I remember opening the box and finding a tiny screwdriver with instructions to ‘tighten screw A on side B before using’. It was a brand new camera but not a digital, definitely not an all singing all dancing digital. It was a very basic 35mm film camera from Russia.It turned out to be incredibly unreliable too and I’m now on my third, or is it fourth and that one is starting to play up.

Why persevere? After all they’ve got cameras now that will practically take the picture for you. Well, (when it’s working) it takes fabulous photos.  Why does it take fabulous photos? It’s something to do with the fact that it has practically no controls ( manual focus dial on the side and a film speed wheel) and a large lens for it’s size which, maybe because of poor quality control, has strange properties. It tends to darken the corners of the photograph and enriches the colours somehow.  The lack of controls releases you from everything but taking the picture.

What’s this got to do with France?  Well, I used to love taking pictures till I came here but. It’s too beautiful.  Everywhere you look it’s breathtaking.  What’s the point of taking a picture?  I could go into any tabac and buy a picture postcard of the Aude with it’s Cathar castles, wild garrigue covered rocks and fields of vines and it would all be there. No need for me to clutter the world up with another one.

I loved the magic of the darkroom too. The dim red glow, focussing the reverse image onto the paper under the enlarging lens, counting down the seconds and then, into the strange smelling chemicals. You wait, and the image floats up, ghostlike at first as you gently rock the tray of liquid and then, stronger and recognisabe.  Pure magic.

But then along came digital and there’s no need for any of that.  You take your picture, it will be perfectly exposed, load it into your computer and there it is. You can even alter them afterwards to make them ‘perfect’. That’s progress, and it really is. Who could be bothered with all those messy chemicals and the need for a darkened room. Why wait for the photos at all, you can have them, instantly. I have a digital camera which I use now and then and it’s much more reliable than my dodgy Lomo (the Russian camera).

And yet, and yet. Perhaps something is sacrificed for the convenience?

Whatever it was I didn’t look forward with the same sense of anticipation to taking pictures and eventually didn’t even carry a camera with me, which was unheard of back in the day.

And then I heard about the Lomo, and after that I discovered an even less sophisticated instrument.  The Holga.  Made in China  entirely of plastic  including the lens, it’s almost a toy, and cheaper than most.  Mine was around £18.  To use it you take out the gate, the thing the film lies on behind the lens (this is medium format film, much bigger than 35mm and comes on a roll, though getting harder to get these days) and physically cut it into a square with a scalpel from the oblong it comes with to achieve square pictures. Then load the film and either tape or elastic band the thing closed as the catch is so unreliable.

Only one little thing to do now,  choose either the sun or the cloud symbol on the dial and off you go.  There’s also a sister job called the Diana which I’m eager to try out.  Now these cameras really play with the images you get but it all adds to the mystery, the lens is probably worst than in the Lomo but it doesn’t seem to matter at all. These poorly made opposites to digital perfection have got me taking photos again and I’m grateful for that.

Here are three pictures taken with the plastic Holga,  two of the Aude just by our house and one of some graffiti found on an old stone wall.  No,  they’re definitely not perfect but I like them.

River Aude, dark evening

River Aude, evening

Rural graffiti

Firstly, thanks to Peter from the Languedoc Page for reminding me that I had to get off my butt and check this thing out. I’d been sort of meaning to ride this 20-km long cycling path for over a year, but since it starts over 35km from home I guess I just never had the juice to go out and do it. But thanks to 19 degree weather and a busted PC that kept me inside all weekend (yes, it’s a Windows…need you ask?), I had lots of aggression to get out of my system. So, after lunch today I packed up a pannier and took off.

The ride to Sommieres took in mostly well-rolled terrain, which you can find here and here, but starting from there until Nimes it was all fresh. This shot was taken from the still-functioning Roman bridge you can see the first link above.

Here is the beginning of the voie verte, or greenway, that the department of Gard has built, right next to the hotel we stayed at a year ago, incidentally. Well, it’s not that incidental, actually. You see, this cycling path is built where a railway used to be (that hotel is a converted train station) – an eminently excellent idea that has been implemented in many countries.

The path was surprisingly well populated, especially near Sommieres. This pictures handily shows the multi-purpose nature of these things, with bladers, runners and the (unseen in this photo but there) ever-unpredictable kids on bikes (what prevents kids from travelling in a straight line anyhow?).

A nice economic bonus to building cycling paths over train lines is that you don’t need to worry about drilling through rock or making bridges and tunnels…it’s already been done for you!

Next, a couple of random pictures of the Nimeois countryside.

Another nice thing about this voie verte (and other former railway lines I suppose) is that it winds through some villages along its way. Here are some locals in Cavisson playing petanque, a game somewhere between shuffleboard and curling, and about as exciting to watch.

Here’s the map, as usual. The cycling path is between Sommieres and Caveirac. I’ll include it in my cycling paths entry as well.

View Larger Map

Christmas can be a real nightmare for vegetarians. All those traditional dishes revolving around copious amounts of meat or suet, or vegetables cooked in animal fat.

So here’s a quick guide in the run-up to Christmas, the 10 essential Yuletide “rules” that non-vegetarians should bear in mind when that poor veggie comes to dinner.

It’s based on some painful memories of seasonal fare during my own brief sojourn as a veggie (OK I got early parole for bad behaviour, but that’s another story and involves a bacon sandwich of course)…

1. ‘The Big Problem’

Veggies are often made to feel like they’re A Big Problem. They’re not.

So never ever serve them 10 minutes after everybody else, with a big fuss, and with the stuff on a special plate that says something like “Your Nuts” (or even “You’re Nuts”). That will only make them feel self-conscious and awkward.

2. ‘Vegetarians are from Mars’

Don’t treat vegetarians as Martians either. Perhaps they were Morrissey fans when they were young. Or they saw “Babe” when they were nippers – that engaging little tale of the talking piglet.

I was with my wife in France this summer. Karen is vegetarian but I forgot to tell the waitress this one day when we sat down to lunch. When we did mention it the waitress looked really sad and asked Karen is she was ill. She was very concerned. So no, the French and vegetarianism don’t go together.

