Montélimar. In my mind since I first visited this part of France when I was 14, it would be a hill-top hamlet, the ultimate destination of scores of tourist buses winding up the narrow vertiginous hairpin bends. The tiny village of colourful ancient stone houses would be home to artisan kitchens where gnarled old ladies would make their honey and almond confection from dog-eared recipe books passed down through generations. Montélimar today is not like this. It’s a flat as the proverbial though, if you look, you can just about see the mountains of the Cévennes. The modern French town has the usual theatre, museum of modern art, high street, cultural centre and some artisan factories, though this term is a stretch for the micro-businesses that produce this ingredient in so many chocolate-box assortments. We popped into one of these little businesses on Monday afternoon. Though production had ceased for the day, Madame was pleased to show us around the two-room works. I’m always astounded by how tiny and unassuming these places are: how on earth are there enough almonds in Aix for calissons; enough herb-scented mountain milk in Beaufort for cheese; enough grapes in Vacquéras or Gigondas for wine, world renowned and shipped globally to Mumbai and Hong Kong? It’s a perpetual puzzle for me. Nougat is made by heating and churning sugar, honey, egg whites and toasted almonds at various stages of heat to make the two varieties, tendre and dur. Mistakenly, I chose the dur variety. Q: How dur could it be? A: Very dur indeed.