbs on top—herbes de Provence, of course. And pizza, I’ll definitely try it on pizza. How about on fish? Salmon? Maybe. Monkfish. Why not? But you’ve got to be delicate with aromatic olive oil, because as a wise man once wrote: “Just a little, not a lot, or something may happen, you never know…”

Bastide du Laval, 199 Chemin de la Royère, 84160 Cadenet. Tel.: +33 (0)4 90 08 95 80.

CastelaS in Les Baux de Provence

On another trip, driving this time—Saint Rémy, Les Baux, Arles—I had an enjoyable and instructive encounter with Catherine and Jean-Benoît Hugues, producers of CastelaS olive oil, at their mill, tasting room and boutique two miles east of the tourist village of Les Baux de Provence. Coincidentally, for I wasn’t actually looking for an American connection, they, too, had lived in the United States, 15 years in Arizona, before rerooting themselves in Provence in 1997.

Theirs is a tremendous estate, with 110 acres within the olive oil appellation (AOP or Protected Designation of Origin) Vallée des Baux de Provence and another 160 acres outside of the appellation zone. In the photo above, you can see the village of Les Baux in the background. From another angle, one would see the Alpilles in the distance. As at Bastide du Laval, you can enjoy a tasting of their wide range and also visit their installation to see how olive oil is made.

Returning recently, I bought a bottle of Noir d’Olive (Olive Black) oil, which has a deep, rich, slightly peppery, slightly fermented taste. “Perfect for salads, fish, mushrooms, mashed potatoes” reads the bottle, all of which sounds appropriate to me. I started with salad since it’s nearly a dressing in its own right. Next up, fish and mashed potatoes. The CastelaS website provides recipes for use of their olive oils.

Moulin CastelaS, Mas de l’Olivier, 13520 Les Baux de Provence. Tel. +33 (0)4 90 54 50 86. Taking D27 east of the village, you’ll see CastelaS on the left shortly before reaching D5.

Other Provence Olive Oils

Those are but two of the many olive oil producers in Provence. I discovered many other quality producers when the labels were revealed after my participation on the jury of the AVPA olive oil contest. AVPA stands for Agence pour la Valorisation des Produits Agricoles, meaning Agency for the Appreciation of Agricultural Products. Jean-Emmanuel Jourde, AVPA president, and Philippe Juglar, AVPA secretary, have created a judging system to award different types of edible oils (of which I was on one of the olive oil juries), coffees roasted at place of origin, teas of the world, and chocolates processed at place of origin.

(Several months after participating on the olive oil jury, I accepted an invitation to join on the jury for “fantasy” chocolates, which I found much more difficult as far as my own abilities to analyze, describe and rate. Along with notes of citrus, basil, cherry or whatever, I kept finding that the earthy dark chocolates tasted like delicious mud and had trouble finding other words for it without prompting.)

The olive oil competition was international, with most entrants naturally coming from Mediterranean countries, which produces the vast majority of the world’s olive oil. Spanish and Italian olive oils dominated among the winners. Lots of uninspiring industrial olive oils come from those world leaders in production, but we tasted some exceptional artisanal oils from there. French production, by comparison with other countries along the Mediterranean basin, is relatively confidential. Nevertheless, there were some Provençale stand-outs among the awardees,  such Domaine Salvator (Cuvée Paradis), Huile H de Leos (Selection H de Leos Fruite Mur), Moulin à huile de Partegal (Cuve Magali), Moulin Cornille (Cuve 63), which can also be visited also near Les Baux de Provence, and “Lol’ive” Domaine Leydier (Noir cuve 9,2).

Balsamic Vinegar from Bals’Art in Roussillon

“French dressing” as known in the U.S. has little relation to the homemade dressing put on salad in French homes, which is typically a vinaigrette of olive oil, (wine) vinegar, (Dijon) mustard and seasoning. So after getting to know the olive oils of Bastide du Laval and Moulin CastelaS, I jumped on the occasion to get to know the balsamic vinegars of Jean-Michel Martias’s Bals’Art when I chanced upon his shop while visiting the pretty ochre-cliff village of Roussillon during a recent driving tour of the Luberon.

Jean-Michel Martias, who is originally from Marseille and has been producing vinegar since 2017, may have advisors and assistants, but to hear him speak about his balsamic vinegars is to hear the passion of a one-man band explaining how he arranges and plays his instruments. From my point of view as a vinegar novice, though a bit less so after visiting the shop, he presents a superb range of about two dozen vinegars. He also does perpetual research for future products. Most sales are from his shop in Roussillon, where visitors can have an extensive tasting, and online.

