Barbara and I went to France, her motherland, this past Christmas vacation to be with her Mom, Sister, Niece, and the rest of her large extended family. Inasmuch as this blog was not even a thought back then, it is only now that I am finally getting around to writing of my experience.
While I go to France to see my new extended family, and I love them all - they are fantastically welcoming and warm, I really go to eat. I arrive in Paris with a list of food I plan on eating during my stay. This list does not include haute cuisine - that I knew would be taken care of by Barbara's Uncle Dominique Guerre. More about him and that later. This list I speak of is composed of things I have never tried and others that I eat repeatedly, every time I have the good fortune to find myself in this awesome gastronomic wonderland. This year my list included:
Crepes
Hot dog (more on that in a minute)
Sandwich Grecque (That too)
Croque Madame
Horse Meat
Croissants
Baguette
Cheese, cheese, cheese
Baby Jesus (what?)
Brioché Tranche
and
Chinese Food (Don't we have the best Chines in New York?)
I know what your thinking - what about Foie Gras? No need for it to be on the list. It is a given. In fact, I eat more Foie Gras during my 2 weeks in France than I eat during the rest of the year (probably even 2 or 3 years actually).
OK, I think some explanations of the above list are in order.
Crepes:
I have had plenty of crepes, in fact, I make crepes many times over the course of a year of CateringCooking Lessons and Parties. But there is nothing quite like the buttery crepes in France. And, I am in luck, because my Mother-in-Law, Colette Giraud lives in the Montparnasse neighborhood of Paris, in the 14th arrondissement. Montparnasse, you see, is the home of the train station of the same name. Among other places, Gare Montparnasse is the end of the line for the train coming from Brittany - the undisputed home of the crepe. We all know that the French have an aversion to hard work, so, the Bretons (those from Brittany) got off the train, and did not go very far. They settled right in this section of Paris - and did what they do best. Crepes! No matter what items you choose to have your crepe wrapped around (I like Ham and Gruyere), there is nothing quite like it when you bite into it, and a little drop of melted butter drips down your chin. and
Hot Dogs - In New York City we serve dirty water dogs with mustard and sauerkraut. In Chicago, they serve a Vienna Beef Sausage on a steamed poppy seed bun, with tomatoes, celery salt, emerald relish, pickle spears, sport peppers, mustard and onion. In L.A. (who cares, LA sucks) no, but really, they are famous in L.A. for their Chili dogs. Well, Paris has us all beat. The hot dogs in Paris are long, almost a foot-long, served in a baguette with melted Gruyere cheese. It is perfect!
Sandwich Grecque - This is basically the ubiquitous Parisian Turkish (or any Arab Muslim) immigrant in Paris' answer to the Greek/Turkish/Arab/Whatever Gyro or Doner Kebab served here. The smooth lamb fat, combined with the same vegetable like lettuce and tomato that we have here (except in Paris they actually taste like lettuce and tomato) it is almost worth the flight over just to eat one.
Croque Madame - This is a ham and cheese sandwich made with Swiss Emmenthaler, Béchamel, and topped with a sunny side up fried egg. A few delectable bites of chin-dripping goodness.
Horse Meat- The French are not quite as squeamish about our equine friends as we tend to be (at least when it comes to eating them. There are butchers in France devoted solely to Horse. These are called boucherie de Chevaline. While horse meat has dwindled in popularity in recent years, I have heard that it is bloody, gamey, and fantastic. Unfortunately, I did not get the chance on this trip to have it, but I will continue to eagerly anticipate my next trip to France for this reason.
Croissants - Je voudrais deux croissants s' il vous plait! Behold my first full sentence spoken in French. Talk about butter, drips, and chins. They are only good in Paris.
Cheese, Cheese, Cheese - Enough Said!
Baby Jesus - This gnarly, misshapen, dry sausage is the best I have ever tasted. The Jesus is from Lyon. Biting into a thin slice of this wonder, the luscious fat speckled throughout, oozes over your tongue. Like a fine cheese, its quality peaks at a specific time. There is something in its richness that subtly reminds me of buttered popcorn. I know its a weired reference, but this is my blog.
