NESTLED in rolling hills, north of Avallon, in the heart of Burgundy, La Cimentelle is nothing like the old cement factory of its origin. The large old house with shuttered windows, rambling gardens of lakes and lawns, hollyhocks and lavender is not surprisingly featured in the pages of a French version of Homes and Gardens. Polished wooden floors, cavernous bathrooms , spiral stone stairwells, every detail thoughtfully placed from piles of maps to cables for WiFi, from a barn with table football to a pool on the old factory roof: perfect for a virgin ‘table d’hoter’. For this is not the formal manners of a country house hotel, this is not a place to eat alone, this is a place to meet, greet and communally eat and it’s my first time experiencing this peculiarly French way of interpreting B and B.
At 8 pm we gather in the rose garden and are handed a glass of champagne like guests at an exclusive party, we shake hands and introduce ourselves, some of us shyly others with the confidence that comes from having been here before: the Americans and Dutch the British and the Belgians. Our hosts usher us to a long table just off the kitchen, ‘placements’ roughly written on scraps of paper. I wonder how it is decided who to seat next to who, from our luggage or our cars, our language or the cockiness of our gait as we arrive.
Dinner comes without fuss or choice, first a radish leaf soup, then a poached egg in a beef broth of Morel mushrooms and shallots, followed by barely pink duck breast. It’s delicious and accompanied by ample wine seems fantastic value at €32 a head.
I wonder at our hosts Nathalie and Stephane, at their enthusiasm for night after night of bonhomie, for their skill lies not just in the fantastic food but in the twelve guests around their table creating an entente cordiale of conversation. At any moment as the voices rise in proportion to the Chablis Cotes de Beaune one wonders if the strangers will becomes friends or foe. I’m aware of the rudeness it feels as English not French, the language of the country, dominates the table despite our mix of nationalities.
Many arrive just for the night as they pound the Autoroute du Soleil, others are treating themselves to luxury after a week of camping and some like us stay for a few nights to explore the vineyards, valleys and forgotten villages of the Morvan.
Either way, as Nathalie and her family peel the vegetables and roll the pastry for the next night’s feast: foie gras and quail, chocolate soufflé and mint ice cream, the whole process begins again and one realises that although they epitomise the perfect hosts, controlling and creating a world of genteel calm and culinary excellence …the real mystery on the menu is not the food but in guessing who is coming to dinner….
