A Bridge Across Time

We sat on the rocks, in the shadow of the bridge, with the sound of trickling water and mating calls from an army of unseen frogs. Our edible treasures from the day’s adventure spread before us. The afternoon sun poured liquid gold across the landscape. And in that moment I couldn’t think of a more perfect place to picnic in the entire world. Except, this is Provence. And it’s all like this. Anywhere you are, at any given time, can be the most perfect spot in world. 

Pont Julien stands just outside of Bonnieux and until a year or so before we arrived, you could still drive over it with barely a nod to its age. That is the magic of Provence; one minute you are on a simple Provencal road and the next your wheels are traversing the same stones that Roman feet once tread and do so without a second thought. We didn’t come to the Pont Julien to drive over it, but for an evening picnic below its graceful arches. It was the last stop of the day before returning to the village. We had made a loop through the surrounding Luberon where we strolled the streets of Gordes, picking up some black olive tapenade in a small shop before heading over to Rousillon to view the famous ochre cliffs were we walked through the umber, rust, and cream-colored cliffs, coating our shoes with the red dust. In Rousillon we decided to not save the tapenade, but instead augment it with fresh bread, olives, cheese, grape tomatoes, and a nice bottle of rose, and head out for a bit of late afternoon alfresco dining. Meals never have to be fancy to be transcendent. Sometimes — most times — it is the equation of the person you are with added to where you are, which moves the ordinary into a transcendent experience.

The summer palate of Provence never fails to stun me; the bright yellow of sunflower fields complemented by, if you are fortunate enough to be there in bloom, lavender; the crystal blue sky and straw-colored fields; the diffused sunlight of evening that takes on the hue of a properly poured Ricard, and the color of the sandstone buildings who provide the necessary shade against the midday sun. 

Banks that betrayed how high the water actually flowed in the early spring bordered both sides of our picnic spot. Tall, soft, grass, the blades bent over by the weight of young, small snails, provided seclusion. Cicadas played their raspy call to mate. And the tannic water carved its way though the sand colored rocks, creating small pools which provided refuge for the small but boisterous frogs. 

While we snacked, my wife and I reminisced about our day and our time so far in Provence. We had come on the occasion of a major birthday and I had earlier mentioned that when we hit Marseille, I might want to get a tattoo. A single, small tattoo on my left shoulder of the simple symbol that we used to signify our love. To both mark the occasion and celebrate our relationship. 

Growing up, tattoos were disapproved of in my family. As was long hair, wild fashion, or flashy possessions. Anything that made one stand out from the crowd was frowned upon. My father being the arbitrator and maintainer of the status quo. It had been 25 years since his death and I was still angry. As we sipped the rose and looked across the tableau before us, my wife asked if I still wanted the tattoo. 

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’ve realized that my wanting to get a tattoo is more about pissing off my father than proclaiming my individuality.” 

She smiled and leaned into me.

“I’m glad. And I’m happy that you finally came to that realization.”

There is a law of food that if you eat something where it is made, it will never taste the same from that first moment. And if you do so with someone who knows you better than you even know yourself, the effect of that law is multiplied exponentially. 

I thought of that as I took a bite of baguette with tapenade spread across the top. That spread, that cheese, that wine will never taste as good as it did in that moment. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.

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Black Olive Tapenade

INGREDIENTS

• 1 cup of fresh ripe (black) olives, pitted. Do not use canned olives, but if you must, use Kalamata olives.

• 2 garlic cloves

• 2 anchovy fillets, rinsed of oil and chopped

• 2 tsp capers.

• 1/2 tsp fresh thyme, chopped

• 1 tbsp fresh lemon juice

• 1/4 tsp zest of lemon

• 1/2 cup good quality extra virgin olive oil

• pinch of course salt

• freshly ground black pepper

DIRECTIONS

1. This is best if you use a stone mortar and pestle but can be made in a food processor as well. If making in a food processor, skip the chopping of the olives.

2. Mince garlic and sprinkle with the pinch of course salt. Don’t use much as the capers will add the required saltiness. Using the side of your knife, smash the salt and garlic into a paste.

3. Chop the olives and place in the pestle with the chopped anchovies, capers, thyme, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Using the mortar, crush and stir into a paste consistency. Leave as chunky or smooth as you desire.

4. If using a food processor, place olives, anchovies, capers, thyme, lemon juice, and lemon zest in the bowl and process until desired consistency. 

5. Transfer olive mixture to a small bowl and stir in olive oil.

6. Salt and pepper if desired.