Lost and Found Again in Bordeaux

(As this world becomes more comfortable with technology, a detached feeling of assumed comfortably will arise. Computers are taken for granted, they give the illusion of security and we are none the wiser to how fragile it all is. Where a tangible photograph has to be physically destroyed for it to be gone, in the technological playing fields of digital pictures, things just seem to get lost. I have had a bad few days with computers and all things related to their improper way of storing data. While photos may have disappeared, memories will always remain and the stories must continue, even if there are no photos to match the descriptions.)


Just a few hours southwest of Paris, lying near the sea and close to the Basque Area, the city of Bordeaux is a place flowing with much more than just fermented grape juice. With a famous name for famous wine production, Bordeaux is a place known by many, even if they do have a hard time finding the exact location on a world map. The city itself isn't intimidating like Lyon but not as small as Aix. With a charm that is unmistakably French, a slight influence found among the people echos a feeling of the not too distant country of Spain. As different as Bordeaux may be from other French cities, its is still a grand example of French culture, cuisine and of course, Wine.

Rushing thought the streets in a pace matching that of a quick pour of local drink, I strode among the roads and twisting walkways of inner city Bordeaux. With a new tramway and areas designated for strolling pedestrians, the main center allows for many hours worth of enjoyment. Other than the shopping and the antiques, Bordeaux has a great market closer to the train station that reflects many of the regional culinary contributions.

Fresh, colorful, and warm; apricots filled with sweet and tart flavors that were more creamy than juicy.

Finding such a grand number of crimson berries, I felt compelled to indulge with little regard for anything other than obtaining a sensation of sweetness. Where the appearance gave my eyes a feast of delights, the taste gave my mouth a shocking sensation of explosive fruit. The berries were eaten fast, some were hardly chewed, my body felt a desire for more when just a few were tasted. An attachment arose as my limbs acted in an animalistic frenzy, grabbing berry after juicy berry, and eating in a way that mimicked survival tendencies.

With a palate perked from fresh fruit, I came across the unmistakable aromas of cured meat. Thick slabs of beautiful pork belly requested my attention, but lacking a kitchen, I sadly just looked.

Following the cuts of meat into rows of butchers, working with sharp knives and even sharper wits, I was overjoyed to find aged beef ready to find a home. The lack of a kitchen really killed me...

Walking from meat and following my nose towards fish, where stalls sat overfilled with glistening goods from the sea. Being neither weird nor uncommon, octopi and certain types of shark were among the day's catch.

The colors among the scales created an almost mosaic of fishy composition. The smell of a fish market is strong but not off putting, coming closer to a whiff of intense sea storm winds.

The bounty of the sea is seen with many eyes.
Markets never tire, in-fact inspiration arises after being submerged within ingredients such as those. After the time spent around farmers and meat sellers, hunger quickly followed and although I might not have had a kitchen to cook, the prepared cuisine of Bordeaux is some of best in France. Hoping for a meal that would represent the south-western area of France, I settled on a restaurant that has become quite famous within Bordeaux: La Tupina.
Before stepping though the front entrance, my senses were tickled with the distant waft of smoke. As I continued inward, a welcome was given that embraced me closer than any human ever could have. A giant fire place was roaring with hot flames that gave energy to the entire location. Plump ducks were being slowly roasted atop the dazzling fire, pots of duck fat were hot and waiting for potatoes that would be transformed into something magical, grids that would carry thick slabs of beef, and a station that held prepared saucisson sec and other house made products. This being at the mouth of the front doors gave me just the impression I was hoping to find.

Immediately after being seated, A large array of tantalizing tastes were offered. Raw vegetables such as spicy radishes, creamy cauliflower, and juicy tomatoes. The house bread was fluffy and crusty with a texture that begged to be combined with the local butter. Small crispy pieces of duck gizzards were added and acted like meaty versions of corn-nuts. A plate of fatty fired tripe covered in parley and strong garlic stuck my appetite and allowed for salivation to begin.

A coagulated chicken's blood 'cake' that brought me to a place of heavy contemplation. The blood wasn't too gamy but definitely savory. The texture was close to the way a soft cheddar cheese separates when eaten and when firm jell-o is cut. Again garlic and parsley were all that were added, and helped take this dark flavored dish into a much more desirable place. Being just thickened blood, I kept thinking to myself how great a frittata or omelet would taste with just a little chicken plasma. More than the flavors, and more than the slight novelty of eating blood, this was a recipe that is very old and more for people within poverty, and that is exactly what I wanted.

Bordeaux is one of the last major cities before reaching the boarder of Spain, which means the city is close to the gorgeous Pyrenees mountain range. Some amazing cheeses and ingredients are found within these mountains. One particular to admire is that of the rare breed of black pig. It is a smaller pig and carries a larger amount of fat than other types, making it superb for eating. I have always thought that Italy has the best pork products but one bite of this example tried to change my mind. Large pork flavor, fully cooked and still succulent, with a nice banner of fat running along the side. I was taken off my feet, such rich and clean tasting meat, all coming from a loin cut. I can't say if that pig was better than those in Italy, but it sure was amazing.

One major draw of this meal , and the restaurant, is the fact that all who dine get duck-fat fried potatoes. Held inside a thick terra-cotta bowl, smooth and dark fries were steaming and smelling of rich salty aromas. Even thought my pork dish came with a smooth potato mash, the fires were greatly welcomed and not a piece was left uneaten.

A large selection of dessert items tempted my ever present sweet tooth, but realizing the unease my stomach was beginning to get, I hoped for something light and sweet. Prune Ice-cream, lemon butter cake and a crispy bite of meringue came with a high amount of natural sugar that didn't tip the scales of my intake levels. The prune flavors were so rich but so controlled, and being cold, it acted just the way a dessert should be after a large meal; soothing and calming.
After a meal such as that, I could only walk towards my hotel with heavy eyes and a messy smile. Gracious for all the flavors from this wine capital within France, I slept with an obtained understanding towards the folks and traditions of this south-western location. But when I awoke, I felt there was just one more thing I needed to do before passing on.

Breakfast! What a better way to take in a city than though a bakery? The essential and the favorite Pain au chocolat with a strong cafe, satisfied as well as anything in Paris. Somethings just can not be over done.
Bordeaux, I wait for the day where I can return and eat a bit deeper within the large culinary history that has so greatly been created.