Overconsumption as Ambition
February 24-26, 2017
When it only costs €40 to fly round trip to Toulouse, it's pretty easy to justify going to France for the weekend. Mazz was finishing up a busy week working 10+ hour days, so the trip fell at a perfect time to get away and treat ourselves to some excellent food and culture.
It took three attempts for someone to get back to us, but eventually we were able to rent an Airbnb off the downtown Jean Jaurès station that had decent reviews. What these reviews failed to mention though is that the apartment is a fucking dump. The student who lived there was nice enough, but his apartment was dingy and reeked of cigarettes, with a couch covered in a sheet that had holes in it and a double bed atop a single bed frame with no more bedding than pillowcases and a fitted sheet. In lieu of a bathroom door there was a piece of fabric hanging from the door frame. We tried not to look too bummed out when the host showed us the place. He had packed up a small suitcase and left to go crash somewhere else for the weekend.
We didn't come to Toulouse to hang out in Imad's shitty apartment though; we came to eat good food. Our first destination for dinner was L'Air de Famille, of which the Michelin guide said, "When it comes to the food, one senses that a real cook is at work, treating his ingredients with respect and changing the menu every day." We were seated at a table in a small area inside a brick archway that was probably used as a pantry of some sort before refrigeration. We stared quizzically at the French menu written out on a chalkboard in the dining area. After fumbling with Google translate for a while we eventually decided to have the waitress tell us a few things she recommended and just work from there.
The salmon tartare and seared veal tataki were a good start, but the squid ink risotto with Serrano ham and 7-hour lamb shoulder with potatoes and wild mushrooms blew us away. Though we don't come across it too often, risotto or pasta made with the ink of some unknowing cephalopod is always a favorite and will generally be ordered on sight. When the waiter brought the check, he asked if we wanted any coffee, and we promptly told him thank you but no, it was time for us to go to bed now. He laughed thinking we were joking but no, that food was super rich and we're old - it's bedtime, young man.
Back at our awful studio, we laid in bed wondering if it was worth it to just ditch out of this crap shack and go pay for a hotel for the weekend. We got as far as looking at the prices of various places around the neighborhood before deciding to suck it up and go to sleep.
The next morning we shared the single hand towel that was provided for us to shower with and tried our best to clean ourselves. The tub water drained so slowly you couldn't leave the shower on for very long before you were ankle deep in some random guy's tub residue.
For the 2 months or so leading up to this trip, the both of us had been cutting down carbs to try and alleviate the holiday bloats. Now in France, we shared 4 pastries from Maison Pillon for breakfast. And though we both have no love for Starbucks, they are the only game in town that will give you a big, drip coffee (an American baser need) and that was exactly what our morning called for.
We spent the morning exploring the curving streets lined with brick buildings, looking through shops, and meandering through Saturday open-air markets. Eventually we found ourselves at the St. Sernin basilica, where we were happy to pay €2.50 each to wander through the crypts and get a close up look at the incredibly old and detailed God art. From there we made our way to the river, walking in the sunshine along the water and through parks while ogling at all the dogs.
Though we weren't exactly hungry yet, it was time to force another meal into ourselves, so we headed back near our flat to eat at La Cantine de l'Opéra, an offshoot of one of Toulouse'e Michelin-starred eateries. We wanted to come here specifically for their Saturday Plat du Jour: Poulet fermier rôti et son gratin de Macaronis. Just like its American counterpart, roast chicken and gravy with macaroni and cheese is pure comfort in France as well. We crammed every last bite into our mouths, even though we were full halfway through, as this was not the sort of food you leave on the plate under any circumstances. This whole weekend was a lesson in gluttony, and we were determined to ace the test.
Stuffed and content, we headed off to begin assembling more food for our dinner. One of the most exciting things about going to France is the cheese, and online reconnaissance for the upscale cheese shop Xavier Fromager Affineur led Kirb to jot down, "FUCK THIS PLACE LOOKS SO LEGIT" in his notes. The 360-degree shot inside of the shop on Google gives anyone interested a clear idea of what they are getting themselves into.
The inside of Xavier smelled like an angel after it had been jogging and hadn't taken a shower yet but you are still totally into it. We started tasting the sample wares and found a pungent sheep cheese called Brique d'Ithurri that went immediately in our basket. From there, the helpful cheesemonger asked us our preferences and let us sample several more types of regional and European cheeses before we settled on a Bleu d'Auvergne Fermier and a Crottin Devese chevre, all made with wonderful au lait cru, or unpasteurized milk. The cheeseman also helpfully pointed out which bread shop we should visit for a proper baguette to go with the cheese, and the wine shop next door asked specifically which cheeses we bought in order to give us a recommendation on a bottle. We left with a strong red wine from the south of France and smiles on our faces.
We wandered through the expansive shopping district, amazed at how many retail stores there were. Mazz found a store called By Katie Nat where she wanted to buy everything, and though she got herself an excellent bracelet present, she had to be talked down from buying a purse that cost as much as this entire trip.
