Plunge into Provence, absorb the aromas and moods of each season with a stroll through the local market. For the vagabondgourmand, Apt is the market of choice, and summer is the season to catch the region at its aromatic best. I have made regular pilgrimages to this market for over a dozen years, always finding a few new twists on classic Provençal specialties. Apt, a crossroads since Roman times, lies in a valley at the foot of the Luberon mountain range, an hour east of Avignon. Midway between Cavaillon’s melon fields and the goat-dappled hills of Banon, this corner of the Vaucluse département has been a center of fruit production for centuries.

Saturday is the major market day, and a good starting point is the shady square facing Apt’s city hall. I stopped to buy a few cherries and a bottle of apple-quince juice when I noticed two flats of green almonds on the same stall. The shorter of two brothers, whose products caught my attention, quickly engaged me in conversation. As I paid the vendor, I ventured a few questions about the fresh almonds. The answers were supplied up by a large man, a regular customer who arrived with greetings to all around, eased himself behind the stall, plucked a few cherries to nibble on and purchased four kilos of the pale green nuts. The brothers deferred to “the chef” and left us to the questions and answers. In response to my query about how he would use these almonds, he chuckled and reached for another cherry: “…in a compote of fresh fruit, for instance”. His large sacks of both green almonds and glistening cherries piqued my curiosity, and I wondered how these ingredients would turn up on today’s menu. Sensing that he was ready to rush back to the Auberge du Luberon kitchen, I asked if we could book a table for dinner. “Bien sûr” Serge Peuzin replied, “à ce soir!”

That evening, we were seated on the Auberge terrace and studied our menus. I could see how this Maitre Cuisinier de France is true to his terroir : an entire, elaborate menu is devoted to his interpretations of local ingredients using the fruit confit (glazed, preserved fruits), an industry that has put Apt on many a gastronome’s map. My focus returned to the subject at hand, almonds. I was pleased to discover Peuzin’s inspired touch of almond milk with a tender duck filet. Long story short: it was succulent, a contrast to the garnish of a savory polenta cake studded with plump cherries from this morning’s market. Later, when he rolled the dessert cart up to our table, I noted fresh green almonds in a compote of apricots, but my choice was an almond tart - Peuzin’s interpretation of a Savoy walnut tart, using caramelized almonds on a shortbread crust. As a garnish, I chose a small cup of brousse (sheep’s milk soft cheese) topped with a layer of pear compote. No doubt about it, this chef knows his terroir, and interprets each season’s market bounty with a flair. Reserve a table at Restaurant Serge Peuzin, l’Auberge du Luberon (a Logis de France hotel), 8 place Faubourg du Ballet, tel: 04 90 741 250 (to call from outside France, dial 33, and drop the first 0).

La Manade, a cozy restaurant deep in the heart of old Apt, is set on a narrow street leading from the rue des Marchands to the old Roman forum ruins on Place Jean Jaurès. Since it was opened by a young couple from Arles in 2004, I have enjoyed a lunch or dinner at La Manade during each visit to the area. The chef, Jean-François Christin, never ceases to surprise me with his interpretations of Provençal cuisine. Specialties of the Camargue region are featured: both torro - the black bull native to the Bouche du Rhône delta - and fresh fish are on the menu. The chef’s take on the traditional fish stew, cotriade, is a wonder of textures as firm strips of lotte (burbot) form a pyramid over bulb fennel cooked al dente (perhaps with a splash of Pernod?). Call to reserve a table, tel: 04 90 04 79 06, at La Manade, 36 rue Rene Cassin. Katy Christin will welcome you warmly.