- Jean-Michel Gauffre from the Languedoc, who runs a fine dining veggie restaurant in Edinburgh called L’artichaut – check out its wonderful sample menus

Talking of “Babe”, when the film was in Irish cinemas back in 1995, one of our politicians from County Cork got so hot under the collar of his thick red neck that he wanted “Babe” banned, believe it or not.

He even went on national radio claiming it would turn The Kids into vegetarians and ruin the country’s pig industry. Which it eventually did of course.

3. Please don’t do nut roast

Don’t think you’re “leaning over backwards” by doing them a bloody nut roast either (hereafter referred to as a BNR).

You’ve probably never done a BNR before, and it shows.

I know, you’re trying to be thoughtful and when you used your Phone A Friend option they said “why don’t you give them a BNR?”, because a BNR is the one recognisable option that rings a bell with many non-veggies.

Now nut roasts can sometimes be rather good. But try to think more broadly about all the other great vegetarian possibilities too – from vegetarian pâtés and gratins to bakes, curries, tagines, pizzas and so on.

4. He/she is not a martyr

Give vegetarians something you wouldn’t mind eating yourself.

Being vegetarian simply means someone doesn’t eat meat. It doesn’t mean he or she is a fundamentalist food martyr who has just strapped a belt of exploding tofu strapped to his/her waist before entering your house, and that they don’t want to eat anything that looks or tastes remotely interesting, and that they will pummel you with their views and ideas.

There’s a lot of horrible BNR recipes out there, and other fairly awful ready-made stuff too. That’s the real fundamentalism. If you wouldn’t eat it, why should they?

If you want non-meat inspiration – stuff  with passion and pleasure – why not try some recipes from Cork chef Dennis Cotter’s wonderful  “Cafe Paradiso” books, or something by English food writer Nigel Slater (not a veggie as such, but a terrific vegetable enthusiast), or The Veggie Table website.

5. Where’s the trimmings?

Even if you are doing A Special Meal around Christmas time, veggies might actually like some of the “trimmings” that everybody else is getting.

Why are you serving up the BNR with some overcooked rice mixed in with a vegetable mush resembling babyfood that even Baby would turn the nose up at – instead of proper roast spuds, sprouts and so on? Vegetarians might actually like sprouts, potatoes and lots of other tasty things that usually go with turkey.

So maybe leave aside some of the spuds to roast in olive oil or butter, for example, rather than with the bird.

Veggies love gravy too. With vegetable stock of course, but gravy nevertheless. Or some other sauce, because even a good BNR can be quite dry.

6. Accept no substitutes

Never just substitute something like a bland salad for the meat part of the dish. It never feels quite right. One problem for seasoned meat-eaters when they’re faced with the idea of a vegetarian meal is that they don’t understand the “language” or “grammar” of a vegetarian meal.

With a meat meal, the meat part can give a neat central focus-point, with everything else subservient to it. A simple equation: meat and (two) veg.

But with a vegetarian dish, the meat-eater cook doesn’t understand the completely different mathematical system involved. They keep looking for a single focus, not realising that in the vegetarian meal you can often have several main points of interest and pleasure.

(God, this is beginning to sound like a sex manual. Which perhaps it is). So check out those other gourmet erogenous zones…)

7. No, a salad isn’t a meal

While we’re at it, a bland little salad is not a main course. Why do you think so many restaurants call it “a side salad”? It’s just a bit of something on the side.

An iceberg lettuce that looks like it just hit the Titanic? Plus two or three tasteless tomatoes, a hardboiled egg and three scraggy scallions? Not even dressed? Yuck.

Some waiting staff in Irish restaurants and hotels still think that “The Vegetarian Option” means giving you one of these crappy side salads – only with double portions.

8. But salads can be sexy

For a cool, sexy salad, think more imaginatively. Start with a good base of different fresh greens (rocket, baby spinach, spicy leaves, spring onion etc) rather than that flavourless cheap supermarket lettuce, or the “mixed leaves” that were picked days ago and sprayed with a gas to preserve them.

Then add some tasty counterpoints – herbs such as mint or basil, lemon balm tops, chives, slithers of parmesan if they’re a cheese eater, or black olives that come in olive oil (rather than brine), some baby tomatoes that you’ve “sun-dried” yourself (put ‘em in the oven on a low heat for ages), smashed garlic, maybe some grated lemon zest, or freshly cooked baby beets, minty peas, crushed pistachio nuts, home-made croutons…

And all with a decent salad dressing of course – not something made by Paul Newman or Lloyd Grossman several months ago on a planet far far away, but a simple fresh dressing you’ve just made yourself.

That means some extra virgin olive oil, just a splash of a good vinegar (e.g. cider vinegar or balsamic, not Malt Extra Strength Fish-n-Chip Shop Vinegar), a light sprinkling of freshly ground pepper, a tiny pinch of sugar or a little dash of soy sauce if the salad has tomatoes, maybe a dollop of Dijon mustard and a twist of lemon. Now that’s a salad dressing.

9. When in France…

The French do eat a lot of veg, but vegetarians need a thick skin or a sense of humour, to deal with those raised eyebrows if they are bold enough to say that they’d rather skip the meat. It’s almost akin to heresy, even in the land of the Cathars.

The four essential phrases for vegetarians in France are:

• “Je suis végétarien” - I am a vegetarian
• “Je ne mange pas la viande” - I do not eat meat
• “Je ne mange pas du poisson” - I do not eat fish (or if you are a vegetarian that does eat fish, “je mange du poisson”)
• “Je ne mange pas du poulet” – I do not eat poultry/chicken (if you simply say you don’t eat meat, they may think you still eat chicken)

Notwithstanding all that, the Languedoc is very much a vegetarian paradise. Fruits and vegetables arrive in our corner shop when they are in season, often grown locally, organically, without supermarket uniformity but with superb flavours.

And if you are only a “demi-veg” and eat fish and/or cheese, this is paradise.

