Christmas and kisses...

(It snowed on the morning of the 26th...big fat fluffly flakes, but was gone by the afternoon - the view of the snow - not in all its glory from our window)

 

So it came and went. P and I spent a quiet, but gastronomically indulgent christmas season.  2 versions of a christmas meal, a french one on christmas eve involving oysters, scallops, duck, creamed chard and other coronary damaging foods and a more familiar dinner of turkey and the associated trimmings for Christmas dinner.  I should also say that I've been doing a lot of "experimental" baking in our toaster oven and we now have a (tiny) freezer full of christmas baking to last us through to the new year.  

Our Christmas night was made a little more exciting by a sudden power outage in our apartment (we were cooking) - everything in the fusebox looked right and the lights in the apartment building on our floor were on...so we had no choice but to knock on Monsieur Boudon's door and ask for help.  M. Boudon lives on the 1st floor of our building and is something of an informal "keeper" of the building.  We were introduced when we first moved in and were told to go to him if we ever needed anything.  M. boudon has a clear, booming french voice (only french) and is an amalgamation of a Hans Moleman in his "youth" and a  character from the "Guess Who" boardgame.  Does your person have small eyes?  Does your person have a big nose?  Is your person impossibly french and exactly the type of short and slightly pudgy person to run your french apartment building?  Is it M. Boudon?!  When we told him that our electricity had cut out, he shuddered at the thought of going up the stairs to the fourth floor, but nevertheless, put on some shoes and brought along a flashlight.  It was a quick fix after all.  Nothing to do with the breakers, but rather a giant button that was apparently linked to the main generator.  It wasn't the first time M. Boudon saved us, so in a panic, I looked around the cupboards for a "thanks/merry christmas" kind of treat.  (Un)fortunately, all we had were some chocolates that we had picked out for christmas from a nice shop...we shyly presented it to him and he refused, but we said that it was a little gift for christmas...he couldn't really refuse.  I got some christmas kisses from him and with a handshake for Paul, he went back to his flat.  Not that we were in need of sweets for christmas or anything and we were more than happy to give them to him...but we kinda missed those chocolates - I'd handpicked each one.

We've made some friends here (through someone from Paris we had met in Berlin) and have since gone out a couple times with them.  Yay for friends!  I was scolded on the first night we'd met because I put out my hand for a handshake and they said, "put that away, you're in France and a girl - you kiss".  Alas, I've been initiated into the world of bisous.  From that point on, it was kisses.  You know, I was wondering about that, if I was going to do them and how it was all going to go down, but it was all good.  I feel 10% frencher.  We went out for drinks the other night with 2 guys and by the end of the evening even P was being kissed goodbye.    

Produce from the market on the morning of Christmas eve.  We went to the madhouse that is Christmas Eve at Les Halles Victor Hugo for the seafood and duck.  Imagine a covered market with stalls of seafood, butcher counters, cheese stands and bakers..and then imagine it packed with frenetic french people clamouring for their christmas food.  Oysters were being sold like chocolates in the shops, each displayed in their own wooden crates ranging from 6 to 20 euro/dozen.  

Pain d'epice (spice cake) from the Christmas market.  This is to die for as it is, and transcendent in a trifle with port and prunes (we had enough trifle to last 4 days - no complaints).  A sexier dessert, I cannot think of.  It's hard to say why this is so mindblowingly delicious - maybe it's the dense texture, or the spicy and at times licorice-y tones...whatever it is, i am sad that no one at home can have a taste and confirm that I'm not crazy for being so seduced by this cake.  There is no shame in being hot and bothered by this cake.  NO SHAME.

This was our Canadian christmas for 2.  We did herbed turkey breast wrapped in bacon accompanied by its groupies.  Christmas in France was a little surreal, and it wasn't until we sat down at this meal that we felt it was Christmas.  Didn't take any pictures of the fancy french dinner - which was a little hairy during the plating and preparation, what with the oysters being shucked and having to deal with all that hot, rendered fat from the duck. 

Vin chaud anyone?

Daytime visit to the Christmas market.  Je voudrais hot in my wine and gizzard confit in my potato.

Hot spiced wine.  Try weaving through the throngs of people with a full glass of hot red wine - we actually chickened out and pulled off to the side until it was a little less full.  Yes.  That's gizzard confit on my baked potato.  Confit means to slow cook in duck or goose fat to preserve things.  Aside from preserving it, it also makes things tender and about 25Xs tastier, but animal fats will do that to things.

