Sunny Day Boquerones

  We're back in Collioure, basking in that Mediterranean sunshine and light. (It was chilly and rainy when we left Léran). Here it's warm enough to settle in at a sidewalk café for lunch. Three courses for 15 euros, taxes and tip, as almost always, included.

   Here is fish country not duck country and that made up most of the choices. Two had little bowls of steamed mussels with slices of Serrano ham. Peter and I had anchovies done two ways, salted and as boquerones--lightly pickled in vinegar. That red bed they're draped over is the Catalan specialty, pan con tomate. Start with a slice of toasted bread, rub it liberally with raw garlic and finely chopped tomato, and drizzle with olive oil. Sounds delicious and is.

   Squid and prawns cooked on a plancha (or planxa) was my pick for the main course. Truth be told, the seafood was overcooked but the side dishes, the persillade on the squid, the delectably creamy potatoes, the stuffed tomato and the aioli, stiff with garlic, and sauce romescu (a purée of more tomatoes, garlic and roasted red pepper) were considerable consolation. Desserts were equally typical of the region: crème Catalan--basically crème brulée, or a couple of scoops of thoroughly delicious French ice cream. 

Collioure Equals Colour

    We've never been to this little town in high season. The word is that during August, the queue of cars goes back beyond its boundaries. Even in early September, we ended up having to park by the railway station which is a good five minutes' walk from the beach. 

    Of course it's worth it with its small harbour, picture-perfect tower and everywhere, glowing Mediterranean colours. Doors and walls painted the hues of ripe peaches and nectarines. Great tumbling swathes of eye-searing pink and purple bougainvillea.  As Dufy, Matisse, Derain and others discovered, every corner is a painting waiting to happen. I'll go light on words on this post and let the images tell the story.

A Day by the Sea: Getting There

     Our nearest body of water is Lac Montbel a kilometre away. Our nearest seaside resort is Narbonne Plage. Our nearest water+artistic links+swooningly pretty houses is Collioure, a town not far north of the Spanish border. 

     Usually we drive across country to get there, a stunning couple of hours that begins with rolling meadows that gradually turn to forested hillsides before you begin a long dramatically winding drive down into the town of Quillan, toy-sized from the top of the hill. 

      Next you're into gothic country, passing through limestone chasms and beneath immense overhanging rocks. Then the land opens up and becomes vineyards clear to the sea.

A Day at the Seaside

So off we all set at 9 a.m. after tucking into croissants, pains aux chocolat and coffee. Six of us, two cars and a GPS soon named "Betsy-Jane" (BJ for short). She had, we decided, grown up in Wisconsin and had spent one semester of her college year in Paris. Which had done little for her French pronunciation. "Avenue Charles D. Gall" was pretty good although "Barceloney" ran a close second.

Guided by BJ. our aim was to go and have lunch by the Mediterranean in Port Vendres. The roughly two-hour drive is a show-stopper. It begins with rolling sheep-dotted meadows, evolves into mountains, includes a limestone chasm so narrow that rocks hang over the road, and ends with a broad vine-filled valley. The cloudy day made the Cathar castles, perched unimaginably high on solid rock, look very gothic. 

Port Vendres, on the other hand, looked busy and bustling as an active Mediterranean port should. We watched a little tug shove and push the colossal "Lady Rosemary" into whatever the marine term is for "parking space," as we sauntered along the quayside in search of lunch. 

I neglected to note the name of the restaurant but it's the first one you come to after you've passed the big heaps of fishing nets (in case you're wondering what that crimson/pale pink tangle with what-looks-like-a-yellow-necklace is all about). Like any decent French restaurant, this one offered an all-in three-courser at lunchtime (see menu) as well as eau de robinet (tap water) served in bikini-clad bottles.

Between us we ordered just about everything on the menu, including the grilled sardines pictured here, pictured possibly twice: if you're seeing two sardine shots, it's not some artsy attempt at design but my inability to wrestle the blogspot program into submission. Anyhoo... We never did figure out the ingredients in that savagely green squiggle alongside the plate(s) of sardines. The salad dressing was a vicious purple-pink too. All we could surmise was that someone in the kitchen had a rather too lavish hand with the food colouring. Mind you, one of our party brought up an interesting point. Collioure (just up the coast and the postcard-y shot at the start of this post) is, after all, the birthplace of the unquestionably colourful Fauvist art movement. Maybe this was some kind of culinary hommage.