Uncle Sean's Butter Epiphany
May 22 - June 1, 2019
We tried to get Uncle Sean over to Europe in the summer of 2018 to go hut hiking in the alps, but his trip fell apart at the last minute due to some next-level family dingbattery. This year, we picked a time for him to come along when Mazz was already planning on attending a conference in the south of France, tacking on a few extra days in Berlin at the end of May. This is our favorite time in the city: It’s not too hot and everyone is out in the streets enjoying themselves after the long, drab winter. Everything feels fresh and alive.
This was Uncle Sean’s first time in Europe, so we were happy to indoctrinate him into the cult of unpasteurized cheese and döner kebabs. He joined in with little resistance. On a day trip to Teufelsberg - the abandoned Cold War spy tower build by the Americans on top of the “mountain” created post WWII with the rubble of 80% of the demolished city - we were treated to maybe the most Berlin outing imaginable. If the 60’s James Bond villain setting wasn’t enough, the artist colony that lives on the grounds was throwing a music festival called Noiselab that afternoon. We emerged from the woods and reached the outer fence of the compound to be greeted with tense horror movie murder music reverberating from the grounds, then made our way inside to find various artists performing sound installations all over the compound that ranged from ambient to grating noise to building, looping bedroom electro. As we stood in front of a graffiti-covered cement reservoir filled with lily pads, the air was filled with simple 8-bit fantasy video game music. We discussed how looking down at the cement foundation almost appeared like a level of an NES video game, when we realized that a camera crew was behind us recording our conversation. A woman asked to interview us, and we agreed, and when we told her that the installation and surroundings reminded us of the Legend of Zelda, she seemed genuinely confused. Maybe someday if God smiles down on us we’ll find that video clip where we talk about Nintendo at the anarchist compound noise festival on the German news.
On the way back down the mountain we turned a corner and saw an entire hillside come alive at our presence. Dozens of full-grown and baby boars streamed away from us; between their scattered bodies we could see a large family of foxes foraging and traveling with the larger beasts. The spirit of the forest was surely near.
We didn’t really know what to expect from Nice other than that people have historically thought the French Riviera is pretty alright, so we didn’t bother overthinking it going in. Mazz was attending a conference there where she was giving a talk, and we found a great place with a wrap-around deck that was only a two-minute walk from the conference venue and seemingly everything else as well. Nice has a perfectly laid-back beach vibe, and we enjoyed strolling alongside the oceanfront boardwalk and wandering blindly through the narrow streets of the old town.
But the real draw to France is the food, and we came to Nice to eat. There’s a farmer’s market every day in the old town where you can load up on any kind of produce, meat, cheese, and bread. Anything you couldn’t find there was in a specialty shop just around the corner, like Les Grandes Caves Caprioglio, where you can bring in empty wine bottles and have them refilled from wall spigots with your choice of red, white, or the locally-preferred rosé for less than €2. Though the market in the old town was enjoyable but touristy, there was another farmer’s market on the other end of town where the locals shopped, and that one had a great market hall that accompanied the street booths with a better selection and a more authentic vibe. After walking around procuring tasty goods in the mornings, we would take our spoils back to the deck and enjoy a feast with a view above the city, then spend our afternoons relaxing and reading in the sun. It’s hard to properly explain to our friends back home who don’t come to visit just how much better simple things like butter and bread are in Europe, specifically in France. After tucking in to some extra-salty farm butter, Uncle Sean’s face dropped. He was sure that regular butter was now ruined for him forever.
We had mixed results with restaurants in town, with the underlying moral being that you shouldn’t bother eating at any place in Nice that isn’t serving traditional French food. We loved everything about our meal at Chez Palmyre, a tiny little spot in the old town that we only were able to get reservations at because a girl standing next to us translated what we were trying to say to the non-English speaking maître d’. They serve a three-course prix fixe menu for €20 - a total steal - with three choices per course. We got one of everything and shared, and there wasn’t a low note on the entire menu. A vintage turn-dial telephone ring cutting through the restaurant din; exposed brick walls adorned with knick-knacks; savory rabbit in mustard sauce and rich beef stew. It was about as charming and delicious as eating in Europe gets.
The other highlight was La Merenda, another tiny restaurant run by a former Michelin-starred chef who left the fine dining scene to focus on down-home cooking in a place that doesn’t even have a telephone to take reservations. For appetizers, we got a traditional Nice caramelized onion tart called pissaladière, deep-fried zucchini flowers, and strangely... a personal sized pizza. The mains were a variety of tasty goops. Kirb got slow-cooked ox tail in an orange sauce, Mazz got lentils with vegetables and sausage, and Sean got the classic beef stew. All of the dishes were exceptionally flavorful and not particularly photogenic.
For more standard local fare, we got a variety of dishes for lunch at Chez Rene Socca, where you queue up at an always-sizable line to order a variety of small plates and either eat them standing up right outside or take them over to the tables around the corner if you want to order drinks. Here we got the namesake socca - a crusty pancake made from chickpeas, as well as more pissaladière with anchovy, something resembling a fresh tomato pie, a bitter chard-filled pastry, and what was for all intents and purposes just a bagel dog.
Mazz was actually working the whole time we were in France, so we didn’t get to do a whole lot of exploring outside of Nice, which was fine. Kirb and Sean were perfectly content eating cheese and laying around in the sun every day. We thought about going to Monte Carlo, which is not far down the coast, but couldn’t convince ourselves that it wasn’t just going to make us feel shitty and poor. The one daytrip we did take was to the cliff-side town of Èze, located about 12km away. There’s only one direct bus that goes between the towns and it runs every 90 minutes. We showed up for the noon bus and found dozens of people with the same idea. When the bus arrived it was already full, people started shoving each other to get on, and we promptly said “Nah fuck that” and called an Uber. Twenty minutes and €20 euros later, we were getting dropped off at the base of the city.
Kirb’s mom had said that Èze was her absolute favorite place in the Mediterranean, and we quickly saw why. Èze would probably be every mom’s favorite place if they got the chance to visit. This place oozes old world charm in a way few others even get close, built on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean with narrow, ancient streets covered in greenery. Though it was fun to visit and take it in for a while, we could see why there was only one bus every 90 minutes that went there - the place clearly isn’t built to handle massive influxes of tourists. It was also a play place for the super-rich, something we hadn’t come across too much in Nice but knew the French Riviera had a reputation for. We decided not to eat in the town or take transportation home, opting instead to walk back on the side of the road and soak in the panoramic views along the way.
We walked along the cliff overlooking the water for an hour or so until we stopped at an open-air roadside restaurant for Croque Madams, then wound our way down overgrown side streets to the waterfront town of Villefranche-sur-Mer. It was hot, and we ate ice cream by the sea. We were with one of our best friends in a stunningly beautiful place, having fun and laughing and exploring. Things don’t get much better than that.