Shelter From the Storm
Dylan probably had no idea he was writing about a restaurant on Ile-de-Sein
(Editor’s Note: JEP is pleased to offer another dispatch from our foreign correspondent, Bob Wynne — a tale of a harrowing journey off France’s Brittany Coast that was repaid with a splendid meal in a charming, one-of-a-kind restaurant. More to come!)
By Bob Wynne
ILE-DE-SEIN, FRANCE — It seemed, at first, like a terrific idea.
A day trip out to the Ile-de-Sein by ocean-going ferry from the Port of Audierne on the Brittany coast. One hour out, five hours on the one-mile long island exploring a picturesque little village, lunch where we could find it and then one hour back.
It wasn’t until later that I realized how many obvious warning signs I just flat missed. Or that the day would be saved by a tiny, but excellent restaurant we were drawn to initially only because of its wood-burning stove.
But first some history. Ile-de-Sein, just south of the English Channel, is well known by everyone but me for its dangerous, rough waters, hazardous currents, quickly changing weather and the Chaussee de Sein – a vast zone of reefs stretching more than 30 miles. Four manned lighthouses frame the island itself and nearly a dozen beacons and buoys are needed to keep shipping off the reefs. Even then, scores of freighters and fishing boats lay on the bottom just offshore.
The difficult weather and tricky seas apparently combine to build character in the island’s young people. Occupied by German forces during WWII, every one of the island’s draft-age male inhabitants answered General de Gaulle’s call to set sail in their fishing boats for Britain and join up with Free French forces there. The group earned honors in battle and remains the pride of the island to this day.
The boat ride began smooth enough. But as soon as we left the safe harbor of Audierne, I realized our high-back padded seats with large grab handles and head rests were there for a reason. The whipped-up waves and gusty winds came out of nowhere with wash covering the thick windows port and starboard – at the same time. Once out on the open sea the pitch made walking on-board difficult, to say the least. So I settled down into my seat, after scoping out just exactly where the life jackets were stowed.
My wife Peggy, raised by a merchant seaman (Danish of course) who thought nothing of taking the whole family out for a week at a time in a small skiff, dozed off while I watched the waves get bigger and bigger. Padded chairs, light houses all over the place, a rugged ocean-going ferry to make a one-hour trip . . . now I understood. This was a serious winter crossing. Lunch had better be good.
Soon enough we pulled into the island’s snug harbor and disembarked only to find that the cold, gusty winds off-shore had followed us ashore.
Like much of Brittany in winter, many of the stores, restaurants and even the island’s museum — places where you might expect to find some shelter — were all shuttered.
We walked briskly out to one of the lighthouses, taking in the rugged coastline and snuggling as best we could as sleet alternated with vertical rain.
What had happened to all the other passengers on the ferry? Where had they gone? With four hours left before the return ferry arrived, our day trip was starting to look like a day ordeal. To paraphrase the great Bob Dylan, things weren’t grim yet – but they were gettin’ there.
Then we spotted it. A dark but nice enough looking place with a sign above the door that read simply “Restaurant.”
Were they open? And was their menu any more creative than their marketing?
The warmth washed over us and a friendly wave was followed up by an invitation to “entrée” as we pulled the door back against the wind. We practically ran to the warmth of the wood burning stove. Luckily, we were saved! But we did not know yet just how lucky we were.
What followed was one of the best meals either of us has enjoyed — ever. And not just because of the warm room, although that certainly helped.
Restaurant La Tatoon offers a menu in chalk written daily on a large board which leans up against the wall of the tastefully decorated but small dining room.
While the choices are limited, the offerings are more than adequate. When we visited, a local line- caught white fish (filet de lieu jaune) was coupled with a melt-in-your mouth scoop of puree de pomme de terre maison and beurre blanc (unbelievable whipped potatoes with – you guessed it – plenty of local butter.)
Peggy went for a local tuna (thon rouge grille) that was as solid and flavorful as my white fish was flaky, delicate and mouthwatering. A nice white, bottled on the island with grapes from Burgundy, helped push away any remaining chill while a second bottle helped pass the time until a crème brule aux amandes and a moelleux au chocolate appeared from the kitchen. Two café cremes rounded out everything.
Talking to the chef and his wife who handles the front and makes the deserts, we discovered that they had very nearly decided not to open on the day we visited. Too cold, too windy, too wet – who would come?
Indeed, who?
As we thanked our hosts and turned to walk back to the ferry landing under clearing skies, I realized that my only regret on the day was failing to order the third entrée – the piece de boeuf grillee from a local Brittany ranch. But then, that beef dish remains an excellent reason to return – this time in summer.
Love this story about the couple. Reminds me of a quote from a French architect who won the Pritzker Prize last year: A house may look “ugly or boring” on the outside, but look inside and you may find “a lady who offers you cake and coffee.” (cafe creme!)