Savoring Sunset in Provence
There is an alchemy that happens between the dish you are eating and the place where it is eaten, and with that pizza, overlooking that view, the moment reached its perfect harmony.
When the Good Lord begins to doubt the world, he remembers that he created Provence. — Frederic Mistral
In the gilded haze of late afternoon, the Provençal breeze tangled with whispers of lavender and thyme, mingling with the sunlit warmth of terracotta walls, while French jazz spilled softly from the car radio. Roads, dappled by the green canopy of plane trees, led us through the Luberon valley, where Provence slowly unfolded in ochre walls, silver olive trees, vineyards, and of course, fields of sunflowers that rippled like the sea. Our journey from London had been a blur of trains, highways, and anticipation, punctuated by a stop at a small vegetable market and the first taste of the bounty of the area before finishing at a hilltop village that seemed to have stepped out of a painter’s imagination.
This was Provence as I had dreamed it—timeless, welcoming, and alive with adventures waiting to be embarked. This was not the polished charm of Saint-Rémy or the grandeur of Orange, but a quieter rhythm—a hilltop village suspended in time, luring us with its unassuming grace. In the Luberon, time seemed to stretch and soften, like the shadows across the valley—measured not by hours but by the rise of the sun and the clink of glasses at dusk.
When we arrived, the cobblestones carried echoes of centuries, leading us to a weathered door nestled above the ramparts. Once inside, we descended into the apartment we had booked, a space steeped in history. The cool stone walls and vaulted ceilings offered a refuge shaped not only by time but by purpose. Through arched windows, the forest stretched endlessly, and the raspy sound of cigalles echoed across the valley. At one point, this had been a private chapel for the bishop, a sanctuary during time of war with the Protestant village of Lacoste across the valley. Standing within its walls, I couldn’t help but imagine the prayers whispered here echoing against the stone. The air, still cool and laced with rosemary and pine, seemed to hold fragments of those moments, as if the chapel’s history lingered in the quiet. It was spacious and cave like and it was perfect.
We had chosen this village because of a video, a fleeting moment of joy where its residents, with unguarded exuberance, danced to Pharrell’s “Happy.” It felt like a secret shared just for us, an invitation to step into a story still being written. The entire village, priests included, participated. After watching the video a few times it felt like we knew the shopkeeper, the bakers, the hairdresser, the restaurant owners, and their children. I found myself thinking that if I was going to risk spending a birthday in an unknown place, I would want it to be a place like this with those who knew unguarded joy.



With our bags set down and having been introduced to our unexpected outer hall roommate, a small, still sleeping bat we christened Vincent, we ventured out into the village, letting the cobblestones guide us, their whispers older than the ramparts themselves. A short walk down streets bordered by honey-colored facades, down winding stone stairways, and past the florist, the Utile, and two bolangeries, we found Brasserie La Terrazza nestled snugly against the hill. Across the road, the valley stretched wide, bathed in the fading glow of late afternoon.
We claimed one of the last open spots, eager to savor not just the meal but the unfolding enchantment of Provence. This was my introduction to Bonnieux, a perch above a valley that seemed to stretch endlessly, shimmering with the promise of vineyards, orchards, and hidden paths waiting to be wandered. Below, the land whispered its magic in golden fields and emerald rows, a vast tapestry inviting us to step into its folds and lose ourselves in its secrets.
The Brasserie's cuisine was Italian, but in a nod to at least the country, if not the region, the pizza of the day was an Alsace style flatbread with caramelized onion jam, ham and Gruyere. We ordered the pizza and a carafe of local red and watched as the light moved from evening towards sunset.
The pizza was a delight of the senses and even given its origins, one-hundred percent Provençal. The crust was crisp with darkly toasted bubbles around the edge, the inside tender with a bit of chew, sweet with a slight tang. There was just the touch of tomato sauce, the onions caramelized to a jammy texture with thyme and a bit of honey taking up the main support role, topped with the best French ham, Gruyere, and briny whole black olives.
There is an alchemy that happens between the dish that you are eating and the place where it is eaten. And with that pizza, overlooking that view, the moment reached its perfect harmony. It was as if that one moment was the exact reason for which the restaurant was created. We sat. We sipped. We sighed.
Satiated, we lingered as the sun dropped below the horizon and the lights of the valley began to twinkle. And then, more magic. Across the street, next to the restaurant with just enough room for the occasional car to pass, a French jazz and blues band set up for their nightly set. They played. People started to dance. And we sat content watching night bathe the land. As the carafe emptied and the final notes of jazz dissolved into the warm night, I felt Provence etch itself into memory—not as a place, but as a rhythm to carry forward.
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Recipe
Alsace Flatbread Bonnieux
INGREDIENTS
For the Dough:
2 cups flour, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 tsp dry yeast
1 tsp salt
1 cup plain Greek yogurt, 5% is best, but you can use non-fat if preferred
1 tbsp honey
1/3 cup water
For the Toppings:
2 medium yellow onions, sliced thin
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp fresh thyme, chopped
4 slices French ham, torn. Can use thinly sliced deli ham or Black Forest ham as well.
1 1/2 cups Gruyere, grated
1/4 cup whole Kalamata olives, pitted
INSTRUCTIONS
For the Dough:
I like the ease of making this in a food processor, however you can make it by hand in a large bowl. If stirring by hand, I like to use the handle of a wooden spoon so that it doesn’t overwork the gluten.
In a food processor, add the flour, yeast, and salt, and pulse about 5 seconds until well combined.
Add the yogurt, honey, and water and process until a small ball forms. If the dough is not tacky to the touch and sticking slightly to the sides of the bowl, add water one tablespoon at a time, pulsing until incorporated. The dough should be shiny and elastic.
Transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface and knead the dough with flowered hands until it forms a smooth ball.
Divide the dough in half and form each half into a tight ball
Place the balls of dough about six inches apart on the floured surface and cover with plastic wrap.
Let dough rise until doubled in size. About 1 to 1 1/2 hours.
An hour before backing, pre-heat oven to 500°F. If using a baking stone place the stone on the middle rack to heat as well.
Gently stretch each ball on a lightly floured surface into a circle or an oval six inches by 12 inches.
For the Pizza:
In a skillet, cook the onions over medium heat until they are caramelized and have broken down, about 25 to 30 minutes
Add honey and thyme and cook an additional ten minutes util the onions have broken down and the consistency is jammy. Remove to a bowl and let cool.
Once the oven is heated and the dough is ready, top each dough with the onion mixture, spreading evenly.
Place small piles of the shredded cheese across the onion mixture, leaving pockets where there is no cheese.
Tear the ham and place around the pizzas in the places where there is no cheese.
Sprinkle the black olives evenly across the top of each pizza.
Bake pizzas for 15-20 minutes until the crust is golden brown and the cheese is melted and beginning to bubble.
Remove pizzas from oven and drizzle with a bit of honey and top with fresh thyme.