Saint-Tropez in May is the most honest version of itself. The light is the same as in August. The traffic is not. The people who live there are still in their kitchens. The people who only visit are not yet in town.
What follows is a short, deliberately incomplete list of the tables I would book for someone coming for the first time in years — and a few I would book even if they came every year. There are no prices. There is no ranking. There is only the order I would suggest, were you here for six nights and asked me to draw it up.
La Ponche, on the first evening
Begin at La Ponche. The hotel is old, the dining room is small, the courtyard is the colour of bleached linen at the end of August. Order the rouget grilled whole, a bottle of Domaine Ott rosé from the Clos Mireille, and ask for the table at the back left. It is the table from which you can see who has arrived and who is leaving, which is, in this village, the principal sport. Stay through the first carafe of digestif. The night opens slowly here, which is correct.
Loulou Ramatuelle, on the day of the long lunch
There is a stretch of road between the village and the beach that has been the subject of more discreet negotiation than most embassies. At the end of it is Loulou, which has, over the last several seasons, replaced Club 55 in the part of the schedule that belongs to long lunches. The drive is short, the path is sand, the wine list is long. Order the langoustines, share the whole fish, and resist the dessert in favour of a second carafe of the Bandol blanc. The afternoon will take care of itself.
Le Girelier, on the night you want to talk
For a dinner that is more conversation than performance, walk to Le Girelier on the quai. It has been there since 1957. The fish is unchanged. The lighting is unchanged. The waiters are, in many cases, also unchanged. There is no one at the next table who will photograph their plate. Order what is on ice in the entry, drink Provence rosé, and stay until the boats begin to ring against their cleats at one in the morning. It is, in my experience, the best place in town to make a decision.
La Maison Bianca, on the night you want to be impressed
Bianca is the most stylish room to open in the bay in five years. The terrace is broad, the light is warm, the cocktails are unusually serious for a town that does not, traditionally, take its cocktails seriously. Reserve the corner banquette overlooking the gulf at eight-thirty. Order what the kitchen sends out; it will be better than what you can read off the menu. Leave by ten, walk to the port, and let the rest of the evening find you.
Cave Lelarge, on the rainy afternoon
It rains in Saint-Tropez. Not often. When it does, the right thing to do is go to Cave 1990 on the rue de la Citadelle, sit on a stool, ask for the small chilled red they keep behind the counter, and order the country plate. The wine is the best in the village. The cheese is older than most of the boats in the port. You will spend an afternoon doing nothing of substance, which is, in May, the most luxurious thing on offer.
L'Auberge des Maures, on the last night
End at the Maures. The garden is the village's worst-kept secret and its most beautiful room. Order the daube, the lamb, the tian, the tarte tropézienne — and do not skip a single course. Order a magnum of Tibouren. Stay until they begin to fold the napkins. Walk back through the empty streets at midnight. Promise yourself, as you always do, that you will come back in October. You will not. That is the point.
— Camille Vedy