"l'esgoulade".  Country style bread, with cancoillotte and shavings of some strong, aged, hard stuff.  They get it bubbly and brown under the grill and then crack the crusty top so that the splash of armagnac has somewhere to go.

It's hot...and delicious.  Winner.

Even ten-thousandsdaires experience culture shock...

I came across a website for Americans in Toulouse and they had an entire page devoted to culture shock.  It's defined by an anthropologist in the 60s as, “the anxiety that results from losing familiar signs and symbols of social intercourse.”  Lacking an active social life (and probably suffering from a mild case of culture shock), I was quick to wrap myself up in the melodrama of being in culture shock.  The general indications for Month 1 was accurate for the most part.  Month 2 sounds depressing and Month 3 is supposed to be marked by depression and weightgain.  P, being my (self-procalimed) "voice of reason", said that we're not in culture shock.  A lack of confidence borne from my foreign surroundings didn't allow me to contest his denial.  Culture shock or not, things are different here.  Some differences good, some bad.

It was somewhat of a miracle that we managed to find a place in a week, without the use of a rental agency...  (read more)

supermarket desserts

Check out what I found in the dessert aisle of the supermarket.  2 servings for 2 euros.  2 little squares of cold velvety chocolate fondant.

Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) good.  

Each fondant came with its own little pot of creme anglaise (obviously), no self-respecting supermarket would sell chocolate fondant on it's own - I would never shop at such a base establishment.

Oysters are a Christmas food here.  They're everywhere and in all forms in baskets at the markets.  These are No. 3 oysters from Brittany, 6.50/dozen.

Cold, briny and melony.  I made 2 different mignonettes to try - but I think they were best with lemon...and white wine of course.  I muscled through opening 8 of them, and then had to get P to finish opening the rest.  The oyster knife is sharp, the oyster shells are sharp and we were using excessive force.  After the ordeal, we decided that we needed to have the emergency numbers handy...in case of oyster-related injuries.

If you're sick of food, here's a picture from a walk we took the other day.  It's just moss and plants growing on the side of a brick building.

Because I like it...

I'm posting some random pictures about food...because I like it.  Giving our wallets (and the ailing Canadian dollar) a rest, we've been eating in a lot.  No matter, I love it.  I've been thinking about food a little too much these days, but it's really not my fault.  There is so much of it everywhere, and so many intriguing things call my name when I walk by them at the market.  Even though I can't take everything home with me that same day, I can at least say a little prayer for it and bring them home next time.  I tried pan-roasting duck for the first time.  Scary at first, all that fat and just my little toaster oven to finish.  But it all went off without a hitch and everything turned out parfait.  I made a sauce from some red wine, star anise and figs (well aren't I fancy?).  As promised, some random pictures of food:

I picked up a salted pig knuckle for 60 cents - threw it in a pot of cold water with celery tops, a carrot, an onion and the green tops of the leeks.  3 magical hours later - stock.

A kilo of mussels cost us 4 euros, and a good half hour of scrubbing and de-bearding.

The steamy un-veiling.  Moules Mariniere: shallots, butter, parsley and white wine

We had run out of olive oil that day...oh, but hang on what about that little jar of duck fat in the fridge.  These are "charlotte" potatoes - parboiled, tossed in duck fat and then roasted in the oven.  Not too shabby for a frites substitute.  Besides, who actually deepfries at home anyways?

Apartment photos...

It's a little plain, but it's the way we like it and it's a place to hang our hats.  Don't have pictures of the kitchen or bathroom...but they are both new and spacious.  The kitchen is really a dream by french apartment standards (especially since we're in a studio apartment).  It's got a large window and more counter space than I know what to do with.  

You can see the corner of the kitchen at the other end of the apartment, the frame of the window is just visible to the left of the hood.

Our bedroom...er bedtent.

Livingroom.

View from the front door.  Windows are small, but luminous.

Mystery market

About a week and a half ago, when we first got to Toulouse to look for an apartment there were some mysterious stirrings at the Place du Capitole.  The Capitole is located in the very centre of Toulouse and boasts a large open space for exhibition, markets and impressing girls on your scooters and motor bikes, popping wheelies.  Large restaurants line the perimeter of the Place and the small curvey streets that make up the centre of Toulouse all radiate from…or lead to the Capitole.

