An adventure in 37 courses

Bordeaux, France —  SEVEN restaurants in seven cities in five days.

It’s a tall order, to be sure, checking out the most dynamic young chefs in southwest France, crisscrossing the region by car, covering more than 1,000 miles and consuming more than 37 courses -- and that’s not counting extra treats like amuse-bouche and mignardises -- just to see what’s cooking.

French cuisine is in a funk, as chefs lose ground to the Spanish and the Brits. But there’s a movement afoot among young, forward-looking Gallic chefs who refer to themselves as Generation C -- “C” for “culture and cuisines.” They’re rejecting the notion that great food must be lingered over for hours in a stuffy, expensive Michelin-anointed establishment. These days, the name of the game is casual, unpretentious, often relatively inexpensive bistros and restaurants.

And southwest France, specifically the Aquitaine region, has a great concentration of them. I had just five days to check out the most promising. My husband, Thierry, who was born in Bordeaux, my 9-year-old son, Wylie, and I hopped in a rental car in mid-July, cranked up the air conditioner (France was in the middle of a heat wave) and took off. Anyone saner would probably take 10 days or two weeks to cover the same ground or maybe tackle a small part of it. And they’d make it in autumn or spring, when dining rooms would be cooler.

Here’s the bite-by-bite:

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Day 1

ESCHEWING the autoroute, we leave Bordeaux heading southeast through rolling green hills, a farmhouse here, a medieval village there. We whiz by fields of golden sunflowers, a castle on a hill.

A visit to Agen, where we check out a boutique dedicated to pruneaux d’Agen, the city’s famous prunes, a stroll through the sleepy village of Astaffort, and before long, it’s dinner time.

We come down from our room at Une Auberge en Gascogne and are shown to our table on a pretty terrace, covered by white canvas shades and trees. Thierry and I sip flutes of the house aperitif -- Champagne flavored with griottes, or tart red cherries.

The server brings three test tubes of vegetable bouillon and three spoons, filled with what we’re told are chopped peanuts. “Keep the peanuts in your mouth,” the server says, “then take the bouillon.” In go the peanuts, but there are Pop Rocks mixed in.

We sip from the test tubes, and the Pop Rocks explode with the peanuts. It’s silly and contrived, but it does what an amuse is supposed to do: entertain the mouth. We have to giggle, which is surely the effect 34-year-old chef-owner Fabrice Biasiolo is looking for. A sense of fun is important to Generation C; the word ludique -- “playful” -- is one the French media often use to describe their food.

Wylie orders the best thing: Gascon breakfast. It’s two tartines lapped with slivers of foie gras; a jam made from pruneaux d’Agen; a cold carrot-mango soup; an eggshell filled with custard and peanut foam; and a big mug with an improvised teabag filled with herbs, dried jambon de Bayonne (cured ham from Basque country), celery, garlic and toasted bread and tied up with raffia.

The server pours a savory duck broth over the tea bag and instructs Wylie to let it infuse a moment. The result is astounding, the foie gras incredibly silky. Hard to believe it’s raw, simply drizzled with sherry vinegar, pepper and fleur de sel, a special sea salt.

We dine happily on duck tartare topped with grilled sardines and slow-roasted cochon noir (black pig), enjoying the wines, too -- a crisp, dry Jurancon and a red from nearby Duras.

The cheese course comes, but not on a cart. We’re each given two Lucite push-ups: brebis (sheep’s milk cheese from the Pyrenees) with a confit of griottes and Roquefort suspended in a gelee of Tio Pepe. They’re silly and fun -- ludique! And finally, dessert: a “hamburger” made of chocolate mousse. Slices of peach stand in for the bun, “fries” are batons of mango gelee, and “ketchup” is a berry sauce. It’s kind of awful, but funny, and who needs dessert now anyway?

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Day 2

AFTER an afternoon in Bordeaux, where we take a long walk through the gleaming center of the recently scrubbed and renovated city, then have a less-than-memorable lunch at much-touted Restaurant Gravelier, we head east, toward St.-Emilion.

The half-hour drive takes us through suburbs, then vineyards, and finally up a steep hill: This is the medieval town of St. Emilion. It’s late afternoon, and the ancient ocher-colored limestone buildings -- the square tower of the Chateau du Roi, the Romanesque churches and ruins that line the steep, stone-paved streets -- seem both to soak up and reflect the sun’s golden light.

At the top of the hill is the Place du Clocher and our dinner destination, the Hostellerie de Plaisance.

At 39, chef Philippe Etchebest is a tad older than some of the other chefs on our tour, but he’s a real talent who likes to have fun on the plate.

We’re a bit wrinkled and underdressed, and we’re led past the dining room with the drop-dead valley view into a room that seems to be reserved for foreign visitors. The menus come, and what’s this? No prices on mine. Is this a mistake? Does Thierry’s have prices? Yes! How medieval.