Another inventive chef in the center of Apt is Cyrille Petit, who explores seasonal themes for the tables at Le Platane on rue Jules Ferry. Their vegetarian menu always intrigues me, and on this visit it included a delicious lasagne aux épinards (spinach) et aux brousse. His touch with spice is a revelation, poaching fish with badiane (star anise) - but I would opt for the squid, écornets et gambas aux legumes, any day. This summer, red fruit reigns on the dessert menu, which includes a creamy, perfect panna cotta coulis fruits rouge. Dine on the shady terrace or in the dining room, where Edith Petit’s whimsical, contemporary touch and selection of jazz brighten any rainy day. La Platane is a popular lunch spot after the Saturday market, so be sure to reserve, tel: 04 90 04 74 36.

** Let us know your favorite markets, contribute your own tips on market-fresh ingredients discovered during summer travel…..’tis the season!

Next up: Meet a wheat farmer and nut producer in the Charente…. anticipating a slim harvest.

A week in Lorraine - the Meuse and Moselle region of northeastern France - isn’t enough. What I had planned as a jaunt to visit Verdun, to taste and learn more about fine, artisanal sugared almonds turned out to be a revelation beyond candy-making. Wedged between Alsace and Champagne-Ardennes on the northern route to Luxembourg, the Lorraine region doesn’t get much ink in travelogues - or even in foodologues. The fact that Jeanne d’Arc lived here is an item tossed into guides and tourist pamphlets, as an aside to the glories of the Isle de France and the Loire valley. Since pre-Roman times, this cross roads has carried its history well, surviving invasions and changing rulers. In fact, it is amazing that so much remains after centuries of warfare.

After a day in Verdun, where Dragées Braquier have made sugared almonds since the eighteenth century (this is another, sweeter story!), we took a regional bus back to Metz, rolling through tranquil landscapes of pastures and river valleys from the Meuse to the Moselle. The city’s enormous central train station has a hulking stone presence, reflecting the neo-roman style popular in early twentieth century Germanic architcture. I looked up at the modern fingers of light ringing the station plaza, and thought: these look like talons - or claws of a beast. We would meet the monster later, in the crypt of Cathedral St-Etienne.

We ambled up and down walking streets lined with shops on the way to the city’s central market. The best of Metz’ shopping streets is Rue Tête d’Or, where pastries and confections decorate windows, enticing me inside to inspect and to catch a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. I stopped to admire fanciful pastries as we passed Claude Bourguinon’s chocolate shop and tea room, just as a case of artisanal ice creams was temptingly rolled onto the street. We found the U-shaped Metz market hall facing the grand cathedral, which is still the hub of this vibrant city. Longer than the cathedrals of Bourges or Strasbourg, and nicknamed “God’s Lantern”, Metz’ cathedral is illuminated by 6,500 square meters of stained glass. Like many buildings in this historic center, St-Etienne is built of a luminous golden stone, pierre de Jaumont. With or without exterior illumination, these plazas and surrounding façades seem to glow from within. After a pause to study the cathedral looming over a café on the plaza, I was ready to scout for regional specialties in the market hall. June brings the melon season, berries and rhubarb for tartes, along with early green cabbage and flats of chantarelle mushrooms. Jars of Mirabelle plums are everywhere, but fresh Mirabelles will not be in the market until August. Then, the sweet, golden plum is cause for celebration in Metz, attracting thousands to its annual Mirabelle Fest.

Well past noon, a mounting hunger sent us in search of lunch à la Lorraine. The Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is a short walk, across two bridges, from the cathedral. We luckily found a table on their shaded terrace, an ideal spot to watch swans dipping into the river. I sipped a fruity white Moselle wine and awaited the arrival of a Tarte aux poireaux (Leek tart), then a Pintade au choux (Guinea fowl braised with cabbage) before tackling a Tarte aux groseilles à la crème d’amandes. The waitress, dressed in peasant skirt, cap and bodice, chuckled when I rolled my eyes and took the last bite of the dark berry (currants and raspberries) tart with almond cream. My husband, Michel, didn’t look surprised and asked: More cream, eh? Well, a two-tart lunch doesn’t happen every day - only in Lorraine.