10. Fine young cannibals

So in conclusion, it shouldn’t be a problem having a vegetarian for dinner this Christmas (and they’re rather scrummy too).

As it happens, we’ve just been watching one of those films where a plane crashes in some mountains, and the passengers have to eat each other in order to survive. All well and good, but what does your favourite low-budget airline expect vegetarians to do in similar circumstances?

In fact, here’s a modest proposal: scientists ought clone “vegetable people”, a few of whom could travel on each flight, at a suitably discounted price, in rows three and four (the ones that Ryanair doesn’t allow you to sit in) to provide a suitable vegetarian alternative to cannibalism in case of disaster. Sorted.

What with today’s tough economic situation, there can be a sense of trepidation as you walk up to a favourite restaurant. The sign on the door is – literally – a sign of the times.

Is the place closing down for good? Does the sign say something like “LE RESTAURANT EST FERMÉ. Merci de votre compréhension; Martine et toute l’équipe remercient toute sa clientèle pour la fidélité témoignée durant toutes ces années….”

Or is it just a notice saying “La TVA baisse, les prix aussi” (our VAT is cut, and our prices too)?

Or maybe the place is just “Fermé pour congés” or “Fermé pour congés annuels”. Closed for the holidays. I used to hate this sign but now it’s sort of reassuring. Sure, you’re disappointed, but it just mean it’s finally time for the place to take a well-deserved break in these quiet months, after that long hard slog throughout the summer. Those are the lucky ones.

Le Cep d'Or in Béziers: phew - it's just taking a fortnight's break! But other nearby restaurants are gone for good

Then there’s the worst sign of all – when there’s no sign. The “flagship” restaurant in our village in the Hérault was very posh, it was a restaurant gastronomique, the type of place with a couple of fourchettes from the Michelin Guide, and what seemed to be 15-course meals (the “Menu Confiance” at €55 ranged from the amuse bouche and encas to the entrée, poisson, trou normand, viande, plateau de fromage, cocktail and finally a bit of dessert).

Meanwhile half a dozen waiters would hover over you most obtrusively, and hoover up your table crumbs, while the King and Queen of Sweden tuck in to the plat du jour at the next table (honest, they were, in September last year, but I was joking about the plat du jour bit). All this took place in Le Château, a 17th-century castle.

Some fine food perhaps, but it wasn’t really our kind of place. We prefer the friendly noisy fun of the local café bar. Now every one of the Château’s signs and menus and billboards have disappeared, the shutters are all closed, Le Château is no more.

French restaurant crisis

This sector employs about 600,000 workers in France, and about 1,790 traditional restaurants,and 610 cafés and bars went out of business in the first half of 2008, according to Business Week.

There’s less disposable income during the economic crisis, and the number of restaurant customers has dropped by 20% since the beginning of last year, according to Synhorcat, the union representing French restaurant and café workers.

Sales in Paris would be down around 10%, while en province it’s a disaster – traditional places are the hardest hit, with figures down by 20% or more in the likes of the Languedoc.

Irish restaurant crisis

The situation in Ireland is probably even more gloomy. Over 80% of Irish restaurants are now running at a loss, according to the Restaurants Association of Ireland (RAI).

The RAI claims that 15% to 20% of restaurants have closed their doors because of the recession. Again it’s the restaurants in rural areas that are hardest hit.

In a pre-Budget submission to the Government, the lobby group recently talked about one in three restaurants facing closure and 21,000 jobs at risk.

“According to the RAI, Ireland is the most expensive country in Europe in which to run a restaurant and I can well believe it.”

- Food writer Tom Doorley in his Megabites blog

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Love that Languedoc, video blog

Hey, I started a vlog promoting Languedoc Roussillon wines and the region in general.   It’s called Love That Languedoc and it’s pretty fun.  The Languedoc Roussillon is one of the largest wine producing regions on the planet and it is an incredibly diverse region that deserves a lot more public attention.  And that is what I am going to obtain!  YOUR ATTENTION!

So thank you for checking out the Almost MasterGrape blog and PLEASE take some time to learn about the Languedoc-Roussillon whether it’s in your favorite reference books or my video tributes.  There’s a lot to appreciate.

The blog will comprise of interviews, tastings, guided visits and book reviews amongst other things.  It’s a no holds barred look at all things LANGUEDOC.  I hope I’ll see you there!

As part of my continuing infatuation with Fergus Henderson, I have made and cooked with his Trotter Gear recipe from Beyond Nose to Tail.  And I wrote all about it for the fabulous Nose to Tail at Home.  Here’s a little something to whet your appetite…

How did I get from pig’s feet to this tasty meat pie?  You’ll have to click over to my guest post to find out.

* * * * *

Speaking of preserved meats, I believe I mentioned that it was my goal to make cassoulet for Languedoc month.  I left out the part where I planned to make my own duck confit.  Well, the process has begun.  Using an amalgam of recipes from Robuchon and Ruhlman (what’s with the five-hour difference in cooking time, guys?), I have rubbed three duck legs with a mortar-and-pestled mixture of coarse sea salt, black peppercorns, bay leaves, cloves, and garlic.

Now I have to wait two days to cover the legs in more duck fat and cook them ever so slowly until they just about fall apart.  It’s going to be tough, but the kitchen now smells like garlic and bay, and that’s never a bad thing.

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

At Purdy’s, situated between the everyday Côtes du Rhône and some of the Languedoc mega-brands, is a very special, particularly dusty rack housing the Chateauneuf-du-Pape wines that I make fairly regular stops at—I don’t do much there except read shelf talkers and think about a day when those wines become staples.

That was until…I was waiting in line after the usual Friday wine tasting with a really nice $13 bottle of organic Zinfandel when I spotted Carey wandering into my favorite aforementioned section—there is no doubt this girl knows me. She was hovering over a close-out priced bottle of Alain Corcia’s Crème de la Crème.

I think you deserve to have this wine, Bobo. The blog needs it, you need it, and I would love to buy you a present! But don’t mess up the dust, it looks distinguished.

