Skip to main content

A lunch in Dinan.



 We left Rennes in the morning with the plan of hopping a few buses to go to Saint Malo, but as we rode the bus through Dinan we decided that we should just hop out and check out this town.

Medieval. Steep hills with narrow cobbled winding streets. An antique store or artist gallery on almost every street (or so it felt).

This was definitely an interesting little town. Sadly because of it being a vacation for most of the country a lot of the interesting little shops were closed. Peering into darkened store fronts.

When we arrived it was right at lunch time so I thought it would be nice to find a little 'hole in the wall' restaurant to get some food. We wandered all over, tracing back over our steps until we came to Crêperie des Artisans just past the opening of the city wall constructed in the 14th century.

When we walked in we were greeted with a collection of antiques and everything in a shade of brown, plus the unmistakable aroma of burning wood. They had a pot of something cooking over the fire in the fireplace, but we never did find out. The memories of camping out in the woods next to a campfire.

The place felt like a nice home setting. Grandma's house. An oil lamp on almost every table.

I ordered a simple, basic galette. Mushrooms, swiss, and egg. What I got had a perfect blend of parsely and crushed pepper added to it. The pepper leaving a nice tingling in the mouth but not being too strong or spicy.

I would love to learn how to properly make galettes and bring this knowledge back with me to the States. Add some more recipes to my collection of things I know how to make. Noodles in sauce can be good, but I would love to become more profecient in making delicious dinners. This of course leads to wanting to have more dinner parties. So far the only rule that Jessye and I have come up with for our new apartment together is that we are going to have to share in the making of meals; ie. most of our meals will start having two courses as we each one course and then diner together.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

New Birth.

Hey. C'est moi.  It has been a few years. Since I last discussed into the void here I attended grad school for architecture at the University of Washington, finished the Master's program by the skin of my teeth, graduated into a global pandemic (I would not recommend this), gave away most of my worldly possessions, and am now flâneur-ing around Europe on the slim budget of my life savings. Allow me to reintroduce myself : I am the artist, Gaston. My interests include ; architecture, sustainability, art, vintage fashions, antiques, and flâneries. All while consuming massive quantities of tea. “I know where I'm from, but I don't know where I'm going.” I recently heard this line at a video playing at the Tate Museum in Liverpool, and it rang strong in me. In the film Casablanca, when Rick is questioned on his nationality he responds that his is a “drunkard,” insinuating that he has renounced his American nationality for that of someone who owns and runs a bar. From ...
French underworld tattoos at the turn of the century. The man sports a tattooed mustache intended to foil the prohibition of facial hair in the Foreign Legion. The World of Tattoo by Maarten Hesselt van Dinter. I can only dream of being anywhere near that combination of badass and crazy. Though at that point the Foreign Legion was probably still the best place for criminals to get their record cleaned so perhaps he is as well quite legitimately scary upon all of that. I find myself flipping back to this page time and time again to romanticize the French underground from around 1900. Give him an accordion, a beret, and some braces. Prostitutes who could easily kill you if you ever come up short and tattoo the names of their ‘actual’ lovers between their breasts, close to their heart. Tattoo ‘Je mother fucking t’aime’ in a tattoo cursive along my collar bones.

The Toulousian Painting.

I sneak in a mirror reflected reference photo. While we were in Toulouse we ducked into a nice little salon de thé that to me felt like something out of a 1940s representation of Europeans in Africa. Probably just the French dealing with the heat of the south. While at this place I noticed a girl sitting alone at one of the tables reading on her phone. Perhaps surfing the internet, perhaps reading a book, I couldn't quite tell as it was in Asian characters. I would guess that it was either Chinese or Japanese. In such a beautifully intriguing place I found it to be somewhat odd that she would pass the time ignoring her surrounding to immerse herself in her phone. I remember they also had nice restrooms. The girl then left and we stayed a bit longer sipping on our drinks, which if I remember right were not actually tea but something cool to counter the heat of Toulouse. Taking a breather in the hectic nature of our vacation. It was one of those towns where I ...