I went to Bordeaux and this is what I ate: A Culinary Travel Diary
/
a pretty street in bordeaux
In case you missed it, you can read Part 1 of our European vacation including all of the sights and flavors from Paris here.
Wednesday, November 27th:
As our train sped through the French countryside toward Bordeaux, we felt our muscles unwind and our brains begin to take a much needed little rest. Paris, in all of it’s hustle and bustle, was beautiful but it had wiped us out a bit. All I could think about was the cat nap that was awaiting me when I arrived to our Bordeaux AirBnb. I had done far less-intensive planning when it came to our time in Bordeaux. Food and Wine Magazine published an article a couple months before our trip entitled “The Bordeaux Bistro Revolution”, I have a friend who studied abroad in Bordeaux in college, and my cousin had spent a couple days in the city a month before our trip so my restaurant research consisted of simply compiling all of their recommendations onto one piece of paper. Already, Bordeaux was feeling a little more relaxed than the Paris metropolis.
We were completely wiped out upon our arrival at our AirBnB, but having only consumed butter and sugar (remember our Cedric Grolet Opera croissants from earlier in the morning), our stomachs were begging for a little something. We took a quick stroll around the block to the corner store where we picked up a saucisson, a wedge of creamy brie, a 6 euro bottle of grocery store wine, and a crusty baguette. The afternoon was spent snacking and napping and it was wonderful.
When the sky began to darken, we mustered the energy to head out for dinner. We were looking for something low-key and delicious (which we later learned is pretty much the theme of the entire city) and there was a wine bar on my list of recommendations that was a ten-minute walk from our lodging. We arrived on the darkened alley-way to a shuttered door and no sign of life coming from the restaurant. I quickly racked my brain for any other wine bar or bistro I could remember from our list and we ended up around the corner at Soif. It must have been divine providence that our original destination was closed because Soif was easily one of our favorite meals of the trip. It was a small wine bar and when we entered, the only other patrons were seated at the bar. We huddled together at a tiny table near the window where we could watch the passersby as we ate. We drank glasses of wine, deep yellow and buttery glasses and bright citrusy pours, all from within miles of the city. Plump, meaty sardines, fresh from the sea were piled atop thin, buckwheat pancakes, smeared with cream. Mismatched plates of chanterelles and goat cheese sat alongside toad-in-a-hole style brioche filled with local saucisson. Bread was brought in a hand-knitted basket, thin, pungent slices of brie were paired with bright yuzu marmalade and as we made our way home through the slick cobblestone streets, we marveled about how much we were already smitten with the city.
Thursday, November 28th:
Our entire itinerary for Thursday was “explore Bordeaux”. That was it. I had jotted down some landmarks and markets that we didn’t want to miss, but it was so freeing to be able to stroll the city, completely plan-less. We stopped by Oven Heaven for cappuccinos and our second favorite croissants of the trip and meandered through Marche de Capucins, an large covered market with everything from fresh produce to sneakers. We strolled through what seemed like a neighborhood garage sale in a square in front of a cathedral and tucked into alleyways, losing ourselves in Bordeaux’s small-town charm.
A few weeks before our trip I texted my cousins (who had just gotten back from a trip to Bordeaux and northern Spain) asking where I should eat in Bordeaux. The response was “you have to go to Le Poulailler d'Augustin Volailler Rôtisseur, it was the best meal we ate all trip”. So it was settled, we needed to eat here. The website for the rotisserie said that they only seat 23 people for lunch, no dinner service, I wasn’t able to get through when I called to try and make a reservation, so I figured we should try to arrive at the restaurant as close to 12 p.m. (when they started serving lunch) as possible. We arrived in the area a few minutes before noon and spent a little while strolling around the park across the street, killing time until it was socially acceptable to try and eat lunch. Martin still makes fun of me because I was very nervous about not being able to secure a seat and when we walked in, the restaurant was completely empty. We sat at the end of a long table near the kitchen, the entire restaurant to ourselves. Le Poulailler d’Augustin reminded me a little of Boston Market (with much much better food). There was a giant rotisserie behind the counter, where are sorts of locally sourced meats, spun slowly on racks you could see from the windows as you walked by. Behind the glass wall of the counter, there were platters of vegetables, salads, and pastas and quite a few people came into the restaurant to take containers of sides and rotisserie chickens home with them in large paper bags. There were no menus, none were needed, and it felt like dining in someone’s home—comfortable, unfussy, and delicious. A bottle of wine perched between us, we ate fresh pork pate and cornichons off of flowered plates that looked those in the china cabinet at my great grandmother’s house. Mounds of roasted vegetables sat under the juiciest meats (we had chicken and duck), and we finished the meal with best creme brûlée I’ve ever had. It was simple and perfect.