The crypt below St-Etienne cathedral holds artifacts of the city as well as religious documents and sculpture. And that is where I encountered a replica of the city’s legendary monster, the Graoully, suspended from the ceiling. St-Clement, the first bishop of Metz, was credited with destroying the menacing beast who was said to live in the old Roman arenas. It is a story reminiscent of St-George and the dragon, a familiar metaphor of Christian force crushing pagan beasts. In the third century, St-Clement founded the first chapel on the site of the Roman forum’s ruins. But tales of the Graoully are still told, in fact a literary award for science fiction writing, Le Graoully d’or (The golden Graoully) is awarded annually in Metz.

The famous Dragées de Verdun drew me to the Moselle, but there are many other reasons to return. The Mirabelle Festival in August, the huge monthly flea market - perhaps to find Madeleine molds or oval earthenware terrines - a gathering of brocante dealers second only in size to Paris’ noteworthy Marché St-Ouen, and the Marché de Noël would all be fun. Imagine stepping out of the monumental railway station into a frosty plaza filled with cabin-stalls chuck full of jams, pâtés, wines, novelties and preserved Mirabelles - all well lit by designer Philippe Starck’s narrow, pointed street lights. In any season, Metz is well worth the detour.

To view more images of Metz, tap the photo above. Then tap category “Bites of History” to return to the story.

Note: Take the TGV Est from Paris’ Gare de l’Est, about one hour’s train ride to Metz, via Nancy.

Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is at 1, rue du Pont St-Marcel in Metz. Open year round, reserving a table for dinner is advised : tel. 03 87 30 1229. Claude Bourguignon’s chocolate and pastry shop at 31, rue Tête d’Or, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 9:15 to 7 p.m., and Sunday from 8:30 to 12:30.

Some call it “homely”, others say: “just a simple pudding” - whatever its reputation as a provincial dessert, the cherry Clafoutis of the Limousin has wide appeal as an adaptible, versatile treat. James Villas, one of my favorite oracles on French cooking, calls it a Cherry Flan. And around Limoges, cherries are the classic fruit (always with the pits - for flavor) to be used. But when my black currant bush was loaded with berries this year, and juicy nectarines from the market called out to be included, the “simple pudding” took on a new identity. With a penchant for including almonds (in most everything), I reached for a small bar of almond paste to be grated into the mix. The nectarines are washed, not peeled - for color - and a sprinkling of flaked almonds toasts on top as it bakes. Bring the Clafoutis to the table warm while the nectarines have puffed to the top, or let it cool and enjoy the custard chilled. This recipe is adapted from two sources, given below, and serves four or five. Try your own variations, even as a savory starter with cherry tomatoes by adding some salt (or chopped anchovies?), omitting the sugar, steeping a bay leaf in the hot milk, and scattering grated parmesan over it all. Salty or sweet, pour this batter into a baked pie crust, to be dressed up for the fête. Allow an hour for the batter to rest, and about 30 minutes to bake.

1 cup milk + 1 T. butter

2 large eggs

1/3 cup vanilla sugar + pinch of salt

2 T. grated almond paste

1 tsp. almond extract

3/4 cup sifted flour, or half flour and half ground almonds (almond flour)

2 large nectarines, sliced

1/2 cup fresh, stemmed black or red currants

1/3 cup of flaked almonds + 1 T. sugar

In a small saucepan, heat the milk and let the butter melt in it - do not scald - and let cool before adding it to the eggs. Whisk the eggs until foamy, then add the sugar, flour, and then stir in the grated (soft) almond paste: then stir in the milk and extract. Allow this batter to rest an hour. (This makes a firm flan - use less flour for softer consistency.) Meanwhile, slice the peaches, butter a 9 inch baking dish (I use a glass pyrex pie plate), and pick (and stem!) the fresh currants. Don’t forget to chill the wine. Preheat the oven to 375°f/191°c. Arrange the nectarine slices in a radial pattern, scatter the berries in the middle and a few around the edges, the pour the batter over all. Scatter flaked almonds on top, then sprinkle a little sugar over all. Bake for 30 minutes or until toasty and golden. Pour chilled sparkling Vouvray into flutes with a few black currants, or serve with a cool Saussignac sweet wine from Clos d’Yvigne.

