Rejoice, armchair travelers - Provence's most engaging booster is at it again! With deft pen and quick wit intact Peter Mayle offers another paean to his promised land, Encore Provence, in which, among other Provencal perks, he delineates the salubrious effects of a 3-hour lunch, and the gastronomical satisfaction found at a village boulangerie. After a four year hiatus in America, Mr. Mayle has returned to the lavender fields and picturesque dwellings of his chosen paradise on earth - southern France. As he describes his second residency with great good humor and affection, Encore Provence becomes a billet-doux to the places and people of that region. No longer the wide-eyed, exuberant Francophile we found in A Year In Provence(1995) and Toujours Provence (1991), he is now a more sophisticated, experienced resident - on to recalcitrant workmen who say neither yes or no, but only "c'est possible," and now convinced that "hurried eating has ruined more digestive systems than foie gras."
That enlightened mecca where wine's first sip is greeted with a "shudder of appreciation" has welcomed him home. He warmly returns its embrace, as he delightedly attests through anecdotal narrative and assiduously drawn, smile-provoking portraits of idiosyncratic Gallic friends.
For starters, we learn of a handsome village butcher who favors housewives with more than choice cuts. Such generosity results in his untimely demise, but "everyone turned out the day they buried the butcher. They all had their reasons." We are inducted into the mysteries of buying a new car, cheerfully informed of the essentials of a proper village, and taken on a cook's tour of Marseille, where it is suspected "that not only fish are changing hands at the daily market on the Quai des Belges."
Lucien Ferrero, we discover, has "a nose in a million," having "personally created more than two thousand perfumes," and we accompany the author as he zealously pursues the elusive perfect corkscrew.
When asked by future visitors when the best time is to come to Provence, Mr. Mayle sidesteps that persistent query with "after lunch."
"Only then," he explains, "can you take full advantage of the long and unencumbered afternoon that lies ahead. The bill is paid, the last mouthful of rose' swallowed, the empty bottle upended in the ice bucket as a farewell salute to the waiter."
The author finds that one of his most daunting tasks is trying to convince guests of the necessity of a siesta, for they've arrived in Provence "with their work ethics intact and their Anglo-Saxon distrust of self-indulgence poised to resist undisciplined, slightly decadent Mediterranean habits."
For those wishing to be convinced - the line forms behind me.
As always, Mr. Mayle is a witty, convivial, boon companion. Save for one chapter in which he lambastes a former New York Times food critic for her criticism of the area (perhaps a gentle braising would have sufficed rather than a full roast), Encore Provence is pure pleasure.