After lunch, we returned to our stroll of the city, stumbled upon another, bigger, tented flea market. We also climbed the spiral wine staircase at L’Intendant Grands Vins de Bordeaux, an attraction in itself, and tucked into a few more shops and boutiques. That evening, still a little full from our lunch feast, we threw all caution to the wind and walked to a pizza place down the road for more of a dinner snack. We also spent the rest of the evening doing laundry. Our AirBnB had a washer, but not a dryer so we had a party hanging our clothes from the loft bedroom.
Friday, November 29th:
We woke up to the sun for the first time since we arrived in France! My body and spirit fully acclimated to the European way of life, I was ready for another cappuccino so we stopped by Black List, a small cafe near the train stop. We sat side by side in a wooden booth that ran along the narrow wall of the restaurant, sipping another cappuccino (or two) and shared a slice of caramel almond cake for breakfast. (This is another thing we need more of in America—breakfast cake.) The woman at the counter told us it was a cake traditional to the area, a nutty, almond filled loaf cake with a sticky caramel coating on the top and I can’t wait to try and recreate a version at home.
We didn’t go to the Louvre in Paris. Or the Gaudi Museum in Barcelona. But give me a museum about wine and you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll be there. (side note: I would have loved to spend an entire afternoon in those museums too, but we just didn’t have the time!) The Cite du Vin opened in 2016 and it’s the first wine museum in the world of it’s kind. The sleek, shiny, steel building looks like an abstract art sculpture peering out over the Garrone River and inside, you will find exhibit upon exhibit exploring the agricultural, cultural, and historical significance of wine. Since we didn’t have time to make the full day trip to the world-renown vineyards outside the city, we figured the museum would be a good substitute and we weren’t disappointed. Admission to the museum includes all of the exhibits, as well as a complimentary glass of wine enjoyed in what’s called “The Belvedere”; a glass-walled room on the 8th floor of the museum where you can enjoy panoramic views of the city of Bordeaux. It was a dream come true and I would go back in a heartbeat.
On our last night in the city, we were looking for something specific. A small wine bar, tucked away, with really great wines and a relaxed atmosphere. A place where we didn’t have to get really dressed up or spend a ton a of money, but that felt special and worthy of our last night in France. I remembered a storefront we walked past the night before (rather quickly because we were almost back to the AirBnB and I really had to use the bathroom) where the words “natural wine bar” jumped out at me. It wasn’t on my lists, but we thought, what the heck? And went to check it out. Tchin Tchin Wine Bar was everything we wanted and more. Both owners were fluent English-speakers, making it easy to chat about their extensive wine list, all natural and all from Bordeaux. The wines were fresh and funky, and we sat in spherical chairs bound with bungee cords. We shared a platter of homemade naan, with a supporting cast of dips—eggplant, yogurt, and multiple hummuses (hummusi?). The walls were stacked with wine boxes and house plants and quirky pencil drawings adorned the empty spaces. About halfway into our second glasses, two guys with instruments walked in a took a seat on the couches in the corner next to us. They began to strum a little on their guitars, and slowly, one-by-one, more and more musicians joined the party. Every instrument from a flute to a banjo was huddled in a circle next to us as the jam session morphed into an impromptu concert. Unexpected and charming, a little bit weird, but in a comfortable and exciting way, it was like the city of Bordeaux itself manifested itself in a folky rock band to end our time in the city and we were 100% there for it.
