Brive la Gaillarde Is it Brive itself or the incredibly
tortuous and lovely road by which it is approached that makes its irresistible attrac- tion? Its nickname is plainly unique. There cannot be another town in the world deliberately called the Jovial, the Jaunty, the Merry—any of the elusive translations of that rich French word, with all its suggestions of the Middle Ages. Is it the chief eating-house of the town which faces you as you enter, the Cookshop (the dictionary's clumsy word) of the Black Truffle? It is a glorious name to give a town, and even if rotisserie suggests a row of spits more than a bakery, an open fire with great joints twisting slowly before it, truffles simmering in iron pots, rather than closed ovens, stews and boiled fish, a superb signboard to hang over an inn. You cannot fail to remark the Rotisserie Truffe Noire. And it is an unforgettable road that takes you there and, having left you time to appreciate the precise signi- ficance of rotisserie, takes you away again.
Previous page