This Clafoutis is adapted from: Suzanne Goin’s Sunday Supper at Luques, Knopf, 2005. My copy falls open to her recipe for Cranberry-walnut Clafoutis with bourbon whipped cream. Inspired. And for a larger, more classic Clafoutis (for 8), refer to James Villas’ French Country Kitchen, Bantam Books 1992, his superb collection of basics.

Mid June - can it be two years already? This week vagabondgourmand celebrates its second year, and I want to thank the thousands of visitors, readers, those who have “dipped in” and many who return regularly to this site. We have covered a lot of ground together, from Greek almond groves in the spring of 2007 to Catalonian markets, not to forget Vézelay, Paris and Arles. Your comments and queries are so appreciated on whatever subjects turn up on these pages. And what is around the bend for the vagabondgourmand? This week, the Clafoutis du Jour will be a blend of nectarines, almonds and black currants - the recipe to be posted on Friday for the weekend. This summer, we head north to visit markets in Metz and Verdun, then south to the Vaucluse to talk with an almond grower about green almonds and to linger in Apt’s market. Yes, almondology is an on-going theme, whatever the season. In July, watch for notes on the Cognac country, where we will talk with a vintner about Pineau des Charente and ramble through Angoulême’s hilltop market. July will also be the month to romance a French heirloom, with stories about the Marmande tomato. There will be notes from this garden about Edible Borders as well as comments on local produce as the seasons change. So, more wine talk (has been requested) and more on vegetables, from the roots up will be posted. Again, thanks - wherever and whoever you are - Merci mille fois….grazie mille !

In the midst of cherry season, getting ready for plum/red currant/apricot season, is the time to be ready to whip up an anything-goes pudding.  While book shopping recently, I flipped through a cookbook (no, I cannot resist another book on food and wine), a page illustrating “Apple, Grape, and Madeira Clafoutis” got my attention.  Now this does reach into the realm of improvisation, I thought, and bought The Wine Lover Cooks with Wine: Great Recipes for the Essential Ingredient. Not only did this luscious book keep me awake during a long journey, but it has informed and inspired me in the kitchen.  The author, Sid Goldstein, has very clearly set out the rules of the game in seven chapters focused on technique.  Sauces, steaming, simmering, marinating and braising are the basics, to which he adds a few choice side dishes, then concludes with desserts and drinks.  This Chronicle book, published in 2004, is one of the most practical sources on wine cuisine that I have used in several years.  I’m hoping he will expand in a sequel.  Meanwhile, I’ll sip a glass of Muscat de Frontignan with this crusty clafoutis….a little more, please.

Last Friday morning, I was in a rush to catch a train home from Paris. It was a turn-around visit, with little time to spare. But I knew there would be good things in the Place Monge market, both regional products and teasers from abroad, to taste and to take home. Flat crates of Rhineland rhubarb tempted me - a few stalks for sauce? Like dill, the rhubarb of northern climes always has more flavor. I admired elegant lilies and peonies on two flower stalls, and little pots of fresh herbs, ready to brighten city window sills (and add some zip to entrées and salads). One stall sold apples and several kinds of apple juices from Picardy orchards, another offered shimmering olives - in brine, in oil, and spiced - as well as almonds (as you guessed, I was on the look-out) and dried fruits. Fish, sausages, meat counters, and …let me count the cheeses… but there was no time for a malingering cheeseophile.

