One of the things that struck me most during our time in France was not the sophistication of the food, but its simplicity.

Before travelling, it is easy to imagine that French dining is all white tablecloths, elaborate sauces and chefs performing culinary magic behind kitchen doors. Certainly, those places exist, but what we found most often was something much simpler. Whether we were eating at a modest village café, a small family-run restaurant or a more highly regarded establishment, the common thread was that the food was consistently good.

In fact, the appearance of a restaurant seemed to have very little bearing on the quality of the meal. Some of the most memorable lunches and dinners were enjoyed in places that looked entirely unremarkable from the outside. There were no grand entrances, no fashionable fit-outs and no obvious signs that anything special awaited within. Yet plate after plate arrived showcasing ingredients that were fresh, seasonal and carefully prepared.

Simple fresh tomato salad with a burrata

The more I thought about it, the more I came to believe that the secret was not complicated cooking at all. The French seem to understand that if you start with excellent ingredients, you don’t need to do very much to them. Local vegetables, local cheeses, local meats and local wines appeared everywhere. Markets were busy, producers were visible, and restaurants seemed closely connected to the regions around them.

Bread, of course, deserves its own mention.

In Australia, bread is often something that sits on the side of a meal or is forgotten altogether. In France it remains a fundamental part of daily life. Almost every meal arrived with fresh bread, whether it was a sliced baguette, a crusty roll or a basket placed in the centre of the table for sharing. It wasn’t treated as an optional extra; it was simply part of eating.

Baguettes

More importantly, the bread was invariably good. Freshly baked, crisp on the outside and soft within, it accompanied everything from simple salads to elaborate dinners. It was used to mop up sauces, accompany cheese and charcuterie, or simply enjoyed on its own while waiting for the next course.

Looking back, the lesson I brought home was surprisingly straightforward. The best meals we ate were not necessarily the most expensive, the most inventive or the most elaborate. They were the meals built around fresh ingredients that were allowed to speak for themselves.

Perhaps that is the real secret of French food. Not complexity, but confidence. Confidence that a ripe tomato, a good piece of fish, a well-made loaf of bread or a carefully matured cheese already contains most of what is needed.

Eat fresh. Eat simply. Everything else is detail.