Plucky Survivors See Europe Day 45: Nice to Montpelier

As much as I didn’t want to get up early to do laundry, I did it anyway.  I was running low on my delicates, so to speak, and the bag full of dirty clothes got so full I broke the zipper.  The small laundromat was just a couple of blocks from the hotel and, helpfully, they had an option on the automated machine to hear instructions in English, so I was grateful for that.

I wanted to try to hit as many of the museums I had intended to do go to yesterday but couldn’t because it was Bastille Day.  I was only able to do one and a half.

The one is the Escoffier Museum of Culinary Arts located in Villeneuve-Loubert (see, told you had never heard of it) about 45 minutes west of Nice.  Finding parking and then walking there, uphill and up stairs both ways somehow, added another 30 minutes to the proceedings.

The museum is named after August Escoffier, who was born and raised in the house that now houses the museum.  He started working in the kitchen of his uncle’s restaurant as a child and showed and aptitude for it but was drafted into the French army before he could make his mark.  He took the lessons he learned in the military and applied them to the kitchens he worked in, which up until him had been loud, riotous places where drinking and cursing took place.  Escoffier demanded quiet and his cooking techniques eventually led him to running the kitchen at The Savoy in London.  His recipes and kitchen methodology are still widely used today.

The building has six floors of antique kitchen equipment, old menus, art made out of food, and more.  It’s very comprehensive, but a little dry and doesn’t offer much context, at least not in English.  There seemed to be a bit more info in French and audio guides were available, but I get bored easily, so I don’t use them.  The displays are still interesting, though. 

Afterward, you are invited to sit in the courtyard and enjoy a small cup of Peach Melba, which was invented by Escoffier in 1893, named in honor of Australian singer Nellie Melba.  I knew that the ice cream would give me issues, so I ate around it and loved every bite.

Stop number two was confounding, not because of its existence, but because of its accessibility.

The Ceramic Kitsch Museum is dedicated to exactly what is in its title – kitschy ceramic figures.  I know some people want to go to the Louvre, but I will always choose tacky ceramics over the Mona Lisa any day.

I got conflicting information online about whether or not they were open, so someone at the Escoffier museum phoned them for me (the number wouldn’t dial through on my phone) to ask if they were there.  “Yes, indeedy,” was the reply only the French version of that.  They would be there until 12:30p.  It was 11:30 and it was a 30-minute drive, so that sounded like it would work perfectly.

It did not.  Parking in Vallauris (don’t lie – you’ve never heard of that either) was even tougher than in other small town you’ve never heard of.

I finally found a spot and rushed to the museum, arriving at 12:15pm.  It was closed.  A sign on the door read “Back in 5 Minutes,” only in Russian.  I’m kidding, it was in French.

I waited nearly twenty minutes and nobody ever came back.  They had clearly left early for lunch and wouldn’t reopen the store until 2pm, which was too late.  I did take some pictures through the windows.  I think I would’ve been enamored by all of it.

I got a quick bite at a McDonald’s that was convenient and the only thing nearby that was open, then it was back on the road heading west again.  I had wanted to see more of the things I didn’t on Bastille Day, but by then it was already approaching 2pm and I had at last 3 hours of driving left.  Sorry, chocolate museum, butterfly house, postcard museum, and others.  Catch you next time.

The drive was mind-numbing (no interesting roads) and packed with traffic.  I didn’t make it to the hotel until nearly 5pm.  The room is nice but bland, a riot of earth tones and vaguely ancient Asia design cues.

I walked around a bit and went to Place de la Comedie, the main square in the old town area.

I wanted to do more, but I was hungry and exhausted, so I went in search of dinner.    I found it at a place called Pitadine, a Mediterrean/Middle Eastern restaurant where I had tzatziki and piping hot, thick pita bread and keufte chakchoukas, a stew-like dish with meatballs, tomatoes, eggs, olive oil, peppers, onion and lots of spices like cumin, garlic, and paprika.  It was absolutely one of the best meals I’ve had on the trip – rich, spicy but not too spicy, and completely satisfying.

Tomorrow I’m off to country number nine, Spain, starting with Barcelona!