food

This little piggy…

Posted on by MELewis

Dans le cochonWe all know where he went, and it’s one story that never ends well. At least not for the pig.

Le petit cochon goes to market all over France, and ends up in all kinds of dishes. Saucisson sec. Saucisse de Toulouse. Boudin. Pâté. As the saying goes, “Tout est bon dans le cochon.”

“Did you know that every part of the pig is edible?” asked my husband when we first moved to Lyon, feasting on the local specialty, cochonaille. In a pig’s ear! I did not know, nor did I particularly want to learn.

I knew that I loved bacon. I grew to enjoy its meatier cousin, les lardons. Nonetheless, I tried to limit my consumption of the pig – easier said than done, as the French tend to put a bit of pork in everything from lentils to quiche.

Now it seems that le cochon has gone not to market but to city hall; he’s even gone to school. This little piggy is square at the centre of a raging debate. One that touches on a subject very dear to French hearts. La cantine.

Education is national in France but school lunches are managed by the municipal council. That means that local notables get to decide what will be on the menu. French custom and national tradition demand a freshly prepared, hot midday meal to be offered to every school child at a modest price, no more than the cost of catering and serving it. Each local school has its system for collecting the money for the cantine, and those in low income brackets may qualify for a free lunch.

Whether or not pork should be on the menu in a country where so many do not eat it is a recurring question. The suggestion that petit Louis or Anaïs should be deprived of their sausage is profoundly shocking to some. Others claim that religious belief has no place in school and are appalled that fish should be offered on Friday, a hold over from the Catholic tradition. Why not allow an alternative, pork-free menu for Muslims and other non-pork eaters, others have dared to suggest?

Why not, indeed? And here’s another, even more radical thought: how about a vegetarian alternative? That would solve the pork problem and give all those so inclined a healthier menu alternative. I am certain that in English-speaking countries there are multiple gluten-free and non-allergenic options available.

I fear, however, that the mere mention of this idea may send the French calling, “wee wee wee wee all the way home.”

Without wishing to open a can of worms (especially over lunch) what are your thoughts? Pork or not?

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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?

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?

5 reasons to love French restaurants

Posted on by MELewis

Le-Cochon-lOreille-menuYou may be surprised by this list – it’s not about the food. In France, good food and wine are pretty well a given. But there are a few things about the restaurant experience itself that I appreciate. Of course, by ‘French restaurants’ I mean restaurants in France rather than those that serve French food.

1. Professional wait staff

One thing you can be assured of in France is that you will never be subjected to the phrase, “Hi, my name is Bob and I’ll be your server this evening!” No introductions will be performed, nor will you be asked where you are from or expected to engage in witty repartee with your waiter. And, outside of the touristy parts of Paris and Lyon, chances are the service will be not snooty but smooth and professional. I’ll take efficient service over fake friendly any day

2. You get what you pay for

Restaurants in France have a strict hierarchy, from the simple café-bar that serves the odd jambon-beurre to the Michelin-starred restaurant gastronomique. In between are all the traditional and family-run establishments where you can get a full meal including starter, plat du jour, dessert and coffee at a very reasonable price. It won’t be fancy, but it will be what it claims to be: nothing more or less. A recently voted French law comes into effect in 2015 obliging all restaurants to clearly identify on their menus freshly prepared foods or dishes with a ‘fait maison’ logo.

3. Mineral water

Flat or sparkling, large or small bottle: whether as an apéritif or an accompaniment to any meal, you will always be offered eau minérale (at a cost) along with your wine. If you insist, of course, all restaurants are obliged by law to provide a carafe d’eau (tap water) for free. But don’t be afraid to ask twice.

4. Everything in good time

The French take the time to enjoy a proper meal at lunch and even more so in the evening. You will never feel rushed at table, or (horror!) have your plate removed before you are finished, as has happened to me more than once outside of France. Assuming you are dining at a full-service restaurant, you will be offered, in this order: apéritif, appetizer, main course, cheese or dessert, coffee. You can try to speed it along; it’s like trying to swim against the current. My husband, who prefers the speedier North American style of service, repeatedly asks to have his coffee served with dessert; it invariably arrives after.

5. No need to leave a tip

Tipping is entirely optional in France (as it should be!). Not just in theory but in practice. Service is included with the tax so if you do leave a tip, there’s no need to make it 10% of the bill as you would in many English-speaking countries. Leaving a few coins at the end of a meal is standard recognition for good service and will be appreciated by the wait staff.

And here’s something else I enjoy…

When I first came to France I was frustrated by the fact that you could not find many places in Paris to enjoy a coffee with the wonderful croissants and pastries on offer at every boulangerie-pâtisserie. Now, the advent of Starbucks and the rise in coffee culture in general has led to many bakeries like Paul opening up café service, or ‘salon de thé’ in the fancier places. Truly the best of both worlds.

Et vous? What’s your favorite thing about French restaurants?