Where You Thirsty Types Might Want to Stay in Normandy.

We heard about the Ferme du Pressoir from a friend, who read about it in Rick Steves. That Rick Steves, he tends to be good for business. He also tends to be dead-on right. This was a great place.

It wasn't just Odile, the jolly matron who kept us well plied with chocolate croissants, coffee, and omelets made with eggs fresh from her farm. Neither was it the typically rustic decor, comfy beds, or fire-hydrant-strong water pressure in the showers. Nor the handy proximity to Bayeux and its tapestry, the D-Day beaches, or stunning Mont St-Michel.

No, my favorite part, naturally, was the unlabeled bottles of cider, made right there on the farm, that kept reappearing in the fridge night after night. We were there three evenings, and only on the first did we make the mistake of eating out. Why go to a restaurant when you can cover your B&B table in funky local cheeses — Livarot, Pont-L'Évêque, Camembert and Neufchâtel — slather them across some crusty bread and wash it down with all that dry, floral cider? (Self-catering is an underrated art, by the way.)

We didn't want to leave. But Odile made it slightly easier by handing me another unlabeled bottle on the way out.

Pictured: Grandpa Willard and a bounty of pain au chocolat study up on their WWII history.