Text 33605, 122 rader
Skriven 2015-11-25 03:10:18 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: Roche de Vic 548
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I've been to La Roche de Vic twice before and enjoyed
the restaurant for its honest but cleaned-up local fare 
in a white-tablecloth setting for quite fair prices.
Since then the chef-proprietor has retired and ceded
the kitchen to his son and the front of house to his
daughter-in-law. It is said that the son is a more
refined cook than his father had been; I'm not sure
even after having sampled both their efforts.

We were greeted warmly by the new maitresse d' and her 
mother-in-law and shown to a table in the back of the
recently redecorated dining room, which was almost
empty; but during service it filled up nicely, with
overflow into the function room behind, including a
family with an only somewhat noisy young son.

We started with a 50 of a pretty generic Bergerac blanc 
sec to wet our whistles and go with the starters.

There was a standard pumpkin soup; I forget who was so
masochistic as to order it after drowning in soup the
previous night.

I'd been looking forward to the salad of confit duck 
gizzards, which I'd enjoyed here before, but someone
else ordered it, so

I got the whole shebang salade Correzienne, consisting
of walnuts, gizzards, magret fume, sometimes cheese, but 
I knew they don't do that here, and sometimes foie gras, 
of which this place serves a couple nice slices of 
torchon. This over tender lettuces dressed with another
walnut vinaigrette. The thing was huge and delicious,
and I ate every scrap not only of the proteins but of
the greens as well.

My confit duck leg was kind of strange, not very confit
and of a more resilient texture than I'm accustomed to.
Ian, usually the purist in these matters, said it was
the way they do it here, and whatever. It was pretty
decent but not what I'd have expected. The leg was
obscured in both flavor and visually by an abundance
of excellent cepes. Jacquie had this as well and was
of similar opinion.

The other guys got stuffed suckling pig, which came
with a skin not as crispy as I'd like, tender and
delicious meat but without as much fat as I'd like,
a nothing stuffing, which was fine, and a creamy
brown sauce.

Vegetables for everyone were whole small carrots 
steamed a point and mashed potatoes served preciously
in lowball glasses. Also a gratin of Jerusalem
artichoke in a separate little dish.

Coteaux de Glanes 14 was as always perfectly fine
though a bit young and tannic (this was the winery
that the echo picnic had taken a field trip to).

Everyone got baba au rhum for dessert except me.
The baba was pretty standard, but Jacquie had 
semi-jokingly told the waiter to make sure there
was plenty of rum, and apparently everyone got a
double dose of it.

My iced souffle of walnuts was like ice cream but 
creamier and lighter. Better than I had anticipated.

During the meal, Ian had been joking around with the 
people at the next table. We bade them and the staff 
goodbye and departed in a very good mood.

It was decided that after that substantial meal we 
should get a little exercise, and there was this
pretty lake just a few miles down the road, and the
day was fine, and it was warmish, so why not. It's
called the Lac de Miel, but the name is apparently
a corruption of something else, and it's not really
in the land of milk and honey or anything like that.

It is, however, a mushroomer's paradise, with a patch
every few yards. That's to say if you're a spotter 
rather than a picker - a sizable proportion of 
Amanitas and other inedibles, a large number of
useless ones (many of these are pretty or interesting
to look at, though), and only a few choice comestibles.

The walk around the lake, about a mile, is very pretty,
and as noted there are plenty of distractions along
the way, so it took us nearly an hour to do it. Toward
the end we encountered the people who had been at the
next table at the Roche de Vic, just starting their
walk and taking the other way around.

From there back home you take this tiny winding one-lane
road which goes through some choice woods that turn out
to be a mushroomer's true paradise. Jacquie got out of
the car and went to reconnoiter while we returned to the
house to get a couple baskets and knives. We were back
in ten minutes, and Jacquie had found some good spots:
in under half an hour we'd got 3 lb on the button (1362 g 
- weighed back in the kitchen because of Ian's love for 
exactitude) of black trumpets (Craterellus) and, on a 
bank a few hundred feet downhill, about 1/2 lb (not 
weighed, as he had no plans for them that required a 
recipe) of girolles (Cantherellus).

As we'd eaten well and heartily before, a light supper
was indicated, and as we had this treasure trove, the
suggestion of omelettes de trompettes was made. We
spent at least twice as long cleaning the mushrooms as
it had taken to gather them - you can see why good
quality wild ones go for twenty bucks a pound - and
Ian sweated them in oil and maybe a little white wine,
after which I made omelets. Omelets don't particularly
go with wine, but there was the house white available
for those who needed it.

The rest of that panettone for afters.
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