Gavarnie Falls in the Cirque du Gavarnie in the Pyrenees Spain lies just behind this ridge |
Cafeteria lunch- "crunchy" lamb, cooked veg, salad, and apricot tarte |
While living in the residence,
students went to a central cafeteria to eat lunch, and I could hardly
understand how the diners could eat so much for lunch until I knew what was a
typical French breakfast. My daily fare before starting four to five hours of
tending the vines or labeling bags of wine consisted of three or four buttered biscuits, store-bought pieces of crunchy
toast, and a coffee. When a topping is added, the biscuits are referred to as tartines. Eventually I added some confiture de figues “fig jam” to
include some sweetness and more flavor. I started eating more fruit after a while, and
put an American twist on breakfast by topping the biscuits with peanut butter, which I dearly love and
missed. Another common breakfast food eaten in the house was a buttered
baguette, slightly stale is fine, dipped in hot milk mixed with a powdered
chocolate equivalent to Nesquik or Ovaltine. Coffee breaks were taken
occasionally in the mornings as well, like on days where the work was tough
(bottling slightly over 2,000 bottles on the first day) or on days when work
was lighter and only simple labeling or inventory tasks were needed. Cups would
be taken out from the coffee machine in the house, or we would use the espresso
machine in the storage loft between the second level of the office and the chai,where the tanks held the steadily fermenting wine. The loft was much cozier, and
reminded me of a secret clubhouse for grown-ups, equipped with caffeine access
and a small dishwasher.
A few of the 20 or so wine tanks in the chai |
Before the principle meals of the
day, lunch and dinner, the table is always set. A routine gradually unfolded
between the interns, daughters, and I to make each eater’s place. Reused
Christmastime champagne bottles served as carafes for water. M. drank his
favorite red wine, also given to the grandfather who diluted it with water, and
Mme. had her favorite rosé chilled with ice cubes. Sparkling water was made
with their carbon dioxide injection appliance in the kitchen, and coffee was
prepared if there was none leftover from breakfast. Each seat had a plate, sharp
knife, fork, and glass. Each course was shuffled on and off of the table—we ate
outside for the first two weeks before the weather turned too hot— and hot
plates were set in a central location. Mme. served the main dishes which were
too hot to pass around the table. Essential to the meal is the bread, which
would be bought almost daily, the crust re-crisped at times with a few minutes
in the oven, or stale bread softened with a few seconds in the microwave. The
bread board, a checkered grate of wood with the square spaces beneath the
cutting service serving to catch crumbs, was brought out and set at the table.
The first to slice bread cut enough for each person at the table to start with
one or two slices, and “passe-moi du pain, s’il te plait” was the simple
phrase to receive another slice when more was needed.
Tool used to cut off the useless vines, "pampres" I did a lot of "épamprer" |
The
largest differences between lunch and dinner were that one drank coffee after
lunch, and generally had a shower before dinner. Lunch began between 12:30pm
and 1:30pm (usually heading back to work just before 3pm to finish around 6pm),
and dinner around 8pm. Both had the rhythm of an appetizer, main course, salad,
cheese, and dessert (entrée, plat, salade, fromage, dessert). Many different
dishes can be eaten as any of the courses, but I will list several of the more
memorable dishes I experienced.
Entrée-
Canteloupe melon with French
dry-cured ham jambon, sliced so
thinly it is almost transparent. Olives and pickled lupin beans. Pâté (reminded
me of better cold meatloaf). Mini biscuits
topped with tapenade. Italian fare of carpaccio or caprese salad. Simple tomato wedge salad with oil, vinegar, and salt. More traditional pickled
pig’s feet. Radishes from the garden, sliced long-ways down the middle just enough to sandwich a small pat of butter
between the two halves. Bread.
Plat
(almost always a meat with a vegetable)- Veal steaks with cooked petits pois “green peas,” skewered pieces of lamb grilled with vegetables,
shrimp skewers, blood sausage and potatoes, braised duck and canned white asparagus reheated, salted, and dipped in oil and vinegar. Bread.
