100 books like Lulu's Provençal Table

An absolute classic, this book has had two subsequent editions since its first publication in 1957, each with a new foreword and epilogue. It depicts the pre-Peter Mayle Provence, primitive and resourceful, naïve and worldly wise, generous and hard-working, that Wylie discovered when he spent a year observing life in the village of Roussillon (disguised as Peyrane) in 1950-51. A typical Provençal village, Peyrane—population just over 300, one café-tabac, one hotel, two general stores, and one butcher—was still largely self-sufficient in terms of food, many families owning chickens and rabbits and cultivating a garden. Wylie writes with humour, warmth, and genuine affection for its inhabitants; I loved his account of the firemen's banquet, the attention to detail in the planning process, the banquet itself, and the post-banquet meditations.

Provence has inspired hundreds of books, but Lawrence Durrell captures better than most what he calls its 'real nature'. His book is both personal response (he lived for many years at Sommières, north of Nimes) and historical reflection, particularly on the Roman legacy – a legacy that includes wine and olive oil, perennial staples of the Provençal table. Although Caesar occupied the whole of France, nowhere is the Roman imprint more omnipresent than in Provence; living near Carpentras, we daily dreamed of finding our fortune in an ancient Roman coin, shining through the dust of a lonely track. Durrell's language is poetic, his imagery evocative: the 'Socratic austerity' of a game of boules, the 'felicity and eloquence' of Provençal skies. As a companion to Provence, Durrell is my pick.

Finally, a food book. But more than that, Mediterranean Seafood recounts a personal journey, as Alan Davidson learned to identify the diversity of Mediterranean catches and how best to use each species. It was an invaluable guide on my visits to the market at Sète, and as I pored over the displays I listened to conversations between sellers and buyers, exchanges of gossip and cooking tips, and marvelled at the ingenuity of these Mediterranean women in accommodating seafood in so many different ways when my palate knew only fried or grilled. Part catalogue and part cookbook, it combines the best of both. If only eighteenth-century travellers had the benefit of such a guide, they might have been more daring in their eating. 

In December 1970, a group of acclaimed American culinary experts met in Provence, where Julia Child had a holiday house, planning to celebrate Christmas together. Joining them were food writer Richard Olney and novelists Sybille Bedford and Eda Lord, all living relatively close. Barr, Fisher's grandnephew relies on her journal and letters to recreate their sumptuous tables in delectable detail. Alas, hopes for a joyous gathering of friends soured as egos clashed and petty rivalries intervened; MFK left abruptly and spent Christmas alone in Avignon. What interests me is how these authorities on French cuisine engaged with the French, the relationship between the 'French' cooking they portrayed and the food of the French, and their response to the changes creeping into France post-1968.

A healer and a matchmaker cross paths in 12th century France, and….zzzzzzz, right? Or so I thought, until I tried this Printz honor book, a piece of gorgeously written historical fiction that turned out to be a complete page-turner and attention-grabbing thriller. I’m a big TV watcher, so when I say that I was turning off the TV at night to spend more time with this book, you can take that as a 5+ star review. It’s one of my favorite YAs, and for what it’s worth, could just as easily have been shelved as an adult title. 

This story, primarily set in France, is about a guy who loses his job in Great Britain and inherits his uncle’s vineyard in Provence. There are quirky scenes in this book that make you laugh out loud, and scenes that tug at your heartstrings. Years ago, I spent a little time in France and remember looking longingly at French wine country—from the windows of a train, and wishing I could hop off and visit some of those beautiful places. Isn’t that why we love books? We can travel vicariously! 

Peter Mayle is credited with launching the French fever dream for English speakers when he decamped to Provence and wrote about his life there. All of his Provence memoirs or novels, such as ‘Hotel Pastis’ are delicious treats, full of quirky British wit and his eye for the absurd. It was a special treat for me to hike through his Luberon haunts one year and drink wine made at the vineyard where The Good Year was filmed.

No book list on any aspect of southern France would be complete without one of Peter Mayle’s many books on his travels and adventures in Provence. 

His initial best seller is a grand introduction to the many small villages, customs, foods, and peoples who maintain the traditional aspects of the unique lifestyle to be found there, which in some places reflects hundreds of years with little change.

I have found in my travels that because this area of France was spared the ravages of the two World Wars, any trip to the region puts the visitor in touch with this remarkable past in a way few other European locales can. I often found myself wrapped up in the incredible history that surrounded me everywhere I went in the region, leading to my own attempt at expressing some of it.

I’ve learned that Peter Mayle, through his books, is like having… show more.

A dream of many who live in cold climates is to live a second life (or first or third) in sunny France, and in particular Provence. Sands mainlines that dream in this book and especially the healing properties of sunshine and lavender. Her heroine recovers from a painful divorce and is reinvigorated, all the best qualities of a vacation, in reality or in reading. 

No one wrote about the South of France with more affection and understanding than Marcel Pagnol. He was a novelist, playwright, director, and memoirist. Pagnol’s family had a small house in the hills near Marseille where they spent summers. His book, My Father’s Glory, is about those months Pagnol spent there as a child and about his family, mostly his father. (The companion book, My Mother’s Castle, concerns his mother more.) The story of his aunt’s sweet, delicate courtship with his eventual uncle is worth reading the book alone. If you’re like me, you will come away from reading this book wishing you’d been part of Pagnol’s kind and joyous family and his life in this little corner of France. The good news is that with this book, you very nearly are.