Brioché Tranche - Not brioche, this is sort of like the French answer to Wonder Bread. It is more yellow, sweeter, and found in supermarkets everywhere. It is awesome with butter, nutella, or even just as is. Normally, I would not advocate eating junk food when in the gastronomic capital of the world, but it is really tasty, and this is a food blog, not a snobby food blog. Even their junk food is better than ours!
Chinese Food - In New York we see Take-Out Chinese Food places on every block. In Paris, they have Traiteur Asiatiques. I knew quite well what Americanized Chinese food is like. Unfortunately, now I know what Europeanized Chinese Food is like. Pretty Weak. It was kind of similar to what I expect Chinese food would taste like in Boise, Idaho.
Anyway, after parading around Paris for 2 days eating as much as I possibly can, planning each day based on my meal plans, making my Mother-in-Law think I am food addict, seriously, we drove down to Lyon. If France is the gastronomic capital of the world, then Lyon is the gastronomic capital of France. First, we were treated to a dinner by Les Guerre, Barbara's Aunt and Uncle. Aunt Marie-Jo, made a simple meal of Salade aux Mache followed by a hot sliced cervelas sausage teaming with fragrant black truffles. It was off the hook! The saltiness of the sausage was balanced beautifully by the boiled and pealed potatoes with which it was served. Even the potatoes are better in France.
Uncle Dominique took us out for lunch the following day to Pierre Orsi. A Michelin 1-star Grand Restaurant in Lyon. (No question it would get 4 stars in the NY Times). At 3 hours, our lunch was a leisurely marathon of grand cuisine. It all started with an amuse bouche of a beautifully silky Truffled Cream of Mushroom Soup. Then came the heavy hitters. I chose these exquisite hand-made raviolis stuffed with Foie Gras in a pool of Black Truffle Jus. For my main course, I ordered the Ris de Veau, Veal Sweetbreads. Now, I have had many a sweetbread over the course of the last 28 years. These were amazingly crispy on the outside with a creamy and tender center that made me want it to never end. It was served with Glace de Viande. I believe that the cheese course consisted of just one cheese, but it was a powerhouse called Saint-Marcellin. It was an oozing cows milk cheese I had never tasted, but now wish I could have loaded up my suitcase with it (I couldn't because it was filled with Foie Gras, Saucisson, other contraband). The desserts were too plentiful to remember. While I remember what I ate at every restaurant I have ever eaten in, I do not remember desserts. I don't have much of a sweet tooth. When it comes to dessert, I could take it or leave it. If I order a tasting menu, I would rather have extra savory courses and only 1 (if any) dessert. Anyway, Pierre Orsi was truly a fantastic experience I will never forget.
The next day, we drove down to Le Fournial, the tiny village where we would spend the next 5 days in Barbara's family country house. The house, like so many across France, is older than America. It was built in the 17th century. The entire family comes from all reaches of France and the globe to be together for Christmas. Inasmuch as I am a Chef, I offered my services in preparing a few items form dinner Christmas-Eve. It is tradition in this family to cook legs of lamb by hanging them in the enormous hearth adorning the front of the communal red-roofed living room. They are rigged with twine so that someone can conveniently turn them to ensure even cooking. I made sure that the butcher included a bunch of extra lamb bones. I made a lamb sauce to accompany the tender, young meat. I also was appalled that the family was actually going to use instant potatoes to make their puree. I just refused to allow my overinflated romantic idea of France be destroyed by something so silly. I bought enough potatoes to feed an army and made a huge batch of Puree de Pommes de Terre laced with Creme Fraiche.
All the prep work done, the entire family arrived and, as dictated by tradition, all the men proceeded to leave the Women upstairs, and retire to the kitchen to shuck oysters. For about an hour, we all stand around the kitchen table, drinking wine, eating Jesus, and shucking oysters. It is an experience I could only dream would happen back here with a group of local friends. It is just so French. Finally, we make our way back upstairs to partake in what I like to call the Foie Fest. The Foie Gras is revealed and everyone digs right in. Everyone gets a couple slices of the terrine with some bread, and I, of course, have seconds (and thirds).
By the time the main course is complete, it is time to eat more cheese than seems humanly possible, followed of course by the Buche de Noel, the most amazingly decadent chocolate log. Between the wine and the food, the night of sleep that follows is pretty uncomfortable and restless. Next morning, Christmas Day. We have a regular French breakfast, bread, jam, butter, tea - by this point I am really craving a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll. While I maybe a Francophile, I am still a New Yorker.
