On the GR 34As an inveterate hiker, I think any season is a good one for taking to the trails, particularly as a break from intense work, when the mind needs a flush of fresh air, the body a period of intense activity.   Which is probably all of the time for most of us…

So last week we took to the “sentier des douaniers” on the Cotes d’Armour of Brittany.  We’ve had endless summer, the trail is empty now because the French vacations are long gone, and this wonderful pathway –  also called the GR34 –  lines the entire, wildly beautiful coast of Brittany. It was built in the early 20th century for customs agents, who walked it searching for contraband.  As they surveyed the crashing waves below, they saw everything, in every port and inlet.

We followed their footsteps, smug under the incredibly blue sky, the sight of turquoise water, the perfect comfortable temperature when, as though someone flipped a switch, all hell broke loose. The skies darkened turning the water steely grey; the exhilarating wind turned tornadic, the clouds open to disburse rain that wasn’t rain at all but hail which, when it falls on your cheeks, feels like needles inserted into your skin.  The cold of the hail mitigates real pain, but still…

This proves a Breton axiom which goes something like this – if you don’t like the weather, wait an hour and it will change.  And change it did, again, though it was more like two hours by which time we were soaked to the skin.  So we did what any hiker does, took shelter and had lunch…and all was forgotten when the sun returned, the high wind dried us out, and we continued on our way.  Waves turned to gentle rolls against the dark rocks below us; the rays of sun glinted off the black sandy beaches, gulls and little hawks hovered in air currents like children playing.

What was lunch?  Well, when it comes to gastronomy Brittany is the land of buckwheat flour galettes filled with everything from curried chicken to an over-easy egg.

In winter there is the hearty “potée” or pork stew called Kig Ha Farz, with its buckwheat dumpling.

There are scallops and mussels fresh from the boat, lobster and mackerel, and the memory of cod, we learned as we happened upon the little port town of Binic. It was THE capitol of the cod fleet in the 1700’s, whose intrepid fishermen left their families for months on end to sail to Newfoundland, where stocks of cod were plentiful. They returned with their holds full of salt cod, which was then transported throughout the continent.

Brittany is also home to the Rose de Roskoff onion which I had on my plate cooked traditionally into a marmalade, the natural sugars in the onion making the condiment so sweet it wouldn’t be displaced on morning toast with butter.

And speaking of butter, it’s always salted in Brittany.  Why? Because the Bretons know how to live, and live they do, with their rich salted butter pastries like Kouign Aman and gâteau Breton, their galettes which always get a brush of melted butter before any filling goes in them, and their gorgeous dessert crêpes, my favorite being painted with butter, sprinkled with sugar, and drizzled with fresh lemon juice.

As if the joys of hiking in Brittany weren’t enough, there is the reward after a long day on the trail of all these fine dishes to choose from, washed  down with local hard cider, served in “bolées,” or coffee cup-like bowls.

What follows here is a tried and true (and delicious) recipe for Kig Ha Farz, for your winter dining pleasure, à la Bretagne!

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