Dinner was an asparagus risotto with filet tips and Parmigiano Reggiano that Carey worked tirelessly on while I herded cats, took pictures, and assured that the wine was properly breathing.

During this time I noted an incredibly dense nose of bitter, dark chocolate-covered cherries, rum raisin sauce, rainy minerals and hints of copper. Don’t let this wine’s wonderful old world palate convince you that it’s already at the peak of its game. While I don’t picture this wine still standing 15 years out, it’s still relatively youthful, displaying some subtle layers of tart apple and sweet, round tannins.

The mouth-feel is engaging, showcasing a cool, mineral-laden mid-palate reminiscent of rainwater and wet gravel. There is a firm astringency on the back end that warms the throat, but it tends to ease over time—perhaps another indicator of this wine’s tender age, and an argument for decanting.

I am a big fan of Alain Corcia’s gentle approach to wood exposure. The 70% Grenache base packs this wine with fruit, spice and energy, and the use of mostly old oak leaves this wine to be enjoyed in a relatively raw form. Too often we see every edge rounded and the palate homogenized and “vanilla-ized,” creating more supple, new-age feeling wines. But at what cost? Thankfully, we’ll never know.

-Rob

It is my pleasure to announce the French region where we here at Croque-Camille will be spending November: the Languedoc!  This is another one (like Bourgogne) that I’ve been looking forward to almost all year.  My original plan has written “November – cassoulet.”  Of course I had to do a little digging to figure out which region, exactly, cassoulet exemplifies, so here we are in the Languedoc.

The Languedoc is a fairly large region that comprises a lot of the Southwestern part of France.  It stretches from the Spanish/Catalan border all the way to the Rhône river – the old capital was Toulouse, the new one Montpellier.  The region gets its name from the language used there prior to the French Revolution: Occitan.  Occitan is a romance language whose use was most widespread in the medieval period.  It was distinguished from dialects further North by the way they said “yes.”  In Occitan, they say “oc,” while in old French, they said “oi,” which became the present-day “oui.”  Get it?  Langue d’oc.  (Thank you, class in medieval French literature.  Who knew I’d ever need that tidbit again?)

Now, it just so happens that I correspond regularly in the blogosphere with an amateur cheese expert (oxymoron?  Nah.) who lives in the Languedoc.  I wrote to her for advice on regional cheeses, and among her suggestions was Cathare, a goat’s cheese embellished with an Occitan Cross, the symbol of the region.

Cathare is a raw-milk cheese, aged only a couple of weeks (sorry Americans – it’s unavailable in the US due to silly regulatory laws).  The rind is thin and wrinkly, with ash coating only the top of the slim wheel.  The cheese just inside the completely edible rind is smooth and gooey, while the inside is just a bit firmer and drier.  The cheese definitely has that goaty tang with a hint of chalkiness, but the flavor is full and rich.  The ash contributes no grittiness, as is always my (generally unfounded) fear.  It would be nicely complimented by a dry yet fruity white wine.

It should come as no surprise that I am sending this in to La Fête du Fromage Chez Loulou.  As always, look for the roundup on the 15th – there’s always something new!

Originally published on Croque-Camille.

With the two-leg World Cup play-offs against France coming up, here’s a quick bluffer’s guide to ordering wine and other drinks in a French restaurant, bar or café.

Whatever you order, never forget the difference between the words for fish (poisson) and drink (boisson). Our “Boys in Green” did not conquer Europe in Italia ‘90 etc etc by downing copious pints of fish.

For starters…

“Waiter!” = Monsieur or Madame

Never ever ever summon a waiter by shouting “Garçon!” across a crowded restaurant.  You might have heard this in an episode of ‘Allo ‘Allo, but a real French waiter would find it insulting to be called a boy. And never ever ever snap your fingers.

“I’d like…” = Je voudrais…

To ask for something, use Je voudrais… (I would like), rather than Je veux… (I want). This is the standard polite phrase. Use it at all times, rather than Est’ce que c’est possible… or any other literal translations of Hiberno-English phrases (“Any chance of a…”).

And don’t forget to append S’il vous plait to the end of your request.

“Ta!” = Merci beaucoup!

The gargle

Monsieur is never ever called un garçon

If you are in Paris it’s one thing, but  Languedoc-Roussillon is, of course, le pays du vin, wine country. In a strong Langeudoc accent, “vin” becomes something more like “ving”.

Other than that, ordering your vin is straightforward enough: start with the Je voudrais bit and ask for un bouteille (a bottle) or “un verre” (a glass).

“I’d like a bottle of red wine” = Je voudrais un bouteille de vin rouge
“Another glass of red wine” = Encore un verre de vin rouge

Drinks lingo

• Le vin = wine
• La carte des vins = the wine list
• Vin rouge = red wine
• Vin blanc = white wine
• Une pression = a draught beer
• Un café = a coffee

Bear in mind that – apart from Carcassonne Airport – un café is the French equivalent of a strong expresso. Un café au lait is the equivalent of an ordinary coffee in Ireland with milk, or ask for un café noir for an ordinary black coffee.

In bistros and bars, wine is also ordered by le pichet or la carafe. These come in quarter and half litre sizes, and work out far cheaper than ordering by the bottle.

So you’d ask for un quart (pronouned “un kar”) or un demi respectively. If you really want to get into the swing of things, simply ask for un quart de rouge (a quarter litre of red wine, equivalent to a third of a bottle) or un demi de blanc (a half litre of white, two thirds of a bottle).

Another essential phrase after all this is: “Où sont les toilettes?” = where are the loos?

The bill

The bill = l’addition

If you’re in a busy small bar at, say, a railway station where they might suspect the Irish could “do a runner”, the waiter might bring you the bill automatically. He will then put a tear in it when you’ve paid.

But in a restaurant they’ll wait until you ask for the bill. Say something like Excusez-moi, l’addition s’il vous plait.

If the place is crowded, ask for l’addition by using a form of international sign language: raise your eyebrows and strike an invisible match on the palm of your hand.

