TWO DAYS IN BLOIS PART TWO

Our second day in Blois we awoke early and ordered a taxi to a car rental agency through the front desk of our hotel. Once while visiting Mexico, my father rented a car and received a manual diesel Renault – a common french car. In rural France I hoped for a small Peugeot or Citroën, preferably of an older vintage in which we would tour the countryside. However after signing the proper documents, the agent brought around and handed over the keys to a 2015 Ford Fiesta. I was surprised and slightly disappointed, though given our dining experience the previous evening I probably should not have been.

On our way out of town we stopped at a market and a boulangerie to purchase some bread, cheese - an outstanding local Chabichou du Poutou, as well as a fine Brie - and saucisson. Saucisson is a french cured sausage that is now a consistent staple in my day-to-day cuisine. Having acquired our snacks for the day we began our drive towards Amboise.

Amboise is another city in the Loire Valley, larger and more touristically popular than Blois due to its proximity to the favored and prominent chateaux.

A main thoroughfare runs directly to Amboise and though the speed limit was a meager 80kph and the majority of the vehicles were traveling considerably faster, given my proclivity for racking-up speeding tickets I was making the trip with quite a bit more caution.

Arriving in Amboise en route to the chateau of Chenonceau, we chose to make a small detour through the city in order to get a sense of the layout. The city itself is much larger than Blois, though in reality much less attractive. Thus following our brief sojourn we were glad of our decision to stay in Blois.

After Versailles, Chenonceau is the second most visited chateau in France. The grounds and gardens are massive - though not in the realm of Versailles.

A side garden at Chenonceau

Chenonceau has a rich and interesting history. Initially constructed on the bank of the river, through time it was expanded to form a sort of bridge-like structure spanning the river itself. Further inhabitants of the chateau, mostly widowed queens - or in one entertaining episode the preferred mistress of the King (upon his death she was rapidly evicted on the Queen’s orders and placed in a lesser and more suitable location) - added further levels to the chateau, creating a truly spectacular structure.

The entrance of the Chateau Chenonceau

One brief and interesting anecdote involves the second world war. During the war the river served as a line of demarcation. Through the small door on the far side, the owner of the chateau was able to smuggle refugees through the building, across the river to freedom.

Chenonceau

After touring the chateau we walked the gardens and the grounds. They have a wine cave - in French the word cave means basement or cellar and refers to both a place to store wine as well as a place that sells the product.

The cave at Chenonceau

Following our visit, we returned to our car and began our trip through the countryside towards Chambord. As mentioned in the previous post, much of the surrounding area closes for the afternoon following an early lunch. Our time at Chenonceau kept us beyond the lunch hour and while driving I found myself in dire need of true sustenance. Given the situation, this proved to be most difficult.

We stopped in several villages along the way in pursuit of a good meal but found no available option. We continued on until I saw a random sign beside the road stating a hotel/restaurant was at the following turn. I sped down the long side road until we arrived at a quaint resort.

Upon entering the resort we realized rather quickly that it was a golf retreat. Not to be put off, we stormed into the club house and took a nice side table and were offered menus. We felt a bit out of place amongst a variety of people clearly dining during their games between the 9th and 10th holes.

The server was friendly and seemed to appreciate our situation, so he took our order quickly and left us to stare at the putting green until the food arrived. The sausage was massive, though I do have to say it was perhaps the best of its kind I have ever had. The mustard sauce was terrific and the fries were perfectly crispy and all of the awkwardness I felt at being the lone non-golfers at what was clearly a golf retreat quickly dissipated and I thoroughly enjoyed my lunch.

Andouillette in Country Mustard Sauce

Andouillette in Country Mustard Sauce

After lunch we continued along in our small Fiesta towards the Chateau de Chambord. It was truly a pleasure, after living in Paris, to drive through the French countryside amongst the agricultural societies similar, though obviously different, to those I'd grown up around.

The Chateau at Chambord is spectacular. The outward grandiose design of the Chateau is rivaled only by its exquisite interior. One of the primary intrigues of the Chateau of Chambord is the internal double staircase – where two equal staircases climb the center of the building, round about each other so one can witness another person climbing or descending the same direction while never meeting on the same path. This is accomplished by winding an alternative stairway opposite that of the primary so both traverse the castle while winding around each other.