Salade-
Some kind of butterhead or frisee lettuce, torn into large pieces, washed and
spun, and served with olive oil, vinegar, and salt. I ate only two or three
pieces typically. I wonder if it was for the vinegar taste, or to add fiber for
digestion. Maybe some more bread.
Fromage-
A wide selection of cheese, some soft or hard, from cows or sheep. The
smelliest was a sheep’s cheese from the Pyrenees mountains, given to the family
as a gift. I could still smell it across the table, and the odor lingered on my
fingers until a thorough hand washing. It tasted incredible. Many of the soft
cheese had flavors which reminded me of foods I could no longer exactly
remember or describe. Many times I thought of honey. Bread.
Dessert-
Many ice-cream bars were eaten. A cup of yogurt, or pudding, a piece of fruit.
There were cakes, tartes, and pastries for special occasions or weekends. Extra dishes and dessert spoons or a fork were brought out if needed
Cafe- Coffee with or without sugar. Small mugs filled with the strong liquid and small spoons came to stir in a cube of sugar.
(it's a joke that coffee in the US is jus de chausettes "sock juice,"
like wringing out dirty laundry).
Cafe- Coffee with or without sugar. Small mugs filled with the strong liquid and small spoons came to stir in a cube of sugar.
(it's a joke that coffee in the US is jus de chausettes "sock juice,"
like wringing out dirty laundry).
The bread itself, typically baguettes, remain more or less a long, white loaf with a good crust which
would go completely hard within three days, but almost never mold. While
writing this report, my cravings for the good stuff have been awakened, and
will be coming out of the oven by tomorrow night.
Araignee de mer |
Oysters, snails, and the larger sea snails |
Beyond the usual meals, special
occasions or returns from vacation brought even more things to try. Typical
escargot, and larger sea snails, eaten with plenty of garlic butter sauce. Araignée de mer "sea spider” crab. Mussels and oysters, and some kind of scallop cooked with eggs. The egg-seafood
combination seemed a bit strange to me, but Mme. replied that it was just the
way how her mother cooked the dish. For the eldest daughter’s finishing the French equivalent of high school, there was a “congratulations/going
away” party with her future roommates’ families. We were graced with a gorgeous
paella made in a proper, party-sized paella pan. Any meal with guests began with aperitifs, before-dinner drinks and
snacks.
The paello dish, filled with the unfinished paella |
Soon to meet their fate with the rest of the masterpiece |
So why does one eat snails, homemade vanilla ice cream after BBQ ribs, buttered bread dipped in hot milk, peanut butter and grape jelly between two soft pieces of white bread, or drink espresso before leaving the dinner party at 11pm*? During my travels after the program, I asked a farmer why we say à vos souhaits “bless you” after someone else sneezes. He returned the simple answer, “Because we were taught to.” My grandmother taught me to love PB&J every time she handed me one as she picked me up from swim lessons. The French eat snails because they were eaten with family and friends as children—the petits escargots represent the moment with loved ones when the meat was first tried (at least, that's what I'm going with for now). I did not realize how much picking black raspberries in my grandparent’s woods to eat with vanilla ice cream meant to me until I missed their narrow availability in early summer. Traditions can change, things included and excluded, for better or worse, but it does not change that what we learn to love as children become what reminds us of home for the rest of our lives, for those of us fortunate to grow up in loving location long enough to form those attachments. Whatever one did not grow up with is different, potentially exotic and exciting (peanut butter on crepes was a stretch). Sharing a meal, especially our favorites or those that our parents’ used to make, shares culture. It shares a part of ourselves.
If it is the case that distance makes the heart grow fonder, I am looking forward to expanding my nostalgia tolerance. Ending the summer with four days in Iceland was the last cure for wanderlust. And certainly what forms culture, what truly sticks into later life, must include more factors than our childhood. I hope to explore these questions and more when I am back in Europe for a semester-long study abroad Spring 2017.
Eating a goat cheese and tomato sarrasin (buckwhat flour) crepe at a festival in La Rochelle. Santé! |
*attempted
to give French, American, French, American, French, examples