Finally, if you’re part of the Green Army on its current European World Tour, no doubt you will also want to leave a tip or un pourboire - a charming word meaning, literally, “a for-to-drink”.

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We were out walking the dog yesterday wearing our bright coloured anti hunting weather proof jackets. Not anti hunting as in hunters recognise orange and bright blue as the colours of the official anti hunting organisation. No, anti hunting as in hoping they spot us in time before pulling the trigger.  Two German women were peppered with shotgun pellets last week in the Aude equivalent of a ‘drive by’ and it’s full on hunting season now.

The temperature is dropping, piles of leaves everywhere and the west wind ‘le Tremontaine’ howling through the pines and vines. This time of year the vines are either bare or have the bright gold or red of their autumn colours still hanging on grimly against the gale, some with a few bunches of dried and withered grapes overlooked by the pickers in September. As you move through this terrain you can tell which type of grape is grown just by the colour. One whole field will be dark blood red right next to another of gold. Now and then you come across a field with so many grapes hardening on the vine that it’s obvious they’ve not been overlooked but abandoned, it not being worth the growers bother to pay for the harvesting. This is happening more and more down here because of the drop in wine prices everywhere. It’s sad but there are far more empty fields than there were just a few years ago.

A little further on we came upon the vigneron, hooded against the wind and doing a bit of pruning. After our bonjours we stand and chat for a while and he asks if the dog is ‘mechant’ (vicious). Remembering how wary he is of our very small cat, we answered ‘Non, il est tres gentil’ and he relaxed, generously allowing Wilfrid to continue trying to separate the man’s hand from his wrist.

As we talked he told us that the field we’d just passed was to be dug up next week. We sighed and he agreed it was very sad but what could he do? He gets more money from the government for digging up the field than for producing grapes. We went through a few alternative crops, olives, figs, sunflowers etc while he patiently explained to the foolish etrangers the problems with each. “So you’re going to leave this field empty then”, we said. “Mais non” he said, squinting up at the sky. I’m going to harvest that. We looked up. What? Birds, wind, space dust? ‘Le soleil’ he answered triumphantly, pleased he’d taught us something new again. 

“The sun”? we said in unison. It turns out that some government department or other are paying him to plant solar panels. The field will be covered in large grey rectangles, computer controlled to do what nature tells ‘le tournesol’ (the sunflower) to do,  follow the sun on it’s journey across the sky.  We trudged home with the wind rising and our minds pondering whether solar panels would really be an improvement over an empty field.

Yesterday I dug out an old recipe involving Cointreau. To be honest, though, that particular liqueur rarely leaves the drinks cupboard. The one bottle that’s always on the go in our kitchen is Noilly Prat.

Noilly Prat and fish is one of those perfect food combinations. Use it whenever a recipe calls for a dry vermouth.

This classic drink from Marseillan is great in fish stocks, many fish stews, certain steamed shellfish dishes and classic fish sauces.

As seafood chef par excellence Rick Stein explains in his “French Odyssey” (BBC Books):

“I’ve done lots of experiments with white wines for fish sauces and I’ve come to the conclusion that Noilly Prat is the best. In fact, it makes very little difference to the finished sauce how good a white wine is (though this is not the case with red wine). However, the Provencal herbs and spices used to flavour Noilly Prat seem to add flavour to the reduction.”

Here’s my slightly simplified version of one of Rick’s recipes from the same book and TV series, in which he pottered down the Canal du Midi with a film crew. It’s for four John Dory fillets, though many other white fish will do.

If you’re in a fish market in the Languedoc you don’t ask for John Dory of course, but for Saint Pierre, and in Italy it’s Pesce San Pietro.

The fish is supposed to have the thumbmark of St Peter, bang in the middle of its side. As for who “John Dory” was, maybe it’s  just a variation on the French words jaune (yellow) and dorée (gilded).

Anyway, as Rick Stein says, “This dish really requires the flavour of the herbs and spices in the Noilly Prat to come through in the finished sauce. I’ve been cooking this sauce for 25 years and it’s very simple and can be used for practically any fish.”

Fillets of John Dory with cucumber and Noilly Prat

John Dory - or Saint Pierre in French

Most of us mere mortals will just get fillets of John Dory. But if you happen to come back from the fish market or a fishing trip with a whole one, you’ll get two large triangular fillets out of each fish (these can be cut in two).

That might not seem much value from such a monster of the sea, but save the head and the carcass, as these make excellent fish stock.

1. Put 600ml of fish stock and 150ml of Noilly Prat in a saucepan. Boil rapidly until it has reduced by about three quarters.
2. Add 40ml of double cream and continue simmering away for two minutes. Remove it from the heat.
3. Meanwhile peel a medium size cucumber. Cut it in half lengthways. Scoop out the seeds from the middle (use a teaspoon or, better still, a melon baller). Cut each half across into centimetre-thick slices.
4. Heat up your grill to the highest setting.
5. Melt 20g of butter – let’s not go overboard on this – in a large heavy-duty frying pan. Brush the fish fillets with a little of the butter, season with salt and freshly ground black pepper on both sides. Place the fillets skin side up on a baking tray and leave to one side.
6. Continue heating the butter until it starts foaming, add the cucumber, and cook on a high heat for two minutes, shaking the pan occasionally until the cucumber is lightly coloured. Take it off the heat.
7. Grill the fillets for about three to five minutes depending on the size of the fish, until the skin is a light golden brown and the fish is just cooked through.
8. Bring the sauce back to the boil, whisk in 20g of chilled butter (cut into pieces).
9. To plate it up, put each fillet in the centre of a warm plate, spoon over the cucumber, garnish with finely shredded basil, spoon the sauce over it all and serve.

French names for white fish

Other French names you might need in your local market for white fish in include:

• le colin = hake, coley
• la dorade = sea bream
• le loup de mer = sea bass
• le merlan = whiting
• la morue = cod
• le cabillaud = cod as well (I think)
• la raie = ray

“The two basic things you must have in your kitchen are balsamic vinegar and Noilly Prat”
- celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay in an interview in Now magazine (December 2001).

