Food writer Nicola Miller, of Bury St Edmunds, shares her experience of French railway station cafés and provides a recipe for magret, a duck dish
In Paris, the rather grand brasseries at Gare du Nord and the Gare de Lyon are rightly loved by travellers, but there exist far humbler cafés across the French rail network either alongside or actually inside the station complex.
Even the most isolated of stations may have one. These small, underused stations live under the constant threat of closure although France’s state-owned rail network, The Société Nationale des Chemins (SNCF), states it has a policy of supporting the redeployment of closed station buildings as civic and community spaces. France is a large country – and that can be hard to grasp if you only travel by air.
Rail journeys can be long, requiring several connections. As full-service railway dining carriages become less common in a land populated by people who value good food, these tiny gare cafés are even more important, but they cannot survive without a constant flow of train passengers in need of a scratch-cooked meal.
In addition, the colonisation of medium-large French transport hubs by the likes of Pret, Paul and Five Guys continues apace, threatening their livelihood. It is dismaying.
As far as I know, there's no danger of tiny Latour de Carol's station being closed.
Classed as an international hub hosting trains to Spain (you can travel directly to Barcelona and Girona), it is one of the few stations in the world with three different rail gauges. Located in the village of Enveitg at 1,231m above sea level in the French-Catalan Pyrenees a few kilometres away from Andorra and a kilometre north of the Spanish border, it is a romantic place.
It is also the last stop on the famous Train Jaune line which connects Villefranche-de-Conflent (427 metres altitude) to Latour-de-Carol (1,232 metres) over a distance of 63km, ascending 1,200 metres to Bolquère, France’s highest ski station at 1,593 metres.
The trip takes three hours and connects the upper cantons of the high Catalan plateaux with the rest of the region which, if you read about the train’s history, had a positive economic and social impact on this previously isolated part of Europe.
The Train Jaune is powered by hydroelectricity, crosses two amazing bridges (the 65m high Séjourné Viaduct and the 80m high Pont Gisclard) and travels through 19 tunnels. The scenery is breathtaking and in warmer months you can travel in an open-air wagon. It is an epic journey.
Latour De Carol Enveitg can be a busy hub, filled with travellers making connections, arriving and departing for winter sports and hiking, but I was struck by its peacefulness.
Despite the calls of skylarks, swifts, sparrowhawks and black redstarts and a blowsy breeze that stirred the wildflowers and grasses growing between the rails of disused tracks, there was little noise.
A few backpackers napped on benches as they awaited their train; one couple even sunbathed on the steep tree-lined slope that edged the road to the station car park. We explored disused station buildings, looking through broken window panes to find one particularly intriguing tableau: a room decorated with nursery murals and an abandoned pushchair in good condition in one corner. A novel waiting to be written.
Hungry travellers disembarking from the Train Jaune after a three-hour journey invariably make their way to Le Bistrot de la Gare at Latour de Carol adjacent to the station. Its exterior is relatively unassuming; there’s a terrace, a large divided indoor space and a counter to order takeout.
The staff are accustomed to regular floods of customers; not once did they lose their patience.
The menu is simple and perfect. Sandwiches and baguettes sell out quickly. There’s paella (the café is but a few steps from the Spanish border – and we’re still in Catalonia), fried hake, duck, local sausage and lamb, composed salads, steaks, charcuterie and croquetas and a tall glass display case where I mooned over coffee cups filled with chocolate mousse in serried lines, huge flans, pies and the simple quart-quarts cakes found in French bakeries all over the country.
We sat outside with a view of the Train Jaune and the bruise-blue mountains in the distance and ate magret (fat duck breasts cooked medium-rare in the manner of steak) with a honey and sultana sauce – a stumpery-like pile of lamb chops with fries, that hake, bowls of salad, and lemon meringue pie.
There was local beer and excellent wine (a late harvest Jurançon) to drink as we sat in the mountain sun awaiting the train to Toulouse. It was perfect.