Lunch on Christmas is more Foie, followed by a Beef Bourguignon with noodles. It was so simple, but just what we all needed to survive the wine hangover from the previous night's festivities. We remained at the house for the next few days as the number of family members still there seemed to slowly dissipate. One day we walked to a goat farm and bought some dry stinky goat cheese from the farmer. Raw as raw can be, this cheese was everything a goat cheese should be. It tasted like the floor of a barn. Yum!
After a few more days there, we drove back to Lyon. Uncle Dominique and I had plans to cook dinner one night for a large part of the family, just one more time before Barbara and I returned to New York, Sebastien, Shinobu, and baby Mila returned to Tokyo, and the rest of the family returned to their lives all over France. This day turned out to be the biggest treat I could ever ask for. First, Dominique took me to Les Halles, the food market in Lyon. I have never seen a market quite like it. It was indoors, but had the feeling of an outdoor farmer's market. We went from vendor to vendor, buying fish, meat, cheese, and produce. I taught Domique about Verjus, the acidic juice of unripe grapes from Perigord. I was amazed to know that this culinary treasure known to and prized by Chefs all over the world, is largely unknown by the French public. (Chicken stock too - even canned broth is unavailable). I bought a mangosteen - a fruit I had never had the fortune to try because it is illegal to import fresh ones into the US. They need to legalize it. It was amazing. Dominique bought me Foie Gras to sneak back into America as well as one of those black truffle specked cervelas sausages. He is so generous. This market blew my mind. After dropping everything back at the house, we went back into the city to eat. He took me out to a true Bouchon. This in no way resembles the restaurant created by the great Thomas Keller here in America. Keller took some liberties in the creation of this wonderful restaurant to serve a wide array of multi-regional basic French classics, and called it Bouchon - he explains it in his cookbook bearing the same name. These true bouchons are found exclusively in Lyon. The one he took me to was, as the others I assume to be, small restaurants with a lot of closely packed tables and seats. The kitchen is right in the middle of the restaurant. There is lots of kitschy art and photos seemingly falling off the walls. Wine is red or white served from a tap - and it is good - very good wine. The Chef is the waiter. The places' character is infectious and loudly jovial - people eat here on their lunch breaks. They know how to live. When we sat down at the table, the waiter/chef did not put a basket of toasty, crusty, French bread on the table. Better - he put a large bowl of pork fat cracklings - not rinds - fat. I was in heaven. I ordered a Salade Lyonnaise - mache with lardons and a poached egg. The vinaigrette on this salad was made by wine vinegar, bacon fat, and the protein mixed in from the runny poached egg yolk. This was followed by the main courses we shared - Tete de Veau - Braised Veal's Head with Potatoes, and Tablier du Sapeur "Fireman's Apron" - Breaded and Pan-Fried Cow Stomach. Wow. It's leathery fattiness was cut spectacularly by a simple vinaigrette drizzled on top. This was all followed by the largest creme caramel I have ever seen and a food coma.
On to cook. After a few more stops through Lyon and out through the suburbs, we made it back the La Maison de Guerre, gave our fine ladies the flowers we had picked up for them, and put on our aprons. At some point soon there after, we poured ourselves some libations and began to sip and cook once again. We put together a feast of Cod Fish Strudel with Sauerkraut. We had to work with puff pastry instead of filo dough, because apparently, there is none in France. I had a blast cooking in a kitchen in a foreign country. It is one of those things that you just do not consider would be different, but it is.
The following day, Barbara, Colette, and I made the long drive back to Paris. We stopped at a truck rest stop in the middle of the trip. I had ham and cheese on a baguette. At a gas station. Even that was good...really good. I had one final Sandwich Grecque that night and flew back to New York to eat some Sushi.
It was quite the food fest culinary adventure. Some would say that I have a problem with food. All I know is that it is my passion. Good food is nothing special in France - it is just the way they live. They have difficulty understanding how crazy ga ga I go over the food when I am there and assume that I am always this way about food. In a way, they are right - I do plan my life from one meal to the next. But I wish the French could understand just how lucky they are to be blessed with some of the tastiest ingredients and ideas of what to do with those ingredients - that is why I go ga ga for gastronomy when I'm there.
