France by Food, Pt. II

Sidenote: The “Part II” is in reference to two things – Part II of my trio of stories about my recent trip to France (Part I was France by Family), and Part II of France by food (since I wrote an entry with the same title a few years ago, about food in Paris and Limoges).

As I write this, my tummy is rumbling. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve just made a list of all the delicacies and special meals I consumed in France or because, ever since I left the country, I’ve been on a strict no pain, vin, fromage diet.

Either way, it’s no secret that any trip to France comes full of fine foods and drinks. Restaurants list their menu du jour on chalkboards along the streets, wooing us onto their riverside terraces with dishes like moules et frites (mussels and fries) or loup de mer (fillet of fish). Markets set in charming old village squares explode with exotic fruit and vegetables, massive wheels of nut-filled nougat and equally large wheels of cheese. On every corner is a patisserie, which is an excuse to sample yet another pain au chocolat or taste a new local speciality. On every other corner is a wine and cheese shop, which is an excuse to purchase a new cheese and another large bottle of fine wine. To get to the nearest boulangerie, we have only to walk on the beach, the Mediterranean Sea on our side, into the charming fishing village of Grau d’Agde. Baguettes have never tasted so good!

But it is the culture surrounding food – even more than the food itself – that had me saying Oui! Oui! to France from the get-go. The meals served as individual courses, paired with wines (Patrice, for example, had me sample a Bordeaux from 1989, by far my oldest wine!), and sprinkled with conversation and laughter – food in France exists to be enjoyed and shared, and is a centerfold of the day, just the way I like it.

The ritual of the meal – be in lunch or dinner – begins with an apéro. I looked forward to this every day, not only because it was a chance to tie me over until the inevitably late dinner, but because it was a chance to sit with family or friends and chat over a drink. And drink we did – port, beer, and more French champagne than I have ever drunk in my life. Sometimes, apéro was a chance to get to know new people – like the time we had apéro at Pierrot’s sister and brother-in-law’s home with extended family, or the time we shared apéro with Annie’s friends, Pierrot’s neighbors, and Bruno’s tenants. Drink in hand, I tasted regional delicacies such as tielle de Sête, a small pie stuffed with calamari and petit paté de Pézénas, a cylindrical pastry stuffed with sweetened meat. My favourite apéro snack of all was a cheese wheel that shaved girolle cheese into perfect carnation flowers.

Cheese isn’t generally a part of the French apéro, however. Pierrot joked that if the cheese platter were brought out before the meal, he’d assume the meal was already over! Cheese can feature in the main dish of the meal, however, especially in the colder Alps region of France bordering Switzerland. Micheline thrilled our senses with a cheese fondue on my parents’ first night there, a potimarron gratin, a delicious squash baked with cream and cheese, and a tartiflette, a potato and bacon bake topped with reblechon cheese. Rémy and Nathalie served us aligot, a mashed potato dish loaded with a stringy cheese that’s almost as much fun to play with as it is to eat. Once, at lunch in Pézénas, I ordered a salad served with an entire baked camembert!

Generally, though, cheese is served after the meal. From the first evening in Divonne-les-Bains, and almost every meal thereafter, we were treated to large platters of creamy, flavorful, beautiful, and varied cheeses. I tasted garlic-infused cheese, creamy cheese spread, blue-infused marscapone, hard cantals and contés, tiny goat cheeses that melted upon contact in my mouth, cheese made from sheep, and of course more camembert than I’d eaten in my entire life! I quickly learned to pace myself during meals so that I had room to sample as many of France’s four hundred cheeses as possible. Dad and I became so enamored with eating cheese after the meal that we even created our own cheese platter for those few evening meals that we didn’t share with Bruno’s family. Don’t be surprised, Canadian family, if mom and dad bring the tradition home.

Cheese wasn’t the only aspect of the French meal that dad fell for. The post-cheese espresso got him too. At first, he refused it, thinking it unnecessary to drink coffee after any meal but breakfast. But on a busy touring day in Pézénas, he needed a pick-me up after lunch. He toured with an extra hop in his step after. And thus began his newfound love of strong double espressos, taken straight up. With a crème caramel, a tarte aux poires, or a piece of Swiss chocolate, he’d sip down the caffeine and wonder aloud what on earth he and mom were going to do when they returned to Canada.

I wondered the same thing about my return to Africa and my itty bitty fridge. Between the meals at the homes of Bruno’s family and those in restaurants, I was severely spoiled. Take, for example, the first lunch my parents had at Pierrot and Annie’s. Apéro was champagne with raw oysters and mussels. The entrée was more oysters with tails of langouste (spiny lobster). The next dish was moules marinière, followed by coquille st-jacques. My exploding stomach was thankful to be a non-meat-eater when lamb racks were brought out, but I was sufficiently recovered to sample a few of the twenty or so cheeses that were subsequently brought out. By the time the pastry platter arrived, mom’s eyes were rolling back into her head and I was wishing I had a hollow leg. Dad – clearly the most French of us all – tossed back a few pastries and washed it all down with an espresso. Pierrot was impressed.

The meal that topped all others, however, was a few days later, when Pierrot and Annie invited us to a French restaurant called La Table d’Emilie. Set within an old brick building with cathedral ceilings, we were treated to a five-course meal of such stunning beauty and taste that all restaurant meals will forevermore be held up in comparison. At one point, during the second course, dad muttered sounds of an exquisite ecstasy that I have only ever heard from mom when she eats amazing chocolate. That night, I myself found my hollow leg.

Of course, it was important to balance all this French food and food culture with a bit of North American. And so, we invited Pierrot, Annie, Rémy, Nathalie, and the kids over for an American-style BBQ. Rémy had told the kids that dad was the Canadian hamburger champion, so we scrambled to find equivalent ingredients for burgers, hot dogs, mom’s Caesar salad, corn on the cob, French fries, and hot fudge sundae. As our feast fell the day after Pierrot’s seafood extravanganza, we might have over-bought and over-served. But we were happy to share a bit of our own culture with our French family – and have Pierrot and Annie taste their first ever hamburger! Whether or not they were burger-champion-worthy, I’m sure they were better than the McDonald’s burgers my parents and hubby scarfed down on our road trip to Divonne.

And now, dear family and friends, my stomach is screaming at me. It’s time for lunch. On the menu today, a green salad minus the bread and cheese, sans apéro. I miss France already.