Cafe Provence: If You’ve Been Good This Week, Eat Here
35 Musset Bayou Rd, Santa Rosa Beach , 622-3022
By Bruce Collier May 8, 2003 Issue

We ate at Café Provence on a Tuesday, arriving at six o’clock to find several tables already occupied. As the evening progressed, virtually every table was filled. About a dozen or so tables of varying sizes are nicely spaced in a longish rectangular dining room, made bright and open by large windows, pastel furnishings and cheerful decorations. You’ll recall that many of those flowers and fields that Van Gogh and Gaugin painted were in the south of France, of which Provence is the most famous region. The maitre d’ and a full wait staff were already moving about smoothly and efficiently. CafProvence also boasts a full bar, which produced a great martini, garnished with two fat green olives, stuffed with pickled onions. Their Old Fashioned made it on the first pass. We were off.

The dinner menu covers about two pages, which our waiter supplemented with the features of the evening. Soups, salads, appetizers and entrées include French classics and variations on classics, with an emphasis on fish, seafood and fowl. There are two beef entrées, and a single lamb dish. It is possible this menu may change by the time you eat here, but I have no doubt that you’ll enjoy what’s there.

We started with onion soup and a featured salad of mesclun dressed with vinaigrette and roasted goat cheese. The waiter brought a plate of assorted breads, sliced and arranged around a generous portion of butter. The soup was almost like a pureed stew, thick, rather sweet, and garnished with a large buttered crouton. My friend was especially taken with the soup bowl, which was square-shaped. The salad was served on two plates for sharing. The greens were delicate and dressed with a sweet/sharp vinaigrette. The cheese, “ash-roasted,” was sliced in discs and placed on crisp crusts of bread. Roasting gave the already flavorful cheese an even more robust tang.

Naturally we were all but full at this point, but somebody has to do this work, so like Lewis & Clark, we gamely pressed on. My beef-loving friend snagged a genuine article of French haute cuisine, Tournedos Rossini. Named for the 19th century Italian composer, this is a filet of beef served with a rich Madeira sauce and made even more opulent by a topping of pan-seared foie gras. Over my insincere objections, she generously gave me the entire slice of foie gras. Cutting into the filet, she noticed it had been cooked more fully than she had asked. The waiter took it away, and brought out a new steak, cooked as ordered. I would expect this of a well-run restaurant. What I did not expect was another slice of foie gras. This was above and beyond the call of professionalism, and shook that fifth apple right out of the tree.

I ordered something I’d never tried, Coq au Vin. Three pieces of chicken came marinated and stewed in a deeply rich, tangy sauce of red wine, mushrooms and pearl onions. The bowl was enormous, with high curving sides that acted like a brandy snifter to concentrate the aroma of the chicken. I wasn’t starving when it came, so I took the time to stop and sniff. I hope you will do likewise, whatever you get.

Other items on offer that night were a potage St. Germain, a creamy pea soup that tasted exactly like fresh-picked green peas, red beet salad, terrines of duck and seafood, oysters baked in champagne, lobster ravioli, scallops, more foie gras, fricasseed chicken and lamb, duck breast in port wine and figs, and fresh local fish prepared in a number of city and countrified ways.

Desserts? Yes, a few. The waiter brought out a tray with more than I can remember, so I’ll give you the big picture. We chose from among a Napoleon (creamy custard layered with flaky pastry), several mousses, two glazed fruit pastries, and a chocolate bombe with raspberries. My friend chose a layered chocolate mousse/Kahlua jelly/more chocolate mousse dessert, and I went for the bombe. The mousse was lighter than one might have expected, which was all to the good, and the coffee jelly had an intriguing, slightly chewy consistency. The bombe looked like one of those black things that Bugs Bunny lights and hands off to Elmer Fudd. It was round, shiny, and garnished with gold foil and an edible flower. We ate the gold, too. Surrounded by fresh raspberries and seated on a pastry crust, it was everything you’d expect from a dessert named after lethal ammunition. Not surprisingly, it is a house specialty, and one of the more popular items.

I said a lot of nice things about France in this article. If that offends you, you probably didn’t even get this far. Nevertheless, whatever you might think about our Gallic neighbors, you should concede at least one thing: they can cook. Centuries of living off their incredibly rich countryside —one of Shakespeare’s characters calls France “this best garden of the world”—has taught them pretty much everything there is to know about the art of preparing and serving food. The art is alive, well, and suitable for eating at Café Provence. (Top)