I stopped at the corner, just before my dash for the metro, and waited in line. Could not resist watching Lebanese bread being baked on a black griddle, could not resist a sampling of meat pies - fataya filled with spinach and pine nuts, cheese crescents with a hint of mint, and a pot of laban (a dense yogurt that I yearn to make at home) - even if this made my run to the TGV more pressured. It was worth it, as I slipped into my seat on the train to Bordeaux with four and a half minutes to spare, and pulled out a small lamb pie to nibble on as we headed south. Another Friday, I will know where to stop first at the Place Monge market - after a quick survey of a new season’s blossoms.

Note to shoppers: The Place Monge Market (at the Place Monge Metro stop) is an open-air market held on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings from 7:00 to 1:00. This neighborhood market is within walking distance of the Muséum de l’Histoire Naturelle and Jardin des Plantes, in the 5th arrondissement.

I would love to say that we eat totally locally, and while winging my way back across the Atlantic after a swooping three week visit in the U.S., the idea pushed its way around in my thoughts. The movement to “eat local” is ripe in North America, a truly hot topic. My first stop was New York, where a bookshop window devoted to books on the subject enticed me into McNally Robinson in Nolita near the West Village. Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma is center stage on themed displays in this bookshop, and in many others I browsed through. During the early weeks of April, eating local in an urban center tests the principles defined by the Locavores movement, which suggests that 80% of the foods on your table should be grown and packaged within one hundred miles of your home. The popular Union Square Market brings many regional, seasonal products into the city for urban locavores. An emphasis on organically grown and sustainable agricultural practices is clear in open markets and many grocery shops. Call it a wave, a fad or a trend, I say: At Last! But it means choosing, calculating 80% of your foods - the remaining 20% covers coffee, tea, chocolate, rice, spices, and the occasional pineapple or avocado, shipped in from warm climates.

I arrived in Minneapolis just in time to read the Taste section of the Star & Tribune (see April 10, www.startribune.com/taste/sectionT) on Community Supported Agriculture, or CSA. A quote from author and farmer, Wendell Barry, sums it up: “Eating is an agricultural act”. Let last summer’s sun-dried tomatoes add flavor to the risotto, avoid all those summer Provençal ingredients for the ratatouille that can wait a few seasons as you plan menus around roots, winter greens and frozen berries. An increasing number of farmers around the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul are applying CSA methods, now used on 1,500 farms across the US. To have vegetables delivered in season, people buy CSA shares to both support local growers and enjoy the freshest broccoli, turnips and new potatoes. The Land Stewardship Project (see www.landstewarshipproject.org) is one of several companion projects. Markets and grocery stores, such as the Wedge Co-Op in the Twin Cities reflect these efforts to observe sustainable production as well as a focus on seasonal ingredients.

By the time I stepped off of the Larkspur ferry into the dynamics of San Francisco’s Ferry Plaza Market, my curiosity piqued about what features of the “eat local” movement I would find on the west coast, the issue became more confused. Glossy greens, tempting asparagus, olives and jam-tastings fit the local and seasonal profile - as well as smoked fish straight from the bay’s docks (and smoke houses). If I lived in the mild climate of the Bay Area, it would be easy to fill up 80% of the locavores equation, allowing an occasional square of chocolate from Scharfen Berger or other luxurious temptations. Local or Global: everywhere I looked during two rounds of the Embarcadero and its market, I was tugged between a vast array of imported spices and products from Italy, Spain and Mexico and the Bay Area’s ever-changing offering of home-bottled vinegars, sauces, chilis, nut products and cheeses. CowGirl cheeses bring an amazing selection of artisanal, locally made creamy and firm cheeses to the market. But farther north, into the mountains and forests reaching towards Oregon, it would take a greater effort to limit what goes on the table to only locally grown, seasonal products.

Last stop, back on home base in southwest France, the selection in our local market stalls has evolved into spring’s bounty of greens, red Treviso endive, shiny bulbous new onions and carrots with their green tops attached. All of this, with chicken, duckling and fresh rabbits, fits into my 80% - but the lemons, bananas, basmati rice, coffee and cocoa beans remain outside, crowding that 20% of imported, exotic treats. Fish that we enjoy weekly, straight from Atlantic waters an hour away, stretches the one hundred mile limit to define local.  Eating habits, I mused, can be changed, adapted - with an effort - to reorganized culinary priorities.

