Text 33536, 136 rader
Skriven 2015-11-23 22:21:54 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: Brive market, Le Denicheur 535
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It was a crummy morning, but we went to the Brive market anyway, as
we had to get stuff for the week, especially as I&J were going off
to Paris for a couple days -

Veggies: a big cauliflower for E2.50; we could have gotten a little
one of 1 kg for E2, but Swisher, whose idea it was, didn't see the
little ones until we'd already got the big one. Onions and carrots
on general principle, because they go with everything; and a big
bag of spinach for E3 - probably $10 worth at the Stop and Shop.

Ian recommended a duck producer to us; we got a whole foie gras, a
dozen duck gizzards, some fine big magrets (a pound plus each), and
a bunch of fat for rendering and cooking. He also has a favorite
chicken stall, all bio and organic and free-range and no cruelty
until the last moment, but I think it's because the proprietress
is cute, and he gets a hug and a kiss when he goes there. We got
a chicken, maybe 5 lb, for E20-odd - I'd rather have gotten more
magrets, but that's just me.

Ian had recommended two places within walking distance of the
garage (free on weekends), but it was still too early to eat,
plus strolling through the streets of this hearty-eating but
otherwise not that interesting town on a cold rainy morning didn't 
seem to be quite the ticket. Imagining a clearing to the west, we 
decided to go on an adventure; I thought that Rouffignac would
be a nice destination on a crummy day; the GPS routed us through
Thenon, where there seemed to be a lunch place that gets decent
reviews called Relais des Chasseurs ... so we went there only to 
find that it's a local bar that serves sandwiches and snacks, but
never on Sunday. The barkeep directed us down the road, he didn't
say how far. It turned out to be only a mile, and that's how we
found Le Denicheur, a self-consciously old-style inn, exposed
beams, ill-lit, you get the idea. The carte looked interesting.
We were not, in the end, disappointed.

We were given the choice of sitting in the front room, which
had only one table occupied out of about eight, or in the bar,
which was about half full. Being respectable senior citizens,
we chose the front room.

Our waitress was friendly but traveled at a quite slow rate 
of speed. Of course my eating pace didn't help, nor did the
fact that Lilli always has food left on her plate, so she
doesn't look finished. There was in addition some weirdness
with my main course.

There is an assortment of menus of greater or lesser
elaborateness, plus a regular carte. Swisher had the menu du 
jour, I the slightly more festive menu Perigourdin, and Lilli
just the one course.

The menus come with soup, starter, main, and dessert. 

This first was autumn vegetable soup - a simple but very
tasty butternut and carrot puree with chicken stock. Even
though Lilli's didn't come with, the waitress offered her
a bowl and spoon, which kind offer was turned down. We
were served a whole big tureen anyway. I tried to do my
part, having two and a half bowls, but there was still
at least a full serving left when we were done.

Swisher's appetizer was caprese, not shall we say of the
region; it was unremarkable. His main, the plat du jour,
was chicken with a mushroom potato sauce, which he
pronounced excellent. I had a fragment and found it
perfectly okay but not a patch on what I can do or on
what I imagine the Refuge from the other day could do.

His creme brulee for afters was good.

After my soup my menu offered pate de foie gras, and how 
could I refuse that. This was two sizable slices of 
high-quality bloc sided as is fashionable nowadays with 
a spiced fruit compote that was almost a chutney, the 
spiciness and acidy-sweet blend supposedly helping down 
the rich food. Suffice it to say that no help was needed, 
and after grudgingly ceding small tastes to my companions, 
the stuff disappeared with the greatest of ease.

For my main course, there was the choice of confit or
cassoulet. I made the wrong choice. Not that the cassoulet
was bad, no, not that at all. It had been cooked for a
long time, so the beans were tender and creamy, the liquid 
thick and concentrated, almost nonexistent. The crust had 
been folded in in canonic fashion at least a couple times 
(the traditional recipe says once a day for a week). It 
even had some pork in it, which made it extra interesting.
It's rather that even despite the gloominess of the day,
this crock of food was extremely heavy going. I'd have
liked it better after a day slaving in the fields or
shoveling snow, but in the middle of being chauffeured
around the countryside, nah. The traditional cooking 
coupled with modern seasoning made it also quite salty.
Plus it took dog's years to get it out of the kitchen.
Later I heard the proprietor telling another table about
how he was proud that the cassoulet had been cooking for
days and days, not in the instant (one or two day) way
that modern restaurants do it.

Fromage came with my menu; I had wondered what was going
to be on offer but had seen a plate on its way by - the
cheese and crackers both came in their own individual
cellophane wraps. I said no.

An Ile flottante was also quite nice, the Ile fluffy 
and tender, and the lake vanillary and eggy and good.

Lilli, being on a limited diet, had the entrecote rare
with frites as usual. Excellently tasty Limousin beef
with enough fat, slightly gristly as farther forward
on the beast than the cut should be. She ate half and
speaking of which forwarded the fatty gristly parts to
me, which sort of muted my enjoyment of my own dish,
which I forgot to say didn't come out until the others
were half finished and in fact when the other table's
orders for it came out (seems they had the big pot and 
plated (casseroled) several in a batch and  gratinated 
them together in the oven). So I'd had close to half
a steak before my heavy main course came out.

I ordered Ch. de Haute-Serre 07 (Georges Vigoureux) at
the amazing price of E17. This is a pretty robust Cahors
and would be barely ready to drink, but okay I thought
with the heavy food. What came out was the younger-vined 
and less robust Lafleur from that same estate, pleasantly
light and quite ready to drink. Anyhow, the price was
still fair for this, so I didn't fuss.

With dessert I ordered a glass of Monbazillac, which 
arrived in a tiny pour and pallid as rainwater, reminiscent
of the wines that used to be sold in my day under the 
appellation for $2 or 3 a bottle. It was slightly flowery, 
unconcentrated, semisweet in a sugar water way. Ah, well, 
it cost only a Euro fifty.
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