Languedoc: Provence's Next-Door Neighbor

Photo: David Hughes

Steak tartare topped with fresh anchovies may not be everyone's ideal dish for a leisurely lunch in France, but in my case it was magical. The setting was a loftlike dining room with a lacquered concrete floor and a flower garden out back; only a stone archway reminded me that I was in a building dating from the 1800s. The beef was from a local farm, the anchovies had come from the Mediterranean that morning, and the odd combination, accented by lemon and deeply bitter arugula, was a wake-up call to the palate. This, I thought, is why people come to the south of France.

Only I wasn't in that south of France, the one with the pleasure cruisers docked off the Côte d'Azur and London executives weekending in renovated farmhouses. I was in Languedoc-Roussillon—Provence's wild, unspoiled western neighbor—a landscape of dry vegetation and jutting rocks in the foothills of the Cévennes Mountains. As in most of France, wine and food are big deals here; unlike Bordeaux or Provence, however, Languedoc is just starting to come alive as trailblazing chefs and vintners garner the attention of the larger world.

The region extends from the department of Rhône-Alpes down to the northern Pyrenees and centers on the capital, Montpellier, with the medieval citadel of Carcassonne ninety-three miles to the southwest and the Roman city of Nîmes some thirty miles to the northeast. Historically a poor swath of land, Languedoc was France's bulk-wine-growing region until after World War II.

While its ancient history with the Romans was rich, Languedoc has never had a Picasso or a Peter Mayle to put it on the map for the modern traveler, which may have been its salvation. Isolation from easyJet tourists helps too—the nearest major international airport is in Nice, almost 200 miles away. Languedoc is now what Provence used to be: a sunny, vaguely untamed place full of eccentric locals and a few expatriates just starting to colonize it.

My aforementioned lunch was at the recently opened Entre Pots restaurant (8 Avenue Louis Montagne; 011-33-4-67-90-00-00), in the tiny town of Pézenas, west of Montpellier, and my dining companion was Marie-France Lanson. The scion of a Reims Champagne dynasty, Lanson is a charismatic transplant who is the proprietress of the Château de Grézan, a bed and breakfast in the nearby hill town of Laurens. "Twenty-five years ago," she tells me, "a couple from San Francisco stayed here and announced that Provence was over. Languedoc was supposed to be the next big thing." Luckily, that hasn't quite happened—yet.

I had my own history with Languedoc: I'd enjoyed the meal of my life here two years ago at Montpellier's Jardin des Sens (11 Avenue St.-Lazare; 011-33-4-99-58-38-38; jardin-des-sens.com), feasting on fresh Mediterranean seafood and local veal flavored with fennel and saffron. Run by Olivier Château and twin brothers Jacques and Laurent Pourcel, Le Jardin, which earned three Michelin stars in 1998, has since become an empire, with an array of spin-offs and consultancy projects in Asia and London. On this recent five-day trip to Languedoc, I was determined to explore the area and sample its wine and cuisine, capping things off with another dinner at Le Jardin.