after our experience at
chateau eza, we naturally developed a fondness for dining in atmospheric french castles with beautiful views.
as we perused the list of michelin starred restaurants in the south of france during our last few days in nice, we came upon
chateau saint martin—a two star restaurant perched above the mountains in the tiny commune of
vence—and we knew we had to go.
the drive from cannes, where we had spent the afternoon, took thirty minutes, filled with twists and turns as we progressed inland. as the mountain and the medieval stone walls came into view the sky began to blush, turning from that clear south-of-france blue to a dusky rose, then as the sun fell, to a deep sapphire.
we arrived at the chateau not entirely sure that we had found the right place, but how many castles could there be on this mountain? in the distance, cannes and the waters of the mediterranean were still visible, and the lights of the other houses on the mountainside were glowing in the darkness.
the grounds were breathtaking. as we walked to the entrance i imagined that leonato's estate from
much ado about nothing must look like this. lush grass was dotted with fountains and cyprus trees, and pergolas hung heavy with red and green grapes, begging us to extend a hand and relieve them of their ripened, sun-kissed berries. (we obliged)
i took many photos of the food and the dining room, but sharing them really wouldn't be enough to evoke the tastes and the smells and the textures and the entire experience of dining here.
this particular night wasn't just about the food served, the vast selection of champagnes and wines, or the vivid colours of the fruits and pastries, which can all be captured on camera. nor was it even about just the meal itself—the two hours we lingered at our table were just a single component, out of many, that made this evening perfect.
at various points of the night i lamented the limitations of photography, and even of words, to express the sensation of dining in an old castle, surrounded by faded tapestries and oil paintings, as melodies from the piano player in the lobby drifted into the dining room. the feeling of walking outside onto the terrace after our meal, behind us the fountain gurgling, in front of us the ground ending, steep mountain unfolding before distantly merging into the lights of towns beyond.
memory may be fallible, yet the conversation, company, emotions, reactions, and impressions—all the aspects that transform a meal from simply sustenance into an experience to be fondly revisited—exist only in my mind, eluding capture...
on the terrace, we found a small wooden box sitting on a table alongside empty wine glasses. when we opened it and discovered its contents—a sample of the restaurant's chocolates—our eyes lit up, delighted to stumble upon this treasure chest of truffles. with childlike, furtive excitement our fingers delivered morsels of the dark sweets to each others' lips as we looked into the distance, the yachts glowing and bobbing like fireflies in the mediterranean harbour.
we went inside again and explored the castle, admiring the fine furniture, artwork, and vases bursting with orange roses. he sat down at the piano, long after the official piano player had retired for the night, and played chopin. by far the last guests, we finally walked to the entrance, before being enfolded by the darkness of countryside's midnight.
passing through the vined pergola again i lifted my eyes and saw a sky filled with more stars than i have ever seen. everywhere—above the trees, behind the chateau, in every single direction—speckles of white punctuated a pitch-black canvas.
i pointed my camera at the sky, hoping to save even an echo of the splendor that i saw. "subject is too dark," said the screen. no, it's not, i thought. the sky is absolutely glowing.
we stood transfixed, peering above us, walking to another spot on the lawn and peering some more. the sight was humbling, illuminating, inspiring. it was as if god had uncorked a bottle of champagne and the effusive explosion of bubbles had spilt forth over the sky, turning those tranquil country grounds into a site of exaltation.
in that moment i nearly drowned in the surfeit of beauty all around me.... from the perfection of the little red and yellow raspberries in our dessert to the velvet orbs of the grapes climbing above our heads to the trees growing from the earth to the pure blue sea nearby —
never have i felt so happy, so lucky, so grateful, to be here — to be alive.
the interior—tapestries, dark wood, paintings, high ceilings, and a live piano player.
amuse-bouche: tomato tart, duck liver
interesting—foamed olive oil and black olive mousse to go with our bread.
a selection of breads: lemon, something i can't remember, tomato, cereal, and baguette.
omelet and something green that i can't remember in an egg! so imaginative and tasty
caviar with sardine mousse and cucumber juice.
green tomato tartare with burrata ice cream, a clever adaptation of the classic tomato and mozzarella salad. the ice cream had a very strong flavour of mozzarella, but in ice cream form. definitely a puzzle on the tongue.
very pleasant surprise of the night: pigeon! this was my first time having pigeon, and it was fantastic. roasted in an apricot crust, with rosemary turnips.
poached sea bass, covered with mascarpone and blanched almonds.
palate cleanser: honeydew granita, mango, and apricot ice, served on dry ice. sooooo refreshing tasty and i kind of wish i could have had this for my actual dessert!
we loved the adorable presentation of this dessert. raspberries, flavoured with hibiscus, with pomegranate granita and yoghurt mousse—and an eiffel tower pastry that we promptly demolished :)
grand cru macae 62%—crispy square of chocolate, mint marshmallow and a ring of chocolate
a darling tier of post-desserts. macarons in various flavours, mini cones filled with chocolate mousse, alcohol soaked cherries, and little pistachio wafers
me in my natural state: eating a macaron. this one was blueberry.
Chateau St. Martin
2490 Avenue des Templiers
Vence, France
chateau-st-martin.com
