Small Town Provence

Church bells tolled the hour, awaking Mama and me from dream-filled slumber.  Sunlight filtered through the shutters and a cool gentle breeze floated in from the balcony.  The steam from my caramel tea widened my eyes as I took in the lavish vista from the balcony.  Cream and pastel stucco homes with a terracotta hats and brightly colored accessories, draped in flowers and vines, made a square around ancient climbing trees, peeling and knotted with age, reaching toward the azure heavens. 

Twelve peals reverberated through our quaint apartment, sending us on our way to explore the town of Lorgues.  A series of winding streets led us to the town’s center, where every corner boasted a couture coiffure, and cafes lined the streets. 

We stopped a little family-run brasserie called La Table De Pôl. Blackboards with elegant white script listed the plate de jour and specials.  Tables lined the street with bare ancient trees providing an illusion of shade.  Lime green banners soared through the air, inviting diners to lounge in the citrus-colored chairs at the black tables, munch on freshly baked bread dipped in the tastiest of olive oils with a smattering of clinging sea salt and freshly ground pepper, and await two succulent courses.

The Chateau de Berne La Boutique Huile d’Olive was the freshest olive oil I’d ever enjoyed. I closed my eyes and let the flavors roll over my tongue, and the resonant flavor of the oil lingered on my tongue as I tried the selection of colorful olives that our waiter had provided.  Tall, dark hair, chocolate eyes, a five o’clock shadow, Mr. Wonderfully Married came by and explained the Jeudi menu:

Miffe feuile de proc de montagne au parmesan e 3 déclimasions et son jus aux saveurs de provence.

Pork baked in jux sauce with an interior orange glaze, flavored with the flavors of Provence and topped with creamy goat cheese, resting in a pool of burgundy and parsley sauce.  A sharp savory Parmesan chip dashingly sits on the edge of the mixed greens that accompany the dish.

Coer coolant de chocolat et son emulsion de pistaches

Chocolate lava cake with cocoa and pistachio cream.

Un petite café.

And the Jeudi special:

Nidi gigolette d’aqueau au jus de fluyn.

A leg of lamb, baked with rosemary,  accompanied by potato wedges, burgundy jux, and a petite salad.

Mama and I ordered both with a glass of rosé. 

Pork so tender I could gently cut it with a fork, intermingling with candied orange, drizzled with a sauce of burgundy, surrounded by a mountain of green and wedges of perfectly seasoned potatoes, arrived shortly, along with a leg of lamb, sitting in said burgundy sauce with a jaunty stem of rosemary for a cap feather, and wedges of potato for Mama.

The first bite was pure Heaven.  Luscious, an explosion of flavor, the citrus brought out the flavor in the pork, and was accentuated by the burgundy sauce.  The potatoes, seasoned with Provincial seasonings, gave both a punch and sense of contentment to the entrée. Mama’s lamb was also incredibly moist, but with the skin of the leg to give a crunch, the rosemary a perfect complement to the lamb.   

Each bite brought joy, satisfaction, utter pleasure to the palate, transforming my former misconception of French cuisine, and elevating its replacement in my mind.  Dessert solidified it.

Crunchy but light, sweet, but not overly so, the mushroom-shaped chocolate cake was home to a molten lava of cocoa, seeping from its pores. The cake sat on top of the shadow of a spoon and fork, left etched in the cocoa powder, and was surrounded by spiraled mounds of whipped cream, a fanned strawberry, and a pot of pistachio cream and decadent chocolate sauce.

The rich bitter note of the petite café enhanced the essence of the dessert, blending savory and sweet flavors. When the last bite vanished, an iced limoncello prepared our tummies for a grand digestion.

Another tall, dark, and handsome waiter’s blue eyes twinkled as he brought us our check, weighted down with smooth black stones to prevent fly-aways. Au revoir!

** My apologies for the mistakes in French – copying from a blackboard is deathly for someone as woefully inadequate in French as I!


Restaurant Reviewed:
La Table De Pôl
18 Place Georges Clémenceau Centre-ville
83510 Lorgues
Tél/Fax: 04 94 47 08 41
Email: latabledepol@orange.fr