cheese

La gourmandise

Posted on by MELewis

IMG_2715Among the desires that define the French, la gourmandise is perhaps the most universal.

It is not greed, exactly, although in excess it can be. Nor is it gluttony, although it is considered as one of the seven deadly sins. La gourmandise is the appreciation and enjoyment of good food. It is appetite. It is life itself.

Sometimes you will meet someone who says, “Je ne suis pas très gourmand.” Do not trust such people. They are either fibbing or deviants of some kind. For what is the appreciation of taste and texture, fragrance and flavour, if not a healthy enjoyment of life?

As we enter this month of indulgence, of chocolate and caramel, foie gras and fleur de sel, let us truly savour each treat we bestow upon ourselves and each other. To me that is the best part of this culture and this time of year. It is taking the time and trouble to prepare something that satisfies, whether in the freshness of its ingredients, the depth of its flavours, the originality of its presentation or simply the timeliness of its offering.

‘Gourmandise’ means different things to different people. To some it is spontaneously enjoying a crêpe at the Christmas market, to others a cornet of marrons chauds (hot chestnuts). Some prefer to be seated at table to enjoy finely flavoured macarons. Still others care little for sweets but let themselves go on the savoury – the cheese course, creamy or pungent, with ample chunks of baguette and two or three glasses of red.

Whatever it is, I say enjoy it. Pleasure is what counts, not calories or even cost. Treat yourself and savour the moment, but whatever you do, do it with gusto.

What is your favourite gourmandise? If you’re looking for inspiration, check out my top 100 things to enjoy in France and let me know what catches your fancy.

 

Mes oignons

Posted on by MELewis

My onionsI am here today to tell you all about onions. Mes oignons that is – mine, not yours.

Yours would not be at all appropriate. According to French wisdom, I must mind my own onions, which is to say my own business.

So here are my onions. Rather cheeky, no? There they were, all tressed up so prettily, until I started using them up and – voilà! Was inspired to take a photo that set them off in all their glory.

Ah, the onion. Such a wonderful member of the Allium family. So humble, yet so strong. Along with leeks, garlic, chives…this family is one like my own. Outspoken, atypical, memorable – if at times rather overpowering. The French favour the shallot, l’échalote, for its gentler, more subtle flavour. At least it doesn’t make me cry.

I love how the onion has all those intricately packed layers, hard yet soft, and a papery outer skin. I love its bulbousness. I love how it melts, how it browns and most of all, how it caramelizes. I love the onion in so many ways: pissaladière, onion tart, with tomatoes, potatoes, eggs, fish and, most memorably of all, cheese.

My favourite onions are red. Most often enjoyed raw, they’re also lovely on the barbeque, in a stir fry or combined with other kinds of onion. Here they are featured in one of my favourite winter dips – when it gets cold, I am a still a North American at heart.

I also love the French expression for minding your own business: Occupe-toi de tes oignons. Why onions? I looked it up and, lo and behold, there is a reason. It would seem that the French woman was first given a small measure of independence in being allowed to cultivate a portion of the garden as an onion patch, which she could then take to market and sell to make a bit of money. You can read all about it here (in French).

And let’s not forget that sometimes onions produce beautiful flowers.

Do you have a favourite onion? Or it that any of my business?

 

Tout un fromage

Posted on by MELewis

Stinky cheeseThe French expression ‘en faire tout un fromage’ offers up one of those wonderful synchronicities of language. Translation: to raise a fuss about something or, more appropriately, to make a stink. Anyone who has ever experienced the smell of a ripe camembert will surely see the poetic justice in that. There is a reason the cheese stands alone.

Les fromages qui puent – the stinky cheeses – is how the French refer to themselves while poking fun at the Sylvester Stallone-inspired Americans on the political satire puppet program, Les Guignols de l’Info. They somehow make the mockery sound like a term of endearment.

No matter how you feel about raw-milk cheese, there is no denying its tendency to smell a bit strong. I remember being invited to my in-laws home for the first time, entering the kitchen and being assaulted by a waft of something that had died, or done its business. Upon seeing my alarmed expression, my fiancé was reassuring: “Don’t worry, it’s just the cheese.”

fromage-qui-pueWhen it came time to actually eat the stuff, I was surprised that the strong smell had mostly evaporated. Whether it was the wine we washed it down with – Bordeaux bien sûr – or the fact that our sense of smell had attenuated by then, I can’t say. What I will say, however, is that over the years I’ve eaten quite a few French cheeses and it’s not the ones that necessarily look or smell the worst that are the strongest tasting. Although I do point the finger at le camembert for being particularly putrid and prone to repeat. As a general rule, I avoid anything that wears an orange coat. Also I don’t eat the rind, no matter many times my husband and others will chide me by saying, “Mais c’est bon ça!”

