There are places one does not truly discover; one returns to
them, the way one finds again a scent from childhood. The path
beneath the pines, the pale curtains barely stirring, the scent
of wood warmed by the sun mingling with that of fish over the
embers. Something within unwinds before one has even sat
down.
Since 1952, on the golden sand of Pampelonne, Moorea has
been cultivating a certain Mediterranean happiness. Christophe
Coutal needs no introduction — he is simply there. The eighth
generation of a Tropezian family, he carries on the spirit of a
beach his father once ran, and the memory of his grandparents
who welcomed painters and musicians at the Hôtel de Paris. One
does not know all this upon arriving. One feels it.
In the kitchen, Jérôme Larmat and Yoann Toulouse compose a
!e eternity of a Ramatuelle moment
cuisine in which the Mediterranean and Asia answer each other
with finesse. Lightly seared wild fish, delicate carpaccios, fresh
herbs and carefully selected citrus, pale-hued Provence rosés
— every plate is precise, luminous, inspired. A cuisine to be
savoured with one’s eyes turned to the sea.
There are places where one comes to be seen, and others
where one comes back to oneself. Moorea belongs to the latter.
Children run between the loungers, a woman reads in the shade
of a parasol, friends linger over lunch in the sun. Time here has
the texture of those days whose feeling stays with you, whole.
In the evening, when the sky above Ramatuelle turns pink, one
hesitates to leave. The sand is still warm underfoot. Moorea does
not hold anyone back — and that, perhaps, is why one always
comes back.
RAMATUELLE I VAR
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