I’ve come to know Provence through the taste of aioli, a sauce made of garlic, egg and olive oil. This is the sauce of the Mediterranean side of France. While butter is a staple, Provence’s climate in the far south yields aromatic herbs, tomatoes, apricots and above all, olive oil. The aioli is a humble reminder that France is a big country and its cuisine varied. But despite this variety, Provençal cuisine is still very much French. Complex cooking techniques that turn rural ingredients into polished masterpieces. Through this, the aioli took shape and became the sauce I reach for whenever fried potatoes are sent to the table. 

FISHING VILLAGES

The South of France is a place of fish, fishing and fishermen. They are the rival to Brittany and Normandy in the northeast. Going to Marché aux Poissons in Marseille is a visual journey of fish. With their boats anchored to the port, the fishermen sell their catch and shout the names of what they have on the table. There is the seabass, the sole… then there is the monkfish, hideous but wonderful in stews. To the east of Marseille is Cassis, another fishing village. On Quai des Baux, we take a seat at Le Grand Bleu where a waiter is holding out a bucket of fresh catch to a woman at a table who is carefully inspecting the fish. Roy truly revels in the full experience of eating fish. Like one who is enjoying a glass of wine, he debones the whole grilled seabass using a fillet knife and sprinkles the fish with fleur de sel. Then, he places the plate of fully filleted fish in front of me. I can’t help but find myself lucky to have a husband who enjoys filleting fish for me.

TOINOU LES FRUITS DE MER 

Seafood is a way of life in the South of France. At lunch, you will see a lady picking at a crab and another scooping out urchin from a spiky black shell. Always with a champagne in hand. Our first taste of French seafood really began at Toinou in Aix en Provence. It was a meal of oysters and urchins on a bed of ice with Bordier butter. Butter and oysters? Could this be true? So we asked our waiter and he said with a shrug, “Ahhh some people like to put the oysters on the bread with butter. I don’t really like it but others do.” Around us, everyone was taking their time with their platters of crabs, oysters, whelks, urchins, and at times spreading butter on bread. In the end, we spread the bread with butter and sea urchin. This is the only way I will eat sea urchin now – with bread and butter. 

CHATEAU D’ESCLANS

A rosé wine is the colour of Provence. A beautiful shade of pink that colours the walls of Provençal towns. We are at the Château d’Esclans in search of France’s most famous rosé. “It’s called the Whispering Angel,” Anne-Sophie tells us as she fills the glass with shimmering pink. The Whispering Angel is not dark or deep like a Bordeaux. It’s light, fruity and fashionable. All I can think of as I take sips from the glass are summers in the South of France and dinners of shellfish platters and langoustine gratin in the sunshine, all through rose-tinted shades. 

DUCK

As a Chinese, I always find that I have an affinity with duck. Like the duck confit. Roy is terribly old-fashioned when it comes to duck confit. “The skin must be crispy,” he insists. For me, duck confit is about one thing – fat. Melting fat glazing over meat and potatoes. It adds a hearty shine to the food. The duck confit at Le Bistrot is exactly that. The duck skin is crisp with fat that had melted into a gloss. Even after finishing the duck and potatoes, I am helping myself to a baguette to polish up the fat. Fat simply can’t be ignored for some dishes.

CHATEAU DE MASSILLAN

Near Avignon, we are staying at the Château de Massillan. The chateau – like all others in France – look like something out of a fairy tale. While Germany has the Grimms, France has Perrault and Villeneuve. The chateau is owned by the son of a farmer, someone who enjoys cultivating organic produce. These produce are used by the chef in the chateau’s restaurant. During our stay, we find ourselves drawn to Orange, a nearby town that is as old as the Roman Empire and where there is an ancient theatre.

BOUILLABAISSE 

The bouillabaisse is a dish I could only dream of in the pages of French cookbooks when I was a child. I knew the dish as two long columns of ingredients and a more-than-10-step cooking process. It was a dish that only the most seasoned chefs could do For the days leading up to Restaurant Côté Mer, I could not stop talking about the bouillabaisse. It was “bouillabaisse this” or “bouillabaisse that”. And so on the day of our reservation, Roy drove through the grey stormy weather to Fontvieille. The rain was coming down hard in splashes, some roads were blocked as there were floods. But that didn’t stop us. We reached the restaurant at a late hour. There were no customers except us. The rain it seemed had an effect on business, but the chef was ready with our bouillabaisse. The meal lasted for more than an hour. She presented the fish, all five of them. She cooked, deboned and served them with a pot of homemade soup. Then we finished the meal with crème brûlée and baba au rhum. The latter was served with a bottle of cognac as if we were not already drowsy enough with bouillabaisse. 

A MENU-LESS LUNCH

A menu-less meal is what they would call it a few centuries ago. Inns provided whatever they had in the kitchen to travellers who needed something to eat. It was on the way to the Provençal towns when we decided to stop in Sorgues for a really early lunch. The lady at Chez Gabin was surprised when we asked for “le déjeuner”. She looked at a man behind the counter with raised eyebrows before they shook their heads and said, “monsieur, only café and croissant.” Ah… lunch only starts at noon. She looked so perplexed until an idea came to her and she asked, “maybe something simple, we can do? Pasta?” As we sat down, she opened the appetisers for us. A spread of terrines, eggs, salad, champignons and saucisson. Then out came two plates of spaghetti with roasted pork. Just something they had whipped up using whatever they had at that early hour. It was this lunch that became the prelude to Roussillon and Gordes. Our stomachs feasted, then our eyes.