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Name: Domain De Canimals Le Haut, Saint-Chinian

Country: France

Region: Minervois

Vintage: 2007

Score: 80%

Opnion: Distinctively different from other regions, yet excellent in character.

Name: Clos des Roque, Minervois la Liviniere

Country: France

Region: Minervois

Vintage: 2006

Score: 80%

Opnion: Really quite refined. Has regional distinctiveness without the overpowering licourice. Excellent.

So you arrive in Paris for the big World Cup qualifier match between France and Ireland, and you go into a bistro or resto, and sit down to your table for lunch, and the waiter comes over with the menu and says “Désirez-vous un apéritif?” , what do you say? What do you go for?

A beer is obviously out of the question. A wine doesn’t seem quite right either. Un apéritif (or plain old apéro once they regard you as part of the furniture) is designed to prepare the palate and appetite before your meal, though in the Languedoc you are also quite likely to be invited out for an entire session of apéros – a social ritual in its own right nowadays.

Your main problem is that you’re not used to this ritual, and you’re spoiled for choice – “l’embarras du choix”. There is a bewildering array of bottles behind the bar, in all shapes and colours.

Now I’m no expert by any means, but here are the typical things that you see the locals going for, des choix typiques, au moins en Languedoc.

The good news is that the one big thing I’m always getting wrong in French – whether a noun is masculine or feminine – doesn’t seem to apply in Aperitif Universe.

12 aperitifs

Once you’ve had one (or two) apéros, for some reason they all turn out to be masculine. (Though I am probably dreadfully and completely 100% wrong on this). Take the following dozen that I do know the names of – every one of them is masculine:

1. le champagne
2. le Cointreau – the triple sec liqueur with an orange flavour, drunk neat on ice
3. le jus de fruits
4. le kir = a mild aperitif named after Félix Kir, a French Resistance hero and former mayor of Dijon. It’s made with one part crème de cassis (a blackcurrant liqueur) to four parts of dry white wine
5. le kir royal - one part crème de cassis, five parts champagne
6. le kir pétillant – made with sparkling wine this time
7. le martini (une marque de vermouth rouge ou blanc)
8. le muscat - a fortified wine from muscat grapes. In the Languedoc-Roussilllon you get some really excellent versions including Muscat de Frontignan, Muscat de Lunel, Muscat de Mireval, Muscat de Rivesaltes and Muscat de St-Jean Minervois
9. le Noilly Prat - from Marseillan, the essential ingredient in a dry martini cocktail (one part Noilly Prat, two parts gin and a dash of orange bitters)
10. le pastis (liqueur d’anis), the aniseedy drink that’s intensely popular in the south of France, first commercialised by Paul Ricard in the 1930s. Talking of which, there’s le Ricard too
11. le soda
12. le whisky (or is it le whiskey?)

And that’s just for openers. The word apéritif comes from the Latin word “apertitiuvum”, apparently. Which means opener.

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CESSERAS, France – Frank and Andrea looked so happy. And healthy. A few months of bright skies, fresh air and a lack of rain will do that for you. Ever since they packed up their two cars and drove down from Ireland in the spring, their moods have brightened, they’re eating great local produce and remarking about every quarter hour how unbelievably different their live has been since leaving the depressing rain of Co. Galway behind. “You wont’ see them doing this at the Boat,” Frank often chimes. You won’t see them eating outside. You won’t see them wearing sunglasses. You won’t see them tasting affordable wines at the cave. You won’t …. You can set your watch by the delightful diatribe.

Cesseras is a warm, snug little village about 20 minutes from Narbonne, one of several little wine villages sprinkled across the valley floor and separated by huge vistas of grape vines. In fall it’s a patchwork of beautiful fall reds, oranges, yellows – each varietal of grape burns its own shade of fall hue. Beziers is nearby, as is Olonzac, a sweet town with  the bakery that opens early and the Café de Poste that makes a smart cappuccino to sip while watching the earlybirds get their weekend errands underway. Frank points out a crosswalk painted in the street between a restaurant and some tables perched on a mini plaza. “They did that so the waitresses can get across the street,” he says. “You won’t see that at the Boat.”

Frank and Andrea’s home in Cesseras is a wonderful smallish puzzle of ancient stone and mod-cons compressed into a cozy four-bedroom snug nestled against the 800-year-old tower for the wine chateau – so close you can practically touch its stone walls if you lean far enough out the couple’s kitchen windows. They’re quick to point out that the animals run the village – cats and dogs roam freely and everyone knows who they are and where they belong. All are well fed – Bart and Lisa, two cats named by Frank and Andrea, make several daily visits to the kitchen window for generous helpings of table scraps – and just about every doorway in town has a tiny food bowl at the ready for any feline or canine voyageurs who may pass.

My first night we supped on a wonderful  homemade cassoulet with some local vin rouge. Chicken, beans, sausages. Pure warmth for a chilly night. The next day we toured Minerve, a millennium old town high on a hill over the Brian Gorge. It’s a beaufiul example of old French village architecture – and sadly a hint at darker days in French history. In this particular village in 1210 the entire population was murdered on orders of the Pope – seems the Catholic Church declared the villagers heretics for their unique take on Christianity that had evolved in some ways to resemble Bhuddism (including a belief in reincarnation). All 3,000 villagers were slaughtered (except a few who managed to flee but starved themselves to death in a nearby town rather than be killed).

The town waits for an apology – 800 years later there is a move afoot locally to demand one from the current pontiff. Bon chance, mes amis.

You won’t see that at The Boat.

