Perhaps it is part of the French Paradox that is thought to be due to their drinking a lot of red
wine. Some ascribe it specifically to the resveratrol in the red wine, but elsewhere I argue that this might be just so much snake oil.
Anyway, the real paradox to me is that everywhere else in the world,
I am told that drinking red wine will make me fat!
So here I am in France doing some important research on this issue: to see if speaking French, living in France and eating (and drinking!) as they do has
any effect on my weight. It’s a heavy gig.
My son has kindly noted that my six-pack looks like a
bloated, squishy, mini-keg when I’m sitting down.
However, I think this is an artefact. If I stand up, it goes
away. And if I put my fingers in my ears, I can't hear any remarks.
Besides, France is exactly the place for addressing an
important dilemma: would you rather live forever on water and celery or live (and
die) happily on fine food and drink.
It’s hard to go past the sights, the sounds, the smells of the
market. The poissonnerie, fromager, boucherie (including the cheval-boucherie)
all selling their wares. Zach enjoys how they offer little tastes of their
wares. He and I were treated to some roasted pork rib one day and we liked it so much
we went back and bought some.
The other day, buying some Toulousain sausage (a long thick sausage
that is coiled into a frypan for cooking and cut up afterwards), I noticed some
boudin (blood sausage) and remarked to the butcher that I loved that and would
get some next time. He simply reached over, cut off about 250g and threw it in the bag
of meat as "un cadeau". And it was good!
And then the rows and rows of fruits and vegetables that positively
radiate colour and flavour. Bénédicte, the chief of the household where we are
staying, makes a fabulous courgette soup. She slices fresh courgettes, blends them with a bouillon cube dissolved in boiling water,
heats the soup, and adds maybe a dash of cream or butter added just before serving. Miam (i.e.,
yum!)
Marc, the household’s number two, Béné’s number one, makes a
fabulous dish out of ‘fève’. These are young broadbeans. You chop off the ends
of the pods and cook the whole damn thing. It is fantastic – but make sure the
fève are young. Sadly, it’s almost impossible to find broadbeans in their pods in
Australia – but you can grow them yourself.
I love how the day revolves around meals. Marc and Béné’s
home has a moveable population of between five and twenty people. At about 12h00 and
19h00 every day, everyone is called "à table" to enjoy a fabulous meal. Aside from those
mentioned above, some of my favourites are confit de canard (duck preserved in
duck fat and then pan-fried), cassoulet (a traditional stew of white beans, duck and
sausage made in the south-west of France), patés, terrine, foie-gras (probably best you don’t
ask), etc.
A
French fromage stand – even in a supermarket – offers a staggering array of
cheeses: hard & soft; round & square; white, yellow, orange, blue;
delicate to downright stinky, cheese from the milk of cow, chèvre (goat), brebi
(sheep), etc.
I love the simplicity of meals. I think we have this
impression of French cuisine being complicated and rich. Much of the time, it
is fabulously simple. Good ingredients, simple combinations. For instance,
there is hardly anything better than the French ‘picque-nicque’: a baguette,
ham, fresh tomatoes and a chunk of cheese and a trusty French Opinel knife.
In this the French are very much akin to the Australians who
love nothing better than a simple barbecue. Incidentally, some claim the word
comes from the French: « barbe-au-cul » referring to the cooking of a
goat on a spit and literally translated as “beard to butt” – but it is disputed.
Anyway, enough of this talk about food – which the
French love to do. There’s more research to be done, more tasting, more
discussing, and so forth. And besides, dessert is about to be served!(For more images made entirely of food, see Carl Warner's stunning Foodscapes: http://www.carlwarner.com)
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