Jean-Michel currently produces his vinegars from the musts of organic syrah and granache grapes from Provence and Lambrusco (red) and trebbiana (white) from Italy. He uses low-temperature reduction over 10 to 40 hours, so while his balsamic vinegars don’t follow the process (and pricing) of 12+ years of wooden-barrel ageing that goes into Traditional Balsamic Vinegar of Modena, they are also a far cry from the watered down industrial balsamic vinegars that are typically found in supermarkets. For his flavored vinegars, the flavor comes through maceration of, for example, basil, pepper, lemon or lavender honey.

I purchased a bottle of his Velours Noir (Black Velvet), a dense, syrupy vinegar tasting of ripe cherry and raspberry. Too rich and intense for a vinaigrette, I think. When I called Jean-Michel later from home to ask how else he recommended that I use it, he suggested dribbling it on a tomato or sprinkling it on vanilla ice cream or drizzling some on duck magret. For now, I’ve only enjoyed a few drops on a teaspoon, then a few more drops, and I had to stop myself before consuming the entire bottle as though it were an after-dinner liqueur.

I also bought a balsamic vinegar block, a product that Jean-Michel makes by adding to his vinegar the gelling agent agar-agar, an extract from red seaweed from along France’s Atlantic coast. Using a fine grater, I grated a few bits on an endive salad on which I’d simply poured some of the CastelaS Noir d’Olive mentioned earlier. It tasted as I would have imagined: vinegar strips in an olive-rich salad. Interesting, I’d say for now. Again, I asked Jean-Michel how best to approach the block. Use it wherever you might otherwise add a squeeze of lemon or a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, he told me. In other words, it’s something to play with during recess while pursuing my Provence olive oil education.

Bals’Art, 15 rue du Castrum, 84220 Roussillon. Tel.: +33(0)4 32 52 16 40.

© 2021, Gary Lee Kraut

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I’d come to the western edge of Vaucluse for three days to visit the city of Avignon, the vineyards of Chateauneuf-du-Pape and the town of Orange. Before leaving on a trip like this I typically imagine that I’ll eventually write at least two texts:
– something practical about a subject that I’ve usually defined in advance, in this case a round-up of some of the nicer hotels in Avignon, and
– something that I come upon by following my nose, with or without some guidance from local tourist officials or others in the know.

In relation to the second article, I thought upon leaving Paris that I might compare my experiences in and impressions of Avignon and Orange with those described by Henry James in “A Little Tour in France,” which the American (and eventually British) author wrote in 1883, recounting his six weeks of travel of the previous year. I may well get around to that, but in case I don’t I take this opportunity to recommend the book, particularly for travelers who enjoy meandering around France and for bloggers, journalists and other writers interested in learning some of the basics of good travel writing: observe, research, experience, encounter, favor well-informed opinions over clichéd commentary.

Upon my arrival in Avignon, however, I forgot about Henry James’s little tour when, sitting in a café waiting for my first appointment of the day, I read in Vaucluse Matin, the local newspaper, that an Avignonnais had won the national title as best coffee roaster. I added him to my list of people to meet while in Avignon, and by the end of the day I’d decided to base an article on individuals who are cheerfully in tune with the workspace they inhabit.

This is not that article.

Instead, I’d like to introduce you to the individual that fit the bill for that theme in Orange: the cat Diva.

On the way in I’d spotted her splayed on the ticket counter and on the way out I found her again contemplating life by the illustrated gladiator books. A woman behind the counter introduced me to Diva. She told me that Diva had adopted the Roman Theater of Orange as her backyard about eight years ago. Her indoor home is the ticket office/boutique at the entrance and exit to the theater.

I learned much else that afternoon during a tour with Rose Papalia, an excellent guide with the Orange Tourist Office: about the Théâtre Antique and Les Chorégies, Orange’s spectacular summer festival of opera and lyrical music, about the museum and its fragments of a Roman cadaster, and about the arch on the opposite end of the Roman town. The Roman wall in Orange is the only remaining Roman theater wall in existence in Europe. I might have written at length all that, fascinating as it is, but this Diva isn’t mentioned in the audio-guide that you can listen to when visiting the theater.

