MARINE SERVICENTER

BY ROXANNE DUNN

Tempest at the Canal du Midi

Engineering masterpieces and culinary magic

Long ago and far away, a king agreed to help pay for a canal that, to this day, remains a masterpiece of art and a miracle of engineering and design. The man who planned and built

Lthe waterway, Pierre-Paul Riquet, was a salt-tax collector and self-made engineer. The project began in 1667 and opened 27 years later in 1694. His creation surprised and amazed a whole bunch of people and saved French seamen a month’s sailing through hostile, pirate-infested waters. Although Riquet died eight months before it was finished and he never saw the completed project, it is still in operation today, and since 1996, the Deux-Mers Canal (literally Two-Seas Canal) is a UNESCO world heritage site.

Prior to the opening of the waterway, in order to deliver cargo from Atlantic ports on the west side of France to French ports in the Mediterranean, ships had to sail around Spain and Portugal and past Gibraltar. Spain was an enemy of France at the time, and pirates patrolled much of the route. They were especially thick in the Strait of Gibraltar. Why not? It forces traffic into a narrow passage with no way to escape attacking brigands.

People had talked about building a canal for decades, but it wasn’t until Riquet came along and King Louis XIV, whatever his faults, opened his coffers for the good of his subjects that it became a reality. The canal joins several watercourses between Bordeaux and the Étang de Thau, a long, shallow lagoon south of Montpellier. Bridges, aqueducts, locks, spillways and tunnels help stitch it together. It was one of the greatest feats of engineering and construction in the 1600s. Four hundred years later, in spite of updates and improvements to some of its systems, the original design is intact.

Barges towed by horses carried goods back and forth, so there is a towpath alongside—a great place to walk or bike, and since the Second World War, the Canal du Midi, the section that runs from Toulouse to the Étang de Thau, has become a popular tourist destination.

For years, my husband and I have talked about getting some friends together, renting a boat, and cruising at least part of the Canal du Midi. All day long, we’d enjoy the camaraderie of fellow boaters as we waited our turn at the locks. We’d bask in sunshine, marvel at the beautiful countryside, bike to markets in quaint towns, and return with crispy, crusty, golden baguettes sticking up out of our backpacks. As the sun dropped low in the western sky, we’d moor for the night. We’d find the best cassoulet in the world and drink locally produced wines that taste like nectar of the gods.

As idyllic as this adventure sounds, we’ve never gotten around to actually doing it, so when I arrived in Toulouse for a couple of days last fall, thinking I’d at least get a tiny taste of it, I booked a five-hour cruise beginning in the city.

The evening before, I walked to the canal. I wanted to be sure I knew where to get on the boat and how long it would take to get there. A gentle mist had settled in, giving the trees reaching out to shade the waterway the look of an impressionist painting. A couple of boats slipped by, rippling the surface, and after they passed, it again lay flat and still, gleaming in the fading light. A family on bicycles pedaled alongside, the papa with a baguette sticking up out of his backpack.

I heard the wind the next morning, even before I got out of bed. Rain fell fast and hard, beating against my window. But hey, I’m from the Pacific Northwest. I grabbed coffee and a croissant and set off.

Pushed by the wind, the rain fell horizontally. A gust turned my umbrella inside out, not that it was doing a lot of good. I felt the chilly dampness creeping through my jacket. My feet were cold and wet. Less than two blocks from my hotel, I sought refuge in the doorway of an office building and checked the weather on my phone. This was not a sudden squall, soon to be over. High winds and deluges of rain were expected to last all day.

In fact, over two inches fell that day. Even if I’d had foul weather gear, it would not have been fun. My voyage was not to be. Maybe next time.

By the next morning, the tempest had passed on and under clear skies I continued on to the medieval town of Foix and the Mirandole, a charming B&B, where my hostess served a culinary masterpiece for breakfast. And wrote out the recipe for me. Pear frangipani is not complicated, bakes quickly, and although it makes a decadent breakfast dish, when I make it, I serve it with whipped cream for dessert. Enjoy!

Poires à la Frangipane

4 – 6 servings

Ingredients

•2 ripe but firm pears

•3/4 cup butter

•1 1/3 cups almond flour or finely ground almonds

•1/3 cup + 1 tablespoon sugar

•3 eggs

Method

1. Preheat oven to 200° C (400◦ F)

2. Butter, then dust with sugar four to six shallow, oven-proof dishes

3. Peal the pears; cut into 1.5-centimetre (1/2-inch) cubes.

4. Melt one tablespoon butter in a sauté pan over medium-high heat and add pear to pan; cook five to 10 minutes, until caramelized.

5. Remove from heat and divide among the dishes.

6. Melt remaining butter and set aside to cool.

7. Whisk the eggs then slowly add sugar, whisking until the eggs look thick.

8. Add almond flour and cooled melted butter; whisk to combine.

9. Pour mixture over the pears.

10. Bake 20 to 25 minutes or until browned on top and a knife inserted in the middle comes out clean.

11. Dust with powdered sugar and serve warm or at room temperature.

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