We live in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, a “tout petit” village in Dordogne, that is also in the famous Perigord region. Locals forage in the forests for cèpes in autumn, truffles in winter (and maybe summer), and walnut trees line the roads. It has been famous for its ingredients since before the Parisien chefs came knocking from our more famous namesake. The food here is rich, seasonal, and deeply local.

Learn a few of its words and it opens up further still.

You do not need to speak French fluently to eat well in the Dordogne, and some specific phrases will change what lands on your plate. Learning these menu favorites might be the difference between ordering what you think you want and ordering what the region does best.

Here are the specialties we share with our guests when they come to stay.

Dishes worth exploring in the countryside

Enchaud. Pork loin studed with garlic, confited slowly in duck fat, and most often eaten cold (pronounced con-FEE, “confit” is a way of preserving meat by a long slow cook over low heat). It is the quiet star of the Périgord table, less famous than foie gras and, to my mind, even more enjoyable with a bit of old-fashioned mustard (“moutarde à l’ancienne”). Find it on lunch and supper menus, charcuterie boards and in the chilled cabinet at the butcher (“boucherie”), sliced thin, the fat set pale around the edge.

Pommes sarladaises. Potatoes sliced thick and crisped in duck or goose fat with garlic and parsley. They are a popular accompaniment for most meat dishes here, and once you have had them cooked properly, the oven-roasted version you make at home will never quite satisfy again.

Cèpes and girolles. When we first moved here, and had an interview with the mayor before even putting an offer on our chateau, we joked about truffles, but the mayor said the mushroom foraging spots might be even more closely guarded. For those in the know, you can find fresh cèpes (porcini, in other parts of the world) and the smaller, golden girolles (chantarelles). When they are in season, order them without hesitation. And remember what our Le Cordon Bleu chefs say: “What grows together, goes together.”

Walnut oil. This is walnut country, the first or second largest producer in France depending on the year, and the oil finds its way into every salad dressing worth eating. It is nutty, faintly bitter, and nothing like the neutral oils most kitchens reach for. Bring a bottle home. It travels better than most things here. It’s great with balsamic, it’s not made for cooking.

Cabécou and Trappe d’Échourgnac. Two cheeses to know. Cabécou is the small round of goat’s cheese you will meet everywhere, grilled warm over salad leaves or eaten as it comes. Trappe d’Échourgnac is made by Cistercian nuns at an abbey not far from ehre and washed in walnut liqueur, which gives it a sweet, woody edge. Ask for it by name and the fromagère will know you have done your homework.

Bergerac and Monbazillac. The local wines, grown just west of us. Bergerac reds sit alongside the duck without fuss. Monbazillac is the golden dessert wine, honeyed and cheaper than the Sauternes it resembles. Neither travels far enough to be famous, which is exactly why you should drink them while you are here. Both are a great way to get very local and specific with the terroir.

Truffles. For a few weeks in December, our Thursday market in Excideuil highlights the back truffle of the Perigord. Direct from farmers’ or a few lucky locals’ lands, they sell in the covered market for between 700-850 euro per kilo. Connoisseurs inhale the scent deeply, weighing scent against price. A little goes a long way. Shaved over eggs the morning after you buy one, it is one of the great simple meals of the world. Tuber melanosporum can be frozen as well, but once frozen, use it directly and don’t let it thaw.

Until a few years ago, summer truffles were eschewed, thought only good enough to spread spores until winter. The truffle shops in Sarlat will let you sample both to taste the difference.

The word to skip

Andouillette.

It reads like a friendly diminutive, a soft little word you might order without a second thought, expecting a small sausage of some cheerful kind. It is a sausage of coarsely chopped pig intestine, and it announces itself long before the first bite.

Some people love it. Most first-time orderers do not.

This is the whole point of learning a little food French. Classroom French prepares you for the grammar of a menu. It does not prepare you for its ambushes. The words that save you are rarely the ones in the textbook.

A few worth carrying with you:

Magret and confit are both duck, and the difference matters. Magret is the breast, served pink and sliced like steak. Confit is the leg, cooked down in its own fat until it falls from the bone. Order by the word, not by guesswork, and you will get the one you meant. A gastrique (caramel loosened with vinegar and often dark berries) cuts beauitfully against the fat of a magret.

Entier and bloc, at the foie gras counter, tell you what you are buying. Entier is whole lobes of liver, the real thing. Bloc is reconstituted, smoother and at a lower price point. If you are bringing some home as a gift, we recommend a blended “delice” at about 25% foie.

À la périgourdine signals that truffles are involved, and so is reflected in the price. It is worth knowing before you order, either way.

Market French

Our final vocabulary offerings transform a transaction into something warmer. A bonjour as you reach the stall, never skipped, if you want to be your best French self (along with not touching or putting your bag on the produce). Je vais prendre rather than je veux, which softens I want into I’ll take. Un tout petit peu, a very little, when the fromagère offers a taste (casually goûter, or more formally dégustation). C’est vous qui les faites?, do you make these yourself, which at a farm stall is almost always answered with pride and a story.

The Dordogne is friendly to guests who try any French they know. We’ve provided a handful of phrases, and the vendor selling you cheese will meet you more than halfway the moment they hear you try. Enjoy the feeling of the market being more than the place you shop, let it become a place you are known, if only a little, if only for a morning.

That, in the end, is what a week in the Dordogne teaches better than any classroom. We run a French immersion week at Manor & Maker, the château where we live, built on the idea that you could live your dream of being a bit more French. If you have some vocabulary but what you lack is somewhere to use it, and share the joie de vivre of the French lifestyle. The market, the meal, the wine tasting in the courtyard, all of it happening in French, until the language you studies for years finally has somewhere to go.

Come hungry. Order the enchaud. Skip the andouillette.

And say bonjour before anything else.

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