THE POTATO BABE

Bonnieux: Gratin of Edouard Loubet's Grandmother

This morning was the latest I’ve slept in a month. The beds are comfortable enough to sleep all day, but that doesn’t provide much entertainment for our guests (unless they want to hear the snoring symphony downstairs). Today’s activity was lunch at Edouard Loubet, who’s essentially the Thomas Keller of the region and is famous enough to just slap his name on a restaurant and know people will come. (It does actually have a name, but his is printed much larger on all of the signs – so it escapes me).

We took three separate cars because Laura wanted to take some of the guests to the market in Gordes on the way. (I asked her to check in on my door knob guy, but she forgot). Simon had a hard time navigating us there, so Evan and I were afraid of being late – we hate to be the black sheep of the group. Fortunately we arrived at 1:00 on the dot, and for the first time since his arrival the kids were actually the first ones there.

It was one of those settings that took your breath away – gorgeous view of the hills, perfect Provencal furniture and linen everything – even the servers’ uniforms.

Lunch was amazing. The first course was hearts of sunflowers (who knew?) with girolles, which are similar to chanterelle mushrooms. The next course was a filet of dorade (local white fish) with caramelized orange peel and a few more girolles, and then the show stopper was a tiny mug of pigeon bouillon. (I declined. I live in Chicago, after all. I know how pigeons live). The main course (we’re still eating) was rack of lamb with a side dish of gratin du grand-mere. (Ev thought that meant a gratin of Edouard’s grandmother – I kindly suggested that perhaps it was her recipe. Either way, we found her to be a bit salty but delicious!)

Dessert (all three rounds) was the perfect way to finish the meal. We started out with cold chocolate soup, followed by a selection of tiny crème brulées – pistachio, coffee, anise and poppy (which tasted like roses) and a plate of petit-fours. Unlike many American restaurants, Edouard does the cooking and pastries himself. I told him that pastry chefs are rising to the same level of celebrity as TV stars in the U.S., but he seemed pretty content in his (impeccably clean – I saw it) kitchen.

He had just eaten at a restaurant elsewhere in Europe, which shall remain nameless, which was recently named one of the best restaurants in the world. When we asked him about it, all he would graciously say was “It was fabulously shitty.”

Sitting by the pool after dinner, Evan encountered a bee that he claimed was actually a trick-or-treater, dressed like a bumble bee running toward the lavender fields. He said he’d need a canoe oar to kill it. I told him I was enjoying the hell out of him.

Jokes about eating Edouard Loubet’s grandmother: 4
Guests (out of a possible 12) who ate the pigeon bouillon: 11
Pistachio crème brulées eaten by Evan: 3