‘Connaissez-vous
Monsieur Rick Stein et son chien emmerdant Chalky?’ My question gets
a blank response. Apparently our waiter does not know Mr Rick Stein and his
charming dog Chalky, even though the two-legged half of the team was on BBC
eating in this very restaurant only a month ago. The waiter shrugs, La Tupina’s
renown is such that he is so used to the sight of TV cameras that he no longer
bothers to enquire who the stars are slowly cooking under the arc lights.
I’ve battled through the most hellish traffic in France, let alone this
city of Bordeaux, to be here. The French have decided that the area next to
the river, the bit bordered by wonderful Bordelaise mansions, can only be improved
by turning it into some kind of eight lane racetrack with the added spice of
trams randomly weaving in and out. Consequently having dumped the car in a
futuristic underground car park, got lost and frustrated on foot, I am a bit
late for lunch. I needn’t have bothered, the doorman at the front of
La Tupina parks cars for you- just pull up and jump out. Doh!
The restaurant is situated in what was once and, in some ways still is, a run
down part of town on the edge of the centre. However gentrification is speeding
along with many facades sandblasted back to white and the elegance of the area
becoming apparent again. The
white middle class kids with dreadlocks, students at the nearby university,
have been less amenable to losing their cheap digs and a chain of fancy shops
have stone holes in the windows as a result. Plus ca change.
The street, located behind one of Bordeaux’s ‘gates’ – ‘La Porte de la monnaie’ – is charming. La Tupina has been here over thirty years since opening in 1968. At that time, reminisces owner Jean – Pierre Xiradakis, there were over thirty shops in this street which itself dates back to the Middle Ages. ‘I watched them all go,’ he says, ‘victims of the ‘urban desertification’.’ But he wasn’t going anywhere himself, he believed change would reverse itself and he was right. Today he not only has La Tupina, but also a bar three doors down, a shop along the way and, opposite and in the process of being renovated, a building destined to be a guest house where hugely replete restaurant patrons can stagger to bed after a typical La Tupina meal, one rich in forbidden luxuries such duck fat, dark meats and, above all, taste.
The entrance is wonderful. A big wood fire burns all through service because
even though it may be around 80F outside, La Tupina cooks almost everything
on this blaze. Ducks and chickens rotate lazily on spits while large iron pots
gently melt lamb and beef. It could almost be art-directed but, while it is
certainly arranged for maximum theatrical effect, it is completely genuine.
We sat in one of the ground floor balcony seats, half in and half out in the
street looking out over tables of French business people taking a proper lunch – no
mobiles ringing for them and no glances at watches. In France no one bothers
you at lunch because they are at lunch themselves. Hard to believe that in
London we too once had lunch breaks instead of authorised sandwich stuffing
moments. When and how did we lose our way so badly?
Set lunch today comes in at about £30 each and includes a bottle of,
you guessed it, Bordeaux. We chose the melon with ham and the duck ‘boudin’ for
our two starters. While we waited we sipped cold Charente Pineau and nibbled
from the wooden board of sausages, radishes, cauliflower florets and crisp hunks
of pork crackling. You might think melon and ham rather unexciting, perhaps
even as naffly 70’s as Jack Regan’s kipper tie and Webley revolver
in his desk drawer, ‘Leave it George!’, but it’s a classic
combination. Here the melon has come no more than a few miles from its field
to join us and is melting and deliciously sweet and moist. The air-cured ham
is Bordelaise, too, from a trusted local supplier and parts for the teeth with
ease. I lunge across the table spearing my partner’s melon pieces away
from her as she glazes over at the taste of the ham.
The duck boudin is a thick, wide disc of dark meat rich with pungent gamey flavours that floats above the well-dressed salad with apple slices it sits on. The texture is dense, as if the maker had originally made a boudin twice this size and then compressed it. The apple cuts sharply to alleviate the richness. It’s a hefty starter, but more is to come.
A large chicken leg has been expertly tunnel boned out and the space created then filled with delicious meat. It's been cooked in duck fat slowly, the better to develop the rich flavours. With it comes a plate of frites, also I suspect cooked in duck fat because these have to be some of the best chips anywhere. Yes duck is a popular bird around here, you can even order a kebab of duck hearts should you have the stomach for it. This is South West cooking and no messing. At the next table the business lunchers are looking blasé as course after course of superb looking dishes are placed in front of them.
The wife is eating, or pretty much chucking down, a classic confit de canard ‘les
cuisses’ or thighs. She’s only pausing to grunt happily and steal
a few of my frites. The Bordeaux is a cracker of a wine, remarkable for a wine
included in the price of the lunch.
Finally a Chocolate Gateau and Creme Anglaise plus a red fruit sorbet. Both simple but simply delicious. The sort of lunch you imagine doesn't exist any more outside of old men's imaginations.
I could have stayed all day, but after dessert we finally wobbled out to explore the town. The last thing I wanted was to tackle that traffic again on a full stomach. Mind you, I'm writing this from the outer Bordeaux ring road.
