Cooking up a storm in France

The blowtorch was put into action quite early on - wielded by a sizeable bloke, about 6ft 4in, with a build to match - some time between talk about the "crack test" and an uncompromising instruction to "boil its arse off".

Another routine day among the entrepreneurial classes of saarf London? Not on this occasion, instead a characteristically dynamic spell at Le Baou d'Infer, a cookery school in a swath of the South of France that remains preposterously scenic (all cork trees and unending hills, with only one other house in sight).

The big geezer is Alex MacKay, whose unkempt mane and demotic language might keep you guessing: has he been released from Hogwarts, or Strangeways? The truth is mildly less extreme: he arrived at Le Baou from his native New Zealand via Le Manoir Aux Quat' Saisons and a variety of Gallic kitchens (frequently staffed, it seems, by sadists, one of whom had MacKay peeling walnuts for a year).

Homage to "RB" (Raymond Blanc, Le Manoir's proprietor) is paid in a portrait of him and MacKay that hangs in the kitchen, a high-ceilinged, whitewashed cube, a little way from the farmhouse bought 17 years ago, in antediluvian condition, by MacKay's partners, Peter and Diana Knab, who have restored it with exemplary restraint and style.

Guests breakfast on the terrace at 9am. Half an hour later, the six attending the course are in the kitchen, while husbands, wives or other companions loll by the pool. MacKay is immediately into uninhibited stride, explaining that he wants to instil confidence, asking what we'd like to drink ("Coffees? Teas? Any spooky teas?"), enthusing about his "magic fridge" (stocked with his own pesto, tomato compote, caramelised onions, chilli jam, ProvenÁale breadcrumbs, roasted peppers, sun-dried tomatoes and more) and peppering us with anecdotes. Then it's bread-making time - fougasse, variously enriched with olives, rosemary and assorted bits.

After an exuberant demonstration of mixing and kneading from MacKay, who explains that a bread's quality largely depends on the freshness of the yeast, and the time allowed for the dough to "prove", we follow suit. Initially, it's a slightly disconcerting experience - the first time that we've "cooked in public". Hands seem to be webbed in glue. But then, quite suddenly, the glue becomes as tractable as Plasticine.

The pattern's set: demonstration by MacKay, as he denounces contemporary pretensions (pancettaham = streaky bacon, he explains) or the absurdity of so many menus (roast asparagus may sound intriguing, but is liable to be as appetising as kindling), followed by our attempted emulation and, finally, intensive tastings.

Pans sizzle on three hobs as bouillabaisse, or stuffed saddle of lamb with fennel salad, or potato r?sti, or twice-cooked pepper sorbet are attempted.

Occasional confusion is soothed by the sound of Mr Sinatra or a smoky bit of New Orleans jazz, and MacKay reminders (coq au vin: "Meat should shine and glisten when it falls off the bone"; lamb bones and trimmings for the sauce, or "jus", accompanying rack of lamb must sizzle in the pan: "If you don't hear the sizzle, remove them and heat up the oil"; crËme anglaise: "It's ready when you can remove your stirring-spoon and drag a finger across the back of it, leaving a line that does not close up a moment later").

At lunch, you eat what you've cooked; at dinner - preceded by drinks and sublime, appetitebreaking eats - the menu is more MacKay-dependent. By then, you've had a few hours off, release from the kitchen usually coming at about 4.30pm.

You appreciate the rest - and the chance for a little gutreducing exercise - before you return to the terrace table, to be gently tranquillised by Peter Knab's fine (and limitless) wines.

It's an addictive experience, for those who can afford it: two MacKay disciples have completed seven courses - three at Le Manoir, four at Le Baou.

Inevitably, competition for an apron is bubbling away nicely: Russians and tee-total Egyptians have recently attended.

Way to go

Marcus Scriven flew to Toulon with Buzz (www.buzz.co.uk or 0870 240 7070), which flies from Stansted four times a week; returns from £103.30 in September. Six-day courses at Le Baou d'Infer (020 7727 0997/www.lebaou.com) start from £1,485, which includes all food and wines (non-cooking companions pay £350).