I’m the first to admit that my jeunesse was pretty dorée (especially given that I was a kid who was always greedy, both for new experiences and interesting food). My parents, both mad foodies long before the term was ever invented, used to haul my sister and I along to meals at a veritable United Nations of restaurants in an era when a trip to Angus Steak House was considered to be exotic by most. We got to travel, too; to France in particular.
Some of my earliest memories are of watching my father spend his evenings poring over Michelin guides, both green and red, the Guide Routier and publications by Relais et Châteaux as he tried to work out routes down to southern France that would take us via as many extraordinary restaurants as possible.
One of my fondest memories was of a trip to visit the Loire. I must have been about eight at the time, and the week we spent in the area flitted past in a succession of visits to châteaux and fortified castles, interspersed with memorable meals. I distinctly remember sitting on the plush red banquette of a hotel restaurant, my father wedged in between my sister and me, as he tried to talk us into trying snails. ‘It’s just the most wonderful way of eating lots of garlic and butter,’ he said…
Anyway, of all the amazing hotels we stayed in, the one that stuck in my mind was the Auberge du Bon Laboureur in Chenonceaux. Sure, the fairy tale castle down the road had something to do with it, but mostly it was about the ivy-clad auberge itself. Its stone-walled garden provided a venue for games of hide and seek, while the cool bedrooms gave us respite from the afternoon sun. Best of all, though, at the end of the day my parents would sit and have an apéritif in the pretty courtyard, and allow me to sip from their wine glasses. Then we trouped into the restaurant for dinner. I can’t say I remember the meals in any detail, but I do remember the buzz of conversation, the smile on my mother’s face, my father exclaiming over some choice delicacy he’d been served…
A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to return to the Auberge. Mark and I were on our way back from the southwest of France, and the Loire was a logical stop-off point. Physically, the place had hardly changed at all over the years. I remembered its pale chalky stone walls, its dark roof slates and the ivy that clambered over its facade. The courtyard, too, was much as it had been: packed with tables ready for the evening service.
As we sat down for dinner, a balloon drifted overhead. Then another, and another. Pretty soon a chain of eight or so stretched out across the sky.
The menu arrived, along with our drinks. I enjoyed a crisp, refreshing glass of Jack Blot’s sparkling Montlouis Brut NV while I turned my thoughts towards food and the wine list. Even though there’s a strong offering of wines from around France, the list, as expected, is strong on bottles from some of the Loire’s best producers.
We ended up with a half-bottle of Domaine de la Taille aux Loups‘ Rémus 2013 (vinous infanticide, really, but already very promising) and a bottle of Joguet‘s Chinon Les Charmes 2010, which had very much hit its straps, and was showing all the beautifully crunchy freshness so typical of Cabernet Franc from the Loire.
Actually, I’d been looking for a half bottle of red, but the restaurant manager insisted I try the Joguet, telling me that I would only be charged for a half bottle’s worth. This was of a piece with the service throughout the course of our meal. We were treated as if we were honoured guests, which sounds as if the hotel’s staff were obsequious and cloyingly attentive – they weren’t, they just made us feel as if they were genuinely interested in ensuring that we had a great time.
The Rémus proved to be a versatile partner for both Mark’s starter of sea bream tartare with marinated prawns and a generous helping of zesty summer herbs, and my less photogenic dish of lightly sautéed scampi tails and beetroot purée, whose flavours were delicate and well balanced. The wine worked so well because its crisp, youthful green apple and citrus notes provided a fresh counterpoint to the richness of the scampi tails, but didn’t dominate the more delicate tartare.
When the mains arrived, I couldn’t help but feel that Mark had chosen the most photogenic option – once again – a plate of herb-crusted lamb with a garlic cream, but that flavourwise I came off best with my choice of perfectly cooked roast pigeon, pink and tender in the centre, but with crisp, slightly smoky skin. The wine’s slightly ferrous minerality picked up on the gentle gaminess of the meat, amplifying its character.
A dessert of baked Alaska (confusingly called an ‘omelet Norvegienne’ in French – I’m sure the Scandis don’t set their omelettes alight in the normal course of events) was an unnecessary but thoroughly pleasant way to round off a meal that had lived up to my childhood memories. I’m going to make sure I don’t leave it several decades until my next visit to the Auberge.
The Auberge du Bon Laboureur, 37150 Chenonceaux, France.