Bloomsbury, October 28th. A warm evening brought fourteen award-winning winemakers to the October Gallery’s art festooned salons and courtyard to celebrate the launch of French Vineyards.  Seduced by the aromas of over 50 different fine wines, the 150 or so guests came from near and far to toast the success of the book. The vignerons included:

Mathieu Mélinand (Domaine des Marrans, Fleurie)

Vincent Rapin [photo] (Domaine Valmengaux, Bordeaux)

Pascal Méli (Ch. Bujan, Côtes de Bourg)

Jacquie Franc de Ferrière (Ch. de Carbonneau, Sainte-Foy de Bordeaux)

Helen Kelly (Ch. Claribès, Sainte-Foy de Bordeaux)

Laurence Ployez (Maison Ployez-Jacquemart, Champagne)

Jonathan James (Domaine Saint Hilaire, Languedoc)

Jorje Maslakiewicz (Domaine Saint Ferréol, Languedoc)

Chantal Comte [photo] (Ch. de la Tuilerie, Costières de Nimes)

Paul Uhart (Ch. Lavanau, Côte de Duras)

…and representatives from Ch. Franc Pourret (Saint Emilion Grand Cru), Domaine Gayda (Languedoc), Ch. La Villatade (Minervois) and Clos de Caveau (Vacqueyras)

…plus a groaning tasting table of wines from Domaine Horcher (Alsace), Domaine Agapé (Alsace), Domaine de la Chapel de Vatre (Beaujolais Villages), Ch. Saint Robert (Graves), Domaine Désertaux-Ferrand (Côtes de Nuits and Meursault 1er cru), Anne Gros (Clos Vougeot grand cru), Ch. Haute Fontaine (Corbières), Mas du Soleilla (La Clape), Domaine Saint Luc (Côtes du Rhone Villages) and Saint Estève de Néri (Luberon).

My thanks go to all of the above plus Alastair Sawday [photo] and his talented, hard-working team who hosted the soirée so well.

Country: France

Region: Minervois

Vintage: 2005

Opinion: Good: 75%

Watch out if you’re walking around les Allées and la place de la Victoire in Béziers at the moment. They’re fast becoming “des zones à risques“, according to Midi Libre.

The newspaper headline suggests a major aerial bombardment has begun: “Les étourneaux sont de retour… tous aux abris!” The starlings are back … everyone to the shelters!

Each year around this time the starlings gather in this part of the Languedoc before starting their great migratory exodus across the Mediterranean.

Check out a wonderful photo on Flickr of starlings in Béziers from this time a year ago. It was taken by Paul Grand, who has plenty of other wonderfully atmospheric pictures from the Hérault. Or here’s a video from Nice, again from this time last year…

The starlings gather in huge clouds of ten to twenty thousand birds, and that means a wonderful sight as they weave their mesmerising dance in the skies.

The overall shape of the flock may be incredibly fluid and complex, yet scientists have found that each individual bird obeys very simple rules. Isn’t nature wonderful? Think of it as nature’s equivalent of the Tour de France.

“It sounds an awful lot like cycling in a racing peloton, but with the addition of altitude between the racers.”

- comment on Birdsandscience.blogspot.com

Meanwhile for some humans there are more  “down to earth” problems. These big flocks also mean a good deal of noise – and a lot of droppings. So all kinds of methods are attempted to scare them away, from rockets to sirens and even buzzards, but nature is too resilient for all that.

In the early morning the giant flocks arrive in the vineyards to forage for the remaining grapes. In French they are called les étourneaux. But un étourneau doesn’t just mean starling – it  has connotations of birdbrains, scatterbrains, featherbrains.

Perhaps it’s because they get a little tipsy from the snifters of  alcohol inside the wrinkled raisins.

Étourneau cocktail

And perhaps it’s no coincidence that l’étourneau is also the name of a very obscure cocktail.

Mix 1.5 fluid ounces of gin with 0.75 oz  of  yellow chartreuse and 0.5 oz calvados. Stir over ice and strain into a cocktail glass. Top with 4 oz  sparking wine or champagne. Enjoy.

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We woke up to sun today, happy that The Weatherman still can’t get it right even in the 21st century. A day of hiding from the elements quickly transformed into this little journey.

I’d been meaning to get up to this area for a long, long time, but until now the dreaded crowds kept me away. Well, luckily the French are much like the rest of the world and do their sightseeing when everybody else is doing it – namely, not on November 1.

This is looking down at Navacelles, the mediaeval village where we started our hike. The geology of the area is interesting, and you can educate yourself here, if you want. This gorge is super isolated, mainly due to the terrible condition of the two roads coming into it. They are both basically just paved donkey trails – lots of fun on a motorcycle, but thankfully impossible for tour buses.

It was a beautiful late fall day today, as evidenced by these pictures, I hope. Last year it was the vine leaves that shocked me with their multitude of vibrant colors. This year it is the garrigue, the predominant type of vegetation around here.

The hike we did today wound its way along the river valley to an ancient, unused mill, which had really informative signs in French, and really humorous ones in English…here I thought the Japanese had a monopoly on screwing up our language. France is proving me wrong.

Here’s the tightly-crammed village of Navacelles as we were leaving.

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Yesterday I mentioned the McDonald’s “Just passing by” ad which is currently running on British TV, and how you couldn’t imagine a French version of it.

This big global brand has had its problems in “McDonaldising” France, and some of the TV commercials by McDonalds France are still a bit stone age compared with that latest UK one.

That’s not to say McDonalds isn’t big in France. It’s huge. The French love McDonalds.

To outsiders this may seem a strange contradiction. Are we talking about La Belle France, the country that gave us haute cuisine, charming bistros and brasseries, fantastic wine and cheese, wonderful markets, the aroma of freshly baked bread slowly wafting down the street from the village boulangerie etc etc etc? Le fast food, surely, is the very opposite of all this?

Yet France is a country bursting with contradictions. It is  well able to absorb foreign things such as Big Macs and give them its own Gallic twist.

McDonalds: France is full of contradictions

McDonalds opened its first French outlet in Strasbourg 30 years ago – around the time its first restaurant opened in Dublin’s Grafton Street too – and the multinational now has 1,140 outlets across France.

It’s the country’s largest private-sector employer, and a growing section of the population has fallen under the spell of Le Big Mac.

One million French people buy from McDonalds every day, and the global headquarters has sat up and taken notice of the amazing growth figures.

McDonalds has reached saturation point in the US. It has been feeling the pinch elsewhere, and on Saturday it served its last “(un)happy meals” at its three restaurants in Iceland. But McDonalds France keeps on growing.

