Once upon a time, in the little village of Chaudeyrolles, there lived a very distinguished turkey named Jean le Dindon.
He ran an inn so cozy that even the wind from the Mézenc would stop by to warm its feathers.
Jean had one great passion: the Auvergne stew. Not just any stew, mind you!
His pot was sacred — cabbage, carrots, lard, potatoes, and a secret ingredient that not even his spoon knew.
They said the smell of it could make the souls of Toussaint night turn back for one more sniff.
That evening, as fog rolled down from the Narces, Jean stirred his pot and sang softly:
“Bubble, bubble, gentle brew,
melt the lard and worries too!”
Everything was perfect until — hoooowww! — a long howl echoed from the Cévennes.
“Ah,” said Jean, “my guests have arrived early.”
He tossed three more logs on the fire — at his inn, even surprises deserved a warm welcome.
Soon came the wolves, but not the scary kind — polite wolves, the kind who wipe their paws before entering.
The oldest stepped forward and sniffed the air.
“Smells good, Dindon. What’s cooking?”
“My Auvergne stew,” said Jean proudly. “It keeps you warm till next Toussaint!”
“Mind if we try some?” asked the wolf.
“Only if you promise not to have me for dessert.”
“Deal!” they all said.
So they sat by the fire, and Jean served each a steaming bowl.
The wolves’ eyes gleamed like copper buttons.
“It’s the best stew in the world!” barked the youngest.
“Of course,” said Jean. “It’s made with heart.”
When the pot was empty, the old wolf stood and declared,
“For this feast, Dindon, we shall guard your inn — from wind, snow, and grumpy guests.”
Then poof! they vanished into the mist.
The next morning, villagers found a single shiny feather planted in the ground before the inn.
No one ever knew if it was a gift from Jean or a thank-you from the wolves.
But each Toussaint night, when the scent of cabbage and lard drifts through the hills, people smile and say:
“Jean le Dindon is cooking again.”
And if you think it’s just a story…
come and see for yourself!
Every Friday evening, Saturday for lunch and dinner, and Sunday for lunch,
until December 14 — before the inn takes its winter nap —
Jean le Dindon brings the pot back to life!
The stew simmers gently,
and if you listen closely between two bubbles,
you might hear a soft chuckle…
or the wind whispering:
“It tastes even better than the legend!”
So don’t wait too long —
after December 14, the Turkey folds his wings until spring. 🌿🦃🔥
