Terps, borgs and the pink granite coast: Demain or Dimanche

South we then head for two months exchange in Brittany, a thousand kilometres over lovely little river ferries that bridge the Netherlands dike roads, bumping over pot-holed rustic roads through Belgium, and averting our eyes as we pass the endless tragic war graves of the Somme.

On to the two and half acre property in Rugugen in rural Brittany where we are staying for a two month stint after a fabulous local welcome from our new Bretagne friends, who are exchanging with us in Australia and are off on a plane in the morning.

We had wonderful day with them showing us the local sights all around including an extended drool at their local traditional charcuterie in Ploumilliau just a couple of kilometres from home where we bought everything to make lunch. The shop is filled with slices of rolled and roti meats and heavily peppered and spiced sauccisons and fat stuffed tomatoes, an amazing little place wafting with deliciousness.

One of the owners is famous for her cooking classes. We must see if we will be able to follow them, and perhaps book a session. Then on we go to check out where the best farmer markets are and the best restaurants in the region.

Brittany is famous as the place Parisiennes come for summers. In our first week we were to see many houses along the coast shuttered, waiting for them. Sometimes even the paths leading to the front doors showed long spells of being left untramelled.

For our first Sunday lunch we turned up at one recommended place bursting at the seams--always a good sign!--but where there was no room for us, so we attempted to make a reservation for next Sunday, tho' we're not sure if they understood it to be for 'demain' (tomorrow) or 'Dimanche' (Sunday). We will know next Sunday*.

Sundays are clearly busy for dining out but luckily we found a lone table in the next village for lunch and tucked into snails, shrimp, seafood and a sweet layered dessert.

PS:*Again, the next Sunday the 'reservation' that we thought we had made face to face still had not registered as such. Whatever we said was not what they thought we said. Yet again, we ate well down the road in an ad hoc place: fresh oysters dripping with tart lemon, lamb with roasted garlic and vegetables in glossy gravy; vinaigrette lettuce leaves served with a huge cheese platter and glazed strawberry pastries topped off with an espresso.

All tossed back with a soft red. Yum!

PPS: We finally made it to this restaurant. On our very last Sunday in Brittany. The food was sublime and details of the meal are in a later blog: a sublime long table Sunday lunch. All of the guests, bar us and one other, were locals. They all wanted to learn our story and how we had found our way to this tucked-away restaurant in this tiny village, on this particular Sunday.