Individuals such as Diva aren’t rare, but because we tend to plan trips in terms of sights and meals we all too frequently ignore them. Which leads me now to regret that I didn’t go speak with the person sweeping the stage by the 2000-year-old theater wall where Tosca, Aida, Carmen, Macbeth and so many others have died in the past 40 years alone.

But I did meet up with a young backpacker: me, 30 years ago.

You see, I had been to Orange before while backpacking through Europe on some ridiculously low number of dollars a day. The number stayed especially low that particular day in Orange because I had managed to see the Roman Theater without paying the entrance fee by climbing up the hill behind the hemicycle and standing on the edge of the cliff for a glimpse.

Looking up from where the town’s top Roman officials would have sat, here is where I stood.

© 2012, Gary Lee Kraut

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* * *

By Elizabeth Esris

If you buy a calendar for a Francophile around the holidays, the kind in which each month is a spectacular scene from a different region in France, chances are that July or August will feature a view of long, arching rows of lavender running to a gray stone abbey that evokes romantic visions of Provence.

I drove into that very scene on a summer day as I approached the Abbey of Sénanque. The view of the mass of vibrant lavender against the stark eloquence of the 12th century Romanesque monastery took my breath way.

I wasn’t alone. The spectacular scene is shared by many visitors drawn to this rural valley just north of the chic and stunning perched village of Gordes. Walking the dusty path from the parking lot amid the quiet conversation of others, I knew that I needed to move beyond the photo op in order to make my visit a lasting and intimate experience.  When I approached the old stone walls, I wanted to engage my imagination as I learned about their history.

The Abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque  was established when local lords donated land to build a Cistercian monastery in 1148, 50 years after the founding of the mother of Cistercian abbeys at Citeaux in Burgundy. At Sénanque, twelve monks were brought to live in huts while construction of the abbey was begun.

The church of the monastery was consecrated in 1178, though it wasn’t until 1250 that other essential buildings such as residences and the refectory (dining hall) were complete. Over time additional structures of a self-sustaining medieval religious community were added, including a cloister, a chapter house for meetings, a scriptorium for writing of manuscripts, and barns and other outbuildings that were part of a series of granges for food production.  Four mills completed a productive agricultural community that enabled the diligent and entrepreneurial Cistercians to lord over a prosperous center of influence in Provence well into the 15th century.

In addition to being an industrious order that worked hard to create efficient agricultural techniques, the Cistercians also established a core group of lay members at the Abbey of Sénanque who toiled at the most arduous manual tasks in the granges and at the mills. These men lived within the monastery, but slept and ate in separate quarters.

Perhaps it was inevitable that with prosperity came exploitation of the Cistercian’s original religious mission. The riches of the agricultural operations afforded temptations that gave way to worldly pleasures and diversion from the precepts of simplicity and service. Profiteers within the order eventually took control of the monastery in the 1400s, and it fell into decline because of mismanagement and corruption.

The Cistercian mission for a life of austerity and manual labor was reinforced once more at Sénanque in 1475 when a new abbot, John Casaletti from Avignon, was appointed to oversee the monastery and return focus to the values of the Cistercians. The abbey prospered again and became an agent for ministering to the poor, including caring for victims of the plague early in the 16th century.

In 1544 the abbey became a victim of the Wars of Religion when it was attacked by the Vaudois whose oppression and slaughter in the region had been sanctioned by the Catholic Church since the 12th century. The Vaudois pillaged the abbey and destroyed the lay quarters. The Abbey of Sénanque never recovered its prosperity and influence, and during the French Revolution the property was nationalized.

In ensuing years the monastery changed hands a number of times until monastic life was again established in 1988 by the small Cistercian order that lives there today. The community is for the most part financially self-sufficient through income from tours of the monastery, production of lavender and honey, sales of related items in the gift shop, and hosting of overnight visitors, though on occasion the French state and the department of Vaucluse have provided financial assistance to keep this historic setting alive and in good condition.

Learning some of the history of the Abbey of Sénanque in guidebooks, in pamphlets, and during a tour led me to ruminate about monastic and rural life in medieval Provence.  I imagined the narrow mountain road (now D177), which leads to the valley from Gordes, as a dusty mountain path upon which novices came by foot, or perhaps on saddle, to begin a life of silence, simplicity, and long hours of labor in the fields.  I asked myself who they were and what drew them to such an austere life. I envisioned them nearing the rugged stone walls that would become their refuge—perhaps their prison—and I tried to sense their last images of home and the anticipation of what awaited them.