Chambord

Chambord is an incredible and awe-inspiring chateau. The intricacies of the building are incredible and inspired and I was most impressed by this particular visit. I wondered while visiting, how the King could live so close yet inhabit such a smaller and lesser chateau in Blois and not oust the habitant of Chambord in order to procure a more grandiose palace for himself.

We left Chambord just after sundown and drove the minor distance back to our hotel in Blois. On our way we stopped to purchase more bread and cheese, having grown rather hungry during our visit, in order to hold us off until dinner.

Back at the hotel we found ourselves satiated from our late-afternoon snacks and fell asleep fairly early.

We awoke famished the following morning and returned our car to the rental agency. Afterwards we walked into town to have a coffee and potentially breakfast at a café.

Beginning at a café on the small square by the river we took an espresso. Our train was to depart before noon and we knew it was in our best interest to have a substantial meal prior to boarding the train.

We ordered a second espresso and when the waiter came by I asked about the possibility of having breakfast (or petite déjeuner as it's known in France). The waiter was amicable and smiled before saying that it doesn't exist (n’existe pas) in Blois. He told me that in Blois one goes to a boulangerie, then has a coffee and “voilà petite déjeuner”.

Undeterred we paid our tab and walked until we found a small restaurant that seemed to be opening. Inside I spoke with the owner and though they weren't open yet, convinced him to have two croque monsieurs (a traditional french version of a ham and cheese sandwich smothered in cheese) prepared for us, one without ham (sans jambon) for the vegetarian.

After a short time the waiter brought us our plates and asked in French (all conversations in Blois take place in French) if we are British. Evidently the only visitors to Blois with the audacity to demand actual food before noon are English tourists.

The croque monsieurs were outstanding and came with a side salad with a terrific vinaigrette, though the cheese-loaded sandwiches were rather heavy for 10:30 in the morning.

After eating we paid our bill and walked to the station to catch our return train to Paris.

TWO DAYS IN BLOIS PART ONE

Our train departed at 7:30am from the Gare d’Austerlitz on the left bank of the Seine in south eastern Paris. At the station we each had a coffee and a croissant - a traditional french breakfast, and one that I find disappointing. To those of us accustomed to grand, Gargantuan feasts in the morning (a concept entirely anathema to french tradition), the croissant is only sufficient to stimulate the appetite, falsely tricking the stomach into believing that nourishment is forthcoming, only to become confused and hurt by the sinking realization that there will be nothing further.

We arrived at the station in Blois just after nine. The hour and a half trip through the countryside took us past thick rows of dense forest and old farms with modern irrigation and long stretching fields of bright yellow Colza flowers - also known as rapeseed from which canola oil is harvested. When living in a large city for extended amounts of time, it is a pleasant change to see open sky and fields filled with lovely yellow flowers.

A field of Colza Flowers

A field of Colza Flowers

Paris had been unseasonably warm and sunny for early April but when we arrived, Blois was cool and windy. Given the early hour of our arrival, we chose to walk the four miles from the station through the town to our small hotel on the opposite side.

The city of Blois lies along the lower river Loire, 185 miles from Paris past Orleans en route to Tours.  It is a medieval city built on two primary hills with steep winding streets and staircases. Between the hills is a road that runs to a small square and across the square is the River.

A side street in Blois

A side street in Blois

We arrived at our small hotel and went to the front desk to inquire about the possibility of storing our belongings while we walked the city and had lunch prior to check-in.  The manager was working. He rather curtly began our conversation by stating that he absolutely did not speak english and then reminded me that our check-in time was not for several hours. I assured him the language situation was not a problem as I spoke sufficient french and apologized for our early arrival, at which point he had me sign a document, stated several times that there would be absolutely no smoking in the rooms (evidently this is quite a problem), and handed me the key to our room on the second floor. I was confused by all of this but decided perhaps the mystery was best left unsolved and proceeded to the room to deposit our bags.

Ancienne Blois

Ancienne Blois

The hotel was located just outside the city center, down a primary road that ran parallel to the river. It was not the most attractive section of Blois but after a short walk we were once again amongst the historic buildings. By then the weather had warmed and we wandered for a short time before locating a small cave/cafe called Le Denis Papin, situated atop a large staircase halfway up the hill opposite that of the old Royal Chateau. The cafe had a small terrace with six or seven tables and a hedge running around the outside and a view out over the town. Inside were perhaps four additional tables. On the terrace young people sat having drinks in the sun and inside several men stood at the bar.