Now 4pm, the bars were beginning to open, so it was time to start drinking. Not far from the fancy purse store, L’Ancienne Belgique offered 70 varieties of Kirb's sweet, sweet nectar: Belgian beer. Toulouse is the rugby capital of France, and the bar slowly filled with people coming to watch the match between France and Ireland, two of the world's top teams. We had a few rounds during the game, then decided it was time to walk it off a bit before dinner. Mazz was, as ever, really good at making friends with bartenders, and apparently made enough of an impression on this one that he wanted to buy us a final round of Jupiler with Picon before we took off. We happily obliged before making our way through the now dark streets.
We headed back down to the waterfront to find the buildings across the river completely illuminated and reflecting on the water's surface. There were lots of people hanging along the shore drinking and smoking, so we sat down there too and unfurled our picnic. Our bounty was truly sublime, and the three cheeses the cheesemonger helped us pick out complemented each other perfectly, as did the wine. Overcome by the goodness bestowed upon him by the universe, Kirb handed his final delicious bite to the stranger sitting next to him, and she exclaimed, "C'est la merde!" or, "This is the shit!" She passed her bounty to the left hand side to share with Kirb as well.
Next we hit up the No 5 Wine Bar, which the internet claimed was one of the best wine bars in all of Europe. Unsurprisingly the place was crowded, but we found a seat in the back and the waiter explained to us how their system worked. One whole wall was full of wine bottles inside dispensing machines, and they gave you a card to top off with cash. You could read the descriptions of what each type of wine was and choose different amounts of wine for different costs. We put €15 on the card and began to sample the wares, but the lack of human interaction and recommendation was less fun than a normal wine bar, and the wines here were expensive. Though the wine was definitely good, we spent the money we had put on the card and decided to move on rather than stay here much longer.
Mazz wanted a charcuterie plate, so we made our way back to a bar we had seen near the cheese shop and ordered one. We sat at the bar and joked with the bartenders and helped them choose music. Kirb sort of browned out at this point but Mazz assures that he was being annoying.
We woke up the next morning glad that it was almost time to leave the crappy apartment. Kirb felt every bit like he had spent 10 hours drinking the previous day, but Mazz was fine. All Kirb wanted for breakfast was some nice crusty French bread, so we made our way to the Victor Hugo Market, where there was supposed to be an excellent bakery. On the way, we passed by a Spanish ham shop with jamón baguettes in the window and made a mental note of the delicious-looking things.
It took very little time inside the Victor Hugo Market for us to be jealous that such a wondrous place doesn't exist in Berlin. This single market housed all of our favorite foods from Europe in one place. As we had imagined, French specialties like breads and cheeses were strongly represented, but there was also a huge assortment of Spanish jamóns and sausages, the most incredible assortment of dry-aged beef we'd ever seen, and a Portuguese shop full of Vinho Verdes and warm Pastel de Nata pastries. We ordered a few and were surprised to find that they were better than any Pastel de Nata we had in Portugal outside of the ones from the pastry's originator, Pastéis de Belém.
We sampled some funky cheeses at the fromagerie and chose a couple to bring home with us, as well as a stick of tasty salami from another stall. Nothing readily edible in the market looked as good as the jamón sandwiches down the street though, so we went back to the shop for one and ate it greedily in a nearby park. We only ordered one because we had big plans for lunch to eat Cassoulet, a regional stew made of sausage, duck, and beans.
Unfortunately, we didn't plan ahead and the place we had wanted to go, La Cave Au Cassoulet, was completely booked. We wandered the empty streets looking for someplace else to eat until we found an interesting looking place called Duck You, a Toulouse-based fast-foodish restaurant that only uses the meat from ducks that have been grown for Foie Gras. We ordered club sandwiches made with duck confit and scrambled eggs and were pleased with our random choice.
Properly fed, we made our way down the street to the Musée des Augustins, which is housed in a beautiful, large brick building dating back to the 1300s that was originally a monastery. The museum only cost €5 for entry, and was filled with gorgeous sculptures and dating back from the renaissance to the middle ages. The painting rooms were massively tall, with every bit of wall space covered with amazing scenes and portraits, housing some of the largest paintings either of us have seen.
Still with some time to kill before we had to head to the airport, we tried to catch a movie but nothing fit our schedule, so we sat in a park, relaxing and reading books until it was time to have a beer. Down the street next to the bus stop we needed was the Thirsty Monk Pub, and Irish bar that was playing the day's rugby match, so we stopped in and had a couple pints of Grimbergen Rouge before catching the shuttle bus back to the airport.
It was remarkable that Toulouse not only had everything that we love about France, but most of the things we've loved from our travels through Europe, all in one place. It was a weekend overindulgences and pure pleasure - exactly the sort of best-case scenario you hope for when you fly off to a random location because of the cheap airfare.