Noirmoutier-en-l’Île 15 June 2016 : Caspar Institute

I take care of some business and we start slowly. By far a gentler day: almost no wind, and long patches of sun brighten the island and our spirits. Somehow we forgot apples (a staple) at market, so we drove back to the center of town to the supermarket and buy some. Not feeling too ambitious, we return home, read a little, and then the walk to the center of this settlement, l'Herbaudière, just above the harbor. The houses, all white and blue-shuttered, echo the sky. The harbor is just on the other side of this row, but the view belongs to the houses, not the mere passers-by in the street.

And where might we be going this fine midday?

To lunch! at La Bisquine, another establishment run by a Maître Restaurateur, where everything is made in house and held to the highest standards as decreed by the national government. (The one that can't control its labor unions.) But the food is exceptional, even by yesterday's standards. As usual, I ask for the Menu, what the chef proposes today, consisting of three choices. Mine is the shellfish, melon, and feta salad, lightly dotted with poppy seeds to start, then a huge plate of mussels in a creamy-delicious sauce with fries. Rochelle goes for the brochette of local shrimp in delicate curry sauce with rice and vegetables. Of course we should have a little bottle of the local white. With a couple of boules of ice cream for dessert, and a p'tit café, a most satisfying repast.

I want to hesitate long enough to speak up for the local mussels. This one, about three times life-size, is small by California standards; about 80 of them make up lunch. This one was languishing picturesquely unsauced in my salad, and I could see all her frilly intimate parts, even her beard. These mussels are farmed, of course, in rich, cold Atlantic waters that make them firm, large in their shells, and sweet. Her idyllic life was probably interrupted this morning ... unless you count (as I do) her contribution to my lunch as a continuation of a mussel's idyll.

the view from our lunch table

I cannot over-praise the tradition of the French dejeuner – lunch. It starts no sooner than 12:30 and lasts at least an hour and a half. Portions are never large, although when presented they are often impressive, and there may be two or three serious courses after the appertif. Wine is usually taken, possibly two bottles if there are four at table. This is followed by a cheese course or, if preferred, a sweet, presented with the same care. And then, without fail, a little cup of strong espresso coffee accompanied by a little cookie. As regimented as this formula is, it is infinitely varied by chefs and kitchen staff devoted to presenting surprising, pleasing dishes ...and it is infinitely satisfying.

We returned home to digest quietly. Tonight, salad and a giant market artichoke to share. We are both surprised and delighted to find that we have each lost a little weight on this trip.

I just can't resist posting a US restaurant review from a friend who has been reading this blog:

"Our best travel meal was at a Denny's at 12:30am after getting off a 1.5 hour delayed flight preceded by a snafu that got us to the airport too late to eat dinner before boarding. Charming young waiter who took such happy care of us - provided my wife with a club sandwich minus the turkey and bacon, me the same thing with. He was sympathetic, concerned that we were well fed, and even took my wife's sandwich back to the kitchen because he had specifically asked for extra avocado to make up for the missing bacon, but the kitchen hadn't delivered, and he just 'wanted everything to be perfect.'"