Text 33598, 140 rader
Skriven 2015-11-25 03:01:34 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: sightseeing 541
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Bretenoux is an ancient bastide town an hour maybe
from the house, down the valley past Beaulieu, a nice
drive that Swisher and I ended up taking several more
times. It seemed to be a good place to stop to check
out the old buildings (walled town, 12th century
church) and admire the sunshine, of which there was
some for a change. It's also on the way to our
destination, Rocamadour, one of the places my sister
had wanted to visit and never did. 

Nothing spectacular, just a cozy little relic with a
couple restaurants I might want to visit in the
future, a pleasant riverside walk (Argentat is better,
I think), sunshine, and a tabby cat who sniffed at us
and after deciding we were neither threatening nor a
source of easy pickings went off to do his thing.

It was another half hour or so to Rocamadour, where 
you have two choices, up or down. The GPSes both
wanted to take us down, which I recommended against.

On the up side, the first thing you come to is a
parking lot for the viewpoint over the cliffside, a
remarkable sight that was worth half an hour of oohing
and aahing, after which Lilli and I went reconnoitering
down the road. Swisher's legs were misbehaving, so he
said he'd have a beer someplace and wait for us.

We walked past an oompah band in militaryish oompahish
costumes practicing noisily. Quickly past until we
were beyond earshot.

Down the road looked promising, plus there was a big
parking lot over there, so we went back to report. 
Luckily by this time the band had left the area and
could be heard presenting its concert down the hill.

Swisher wasn't at the car, so, geniuses that we are, we 
walked into the nearest bar, where we found him sucking 
down a Stella.

It's called Le Bellaroc and is attached to the restaurant
of the same name, which is attached to the hotel of the
same name. The hotel is in the Michelin guide, so, of
course, the sticker is on the restaurant door. Of course
of course, being in the Michelin guide is barely a bit
more prestigious than being in the Zagat guide.

We of course joined Swisher in drinks but then realized
it was lunchtime, so we asked if we could go to the
restaurant, but the otherwise rather nice staff indicated
that the restaurant was booked up. I looked quizzically
at them, because the room was completely empty. But you
can eat at the bar, someone said, so that's what we did.

They both got the special of the day, jambon frites, two
quarter-pound slices of not-too-salty pretty good cured
lightly smoked ham and a moderate pile of crisp skinny
fries. On the side a little salad and a ratatouille. Lot
of food, reasonable price, not unpalatable.

For a fistful of dollars more, I treated myself to the
Menu Bella. It was worth the fiver or so more that I
spent.

Terrine of beef shin stuffed with foie gras - the beef
part reminded me of jellied corned beef from an Argentine
can (not that that's bad) from my childhood, maybe a
notch above, the usual vinaigrette replaced with a thin
diagonal streak of balsamic reduction that separated it
from the garnish, a blob of fancy greens mixed with
carrot strings and sweet corn (very unsweet at that);
the stuffing was maybe an ounce of quite respectable
foie gras.

Steak frites was a really big rib steak, thicker at
the fatty tail, but I don't mind that except that in
such a configuration if you don't precook that end,
either the fat remains on the rare side or the meaty
part doesn't. It's not rocket science, but only a 
fancy place like the Palm will actually do this kind
of thing for you. In this case, the fatty tail was
barely acceptably cooked, and the meaty end likewise.
In this case, the one end that should have been a
point was saignant and the other that should have
been saignant was a point. Decent beef as always.
I got the same sides as the special had.

A walnut cake with vanilla sauce and whipped cream
was a little coarse and tannic for me, the cake being
very modestly sweetened, the sugar showing up in the
pretty decent vanilla sauce. Delicious thick whipped
cream.

A very ordinary red wine went well with all.

During the afternoon, the oompah band came in, filling
the restaurant as promised. It turns out they were the
army band of the Rhone-Alpes and one of the better
regarded such in the country. About this the less said
the better, but it does put the groups I used to play
with before I retired into a more favorable light.

We piled back into the car and went to the far
parking lot, which is near the gift shops and 
more touristy restaurants and the inclinator that
for about $5 takes you to the mid-levels where all
the interesting stuff is.

The site is arranged like this: top of the hill,
chateau, hotels, restaurants, stuff like that;
mid-levels, mediaeval churches and chapels; at
the valley base, the town itself, probably built
to service the clergy and nobility living above.
The levels, I don't know, a couple hundred vertical
feet from each other, are connected with walkways
and now two elevators, for which you pay separate
admission. Our ticket took us to and from the
chapels; if we had wanted to go to town, it would
have been another admission, though you can access
it by road as well.

The ecclesiastical sites, seven I believe, including
a chapel with a famous black Madonna statue
supposedly sculpted by St. Amadour himself, are pretty 
nice - what is striking and unique is their setting, 
built into the side of the cliff. Worth a couple hours,
though I could see the place becoming claustrophobic 
and irksome in high season.

After we'd had our fill of churches, we reascended
and took the rampart walk at the top of the chateau,
which offers spectacular views and a small dose of
vertigo. We stayed around until it started to rain.

Back home, where as we had had a quite substantial
lunch we just snacked on leftovers and red wine
(beer for Swisher, of course).
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