As Charles de Gaulle himself once said: “How can you govern a country which has two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese?” In fact, le général rather underestimated his country’s cheese-making capacities – there are over 1,000. Some of my favorites are included in this list of 100 things to enjoy in France.

Suffice it to say that you need a strong stomach to live here. And you are well served by not having too delicate a sense of smell.

Here’s a video for French speakers (and worth watching even if you don’t speak the language of Molière) that answers the burning question: Which is the stinkiest cheese?

What’s your favorite cheese?

Grimentz and grumbles

Posted on by MELewis

IMG_3089After my one-woman tribute to the 80s on the ski slopes last winter, I swore that this year I would get new gear. If only to keep up with my husband who is fully outfitted in the latest high-tech layers, skis and boots, including a set of seal skins for going uphill. I didn’t make it to new skis but did manage to get a new pair of boots, the most challenging part of the whole operation.

Let’s just say I have a rather substantial calf. A pair of gams that call up images not of limbs so much as tree trunks, or, as one (obviously former) suitor once said: “Your leg looks like something that should be put on a spit and rotated.”

Getting a ski boot I can actually do up without cutting off all the circulation in my lower extremities is a challenge. After terrorizing two salespeople and trying on at least six different models, I finally thought we had a good fit in a Salomon. Last weekend it was time to put them to the test.

Now that the spring is upon us, the Alps offer my kind of fair-weather skiing. We decided to make a weekend of it on the Swiss side, more picturesque and less crowded than France. On Friday night we headed for Grimentz, a cute little village in the Valais region of Switzerland where I’d been once before for a work event.

The trouble began the next morning when I tried to do up the boots. Either my calves had expanded in the weeks since we left the store or the altitude was playing tricks with my brain. We somehow managed to do them up but I was feeling pins and needles by the time we got to the télécabine.

The view from the top

The view from the top

My husband instructed me to wait while he got the ski passes. He has this habit of taking charge whenever we get near a mountain. He then directed me to the gondola lift and up, up, up we went – a full twenty-minute ride to the top. What the–? I tried to catch my breath as we got off the lift but the air was a little thin. This was not what I’d had in mind. I studied the map of ski runs. Where were all the blues? And the restaurant? Hubby looked at the map and pointed out that we were on the other side of the resort, its highest point. Seemed there had been two possible ways up and we had taken the wrong one. A few choice words were exchanged but I’ll spare you having to pardon my French. I admired the view while he did a few red and black runs. We took the next cable car down.

By the time we got down to the nice blue slopes it was almost lunch time. We got in a few runs before heading for a sunny spot on a terrace where, a sausage and a large beer later, I began to enjoy myself.

The boots were still a bit tight but at least I could feel my feet. We skied several runs and enjoyed the afternoon.

IMG_3092The best part of the weekend was being in Grimentz. It is a picturesque mountain village built almost entirely out of wood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fire hydrant

Which probably explains why there’s a fire hydrant on every corner.

 

Unlike the French, who so often let their ski resorts turn into concrete monstrosities, this place is nothing but old wood and cobbled streets. Lots of good places to eat, too, and the Valaisans make great wine and cheese.

 

 

 

Stay tuned for more adventures next winter!

 

Le quignon

Posted on by MELewis

shutterstock_258051422‘Le quignon’ is the pointy end of the baguette. I love the crust so it is my favorite part.

It was also the preferred morsel of my late Belle-Mère, so for years I had to pretend I didn’t care when she scooped it, saying “Un petit quignon, c’est mon préféré.” There were two, of course, but somehow it doesn’t do to compete with your mother-in-law over something so trivial as a piece of bread, given you’ve already absconded with her offspring.

I love how the quignon forms a perfectly bite-sized vehicle for enjoying a nice scoop of runny cheese like Saint Marcellin, or a soft mound of Saint Agur. Almost like a cheese cone.

The problem is that it’s an endangered species. Rare is the baguette that survives the trip home from the bakery without its end being ripped off and devoured.

Depending on your bread type – baguette, épée, batard, ficelle – the quignon can be quite pointy, even sharp. I’ve sliced my gums more than once on this crusty pleasure.

Having specific words for things is a measure of their importance in a language and culture. Just as the Inuit are said to have a multitude of words for snow and Hawaiians for fishing nets, so in France there are a lot of words that describe bread. Let’s look at some of the other words the French use to describe the doughy pleasures of the loaf:

Pain – Bread, obviously, but also smaller baked goods like pain au chocolat or pain aux raisins.

Croûte – The crust. Obviously the best part!

Mie – The doughy inner part of the loaf.

Pain de mie – Also a type of bread – the square kind of loaf typically sliced and used for toast.

Alvéole – This describes the airiness of la mie. This ranges from dense in pain de mie to irregular and airy in a baguette.

AlveoleYou already know how I feel about the French stick.

Et toi? Will you fight me for the quignon or do you prefer a different part of the loaf?