Day 4 - Tiramisu in France?
By Arnd
Our car was getting hungry. The built-in sat nav wanted to send us all over the place to find fuel. I spontaneously decided to use Google Maps and navigate Josh. You can imagine what happened — we actually found a third of the gas stations we searched for!
The first station turned out to be accessible only on foot. Up a steep slope and somehow onto the motorway station. Strange — why didn't Google direct us to the station? Well, it would have been on the right side too. Only 100 metres lower, it's unreachable without climbing gear. We kept looking; the next station was on the main road. And smaller than the sign announcing it.
And just occupied by a lady driver who was having serious trouble using this station. So we drove on to the next one. It was supposed to be in a triangle formed by the forking main road. Despite restrictive one-way regulations, we managed to approach the triangle from every side. There was no gas station. So we drove back to our dwarf station.
Josh enthusiastically noticed you could select "German". You could, but nothing happened. Everything stayed in Italian. Except for the language menu. The credit card reader actually worked though. Not with the first card. But with the third. We filled up and only then realised the fuel costs were lower than expected. 1.774 for premium isn't that much right now.
Rip-off on the Road
We found our way back to the motorway, passed the station we could have used on the motorway, and noticed that the private operator or the station owners charge 50 cents more per litre. Quite outrageous to monetise your "location advantage" to such an extent. For families driving on holiday, that's easily 30 euros extra per tank.
Then we crossed the border into France. And please, dear Italians, don't take this personally. I'd feel the same driving from Germany to France. Or from anywhere. If you get the feeling I don't like Italy, then forgive my unclear writing. I love Italy. But I simply love France just a little bit more.
Landscape, villages and light. I find the transition from the Cinque Terre to the Côte d'Azur makes a striking difference when looking out the car window. The French motorways also seem much more modern and well-maintained — though, fair enough, they're at least noticeably more expensive than their Italian counterparts.
Today we're treating ourselves — the destination is Arles, the largest commune in France by area. With a population of around 50,000, there's plenty of infrastructure, yet Arles retains the charm of a small, sleepy southern town. Arles became a bishop's seat as early as the 3rd century, and after quite a lot of back-and-forth with Ostrogoths, Burgundians and even Romans, the archbishop eventually moved to Aix-en-Provence in frustration. Arles fell to France with the County of Provence in 1481 and remained a bishop's seat until 1801. (Source: Wikipedia, https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arles).
On Booking, I quickly and spontaneously chose l'Hôtel Particulier, because it simply represents that France of small and medium-sized towns that I love so much. I always set the Booking sort to "Best rating first". That's not an objective ranking by hotel class, of course. But a ranking of where guest expectations were most exceeded. Because that's how the rating stars should be understood. This time we were in the upper price range — rooms were between 200 and 300 euros.
We were warmly welcomed. And after settling into our rooms, we sank into the courtyard. I ordered some baguette (the French know the word baguette, of course, but they order "Pain" (=bread)) and cheese. Plus a glass of white wine. Later the super nice owner treated us to a round. We almost didn't manage to leave this courtyard.
Sluggishly Dragging Ourselves to Dinner
Otherwise we would have missed the "Grand Café Malarte", a recommendation from the hotel owner. Only 4.1 points on Google, 4 on TripAdvisor. We were a bit sceptical. Plus "mal arte" is, let's say, an unusual marketing statement. But we were drawn in by the gorgeous interior design and the patio heaters at the tables.
Two friendly tattooed, bushy-bearded hipsters served us. We first ordered a glass of white wine. Which our bearded fellow somehow didn't approve of. He suggested bringing a small sip to try first. He was right. Dreadful. Since he obviously knew more about his wines than I did, I asked him to simply bring the red he himself would drink.
And then things took off. Naturally, we ordered the Charolais beef. I can only tell you: a supreme delight! I normally don't like the fat on beef either, because it often has a "rancid" taste. And I trimmed a lot off here too.
But the texture, flavour and mouthfeel were simply magnificent.
The Béarnaise sauce we ordered clearly drew the short straw here — it wasn't bad, but simply not good enough for the outstanding beef. And even the potato sides tasted so beautifully of potato that the rather sour Béarnaise had no purpose left.
So: they can do meat at "malarte". And phenomenally so. I'd rather order Béarnaise sauce somewhere else. But I don't need it here!
After our hipster team had skyrocketed in my esteem, I shyly asked for a dessert recommendation. Then came, you won't believe it: Tiramisu.
Italian Sacred Desserts After the Main Course?
I said I'd never ordered a Tiramisu in France before. And he said: Well, then today's your first time. I joked: Only if you bring me a Panna Cotta too.
A short while later, both were on the table. Josh had ordered a Panna Cotta with caramel. I can't sugarcoat that, so I'll collegially leave it uncommented. So I was left with the hard fate of trying both desserts.
And there's a lot of responsibility in that: the sacred Italian desserts. Served in France. On plates with the Tricolour. The French one, that is... So, what can I say... After accusing the Italians in the previous instalment of butchering the French croissant. How do the French fare with the two most important Italian desserts?
Drum Roll...
Unfortunately, dear Italian friends, surprisingly well! Both desserts are, rather unusually for France, too sweet. Noticeably too sweet. The Tiramisu has an almost perfect consistency. Perhaps I'm imagining it because to me, French cuisine involves a rather uninhibited use of butter, but I think I can taste a hint of butter through the mascarpone cream that doesn't really belong.
The Panna Cotta is technically perfect, but it's missing that last touch of flavour. The raspberry coulis is more of a thin sauce poured over the set cream.
A proper fruit mirror with purée on the plate would have been nicer. And would have paired better with the Panna Cotta flavour-wise.
If I had to sum up: The beef was among the best I've ever had. I've clearly had better Italian desserts, but that's complaining at a high level. Overall, the bill was very reasonable in relation to what was offered.
Let's leave the Italians the crown for their desserts, at least for now. And let's rejoice in the outstanding overall package in France!
Back at the hotel, we disappeared to our rooms — a larger group of mature ladies from Dallas had already enquired who among us was married.
The rooms are tastefully restored. Many original elements preserved, others reconstructed. A genuine feel-good atmosphere, and the rooms seem to think: "Come along then, we've seen plenty of your kind..."
French Breakfast — Wow!
Breakfast was supposed to cost — as is typical for hotels — around 26 euros. So we decided to take a short walk to the main street. And look for a café.
After all, we wanted to eat a good croissant for the first time on this trip! We could choose between two cafés just around the corner on the main street. We chose the branch of Meinado, a small regional chain that produces and sells truly high-quality pâtisserie.
I ordered — just like in Italy — two croissants, two coffees, two pains au chocolat and two Oranginas. Plus a raspberry tartlet. The bill came to the exact same amount as in Italy, to the cent: 20.30 euros.
No strawberry jam either. But no matter — the croissant was superb! The tartlet divine! And the Orangina as expected.
A truly delightful breakfast. In the sun in Arles. Living like a king in France!
Tomorrow we continue with Barcelona!