This is the last of three posts about a BBC programme concerning the history of France and it's food. Once again, it has some yucky ideas about what is or is not edible. Also, in following up my notes, I found other bits of interest on the internet not included in the BBC broadcast.
The show actually began with a story about Francois Mitterrand (President of France, in the 80s and early 90s). Upon learning that he was to have surgery for his prostate cancer, he held a banquet where Ortalan Buntings were served. This was illegal in France at the time, as they are an endangered species of bird.
The programme described that the birds were first drowned in brandy before being cooked; being extremely small, the birds are then served whole. The (whole) bird is put into the mouth with the head hanging out of one's lips and chewed. The programme showed the rather bizarre sight of everyone at the table wearing a large napkin hanging over their faces. This was so that God would not see the shameful thing they were doing. Shameful for killing these exquisite little birds, you understand, not the grotesque act of eating it whole. It was said that when chewing the bird one could taste its entire life – grain from this region, the pure water from that, etc., etc.
Mitterrand loved this dish so much he had two helpings, the last food he ever ate. I practically think it serves him right. I couldn’t help but wonder if the big napkin didn’t serve the function of helping someone pretend to eat, but actually throw the disgusting thing under their chair.
The programme went a long way in explaining the wealthier end of French food, food fit for a king, etc. I suppose part of showing one’s wealth is having access to exotic food. Still, much of what the French call a delicacy, many would call inedible. I still hold that keeping this wide range of possibilities in one’s diet is a psychological safety net, should a period of famine return. If I could only learn to eat snails, should my stockpiled pantry be empty, I’d be all set for winter here in England, snails being the prevailing feature of my back garden, I sometimes think.
The programme mentioned Careme a number of times, indicating he was the main influence for the development of haute cuisine as we know it today...or as rich folks do anyhow. Careme is also credited with the development of the chef's hat,
or toque blanc. I enjoyed reading about his relatively short (48 years) life as I learned that he designated the original four mother sauces; some version of the first 3 formed the backbone of my first efforts to cook. I say first 3 because I break all the rules. For one, I'm as likely to use oil or margarine instead of butter for the roux. I'm pretty sure chicken stock from a cube and skimmed milk don't figure large in French haute cuisine either, but we like the results OK. The fourth sauce is comprised of egg yolks and cream and is not likely to happen in this house very often, though I did attempt something similar to use up egg yolks left over from making angel food cake. The sauce was OK, but nowhere nearly worth the trouble. I settled on cooking the egg yolks and chopping them up for a rice dish the next time.I also learned that 'gastronomy' is defined as 'the study of the relationship between culture and food.' Does that mean then that 'gastropubs' over here have some more erudite significance than that they serve meals? The other thing I thought interesting about Careme is that he was set a test to create a whole year’s worth of menus, without repetition, and using only seasonal produce. One could almost start to label him 'frugal', but I'm sure this is not the case. It would be interesting to see what he came up with, however.
Of course, the influx of KFC and McDonald’s has taken its toll on French restaurants. I’m guessing, too, that France has succumbed to the work-all-hours, live-fast, cram-it-all-in lifestyle that it didn’t seem to have yet done when I first came across. For me, part of eating well in a restaurant means taking one’s time and being served in an attractive setting, preferably without screaming children. Don't get me wrong, I do like the taste of fast food, but I guess since these eating establishments began in the US we don't need to label them basse cuisine.
The programme ended with a brief mention of the current president of France. According to them, Sarkozy is not a foodie, he actually exercises, he’s friendly with Britain and America. In short, he is almost positively un-French. However, they concluded that he was ‘modern’ and probably just what is needed to pull France into the 21st century. (Also, he has a very interesting-to-watch wife.) Whatever his 'shortcomings' as a French president, in my opinion, anything is better than a Sun King who dines all night while others starve to death.
This is the second part of the information presented in the BBC programme which I started writing about here.
The narrator said he didn’t think it was the poor who benefited from the French revolution in 1789 so much as the middle classes. They were now top dog: the merchants, the lawyers, etc. They had money to spend and this was when the French restaurant was born.
By the way, the word restaurant comes from the French verb restaurer, meaning "to restore". Perhaps American restaurants, with their increasingly absurd portions should consider that the French verb 'a farcir' (to stuff) is also the source of 'farce'...but I digress.
Les Halles must have been an interesting place, originally a huge market in the centre of Paris. If you’ve only ever been in an American supermarket, wonderful places though they unquestionably are, you’ve missed out on the experience of a European market, with all the individual stalls each selling their own individual speciality. I always think it is a special tribute to the entrepreneurial spirit. Markets are really fun, not to mention fascinating and often extremely frugal. Anyhow, the programme described this giant market that was main source of food for Parisian restaurants. Most business was conducted at night as restaurateurs prepared for business in the early morning hours. It was a sort of underground society. They also mentioned that must have stunk – all that meat and produce and the less than hygienic conditions back then! According to Wikipedia, the original LesHalles was torn down in 1971 and is now an underground shopping mall.
The narrator then visited Lyon, which he said was the gastronomic capital of France. Mind, I didn’t care for many of the dishes they described, but the conversations – with subtitles – with the chefs were entertaining. The chefs aren’t a shy and retiring lot, though who would be with a galaxy of Michelin stars? Bill and I did a cycling holiday in France once. Given the quality of the bikes, etc., we thought it was a bit on the pricey side, until we realised we were staying in hotels that all had Michelin chefs. I easily consumed about a million more calories than I burned on that trip!
