Le Castellas is an auberge functions not only as a restaurant and an inn, but as a fully operational farm.
Bouncing along over the ruts in the dusty country road, I tightly gripped the headrest of the seat in front of me, peering anxiously out the windows of our rental car. To my right, a narrow valley plunged to extraordinary depths, with only a low stone wall standing between us and the precarious edge. As we carefully navigated the hairpin bends and steep inclines, I couldn’t help checking my watch again. For the past 20 minutes there hadn’t been a single sign of civilization, let alone the famous restaurant Le Castellas, reportedly nestled in these hills.
In Provence, the finest dining is often found in the most humble places; locally owned establishments that have been run by the same couple for 40 years, tucked away in hamlets where tourists rarely venture. Le Castellas, located in the village of Sivergues, in the heart of France’s picturesque Lubéron valley, is perhaps the finest example of the lot; only open during the high season and by reservation, the auberge functions not only as a restaurant and an inn, but as a fully operational farm that produces hams and goat cheeses for sale in the local markets. Despite its remote location, the establishment is well known among French celebrities, including Catherine Denuve, who reportedly drops in regularly via helicopter to sample the establishment’s hearty dinners and farm-fresh produce.
After arriving in the village and being pointed in the right direction by some friendly locals, we arrive at the farm and are immediately confronted with a postcard-perfect scene that embodies everything one imagines about idyllic rural life in southern France. A line of low stone buildings sit at the edge of a grassy field that dissolves into a panoramic view over the surrounding valleys, the rolling hills and evening haze perfectly framing the setting sun. It was in this moment that I finally understood why Provence was so beloved of artists like Van Gogh and Cézanne, Matisse and Picasso – the entire scene was washed with a pearly golden light that imbued the grey stones with streaks of orange, offset by hazy purpled shadows.
Dinner is served outdoors, at long communal trestle tables where the faint smells of wood smoke, lavender, roasted meats and sun-warmed hay pervades the air. This is not the place for people with an aversion to animals; pigs root for tasty morsels in the field, approaching the tables to beg for food like large, curly-tailed dogs, and resident cats occasionally leap onto benches, accepting stray scraps from the hands of visitors.
The food is simple but magnificent in its rustic simplicity, with all the ingredients either produced on the farm itself or locally sourced. Wooden dishes of freshly sliced cured ham, a whole slab of Provencal-style pate studded with chunks of wild-boars meat, all served accompanied by warm crusty farm bread, tumblers of local red wine and lavender honey. The centerpiece of the feast – a whole roasted suckling pig – requires two people to support the wooden plank on which it rests, adorned by mounds of new potatoes braised in the pork’s juices. For dessert, small rounds of soft, sharp-tasting homemade goats cheese, offset by more honey and a glass of the local aperitif pastis.
As night approaches, waves of laughter, toasts and conversation wash over full bellies and warm hearts; someone pulls out a guitar, and French folk songs float out over the valley as we loosen our belts and wistfully head back to the car. Wending our way back through the valleys, sleepy but full of joie de vivre, the gathering darkness obscures the steep cliffs that precluded our arrival. Lights appear in the distance, as if welcoming us back to reality. It’s comforting to know that despite the annual influx of summer tourists, Provence still retains these secluded pockets of rural life, that even after all these years, continues to offer food, drink, and laughter to visitors and locals alike.
Article written by Asia Chiao.