Spring greens have the edge, that sharpness so complimentary to mild meats such as chicken or rabbit. Tidy little bundles of sorrel (oseille) are to be found in markets this month, and mounds of tender spinach, along with the ever-present white-ribbed (blette) swiss chard. It occurred to me that spinach might add some punch to a pot of herbed Le Puy lentils - after reading about a Spanish dish of chickpeas with spinach strips stirred in at the last moment. So, after a good wash/rinse and dry, two generous cups of destemmed spinach were cut into chiffonade strips and wilted, stirred for four minutes in a hot skillet, then drained before tossing into lentils that were still a tad al dente.  Occasionally a nostalgic flash comes to this cook’s rescue for a final touch, this time I recalled many wonderfully fresh spinach salads with hot-bacon dressing - from college days in southeastern Wisconsin. To adapt this idea, trimmed smoked bacon slivers or slices of pancetta did the trick: seared-crisped in a hot skillet, arranged on each serving of lentils, then the pan juices deglazed with sherry vinegar (and a pinch of sugar) to drizzle over all. Try variations on this some rainy spring evening, scoop up lentils and spinach to serve as a side with almond-crumb-crusted chicken legs - or as a bed for roast rabbit. And a little culinary nostalgia adds to the pleasure.

A Wednesday morning market in Arles, a Monday market in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, two Provençal markets bathed in winter light are previews of coming attractions for this vagabondgourmand. Locals were out in numbers, arriving early to be first in line for the freshest fish and vegetables. And it was the locals I was watching with interest, wondering: could you call France a Nation of Locavores? This question is my theme to pursue in markets across France this year, in these pages. Impressed by the Locavores project in the US, a year-long program in which over one hundred people commit themselves to shopping, cooking and eating locally produced food, I’d like to address the question on this side of the pond.

The Camargue, the mouth of the Rhône river’s delta, is our first stop, observing local shoppers and chatting with a few food artisans. Monday’s market in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, a seaside town well known for its annual religious festival in late May, is small but busy in winter. Our bus pulled in from Arles about nine o’clock, less than an hour’s ride through flat delta rice fields and pastures dotted with black bulls, white horses, and the occasional single heron. After a bracing cup of coffee and stroll through the old town, we took some time to survey products offered by vendors - both local and otherwise. Vegetables displayed in flat baskets caught my eye, especially the green beans and tomatoes, grown locally under tunnels to protect against the occasional surprise frost. In the Midi? Even the season’s Mistral winds can’t blow away a mischievous jack frost.

Glass jars of candied fruit, pots of local honey, bags of red Camargue rice were lined up on a table covered in Provencal print cloth. How do I cook this red rice? I asked the dark-eyed vendor. “Oh, it takes about forty minutes - this hasn’t been processed” was his reply as he showed me some Camargue white rice that cooks more quickly. Being more in tune with slow-cooking, I opted for the red rice, plus fine salt - Le Saunier de Camargue Fleur de Sel with the name of the salt-raker written neatly on the seal. I was tickled pink to find these regional products in the market. And there were non-local products: Peruvian ponchos, a gadget-demo, an underwear stall, and baskets from northern France. The produce and fruit seller was busiest - I waited as she packed up carrots, chard, and lots of garlic - while the Mistral winds whistled around us. It seemed that my timing was off, not an opportune moment to talk with ‘locavores’ and vendors.

