Lunch and Art at Château La Coste

Today at Château La Coste in Provence felt like one of those places where food, landscape and art all become part of the same experience.

Before lunch we spent time walking through the grounds looking at the outdoor artworks integrated into the vineyards and hillsides. The standout for me was the Oak Room by Andy Goldsworthy. Buried beneath a hill, it is almost invisible until you arrive at the entrance. Inside, the underground chamber curves overhead like an inverted bird’s nest or the inside of some ancient woven structure, built entirely from interlocking oak branches.

The work feels less like sculpture and more like something uncovered archaeologically. Cool, quiet and earthy, with filtered light and the smell of timber all becoming part of the experience. Goldsworthy’s work does not try to dominate the landscape. It belongs to it completely.

Afterwards we sat outside beneath vines and plane trees beside an old stone fountain for lunch and glasses of Château La Coste rosé.

We ordered the tomatoes and burrata – a dish so simple it almost sounds unworthy of discussion: ripe tomatoes, creamy burrata, basil, radish, spring onion, olive oil and cracked pepper.

Interestingly, the tomatoes were actually a little too cold this time, which slightly muted their sweetness and aroma. It reminded me how often we refrigerate tomatoes automatically in Australia when really good tomatoes are usually better closer to room temperature.

But even so, the dish still worked beautifully because the produce itself was strong enough to carry it.

And honestly, this is exactly the kind of lunch I could make at home at the end of summer in Melbourne when there are too many tomatoes in the garden and basil everywhere. In some ways that was part of the pleasure of it. Not restaurant theatrics – just excellent ingredients treated with restraint.

The rosé tied everything together. Pale, dry and mineral, perfectly suited to the heat and olive oil richness of the food. Provençal rosé makes complete sense in this landscape because it is built for this climate and this style of eating.

What continues to strike me in the south of France is how integrated everything feels. The architecture, vineyards, gardens, art and food all seem to come from the same palette and the same philosophy. Nothing overloaded. Nothing trying too hard. Just confidence in materials, climate and composition.

Provence often appears effortless, but after travelling through these landscapes for days, it becomes clear that what looks simple is usually the result of extraordinary discipline.