At Le Bistrot de la Gare the magret is not served au quadrillage (the crosshatch seared pattern you get from cooking on a griddle), so I have to assume it was cooked à la poêle (in a pan).
Duck breasts can be a bit tricky to cook because they are covered in a thick layer of fat which must be rendered down without overcooking – and drying out – the meat.
I prick the skin all over before cooking and use my Thermapen to test the internal temperature. Magret should be served rosy pink through the middle (medium rare) and it is critical to rest the meat for 10 minutes while you make the sauce. I tend to cover it with a little foil tent so it has space underneath to relax and get itself together after its baptism of heat.
The sauce is incredibly simple: deglaze the pan juices with honey, grapes, sultanas and two types of vinegar – balsamic and red wine – then serve. Make sure you keep the drained duck fat; it’s great for roasting potatoes.
MAGRET AUX RAISINS, BALSAMIQUE, RAISINS SECS ET MIEL (duck breasts with sultanas, balsamic, grapes, and honey)
Serves two
Ingredients:
2 room-temperature duck breasts skin-on, approx 250-300g in total
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons honey (I like a fairly dark one. Try chestnut.)
Half a tablespoon Balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon sherry or red wine vinegar
16 small-medium grapes (sable or muscat grapes are extra-special if you can get them)
A handful of golden sultanas (about 30)
Method:
1. Pat the duck breasts dry with a piece of kitchen paper. Use a toothpick or needle to prick the skin and underlying fat but be careful, don’t stab into the flesh beneath the fat – you’re not giving an intramuscular injection. Pat them dry again and season on both sides with salt and pepper.
2. Place the breasts in a cold heavy-based pan skin side down and turn on the heat to medium-high. This method ensures the meat doesn’t cook through too soon.
Keep a close ear out for the sound of sizzling fat. As soon as you hear it, turn the heat down to medium-low.
Start to cook slowly at a quiet sizzle so the fat renders (liquefies and runs into the pan). If the sizzling becomes louder, turn down the heat. This can take between four-five minutes but it depends on how chunky your duck breasts are.
When you notice the skin is starting to turn pale gold, pour off most of the rendered fat but don’t throw it away. (If there’s too much fat in the pan, the breasts will fry too swiftly and you’ll end up with a very smoky kitchen.)
Turn the heat up to medium-high and continue to fry until the skin is crisp and bronzed. Remember to check the meat’s temperature if you’re using a meat thermometer and adjust the cooking heat accordingly. If you’re not, watch the magret carefully to ensure the flesh isn’t cooking too fast or conversely the skin isn’t starting to burn. Turn the duck over using tongs and continue to cook skin side up until the internal temperature reaches 50°C or 122°F.
If you don’t have a meat thermometer use your finger to test for doneness: the meat should feel firm yet springy to the touch.
Remove the duck from the pan and place on a plate loosely tented with foil. Rest for 10 minutes.
3. Turn the heat back down to medium and pour the honey and both the balsamic and sherry vinegar into the pan.
Using a spatula, scrape and loosen the meat juices and crispy brown bits that have adhered to the pan making sure they combine well with the honey and vinegar. What you are doing is deglazing the pan so you don’t lose the delicious and precious cooked meat juices known as ‘fond’ in classical French cooking.
Now add the grapes and sultanas and continue to cook until the sauce has thickened and is glossy.
Don’t take your eye off it. Have a taste. Does it need some salt? Add it if so, although I find it doesn’t tend to need it.
4. If you are going to serve the magret sliced, now is the time to do it. Carve it across the grain in thick slices, plate up and pour over the sauce. You don’t have to slice it but it does look a little more polished. I leave mine alone.
5. Serve it with a big pile of fries or a little pile of white or butter beans, puy lentils, and/or sliced runner beans in the summer.
Follow Nicola on Twitter: @Nicmillerstale
Winner of the Guild of Food Writers Online Food Writer Award 2020
Fortnum & Mason Cookery Writer of the Year 2022