Apparently the Michelin man who sells automobile tires is the same one who grants restaurant stars; I think I’d assumed it was a coincidence about the name. The programme said this came about after the development of the motor car, of course. It started as an advertising gimmick to get people out and about to restaurants in the country by car. The original Michelin guide recommended brandy or beer to help the driver fight fatigue!
According to this TV programme, France’s cuisine was actually broadened with the loss of Alsace-Lorraine to Germany in 1870 (and they didn't mean the zoo menu). Losing that territory to Germany resulting in bringing beer, sausages and other German delicacies into the French diet. Also, the concept of a brasserie (French for brewery!) was developed, an eating establishment that was slightly more upscale than a bistro.
Similarly, the influx of Algerians in the 1960s brought North African food, particularly couscous, to France. A foremost Algerian chef, a woman whose name I didn't get, stated that if one ate the food of another culture, one understood that culture better. I like the idea she expresses, but I’m not sure that having eaten steak tartare (and all the while wondering if I was actually eating beef, though whatever it was it tasted fine, thank you) gave me any real insight into French culture. Losing my passport in Paris and going to the police department showed me a lot, however. Bill’s visit with me to the U.S. Embassy in Paris gave him a major cultural experience as well! I shall have to write about that very exciting day some time.
Back to the subject of restaurants and culture, there is a particular restaurant Bill and I love in Monmartre, the name of which I could not for the life of me remember, but he managed to find it on the internet, bless him! It is the Restaurant Chartier at 7 Rue du Faubourg.
We first went there with the running club back in 1996 when we all did the Paris to Versailles race. A couple of years later, Bill and I had spent a week in Paris and we went back to Restaurant Chartier for dinner. I still remember when the whole room seemed to grow quieter.
A slim, older woman in a suit and heels with a fur stole over her shoulders walked in and went to a table at the rear. It seemed to me that every single person in the restaurant watched her. I'm guessing she was in her 60's. She looked like something out of a 1940s war movie. It was partly her clothes, but mostly her walk: slow, elegant, graceful. She had such an air of mystery, but also of confidence, one wanted to go sit with her and hear what she had to say. I wanted to know about her life, where she lived, what she had done, what she carried in her purse. It was at that point that I understood why French culture appreciates ‘women of a certain age’.
This is another post about a programme we watched a few weeks ago on BBC's iPlayer. It’s been a few weeks since I drafted this and I didn’t think to note the name of the programme, but never mind. I will long remember the content and, if I write this up at all well, perhaps so will you. Mind, some of it is a bit gory, so be warned!
So, what is it about the French and their food? Apparently it all began with Louis the 14th (1638-1715), the Sun King, whom the programme quoted as having said ‘I AM The State’ (Wikipedia says this is historically inaccurate). He is also the builder of Versailles, not exactly a humble undertaking. The size of this man’s ego is difficult to actually comprehend.
Apparently he formed the habit of eating dinner, a vast number of courses all exquisitely prepared, in front of his court where they could all watch him eat with wonder and awe. Image was all, in his book. This took him from night into the wee hours of the next day to do. It was all about ‘Look at me. Look how well I eat.’ This BBC programme said that this was when and where the benchmark was first set, requiring that French food be fit for a king.
Of course there was a steep divide between the royalty and the peasants. The latter lived on watery vegetable soup with, on a good day, a lump of pig fat; in hard times they ate rats. In fact, there was a premium paid for brewery rats; after all, they ate grain, more desirable than your average sewer rat. I know someone who has eaten guinea pig, but never met anyone who admitted to consuming rat; how far a jump would that be?
Fast forward to Louis the 16th (1754-1793) and his wife Marie Antoinette. She didn’t actually say ‘Let them eat cake’. It was brioche she was suggesting (sort of a sugary bread) and it was a practical idea in that it takes less flour to make brioche than bread. However, in the heat of a revolution no one wanted to give her any credit and ‘Let them eat cake’ was held as the perfect example of how stupid the upper classes were and how heartless about the conditions of the poor.
They were to a large extent a heartless lot, mind. There was a tale of Louis XIV's chef, Francois Vatel, who had made his reputation feeding the Sun King these amazing meals. Louis decided to have a banquet for ‘2000 of his nearest and dearest friends’ as it were. It was to be on a Friday, when there had to be fish; even the aristocracy had to bow to the church. The fish had to come some long distance from the sea and if the weather were bad it might not arrive. The chef, thinking it hadn’t and his reputation was in tatters not to mention that his boss would be upset, committed suicide, slicing his femoral artery with a kitchen knife. Ironically, the fish did arrive very shortly thereafter. The guests had their feast and comments all around were how delicious it was, shame about the chef, but you know those artistic types… You can read a bit more about the Chef Vatel here.
Under Napoleon III (1808-1873), France lived very well. Then came the German invasion. During the 1870 Seige of Paris, starvation was again a very real problem. Except for at one particular restaurant, Voison, on the rue Saint Honore, where there was a zoo involved.
I read a historical novel once (Burning Paris, by Nicholas Blincoe) that included this business, so it was the second time I'd come across the story. Monkey brains, elephant soup and kangaroo were all on the menu. (Well, some people eat kangaroo today, don’t they?)
According to the programme, there was a story which circulated of a woman whose two children had died of starvation and she was soon to follow, so she cooked them and ate for a few weeks. She was discovered and carted off to prison but the neighbours moved in and made soup from the bones. I don’t know if the story is true, but perhaps it is possible. (Though I read recently that the Donner party probably didn’t actually resort to cannibalism after all).
My point is, most of us have no idea about real hunger. I’m pretty certain in saying that about people who sit at computers in their homes. To have that recurring problem of starvation in one’s history it’s no wonder that a nation could become obsessed with food.