A mid-week morning in Arles was a different story: a wide range of food vendors lined the market along the old city walls. Once I got past the running shoes and bath mats, I spotted crinkly cabbages and young, violet artichokes. Then my nose quivered at the aromas of ….fougasse: the flattish sticks or “ladders” of bread rolled in salt or studded with olives got my full attention. With a small sack of these selected savories, it was almost time for a coffee pause - or early lunch. Last, but best, at the gateway to old Arles was a vendor of cheese, made with the help of his own sheep. When local sheep’s milk cheese is fresh, rolled in herbs, it can be eaten at any time of day. And when aged a bit - all the better for nibbling. The cheese-maker’s greying ponytail hung below his black brimmed Provençal hat, a common mode in these hills of the south. I asked if he was in the same spot for the Saturday market. “Oh, no: I’m by the tourism office - watch for the Merry-go-Round” he replied. I will return to Arles some Saturday, and go straight to Boulevard Clémenceau, and buy more fresh cheese, redolent of Provençal herbs, with the busy local crowd….sometime. And I will watch for the Merry-go-Round with prancing white horses, a black bull and children tucked into a twirling teacup.

So, after observing just two Camargue markets, it seems that in spite of the ‘convenience’ of soul-less hypermarchés with all their centîme-cutting deals, the vendors still sell to a loyal, local crowd, filling their baskets and caddies every Wednesday and Saturday. Our next market rounds take up the subject of marché de proximité, or shopping locally in French terms. Later in March, follow our search for spring greens in the Périgord.

‘Still Life at Cabalus’ (edible!)

Off season in Burgundy, frosty nights and luminous days, are reasons alone to visit such medieval sites as Vézelay. But arriving “cold” on a recent winter Saturday, just before the tourist office closed, posed problems of lodging and a little nourishment. The few hotels open at this time of year were full or closed for the weekend. Luckily, after the cheery tourist office manager made two calls to chambres d’hôtes (B&Bs), a vacant room was found.

We continued an uphill walk along the steep main street of Vézelay to a twelfth century hostel-hospital for pilgrims, now renovated into four bedrooms and a very large, vaulted central room which serves as a café-gallery. Once inside the gate and small entry court of “Cabalus, une maison d’un autre temps “, we entered another time zone: ring a small bronze bell, as a pilgrim would in the thirteenth century, ascend worn stone steps and walk through a narrow passageway, to enter a large bedroom. Look out the single window over tiled rooftops to Burgundy’s Morvan hills, look down at old (but spotless) floor tiles and around at white-washed walls. Sink into the bed’s snowy white down coverlet and imagine who has spent time in this room - pilgrims or travelers - over the last nine hundred years. It gives one pause.

Dark wooden beams and white walls: simplicity prevails in the heated bedroom and bath. The shower and a sink with sleek faucets set above a wooden table are clearly not medieval, but contemporary and functional. After a walk through narrow streets and up to the Basilique de la Madeleine - do not miss the west façade’s tympanum at sunset - return for a supper of long-simmered soup and salad, the wise choice for a winter evening when most guide-book choices are closed. But, more important, be up for petit-déjeuner.

On Sunday morning we took our places at one of the marble tables set for breakfast. Each setting was a still life: a single apple, a tray of jam and ruffly shaved cheese, a basket of homemade bread - warm from the oven - and a tall taper in a brass candlestick to light the marble table. Perfection. And while sipping coffee or tea, we admired the twelfth century vaulted ceiling, the fire burning in a broad fireplace, herbs hung to dry, and books of all sorts tucked in between old objects. There are prints, drawings and calligraphy, jewelry displayed on branches, all against the natural tones of walls that have weathered time. If these old walls could speak, perhaps their best expression would be in the small polished stones subtly carved with labyrinth designs, pendants created by the artist who renovated this welcoming space. Whether for pilgrims or those of us just passing through, time at Cabalus nourishes the body as well as the soul.

Reserve with Mme Cabalus, tel: 03 86 33 2066, rue St.Pierre, F89450 Vézelay. Out of season, B&B rates run about 80 Euros for a double room. Book well in advance during Easter or Christmas seasons.