Happy accidents

It is raining today in Provence. Not that this makes it any less beautiful.

We are in an extraordinary place called Lourmarin, in the mountainous Luberon region of Provence. It's your classic Provencal village; tiny laneways flanked by blue-shuttered houses, cute cafes, fountains, churches, a chateau presiding over all. As we sat heating lunch at one cafe yesterday, I remarked to Sandy that it's really like being on a film set. Even the people seem super well-groomed and chic. I don't think it was just the rose talking, either.

Sandy has always said this trip would be a lot about luck - people we meet, connections we make, random choices - and so it has turned out to be. At Le Piggonet in Aix, we struck up a friendship of sorts with the manager, Stephanie. So when we were agonising over where to head next, we asked her advice. It turned out to be a brilliant thing to do. She immediately identified Lourmarin, and even booked the hotel for us. It turns out she used to work here with the owner, Edouard Joubet, who also happens to be a Michelin-starred chef. Le Moulin de Lourmarin is a bit of a famous destination, and that is where we are ensconced, looking out at the misty hills of Provence and eating up a storm.

Le Moulin used to have two Michelin stars, and Edouard is a bit famous in chef-y circles in France. He has two cookbooks and seems a bit of a celebrity, and is known for his creative use of herbs and aromatic plants. These days the Michelin stars are not here, but at his other restaurant not far from here at Bonnieux, La Bastide de Capelongue. But, I can report, the Moulin is still serving some really lovely food, and much cheaper than the 120 euros a head we heard it costs up there. We've eaten here twice now; last night I won the dinner competition with a gorgeous plate of perfectly-cooked duck and baked figs (can't get enough of those). Sandy's roast lamb with an intriguing risotto, I think of barley, was pretty good too, but the duck - fab. We discovered a great new wine too; I will remember it when I see the bottle again, but for the moment the name escapes me! It was an extremely fruity, luscious red number which they serve chilled, a practice which seems uncouth when Aussies in Queensland do it but seems to work very well in Provence.

Over dinner we chatted with a nice American couple at the next table. It's always tricky with Americans; you kind of have to wait until they declare themselves or you can get an inkling of their politics before you can comment too much on global events. These two did not take long to reveal themselves as, in their words "raving liberals", so we had an interesting discussion. Dan, a retired trial lawyer, reckoned the whole reason America has gone to pot is based on people's inherent racism and paranoia; Mary, a museum curator, said she could not even stand to see George Bush's face on the television. We did not just talk about politics. They very kindly wrote down a list of restaurants to go to when we get to Italy, which I have filed in my folder; these kinds of recommendations are better than any guide book, I reckon.

Since it was raining, there was really nothing to do today except settle in for a long lunch. (We did take a walk this morning, don't worry. We're not spending every single moment eating. We wandered the lanes of the village which has completely charmed me, and went up to the Chateau. There's a beautiful olive grove up there of old trees laden with fruit, and an intriguing tower house with white curtains and a table set up in the window, as if ready for a romantic meal).

We had the menu du jour today, with the same wine as last night ( I really must write the name of that wine down). To start was a very fine, silky, creamy soup of wild mushrooms. It was bursting with flavour and a stunning combo with the wine. The main course was very simply-presented young roast chicken flavoured with rosemary and served with perfect crisp rosemary potatoes. We had seen these chickens roasting in a rotisserie oven outside the restaurant earlier in the day. Dessert was a simple plum crumble served with rose petals and a yoghurty almond sorbet.

Did you notice how often I used the word "simple" just then? For this was really simple food; the kind of thing I might cook myself. Simple food, great ingredients, simply and expertly cooked. Which of course is what all food writers are always banging on about. It's great when it finally does happen in a restaurant.

I really liked the way Cedric, the chef, was all over the restaurant floor. He delivered food to the tables, he cleared tables, he took money. How many big-shot chefs would do this, well, anywhere? I liked his style. I guess being on the floor would give him a pretty good idea how people were enjoying his food, too.

Le Moulin is one of the most lovely restaurants I have ever been in. The building is an old olive mill, as the name suggests, dating from the late 1700s. Our room is right above the main doors and is decorated in cosy yellow and blue tones with lots of Provencal patchwork. Many buildings here make use of cave-like construction and this building is no different. The restaurant itself is like a big, beautiful cave with a huge window at one end looking out on to a garden where there is a century-old olive tree. The old olive press still sits in the room, a massive wooden and stone contraption. It's a warm, welcoming, organic space that just makes you feel good, basically. And it seems popular with the locals as much as with les touristes like us.