Pause for Purpose

Mark K October 24th, 2007

We visited the farmer’s market in Mirepoix to buy ingredients for dinner that our group will prepare under the supervision of chef Heidi.

In the culinary world, the term “mirepoix” means a combination of onions, carrots, and celery which is the base of many dishes. It is named after the chef of the duke of Levis-Mirepoix, the same place where we are today shopping for onions, carrots, and celery among other things.

The city of Mirepoix is unique because of its half-timbered houses and arcades supported by ancient oak beams. Many of the buildings in the market area date from the 1200′s and the beams look every bit that old!

Heidi, with the help of a local French chef, Jean Luc, selected the ingredients for tonight’s dinner. The idea was to see what was available and let that determine what the menu would be.

Something that you wouldn’t likely see in an American farmer’s market were crates full of live ducks and chickens from which you could choose. We decided to opt for butchered meat at the butcher shop under the arcade.

The prize find for the day was the mushroom seller who had a selection of cepes (French for porcinis), some of which were the size of your head. We had been told that you aren’t allowed to touch the produce or choose your own in French markets, but we found that not to be the case here.

One thing that was similar to our farmer’s markets was that there some booths run by Hispanics, including one who was selling his own CDs of Bolivian folk music. We had a short conversation in Spanish, which sounded SO clear to me after a week of struggling with French.

Here is the menu of our dinner, created from the ingredients purchased at the Mirepoix farmer’s market:

Sauteed mushrooms (cepes) on toast with roasted garlic
Pork, with apples, ginger and roasted root vegetables
Haricot verts with carmelized shallots
Citrus olive oil cake

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Mark K October 24th, 2007

Limoux is the area where sparkling wine – blanquette de Limoux – was first invented, long before the idea was “borrowed” by the people of the Champagne region. This picture was taken in Emile Satge’s blanquette tasting room down the street form our hotel. We had been invited to join the neighborhood in preparing chestnuts for the celebration of the end of the wine grape harvest to be held in the town square tomorrow night. We were issued knives and told to cut a small slit in the side of each chestnut, so that it wouldn’t explode when roasted.

The French people were gathered at the far end of the room and we Americans closer to the door. We would grab a chestnut from a bin, make the cut and then toss it into one of the buckets on the floor. When we finished, we felt a bit awkward because we couldn’t communicate with the others very well, so we returned to our hotel.

Emile Satge is well know in the region not only for distributing blanquette, but because he was a member of the local rugby team which in 1968 became champions of France. He’s a huge man with strong beefy hands and a booming voice. A few minutes after we left, there was a knock on our hotel door – it was Emile, telling us very loudly in both French and English that we would return to his tasting room to enjoy a glass of blanquette with the others. Since it looked like he would carry us back if we didn’t come on our own accord, we quickly agreed.

Some of us made timid efforts to “work the room” and mingle with the locals. Afterwards, I regretted that I hadn’t jumped in to the middle of the locals and started a conversation, even if I would be butchering the language right along with the chestnuts!

A photographer from the local newspaper come by while we were working and took our picture. The picture was published in todays paper and I’m imagining that the headline said something like, “Knife-wielding Americans Attack Chestnuts in the South of France.”

Tags: blanquette, Limoux

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Mark K October 23rd, 2007

Renaud is the chef at a hunting lodge in a small village of Bugarach. We were his guests and assistants as he prepared the meat, seafood, and produce for our meal. Most of the ingredients came from his garden, his chicken and duck coop, or from someone he knows, such as the hunter who supplied the wild boar. We gained some firsthand experience about what a fattened duck’s liver looks like, how to prepare foie gras, how to clean squid (including removing the ink) and how to roast a boar’s leg on an open spit. After a tour of his garden, he finished off the boar meat by dripping flaming fat over the meat in order to eliminate some of the gamey flavor.

The menu

Smoked salmon
Foie gras
Squid ragout prepared in its own ink
Rice pilaf with local peppers
Stuffed garden tomatoes
Duck stuffed with peaches
Spit roasted wild boar
Sausage panade stuffed mussels
Cranberry charlotte with pear sorbet

Tags: Bugarach, hunting lodge, open spit, wild boar

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Mark K October 20th, 2007

I was fascinated by the stands that could be found throughout Paris, with a row of “Velib” rental bicycles parked side-by side.

“Velib” is short for “velo libre” or “velo liberte”, meaning “free bicycle” or “bicycle freedom”. While the bikes are not free, they are modeled after similar free bicycle programs which have been initiated in Holland and other countries.