The Abbey of Sénanque was built without a main door to the primary façade; this emphasized the aestheticism of the Cistercians and their desire that the monastery be unadorned.  It also reinforced the insular quality of the community and its purpose in sustaining a simple and silent life away from distractions that a grand portal might communicate to those outside the order.

It was in late June, amid the brilliance of the early blossoming of lavender, when I stepped inside the monastery.

When the voice of the tour guide echoed through the severe but beautiful vaulted dormitory where at night the monks once slept fully clothed in marked sections on the hard floor, I asked myself if they slept peacefully, fatigued by the day’s labor or if they were stalked by dreams of life outside their cloister.

In the scriptorium, the chamber where monks in medieval times worked copying manuscripts, I imagined faces bearing down on parchment and the meticulous lines of letters that inched slowly across the page, formed by hands that ached by day’s end and eyes that wearied with the dimming of natural light.  It is the only room with a fireplace—heated so that the monks could perform their delicate work.

The abbey church was and is still a place of prayer and contemplation. (It’s possible for visitors to attend mass here.) Even though it is stark, the symmetry of the nave speaks of artistry—restrained artistry, an aesthetic that denies excess but is unable to deny beauty. The aim might have been austerity, but when the eye follows the arches to the line in the vaulted ceiling, the radiance of sunlight on stone feels like adornment.

The most memorable part of the abbey is outside, where the eye collides with an impossibly beautiful vision: thousands of lavender flowers, growing in even rows, sway with abandon in the valley breeze against the gray walls of the monastery. It’s at once simple and sublime. Large slate tiles top roof lines. Low sections of the abbey emphasize the rustic nature of the setting, while the rounded lines of the apse and the angles leading to the bell tower suggest the divine. How many stories played out in the heat of the Provençal sun and behind the secretive windows of the monastery? The eye returns to the lavender and back again to the monastery.

On a warm summer day, arriving very early or late in the afternoon, one can avoid seeing buses and hordes of tourists with cameras taking the inevitable shots of lavender against the gray stone. It is possible then, to indulge in fantasy of how it was in medieval times—or how it is today among the robed inhabitants. I visited twice, both times in late June before the height of the tourist season but just in time for the lavender. Both times I stooped low to watch large black bees hover over blossoms , and I looked through the lavender to the abbey wondering how villagers viewed this monastery and it inhabitants so long ago. I imagined an alter ego sitting atop the roof in summer, ruminating about the insular monks who lived within.

Those reflections evolved into the poem, “Musing at the Abbey.”

Musing at the Abbey

In a tide of lavender
arms dappled by sun and stem
vie with black bees for nectar.
The stone wall of the abbey
is weary of the artist’s brush and
bleach of lenses.
It breathes them away
with memory of silent skies and
novices on dusty roads.

Women appear on the tiled roof
with gauze skirts draped
between their thighs.
They bathe in the June sun,
listen to the steps of monks
inching toward prayer,
and whisper to them
with attar from the blooms.

I join them in their hopeless vigil,
my arms hungry
for the heat of summer prayer.
They know me from a dozen other churches.
We have stalked robed ghosts before,
seducing ourselves with chants
of hooded profiles
who share lavender
with black bees
in a quiet coupling
of earth and the divine.

© Elizabeth Esris

Poem first published as “At the Abbey” in Women Writers, June, 2009.
Accompanying text first published in France Revisited, Dec. 2011

Also read Elizabeth’s explorations of and poem about the massacre of the Vadois at Mérindol in the Luberon area of Provence.

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Sergio Cervetti is a native of Uruguay, but his mother was born in France of Waldensian ancestry.  Persecuted for centuries in both France and Italy, the Waldensians–les Vaudois–were a sect founded in the 12th century by Pierre Valdès (or Valdo), a Catholic merchant from Lyon who relinquished his property and riches to preach an ideal life of devotion to Biblical teachings of poverty, simplicity, and non-violence.

Originally identifying themselves as Catholics, the “poor men of Lyon,” as Valdès and his followers came to be known, were declared heretics by the church for beliefs that are remarkably contemporary—such as a penchant for equality, disdain for clerical hierarchy, and acceptance of female preachers as early as the 15th century.

Because of the threat their radical ideas posed to the Church and Church-sponsored thrones, the Vaudois were chased and slaughtered throughout France and rural areas of Italy, where many fled in hopes of finding refuge.  So great was public outcry in Europe in the 17th century that Oliver Cromwell made official appeals for an end to the slaughter, and poet John Milton wrote a sonnet, “On the Late Massacre in Piedmont” to protest and memorialize the horrific murder of hundreds of Vaudois in the Italian Alps in 1655.