It’s the second most profitable area in the world after the one in the US, and French customers are the world’s biggest spenders: an average visit comes to about $15 (€10), compared with $4 (€3) in the US.

In the Languedoc there are McDonalds  everywhere – from Carcassonne to Narbonne, Agde, Serignan, Béziers and Pezenas. Last month McDonalds France also unveiled plans to open a restaurant in the commercial mall under the Louvre in Paris. Le Big Mac, at the heart of France’s most celebrated cultural symbol? Shame! Scandal! Yet in France this was hardly a big deal.

José Bové

Sure, there have been some anti-globalisation protests, such as the one by  José Bové. This farmer and activist hit the international headlines in 1999 after he dismantled a McDonalds in Millau (in the Midi-Pyrénées). The protest raised awareness about the multinational’s use of hormone-treated beef, and Bové later ran for President.

After Bové’s demo, the local French management undertook a damage limitation exercise and began localising the brand.

In 2001 they launched a cheeky promotional campaign, replacing Ronald McDonald with Astérix, the beloved cartoon character whose thick handlebar moustache just happens to be similar to Bové’s. In fact, Astérix was Bové’s nickname.

Making French fries more French

While McDonalds may be a huge global brand, the local French management looked at other ways to tailor the brand to French tastes.

“It has been tough for us to become integrated in the French market,” admits Eric Gravier, vice-president, corporate affairs, of McDonald’s France. “The focus we had at the beginning was to open more stores and to get suppliers, and we were attacked because we had this image of globalisation.”

To dispel this, says Gravier, French McDonald’s restaurants have dropped the “flashy yellow and red and lights” and become “a cosy place with nice, warm colours with free wireless, where you might like to stay for an hour.”
- “Why did France fall in love with McDonald’s?”, the Guardian, 24 July 2008

For a start, take the name. In France it’s not really McDonalds. It’s McDo (pronounced mac-DOUGH). Shorter, more slangy, hip, local.

Then there’s the latest tagline, “Venez comme vous êtes”, sounding more like a Nirvana song or a Benetton slogan than the prevous more global “C’est tout ce que j’aime” (I’m loving it).

Next, look at the interiors. Again, McDonalds France tore up the head office rulebook. It  spent lavishly to refit restaurants with chic and funky interiors – and extras such as music videos that entice customers to linger – LINGER! – over their meals. BusinessWeek drooled over its success.

McDo menus

Finally check out the local McDo menus. Despite American tourists assuring you that the McDonalds in France is “just the same as back home”, there are plenty of subtle differences. They include Le P’tit Moutarde and Le Royal Deluxe, which move more towards French tastes in mustard.

The P’tit Dej’ (breakfast – petit dejeuner) includes crossiant type meals alongside the waffles and pancakes and the Bacon et Egg McMuffin

You can even get a croque monsieur (Croque McDo), or a beer or espresso coffee, and Evian or Perrier water. The Jambon Beurre (slices of ham on a crusty buttered baguette) apparently outsells its burgers ten to one.

They’ve also started opening McCafés – standalone espresso bars offering lattes, macchiatos and so on.

McDo may be synonymous with junk food (la malbouffe) but it has managed to co-exist with more traditional French cuisine and local tastes. Some things are always universal, though, like the drive-in rip-off.

Here’s our favourite video prankster Rémi Gaillard from Montpellier (which has at least seven McDonalds), showing how to get a free meal at a McDo in these tough economic times…

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My daily French lessons include reading at least one article in depth from Midi Libre. This morning I was hooked by a headline that went: “Arnaquée par un faux Don Juan sur le net”.

In other words, “Scammed by a fake Don Juan on the Net”. What I didn’t expect was for a poor single mum to be rolled in flour…

Let’s start with the headline. Simple enough: “arnaquer” means to swindle, rip off, or even to nab or arrest.

The story’s intro then gets straight to the point…

Cette jeune femme de Frontignan (Hérault) s’est fait escroquer de 1 500 euros

This young woman from Frontignan (Hérault) was cheated out of €1,500.

It goes on…

L’arnaque amoureuse est déjà bien douloureuse mais lorsqu’elle se double d’une escroquerie financière, la pilule est dure à avaler. Six mois après, Aurélie, cheveux noirs coupés au carré, brillant au-dessus de la lèvre, ne décolère pas.

Yes, a love scam is painful enough but when it doubles as a financial scam, the pill is hard to swallow. Six months later, Aurélie, black hair cut square, gloss over the lips, is still raging. (OK, I think I might have messed up the “lip gloss” bit of the translation – it would have helped if she had turned around for the photo – see above).

Une quarantaine d’autres femmes, de Frontignan mais aussi Castelnau-le-Lez et Montpellier, se sont fait rouler dans la farine par ce Don Juan, beau parleur, bel homme, qui draguait sur internet.

Around 40 other women, from Frontignan as well as Castelnau-le-Lez and Montpellier, were rolled in flour by this Don Juan, a well spoken, handsome man, who was trawling on the internet.

Hold on. “Rolled in flour?”

Rouler dans la farine

As Clotilde Dusoulier explains in her Chocolate & Zucchini blog, rouler quelqu’un dans la farine means to dupe someone, play a trick on them, “use one’s wits and lies to take advantage of someone who’s a little naive, or not quite as smart as one is”.

So this charming little phrase basically means something along the lines of tromper, to trick. The expression comes from the early 19th century, and I still can’t get that image out of my head of this online Don Juan literally rolling 40 women in clouds of white flour.

As for draguer sur internet, you’ll come across this phrase a lot on French chat/dating websites (no, I don’t hang out on them – I just googled it), and often it goes hand in hand with la séduction.

So “draguer sur internet” has something to do with chatting up, flirting or “hitting on” someone online. The report ends:

La leçon est dure mais Aurélie le jure : elle n’ira plus draguer sur internet.

It’s a tough lesson but Aurélie swears she will not be dragged, chatted up or dredged (or is it dredging?) over the internet.