Dining out in France

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Dining out in France was more fun decades ago. We went to restaurants to have good things to eat, engage in lively conversation and simply to have a good time. Somehow we amused ourselves and did not expect to be lectured by the waiters or entertained by the food. If we wanted an artistic experience in Paris, we looked to the Louvre or galleries and not to the plate. The closest thing to spectacle was Tour d’Argent’s service of duck which bobbed its way to the table in an all too realistic faux bird carried on the waiter’s tray. Forty three dollars seemed an extravagance in 1969 for three courses with fine wines in view of Notre Dame capped with c ognac by candlelight in the subterranean cave. We Americans marveled at the number of bottles of wine emptied by Frenchmen over lunch at Chez Georges on Rue de Mail and shared their enthusiasm for magret and rognon done to a turn. We toured the countryside with confidence that a scrumptious house-made veal blanquette, beef bourguignon or coq au vin could be found for a pittance in almost any auberge served with a salad, a crunchy baguette and a pichet of house wine. When Michel Guerard published his “Cuisine Minceur”, we dismissed it as an amusing diet cookbook for people with more money than taste, not part of a trend which would upend the traditions that had made France the culinary capital of the world. As food became lighter, portions became smaller, plates became palettes and a generation of diners grew up to think of beggar’s purses with caviar as the comfort food of their youth. Today, they introduce children to the subtleties of emulsion and foam — if they can get a word in around the server’s descriptions of the tastes they are about to experience in forms unrecognizable on the plates all over the world. Foam can be fun and sometimes sublime, but we preferred the days when one could order in anticipation of being pleased rather than startled by the result. Such is the case at two of our favorite restaurants in the Southwest of France — one stubbornly devoted to the fare of our grandparents and the other successfully straddling traditional haute cuisine and nouvelle. La Tupina in Bordeaux and Restaurant Coutanceau in La Rochelle have vastly different menus and aspects in common — the owners are hands-on at the market and in the kitchen, the ingredients are as regional as can be found, the dining rooms forgo pretense in favor of comfort and character, the service is professional without being intrusive, and, best of all, the food they turn out makes us want to return as often as possible. La Tupina It’s usually a good sign when the owner eats his own food. Jean Pierre Xiradakis often can be found relishing his at La Tupina on Rue Porte de la Monnaie, a few steps off the gloriously rejuvenated waterfront of Bordeaux. “Xira” has devoted decades to sourcing the best ingredients of France’s Southwest and directing their preparation in the cheerful, cozily rustic establishment some consider one of the last great bistros in France. A hint of things to come is just inside the door where chickens are spit roasted in the fireplace under a mantle dressed with cutting boards and beams laden with strings of garlic and herbs. On the red and white checkered clothed table nearby are the slices of ham, sausage, florets of cauliflower and crisp radishes with which every meal begins accompanied by generous baskets of fragrant, crusty bread and, when lucky, crunchy, hot bits of tripe called tricandilles. A decade on I remember the delights of my first moist, flavorful roast chicken at La Tupina with its sausage stuffing, succulent sauce and the side dish of hot potatoes fried in goose fat. Since then we’ve been working our way through the menu: thick Pyrenean black pig chops, truffled macaronade, foie gras sauteed and sauced with a fruity  reduction, roast lamb, cassoulet and that rarity in Europe — a perfect, flavorful grilled beef. In times when prices all too often seem more luxuriant than the ambiance or the edibles, La Tupina is still within reach. Such memorable meals with wine, coffee and prune ice cream laced with armagnac often run between 60 and 70 euros for two. Lunch at La Tupina can be a screaming bargain. How lucky we’ve been when the plat du jour has been fricassee de volaille or navarin d’agneau served with a bountiful salad of lettuce topped with shavings of Ossau-Iraty cheese and finished with fine coffee and a plate of merveille, crispy bows of fried dough, accompanied by homemade orange confiture — all for a mere 16 euros a person. In winter the hearth warms as much as the foods. In gentler seasons a breeze may waft inland from the magnificently rejuvenated Garonne riverfront to a sidewalk table adjoining that at which Xira’s entertaining on yet another collegial occasion before zooming off on his scooter through the winding streets of old Bordeaux.  Richard et Christopher Coutanceau Up in La Rochelle sailboats catch the eye between courses at the Coutanceau Restaurant overlooking Plage de la Concurrence. There aren’t many places Michelin favors with two stars in the southwest of France, Coutanceau has held…
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