On My Plate: France

There’s something curiously memorable about the cash and grab picnic. You know the kind I mean. Visit the local market, buy whatever random ingredients catch your eye, and then find a place in a park to park it and pork out.

Where: Cordes sur Ciel in Southwestern France.

What: Le pique-nique. A wheel of bread large enough to use as a spare tire, ripped into manageable hunks. Vast slices of cured ham with a delicious perimeter of fat (that is NOT to be removed). Blue cheese. A bag of arugula to add kick in lieu of pepper. Sweet little freshly-picked tomatoes. Jam that seemed like a good idea at the time. And simple red wine served in an upended water bottle (balanced gingerly amongst Bosc pears). I think the act of dining outdoors without plates, cutlery and/or tables puts the focus so squarely on the food we’re actually aware of what we’re eating. The texture, the taste, the messiness. Deliciousness.

Charlie Scott is currently in New York where he may just put together an impromptu picnic in Central park.