We were greeted by the owner and shown to one of the small interior tables beside two older women finishing their lunch. The cafe is owned and operated by a husband and wife and the wife acted as our host and server. She brought a chalkboard to our table upon which was written the entirety of their menu. I ordered the tart special without ham for my accompanying vegetarian and took the roasted duck in a country cider cream sauce for myself as well as two glasses of chilled Anjou Blanc.

In Blois nobody speaks english.

The duck was outstanding; the meat was tender and served over a bed of ratatouille beside a salad with mustard vinaigrette. The owner was extremely kind and we spoke for several minutes about our origins and plans for our visit and while giving me a business card thanked me repeatedly for speaking french and visiting her city and her cafe.

Canard sauce cidre crème avec ratatouille et salât.

Canard sauce cidre crème avec ratatouille et salât.

After lunch we crossed the town to the Royal Chateau. The Loire Valley is famous for its incredible Chateaux and while not the most beautiful or famous of them, the Chateau in Blois has an interesting history in that for many years it held the seat of the French Government under several Kings. Initially constructed in the 13th Century, the building sits atop one of the large primary hills and from the surrounding walls it has a terrific view to the river and of the spreading countryside.

Inside the Royal Chateau

Inside the Royal Chateau

Following our visit to the chateau we went down some stairs towards the river and found a small cobblestoned street winding along the ancient sections of the city. We came to the Church of Saint Nicholas Saint Laumer, a beautiful 12th century Abbey Church which once was an important pilgrimage site for its known relics included a section of what was believed to be the true cross of Christ. Though not the primary cathedral in Blois, the Church of Saint Nicholas Saint Laumer is an impressive and stoic building and has modern stained glass windows created by the artist, Max Ingraned after the originals were destroyed by bombings during the second world war.

Église Saint Nicholas Saint Laumer et La Loire

Église Saint Nicholas Saint Laumer et La Loire

We walked along the wall above the river after our church visit looking into the water and stopping at the edge of several eddies and holes along the bank where large carp were holding in the slack water. Blois was occupied by the Germans during World War II and the beautiful bridges served as strategic bombing targets as they provided access for incoming forces. The city sustained heavy damages both by the invading German forces and during the allied effort to reclaim ground. 

Walking back through the city we stopped and sat outside at a cafe in the central square and had a coffee in the shade beneath a large tree in the pleasant afternoon air before continuing back to our hotel.

At the hotel we both became occupied with business matters on our computers and lost track of time watching some odd french version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire until suddenly it was almost 10:30 at night and we hadn’t eaten dinner. While researching available restaurant options that were open at such an hour - in the countryside, restaurants close between two and five pm after lunch and the entire town closes early after dinner.

We found place nearby and after a short walk I found myself in the only open restaurant, experiencing the odd sensation of being in a stunning ancient city off in the french countryside along the beautiful River Loire, eating a double bacon cheeseburger while listening to American country music from the 1990s and early 2000s in a restaurant called The Buffalo Grill.  To my great interest, the restaurant was almost completely full.

Back at the hotel we confirmed the reservation for our car rental for the following day and fell asleep reading while watching a truly bizarre french western-styled film.

DINING WITH MY ABUELO

Many of my earliest memories are of sitting on the blue and white tiled countertops in the kitchen of my grandfather’s beach house watching the cook, Maria Louisa make tortillas. The house was deep in the jungle on the Pacific Coast of Mexico near Chamela – a small fishing village 100 miles south of Puerto Vallarta in the state of Jalisco.

We ate breakfasts at the large equipale table beneath the palapa – a traditional large woven canopy – beside the pool on the cliffs above the ocean. Breakfasts consisted of fresh fruit – sliced mangoes, melon and papaya – then soft-boiled eggs mixed in cups with salt, pepper and chunks of bread that absorbed the rich yellow yolks. There were always fresh bolillos with orange marmalade and we would eat in the cool morning breeze listening to the waves of the Pacific Ocean crashing against the rocks beneath us.

For dinners we sat inside at the long dining table and ate dishes like Huachinango a la Veracruzana (Veracruz style Red Snapper), which was served whole in a tomato based sauce with olives and capers. For years my favorite dessert was Maria Louisa’s flan with the extra caramel sauce poured over the custard.