Ordering a la carte, I’m rewarded with one of the most inventive dishes I’ll taste on this trip: silky, briny Gillardeau oysters served out of their shells on a long, narrow plate, with fabulous summer truffles shaved profligately on top; underneath lies a tiny dice of Granny Smith apple, marinated bean sprouts and cubes of good ricotta.

Meanwhile, the service is slow and haughty, though at other tables it’s snappy and friendly. Are the other diners hotel guests? Are we being punished for the way we’re dressed?

For just 2 euros more than my first course, Thierry orders the four-course “Here and There” menu. He gets langoustine with smoked lettuce mousse; lamb and vegetable-filled cannelloni with a dish of eggplant and ricotta and “tandoori” jus; cheese (a soft, farmer-style brebis, one of the best I’ve ever tasted, served with a cherry confit from Basque country); and a dessert that’s a spin on a peach Melba.

Although the chefs of this movement profess not to be interested in la cuisine du terroir (cooking based on products of the place) they seem to be serving the most interesting local products -- Pyrenees lamb, rare Gillardeau oysters, Aquitaine caviar. But they’re also attracted to such pedestrian-sounding ingredients as Granny Smith apples, bean sprouts and peanuts.

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Day 3

WE bypass Bordeaux and head up D2, the small road known as the Route des Chateaux. We feel as though we’re seeing movie stars as we pass Chateaux Margaux, Beychevelle, Lafite-Rothschild and vineyard after vineyard (the grapes hang heavy, just turning red), and finally, Cos d’Estornel.

At Cordeillan-Bages in Pauillac, Thierry Marx is the star chef of the region. He’s also considered the spiritual leader of the region’s young chefs. And with two Michelin stars and whispers of a possible third, he cooks with confidence and creativity.

It’s almost 8, and the light sparkles on the leafy grapevines bordering the terrace where we’re offered aperitifs. A trio of amuse appears -- a shot glass full of apricot gel, a spoon with a dreamy bite of beef, a tiny cube of foie gras wrapped in cellophane.

Menus come too; again, mine has no prices.

Before long, we’re in the dining room, where we’re blown away. First comes another amuse, this one spectacular: a long silver spoon with a small, soft pincushion of cauliflower mousse topped with Aquitaine caviar.

A selection of breads comes, all from the boulangerie recently opened by the restaurant’s owners, the Cazes family, who also own Chateau Lynch-Bages, Chateau Cordeillan-Bages and other wineries. Now comes a butter cart with four selections: two types of Echire, a fluffy brebis butter (made from sheep’s milk) and another made from milk churned to the yogurt stage.

Thierry’s first course, virtual sausage, is served from a cart. The serveuse slices open a sausage casing, and into a footed glass dish spills a melange of vegetables in a vegetable broth.

My entree, pressed smoked eel “land and estuary,” is a squared baton with layers of smoked eel and foie gras. Wylie’s, an open ravioli, encloses smoked herring and green apple.

The rest of the service is just as entertaining. A server uses a mallet to smash a hollow terra-cotta brick. Inside is my fish: “stone age” bar au cacao.

Then a cart arrives bearing an enormous cellophane package. Unwrapped, it reveals a filet of blond d’Aquitaine beef smoked over grapevines. It’s sitting on a tiny brazier containing still-smoldering vines. It’s even better than it sounds.

Yet another cart brings a small yet brilliant selection of cheeses, then dessert, which here is much more avant-garde than we’ll see anywhere else. Candied eggplant appears as an avant dessert. Another dessert involves beets and licorice. They’re both terrific.

We move to the salon, sinking into big leather chairs, presumably for coffee or tea. Having seen some beautiful verbena sail by on a cart, I request a tisane, herb tea. “The chef loves it cold,” the waiter says, offering to prepare a special infusion. In a huge wooden bowl, he smashes verbena, thyme, rosemary and lemon peel, then pours in a liquid -- lemon juice, I think. He then divides it into three small coffee presses, adds Perrier, then presses them down and serves. It’s ultra-refreshing. The chocolate cart that follows, on the other hand, feels like overkill.

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Day 4

RESTAURANT No. 5 is not on our itinerary, but I’ve read about a 27-year-old chef, Philippe Lagraula, at a restaurant in Dax called Une Cuisine en Ville, so I ask the boys, wouldn’t it be cool to stop there for lunch?

Thierry, who’s been hoping for a light lunch, groans. “Look how we’re dressed,” he points out. We’re wearing shorts and flip-flops. “Oh, let’s just swing by and see what it looks like,” I say.

It looks charming, and we go in. The tiny, sunken dining room has a stone fireplace; chocolate-painted walls; low, half-timbered ceilings; and some whimsical modern touches.