In Amsterdam, in the 1960’s, the city government tried to institute a “white bicycle” plan, in which hundreds of bicycles were painted white and parked around the city center where residents were welcome borrow one, ride it to a destination, and leave it for the next person to use. Similar “yellow” or “orange” bike programs were instituted in other countries, including cities in the United States. They were always vulnerable to the same problem – theft. The bikes would soon disappear, becoming the property of some enterprising bike thief.

In July of 2007, Paris began the Velib program. This is how it works: There are 10,000 bikes available at 750 hire points throughout Paris, each containing at least 15 bikes. To use the program, you need to subscribe at a rate of 1 Euro for a day, 5 Euros for a week, or 20 Euros for a year. When you want to rent a bike, you identify yourself on the machine at the hire point, unlocking the bike from the rack where it is attached. The first half-hour of riding is free, and then your credit card is charged for each subsequent half-hour. The rate starts at 1 Euro for each half hour and increases to 4 Euros per half hour – this is because the system is intended to keep the bikes in circulation. If you decide to keep the bike indefinitely, it’s going to cost you a fortune!

The bikes have a very distinctive look, with heavy-duty fenders and splash guards and built in head and tail lights. During the transit strike, while we were visiting, you would see hire stations with no bikes, as Parisians were scrambling to find a way to get to work. Almost none of the riders were wearing helmets, but they all seemed to be very proficient riders as they threaded in and out of traffic. It was clear that this was a means of transportation and not merely exercise or recreation.

I didn’t have the courage to rent one of these bikes and join the fray, but now that I know how the system works, I’ll think I’ll give it a try on my next visit to Paris. I’ll be curious to see if this system catches on in the U.S. It’s very similar to the Zipcar program which is available in San Francisco and other cities, but it remains to be seen if a community bicycle program will take hold in our automobile-dominated society.

Tags: Community, travel

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Mark K October 19th, 2007

There is a strike in France today. The newspaper says that it was an especially bad day for the French president. He and his wife announced their divorce, and transit workers throughout the country have gone on strike to protest reductions in retirement plans for public workers.
How has that affected me? First of all, I have blisters on both of my feet, and secondly, it has reminded me that I need to slow down.
Actually, it took three things to remind me to slow down. The first, was the aforementioned blisters, caused by marching from my hotel, along the Seine to the D’Orsay museum (closed due to the strike) and then another mile or two to the Eiffel Tower. Then it was my wife, reminding me that I was the guy who was all about pausing, not running from sight to sight with my nose buried in a guidebook. But the last reminder was the most mysterious – a rugby ball which seemingly flew into my hand from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
After trudging to the Eiffel Tower, I was determined to get a good picture. Because of the curving of the Seine River, you can’t really see the tower until you’re right on top of it. Then, of course, it’s too huge to fit into the viewfinder of your camera. The world cup of rugby is going on in Paris right now and there was a huge tv screen partway up the tower, showing highlights from the games. Across the river, some sponsors had set up a hospitality tent for rugby fans with souvenirs for sale, free beer, and loud rock music. Some rugby fans in New Zealand uniforms were outside playing with a rugby ball as I climbed several flights of stairs to a plaza high above them where I could take a picture of the tower across the river.
So there I stood, trying to figure out (unsuccessfully) how to change the contrast on my camera, when a rugby ball fell out of nowhere, hitting me in the hands and almost making me drop my camera. Somewhere far below me, some beer addled Kiwi was probably congratulating himself on the powerful kick that had propelled the ball to my perch.
As annoyed as I was, I couldn’t help but think that there might have been a message behind the blow – slow down, take your face away from the viewfinder and out of the guidebook and look around you. That’s the Eiffel Tower in front of you if you’ll just take the time to notice.
Yesterday, the streets were filled with commuters trying to get around despite the strike. They have these bike rental stands around the city where you can rent a bike, ride it somewhere else and leave it at the next stand. So many people were desperate to get to work or back home that the rental bikes were all gone. You could even see people on roller blades and adults riding scooters to work! Today, the strike must be slackening because the rental bikes are all back in their racks and I haven’t seen a scooter all day.
My feet still hurt and my wife’s legs ache, but that’s just causing us to walk slower, stay in our neighborhood, and pay attention to the little things. It just took a few blisters and a rugby ball falling out of the sky to knock some sense into me!

Tags: Paris transit strike

• cultural diversity , slowing down
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