After dinner I would sit with my grandfather in the great room and play gin rummy beneath the lamp on one of the side tables or outside watching the bats feasting on the veritable buffet of insects inhabiting that stretch of the semi-arid jungle. My grandfather always said that if it weren’t for the bats, the insects would be so thick we could never have had the house there. In the morning I would wake to the early light coming through the wooden blinds over the screened window and the sound of the young man sweeping the guano from the terraces around the bedrooms of the house.

My Grandfather loved good food.

To my knowledge, the man never cooked for himself. Living in Mexico, he always had a full-time cook on staff and he took an active role in both their culinary development and the creation of his day to day menu. Some of the greatest cooks I have known were those employed by my grandfather.

He took great relish in organizing his food; later in life when I visited his condo in Mexico City or his home in Morelia – a small colonial city in the mountains three hours north-west of the City of Mexico – we would always have terrific meals that had been planned for months in advance.

Dining with my grandfather in Mexico required an open mind. There were never options on the menu. He wanted everyone to experience all nature of traditional cuisine from fried grasshoppers swallowed whole (he enjoyed relating how the hairs on their legs cleaned out his esophagus), or enchiladas de huitlacoche (a black fungus removed from ears of corn), to my favorite barbacoa (marinated and slow cooked goat meat in a pit lined with cactus leaves), or one outstanding Carne a la Tampiqueña at an historic restaurant several blocks away from the Zocalo in Mexico City.

When dining with my grandfather one could not be squeamish.

When traveling he was serious about trying the local cuisine and was open and generous in ensuring we enjoyed the finest examples.

In Moscow we had borscht with a spoonful of rich sour creme and I had an excellent Rabbit Stroganoff at the CDL (The Central House of Writers) Restaurant. In St Petersburg we ate braised bear with wild forest mushrooms.

In London we had a roasted Prime Rib at the Georgian Restaurant on the top floor of Harrods – a massive cut designed for two people, wheeled out on a trolley with a number of accoutrements including roasted vegetables and potatoes. We had Steak and Kidney Pies at Rules – the oldest operating restaurant in London. We also had wonderful pork sausages with mashed potatoes and gravy on the small second floor of the Lamb and the Flag Pub in a little square in Covent Garden and Bone Marrow with grilled vegetables in a restaurant in the British Museum.

Dining with my Grandfather was always an experience. Regardless of the location, every meal was an extended formal affair. While he rather enjoyed the atmosphere of old British pubs, he detested ordering at the bar and preferred to place his order with his dining companion (yours truly) and have them relay it to the proper authority.

My grandfather was also a harsh critique. To him it was a cardinal sin to over-boil an egg; a fact I learned along with several Hungarian waitresses and at least one breakfast cook when, on our fourth morning in London (and his fourth disappointing breakfast) my grandfather decided that negotiations had failed and direct action was called for as opposed to further delegation. He took his cane from the adjacent chair and marched into the kitchen. I however, found my eggs perfectly over-easy and doubting highly they would be improved by my joining the crusade, remained table-side eating contentedly. Several minutes later he carried the bowl out himself accompanied by several flustered Hungarians and sat down to enjoy his meal.

The following morning when his eggs arrived barely over raw he merely cocked his head, said “well”, and ate them resignedly.

For a man who in all probability may have never cooked in his life, he knew a remarkably extensive amount about food preparation. One of my last memories of him took place while he and I were having lunch during our voyage on Russia’s Volga River. We were dining with several other travelers and he described for our companions the process of preparing the cold walnut cream sauce with pomegranates his cook used on traditional Mexican stuffed peppers.

Preparing the walnuts was a complicated process, both difficult and time-consuming and impressive to hear described by a man whom I had only witnessed enter a kitchen in order to place an order with his home cook, to prepare his nightly cocktail or as a hungry 85 year-old, intent on enjoying a properly boiled egg.

Among other things, my grandfather loved good food and I was fortunate to learn much from him. My meals with him were experiences I will certainly never forget.

Sitting at the front table of the terrace of a restaurant in Morelia about to witness the traditional Lighting of the Cathedral.

Sitting at the front table of the terrace of a restaurant in Morelia about to witness the traditional Lighting of the Cathedral.