Lavandou means lavender. Many contemporary cooks will recognize lavender as one of the major ingredients in herbes de Provence, a commercial herbal cooking mixture. Of course, old, traditional food from that region did not include lavender in routine cooking, although today many chefs have started experimenting with it to help fulfill expectations from food tourists.
I'm actually not quite sure how we ended up here. We had been to the late Palm Sunday Mass and were driving around, looking for a place to eat where we could also find a place to park the car. Then, it started to rain very heavily. Somehow I discovered we were near Cleveland Park, so it seemed like a fun idea to pop into Lavandou. I actually wanted to go to the (newish) Irish pub next door, but Morgan was swayed by the big sign in Lavandou's window announcing half-price martinis.
Once inside, we got a very nice window table with a view of the rainy sidewalk and street. Morgan made me order a martini (remind me next time to call the gin) and he ordered a French 75.
Having come straight from Palm Sunday Mass, we were hoping to have hearts of palm salad, but, alas, there were no hearts of palm to be had.
For a starter, Morgan picked the escargots beurre d'ail. While he'd had snails before, it was his first time to have to negotiate the little critters in those big snail shells. Personally, my favorite part of escargot has always been the garlic butter, sopped up with crusty French bread. My starter was one of the specials du jour, a lovely salade de betterave et tomate au chèvre frais. Slices of heirloom tomatoes and poached beets interlayered beneath a mound of baby mesclun greens and all was dressed in a light vinaigrette and dotted with bits of fresh goat cheese. It was quite delicious!
We both endulged in seafood for our main courses. I switched to a nice house sauvignon blanc and Morgan had another French 75. After great consideration, Morgan finally decided to get the cassoulet du pêcheur, a hearty seafood stew with lots of fish, mussels, clams, and other goodies in a tomato-based provençal-style broth. I got les moules safran avec pommes frites, a nice, big bowl of mussels steamed in white wine, saffron, and cream, accompanied by a bowl of fried potatoes with a handmade mayonnaise—almost an aioli—dipping sauce. I always enjoy the earthy basic qualities of steamed mussels, and it seems like I get a double main course, since there's always the delicious broth to be drunk up at the end.
We weren't going to do dessert, but the things all looked so tempting. Morgan got a lavender-scented crème brulée served in a square dish, and I picked a traditional tarte tatin with vanilla ice cream. We couldn't decide what wine to drink with dessert, so we opted for cognac. Then, we couldn't decide which cognac to get, so we got one Martell and one Courvoissier. I thought they were both quite adequate.
And, thus, we ended our observance of Palm Sunday and kicked off Holy Week in a grand way.