We order tapas y pinchos, which is actually a tasting menu. Seared cubes of foie gras are topped with beet paste; strips of smoked eel cover truffled artichoke cream. Seared tuna belly comes with a risotto the color of soft-scrambled eggs; three slices of baby lamb look like duck breast, the fat attached.

The wine list offers lots of fun, by-the-glass selections; Thierry starts with a sweet Jurancon, and I have a rose; then we move on to a local red.

Back in the car, we get a quick look at Dax, which has plenty of charm -- blossoming mimosa trees and a pretty open market along a narrow, pedestrian-only street.

But we’re headed for the Cote Basque, where we check into our hotel at the southernmost city on the coast -- Hendaye. Later, driving north on the curvy Corniche, we get spectacular views of rocky cliffs dropping down to the ocean. Soon we come upon St.-Jean-de-Luz, an old fishing port, and here we spend a couple of lazy hours, wandering and window shopping.

St.-Jean is beautiful, with whitewashed, red- or green-trimmed Basque houses shoulder to shoulder, in stone-paved streets that wind down to the sea. With the signs in Euskara (the Basque language) and shops full of traditional white linen or jambon de Bayonne, it feels a million miles from Pauillac.

Dinner that night is in Biarritz, a town almost as glitzy as its name. The restaurant, Sissinou, which has attracted plenty of attention, is perfectly fine but not terribly interesting, and there we get the tourist treatment. Wine is opened and poured without us being shown the label. The server ignores us, so we’re reduced to waving our arms.

After dinner, we stroll along the sea and out onto a promontory that leads to a giant, tree-covered rock formation out over the ocean and look back at the city, with its majestic old hotels, illuminated in the night.

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Day 5

IN the morning, we head east out of St.-Jean-de-Luz, eager to explore the back roads. I’m expecting tall, jagged Pyrenees, but we’re in lovely green rolling foothills. The villages are tiny and beautiful, all with traditional Basque houses.

The single street in Ainhoa, founded in the 12th century as a staging post on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela, just over the border in Spain, is lined with freshly whitewashed 17th and 18th century houses with funky tiled roofs and front porches called lorios. We stop at Hotel Oppoca for a simple lunch featuring jambon de Bayonne, brebis and gateau basque, the traditional almond cake, before continuing east.

Ten minutes later we’re in Espelette, home of the region’s famous dried red chile -- the piment d’Espelette. The houses are all red and white, with strings of drying peppers hanging.

Although we hope to arrive in Pau by the end of the afternoon, we detour south into the mountains to St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port. We stroll around the village along the Nive River, with its graceful stone bridges and medieval ramparts. The stone-paved streets are steep, lined with Renaissance tile-roofed houses made from warm red sandstone. For us, it’s the last stop before Pau; dinner tonight is in Jurancon, a sleepy wine village just outside of the city. Vineyards spread out around it, the ones that produce the fabulous sweet and racy dry white wines that are popular in France.

Chef Stephane Carrade is a local hero, having this year snagged his second Michelin star; his restaurant, Chez Ruffet, is in an old house in the village. So although it’s so hot that the waiters are dripping sweat and diners fan themselves, a tasting menu it is, which comes with paired wines by the glass.

Carrade has a sense of fun. Ruffet is a white-tablecloth place, traditionally furnished, but each place setting has a black slate placemat and chalk.

First come the amuse. A glass filled with mint-scented melon balls. Then, uh-oh, a test tube, but it’s filled with a remarkable soup, an essence of green crabs. Next something really ludique: a clothespin holding a toothpick spearing a slice of green olive and a ball of goat cheese filled with tomato confit and sprinkled with piment d’Espelette.

Now the parade of dishes. Foie gras poached in beef consomme with green plums simmered in eau-de-vie and Parmesan tempura. A live lobster is brought to the table, then it returns in the form of open ravioli with green pepper from the Ardour, lomo iberico (cured loin of black-footed pig from Spain), small, tender eggplants and a quenelle-shaped mousse of wood-grilled hake. Slices of filet of pigeon, with astounding texture and flavor, served with a salty little salad. Tuna belly condimente with tarragon, lemon and Sichuan pepper and served with grilled peppers sauced with coconut milk, curry and galangal. Perfectly cooked, tender canon of lamb with juniper berries, tomato and baby zucchini.

The wines are interesting and different -- particularly a red wine from the Bearn region -- a 2001 Domaine Cauhape from Henri Ramonteau. It’s fruity and complex, with lots of character.

For dessert, Mara des bois strawberries with cilantro and ice cream made from farm-fresh milk, then a mille feuille with coffee cream, peach syrup, lemon grass and fennel and dark chocolate ice cream.

Afterward, a wooden box with different mignardises -- chocolates, chewy licorice, even some fresh gooseberries, their papery husks pulled up like handles.

The idea of eating another bite? Now that’s ludique.

