C’heu l’Zib
2 Route des Aix, 18510 Menetou-Salon
Tel: +33 (0) 2 48 64 81 20
Internet: www.cheulzib.com
GPS: 47.231408, 2.490356
Having zipped my way around the 2024 course of the Trail de Sancerre (well, I’m sticking with zipped, even if plodded might be a more appropriate description), there was only one thing I needed to recover. Well, two things actually, but having snoozed away the afternoon with a long nap (quite unlike me) I had already dealt with one of them. The next was to refuel, and to me the choice was obvious. I had made a reservation at C’heu L’Zib in Menetou-Salon. I donned the loosest-fitting pair of trousers I could find and set out from my weekend residence in Bué.
C’heu L’Zib is a well-known and much-admired auberge which, locally, has a strong reputation. As our party of three left Bué we chanced upon Dominique Roger, of Domaine du Carrou, who enquired where we were headed. I explained we had a reservation for dinner in Menetou-Salon.
“Ah,” he replied, “C’heu l’Zib.”
It was a statement rather than a question. He had no need to check; he knew exactly where we were going.
“You must have the brochet á la crème,” he continued “it is magnificent.”
Located on the corner of a square near the heart of Menetou-Salon, the building within which C’heu L’Zib is nestled must be centuries old. I opened the door and waltzed in to be greeted by the back end of a kitchen and a pile of baguettes. I reversed and tried the next door along, and this time was greeted by a long and gently lit dining room, the ceiling supported by low wooden beams. Around the periphery sat a number of long and heavily waxed wooden tables which I immediately surmised were the same age as those beams. Well, maybe. What I am trying to say is that the setting is undeniably rustic, the walls adorned with dangling copper pots and crockery. And the atmosphere was good, a gentle buzz of conversation wafting over from several other tables already occupied by family groups.
We took our seats at one of the long tables. Well, two of us, at least. The third skulked under the table, fretting slightly, demanding to be fed tidbits. But he’s a Labrador, young and permanently hungry, so this is normal. You can dine with your dog here, but best to check with the restaurant first so they can give you appropriate space where you are seated.
The history of C’heu L’Zib stretches back to 1937, when Léon Fontaine bought the village café, the running of which he soon entrusted to his son, Albert, who went by the nickname of Zib. And so C’heu L’Zib (a play on Chez L’Zib, or Zib’s place) was born. He and his wife Germaine ran the restaurant for many years, creating a number of dishes which still have their place on the menu today. Eventually their daughter Marie-Claude took the reins, in 1990, followed by the next generation Dorothée who took up the role in 2003. Today her children Anne and Julien run C’heu L’Zib, running front of house and kitchen respectively, the fifth generation of the family to do so.
I wasn’t in the mood for moderation this evening, so opted for the Menu Dégustation, which gave me five courses (more modest choices are available). The starters serve as an introduction to the style and the history of this auberge, with white asparagus a staple offering when in season, and lentil terrine is another dish never far from the menu. From the offerings of foie gras, smoked salmon and other terrines I find myself gorging on the marbré de canard, a layered terrine of foie gras and lightly truffled duck, which slips down accompanied by as many generously proportioned cornichons as I can eat, plucked from what must be a five-litre jar left on the table. Suicide by cornichon over-consumption; it’s the new way to go. The terrine, by the way, is faultless.
Having been given the recommendation I could hardly refuse the brochet à la crème, clearly the restaurant’s signature dish; a handsome fillet (with handsome bones too – a warning from the staff was appreciated) with a creamy beurre blanc sauce. The pike is a little on the dry side, but still very good, while the cream sauce is delicious, and is greedily mopped up with a small mountain of fresh bread. It is a success, and so it should be, given the menu declares it to be the spécialité de la Maison depuis 1937.
Next up, how can I resist lapin à la moutarde à l’ancienne? It has been a while since I have eaten pike, perhaps just as long since I last ate rabbit, and this was a good time to set that right. The two joints of rabbit and their mustard sauce were delicious, the little slivers of meat buttery and tender, the sauce undeniably rich in mustard; this is not a table graced with subtle flavours. Just this would have seen me satisfied, but the staff weren’t going to let me get away that easily; silver dishes filled with roast potatoes and roast carrots arrived, along with a hearty courgette gratin, served in the English style (as the French call it), the waiter labouring a large spoonful from his dish onto my plate. It all had the feel of a traditional family dinner at my grandmother’s house in the early 1980s, although instead of a beef joint cooked until dry and fibrous, washed down with a bottle of Blue Nun, the food and wine here was actually good.
Speaking of which, the wine list here features Menetou-Salon and not much else. Indeed, having worked my way through four sides of Menetou-Salon and already having picked a wine, I am not certain there were any other appellations offered. Not even a Sancerre. Perhaps I should have turned the page? But why bother, because few wines would have eclipsed the Menetou-Salon Les Treilles from Philippe Gilbert. No vintages are listed, so I was expecting the waiter to bring a 2021 perhaps, or maybe a 2022, but he turned up with a 2017, and it was delicious, waxy and modestly evolved, but still with glorious acid drive and freshness. Merci, Philippe!
By this time you are perhaps wondering how I survived. Me too. And I didn’t even mention the potato amuse bouche, a Berrichon speciality which was more calorific than some lunches I ate during the Bordeaux primeurs. But survive I did, enough to pluck a selection of cheeses from the board – Crottin de Chavignol, Valençay and a third less familiar cheese in the shape of a cloche, the name of which now escapes me (suggestions on a postcard, please) – followed by the restaurant’s plateau de desserts. This is home to what is perhaps the restaurant’s other signature dish, the charlotte au chocolat, a cake of chocolate mousse in a sponge casing, which comes served with crème anglaise and your choice of seasonal fresh and confit fruits. Naturally I had to try them all. I wasn’t so sure about the banana-mint-rum combination, but the strawberries were good, as was the spiced and stewed rhubarb. And good custard – sorry, I mean crème anglaise – too.
The evening finished with a coffee. Or should that be I was finished off with a coffee. My trousers were on the loosest setting. Mrs Winedoctor rolled me outside, rolled me to the car, and rolled me home. I awoke the next morning aware that I now have a year to train and mentally prepare myself for the 2025 Trail de Sancerre. Although after this dinner, I think my time might be better served training for C’heu l’Zib; eating here isn’t for amateurs, you know.
Prices: I chose the five-course Menu Dégustation, at €58, while Mrs Winedoctor chose the four-course (no brochet) Menu Découverte, at €40. Lighter menu options are available. Billy the Labrador dined for free, sponging off his companions again. Philippe Gilbert’s 2017 Clos des Treilles was €56, a bargain (I don’t think you would find it at this price in a British restaurant – if you could find it at all). Two coffees came to €4.40, the total bill €158.40. (28/6/24)