The Waldensians eventually found tolerance and survival, at times, in ghetto-like pockets established in Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. Today, their descendents maintain their religious identity, and the largest contemporary community of the Vaudois is in Italy, where they were granted religious freedom in 1848. Some of the Vaudois eventually joined the legions of Europeans who immigrated to the Americas in search of religious tolerance and economic opportunity.  Small, active communities exist today in Argentina, Uruguay, and in North America, particularly in Valdese, North Carolina, which takes its name from the Vaudois who settled there.

Mérindol, in the Vaucluse, is the site of a hilltop village whose inhabitants were massacred over a period of five days in 1545 in a crusade ordered by the French King Francois I and orchestrated locally by Jean Maynier d’Oppède, president of the parliament of Provence. The population was virtually exterminated, but it is said that some of the Vaudois of Mérindol survived by hiding in the dense mountains of the Luberon.

When my husband and I turned off the D973 road and drove through the modest, contemporary town at the base of the mountain, we had no idea how we would be touched by the hike up to the ancient village of the Vaudois. We found ourselves challenged by the climb, the sad ruins, and a view from the summit that must have been beloved by those who called the mountain home.

It was mid-afternoon when we began our ascent, and we were alone on the path until our return in the late and lingering dusk of Provence. “At Mérindol” describes our journey to the summit and to a spiritual connection with an intangible presence that we felt amidst the ruins.  It is dedicated to the friend who led us there.

At Merindol
(for Sergio Cervetti)

The sun clings to the summit,
and blinks through dark trees
that spiral the hill.
We falter in stone and
growth of four hundred years.
Ahead is a ruin,
looking with shrouded eyes
for its generations.
Our feet pound in ascent.
Our companions are the wind
and punch of breath.
The shadowed twist of tree and earth
blinds us to all but tree and earth.

Remnants of parapets and corners
press into the acclivity–
carcass of village
blanched by sun and crusade.
We think we see the top, but there is more:

more fragments of wall and window
ghostly stairs, flesh-hewn for
rush of man and child to
the smell of bread on stone
a woman’s hand upon a door,
conversation across a sill,
fatigue of night,
the brace of morning.

Sorrows of path and village
yield to the summit and
ochre mountains, the bend
of the Durance through purple fields,
Alpilles to the south, and the sea.
Joy reaches beyond ghosts and martyrs
to hearts on a summer evening
and this sunset: assurance of
the divine in valley, sky, the walls of home.

Light bleeds through a crater in the last ruin.
Shadows sink at its base like souls
returning to the grave.
We read the timeline of Les Vaudois en Provence.
1545    mort pour leur foi

leur descendants affirms
flight to purple fields and the Durance,
ochre mountains, Alpilles to the south,
the sea, searching for the divine,
for home.

Winds of dusk calm to a breeze
and darkness looms.
Our feet move cautiously in descent,
spiraling the dirt path and stone wall
past life and loss, our
eyes on twist of tree and earth
guided by ghostly hands that
know the way.

© Elizabeth Esris

Elizabeth Esris is a teacher and writer. Her poetry has appeared in Wild River Review, Bucks County Writer, and Women Writers. She wrote the libretto for Elegy For A Prince with composer Sergio Cervetti, which premiered in excerpts at New York City Opera’s VOX Opera Showcase in 2007. She and Cervetti also collaborated on a one-act chamber opera, YUM!,  a celebration of wine, food, and friendship. She teaches English and creative writing at Central Bucks High School South (Pennsylvania).

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Today I received the latest Vaucluse e-newsletter and among its items was information about the January truffle mass in Richerenches, a village in the Pope’s Enclave, an area of Provence 20 miles north or Orange. The mass celebrates Saint Antoine/Anthony, the patron saint of truffle hunters. The members of the Fraternal Order of the Black Diamond and of Gastronomy are naturally present in full regalia at the annual event, bringing with them their recent harvest of black diamonds, i.e. truffles, to be blessed. At mass, the smell of incense is said to be replaced by that of the truffles.

Reading about the truffle mass, however, my brain flared up the smell of neither truffles nor incense. Perhaps that’s because just before opening this month’s e-newsletter the sugary side of my brain had been flared since I’d been on the phone with a friend in Philadelphia who had spent the past four days baking Christmas cookies.

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