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Tasty local color

Come with chef Stephane Carrade as he seeks out the best produce at the farmers market in Pau, France, then prepares a simple lunch in the kitchen of Chez Ruffet. Look for the story, plus recipes, in Wednesday’s Food section.

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(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX)

Put your best foot forward

* In country restaurants, diners dress much more casually than they would in an equivalent dining room in Paris. In warm months, most men don’t wear jackets.

* Don’t reflexively put your napkin on your lap the moment you’re seated. That’s considered rude, as though you’re famished. Instead, wait until you see your food arriving.

* In France, few diners order a la carte. Look over the multi-course menus instead -- there’s often more than one. It will cost considerably less than ordering a la carte.

* An entree is not a main course but an appetizer. The idea is that it’s the entry (entree) into the meal. Main courses are referred to as plats, or plats principaux.

* The only kinds of wine the French drink before dinner are Champagne (and other sparkling wines), sweet (moelleux) white or red wines, such as Jurancon, Barsac or Banyuls, and aperitifs, such as Lillet.

* Tell the sommelier you’d like to try local wines -- that often generates excitement, leading to enthusiastic wine service.

* Recognize newfangled menu terms. Snacke means cooked on a griddle. Booste means boosted with. Condimente means accompanied by a condiment.

* If you’re served Granny Smith apple, Parmesan cheese, basil, ginger, bean sprouts, sesame oil, crushed peanuts or Wonder Bread, you’re expected to be impressed -- these are chic ingredients. Vieille tomate doesn’t mean an old tomato; it means heirloom. These are a big deal in France -- they’re just coming on the scene.

* When ordering from a cheese cart or tray, select just three cheeses.

* Coffee comes after dessert, not with.

-- Leslie Brenner

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On the tasting trail of Aquitaine

GETTING THERE:

From LAX, connecting service (change of plane) to Bordeaux is offered on Air France, Aer Lingus and KLM. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $1,140 until Sept. 10, then drop to $730 until Oct. 31.

TELEPHONES:

To call the numbers below from the U.S., dial 011 (the international dialing code), 33 (country code for France), 5 (the area code) and the local number.

WHERE TO STAY:

Une Auberge en Gascogne, 9 Faubourg Corne, Astaffort 47220; 53-67-10-27, fax 53-67-10-22, www.uneaubergeengascogne.com. Small inn with bare-bones rooms. Doubles $65 to $155.

Le Logis des Remparts, 18 Rue Guadet, St.-Emilion 33330; 57-24-70-43, fax 57-74-47-44. Gracious hotel in a restored Gothic house. Doubles $110 to $194.

Chateau Cordeillan-Bages, in Pauillac 33250; 56-59-24-24, fax 56-59-01-89, www.cordeillanbages.com. A 25-room hotel set in the vineyards, with lovely gardens, a pool and gym. Doubles $230 to $335 ($187 to $273 in low season).

Ithurria, Rue Principale, Ainhoa 64250; 59-29-92-11, fax 59-29-81-28, www.ithurria.com. This recently renovated hotel has comfortable, traditionally furnished rooms. Doubles $148 to $181.

La Villa Navarre, 59 Avenue Trespoey, Pau 64000; 59-14-65-65, www.villanavarre.fr. A beautiful 1865 villa with spectacular views. Doubles $237 to $406.

WHERE TO EAT:

Une Auberge en Gascogne (see above). Modern cooking with a sense of humor. Interesting, well-priced wine list. Four-, five- and six-course menus for $52, $65 and $77, respectively. Main courses about $28.

Hostellerie de Plaisance, Place du Clocher, St.-Emilion; 57-55-07-55, www.hostellerie-plaisance.com. Forward-looking cuisine that features the best products of southwest France. Appetizers $48 to $75; main courses $53 to $62. Four-course set menu $62. (Closed Dec. 3-March 14.)

Chateau Cordeillan-Bages (see above). Cutting-edge cuisine. Appetizers and main courses $36 to $62; menu of three half-portions of any dishes, plus cheese and dessert, $142.

Une Cuisine en Ville, 11 Avenue Clemenceau, Dax; 58-90-26-89. Philippe Lagraula’s playful original cooking is featured in this small, stylish restaurant. Appetizers and main courses $23 to $36. Three-course set menu $41; seven-course tapas y pinchos menu $65.

Chez Ruffet, 3 Avenue Charles Touzet, Jurancon; 59-06-25-13; fax 59-06-52-18, www.restaurant-chezruffet.com. Focused modern cooking from chef Stephane Carrade. Appetizers and main courses $44 to $49; set menus, with wines by the glass included, $32 (three courses), $70 (four courses) and $142 (seven courses).

TO LEARN MORE:

French Government Tourist Office, (514) 288-1904 (for brochures), www.franceguide.com.

-- Leslie Brenner