Cider, Seaweed, And Slow Travels in Brittany — ALONG DUSTY ROADS

It began with a curiously-named pastry early on a Sunday morning.

We had left the shores of England behind the previous night, and sailed over the narrow sea to France by ferry. A flight-free trip – with space to move, an evening meal, a cabin to sleep in, and no concerns about luggage weight limits – was a small joy, and a suitable introduction to the pace that one should adopt for travels in Brittany.

Unhurried. Circuitous. Meandering.

This region of northwest France, where a black-and-white striped flag billows and oysters are a staple rather than a luxury, juts out toward a sea and an ocean and enjoys over 1,600 miles of coastline. Our plan was to cover just a smidge of it in a week – an hors d’oeuvre if you please – by boat and bicycle as well as on foot and with a rental car, embrace nature and get know aspects of the proud, regional culture.

We did not expect to develop an addiction.

And yet, on a quick post-ferry stop off in a little boulangerie in one of the inumberable pretty villages close to the coast, we were tempted in by envy. All the signature pastries one readily associates with France were on offer, but the man ahead of us in the queue, pointing at four golden slabs from the metal tray atop the counter, knew exactly what he wanted.

He looked like he knew a thing or two about good food.

“Est-ce on peut avoir deux de la même, s’il vous plait?”

We heard a groan behind us as the young woman placed the last two available into a paper bag, and bid us a ‘bon dimanche’ as she passed them over; clearly we had spoiled another customer’s Sunday treat.

Their disappointment would however lead to our first taste of a salted butter concoction, famous across Brittany but little known outside it, of pure caramelised pastry indulgence.

The only problem was that we had no idea what it was called.