The mystery consisted of some temporary fencing and what looked like small, neat wooden cabins stacked together in a solid square, a cabin condo on one floor.  There would be new development each day, the cabins would be moved from one end to another and there was always work going on in the fenced area, but with little clue as to what was actually being done.  Then a small sheet of ice was put down in one corner, the cabins spaced apart forming small rows…then some lights, and then they were open!  Well, duh.  Of course.  CHRISTMAS MARKET!!!  Most open-air markets that we’ve experienced so far are set up and torn down on a daily basis, so what may be a bustling market scene on Sunday morning, will be completely cleared out and restored back into the parking lot of a church or a little square by 2 in the afternoon.  The Christmas market is on every day until 8 in the evening from now until Christmas Eve.  What do you think I like best about the market?  Oh, could it be the aligot and truffade?  How about the mugs of hot spiced wine…no, maybe a slice of some spice cake sold by weight?  We walked by rows of specialty cabins selling hot chocolate, fried ham/bacon sandwiches with fried onions, and giant slices of country levain bread under some creamy substance and grated cheese broiled open-faced, advertised as a “slice of tradition”.  Don’t even get me started on the baked potatoes topped with your choice of gizzard confit, fried duck skin, or ham/cheese/tomato & crème fraiche.

P and I solemnly declared to try every Christmas market street food item between now and Christmas eve, and whether you like it or not – I’m going to tell you about it. We went where the line-up was longest, so first up: aligot.  Basic components: mashed potatoes whipped with cheese (in the style of cantal, laguiole or salers – you can get it at Les Amis du Fromage in Vancouver).  Remember titrations in chemistry class?  Yes.  The maximum amount of cheese that any given mass of mash potatoes would molecularly tolerate.  You wait in a long line until you come up to the counter, where a large “wok” of aligot sits steaming and stringy.  Mr. Aligot has to plop and pull the ladle high to free the cheesy mass into a small rectangular container. 2 plastic forks and 4 euro later we are pulling the stuff into our mouth like the locals do.  What struck me most was how potato-ey it tasted despite how simultaneously cheesy it was.  The texture: cheese stringy, but not chewy, soft and smooth like good mashed potatoes. But let’s call it what it really is – aligot.  *note, truffade was sold at the same place. From what I could tell, it was aligot with bacon and pieces of potatoes.    

The day before the market started - you have to imagine these things all laid out next to each other in a solid block.  You can see the framing for the ice rink just to the right of the photo.

Salade de chevre chaud...chez nous.

Moving day

18 Place de la Daurade, Toulouse.

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m typing this from my little window desk nook.  That’s right MY window desk nook.  We gave ourselves one week to find an apartment…and we did it.  In fact, we took the first and only place we saw, because the price was right and it was AWESOME.  A spacious studio, 4 floors up (sans acensur) overlooking the Place de la Daurade, the Garonne river to our right and the entire span of Pont Neuf  outside our living room windows.  It’s quiet today, like all Sundays here, and it’s hard to imagine that just 2 days ago we had rented a truck, drove out to some French suburbs to get furniture (most importantly a bed for that night) and drove it back into the city centre and moved all our stuff up 4 flights of stairs. We understood the true meaning of pain when trying to park the truck in the “hyper-centre” of Toulouse during rush hour.  Stress was at an all time max-out.  Moving all our furniture and stuff up four flights of stairs seemed like a breeze after the whole truck ordeal.  But with everything put in its place (including our backpacks which are empty and in storage) I can shudder off the whole ordeal like a bad dream and think about what to make for dinner tonight. 

We went to the market along Strasbourg Blvd. and although the market is one of the most impressive ones I’ve been to, the highlight of my shopping trip was buying a piece of butter that was cut off of a large block from the cheese/dairy vendor.  A little salty and wrapped up in a piece of wax paper, just the way I like it.  Got some basics and toted it all the way home in a basket: cheese, fruit, vegetables, olives, sundried tomatoes, a baguette and a roast chicken.  Set on the kitchen counter by the window, it’s a still life of sorts.

Pont Neuf over the Garonne from our living room window.

The view from the kitchen window.

Prince Day in Monaco and Succulent city!!

From Nice, we decided to take the 1 euro intercity bus to a small medieval town called Eze Village and then hop another bus to Monaco.  Eze village was similar to some of the other medieval villages I'd been to, except it had an AMAZING cactus and succulent garden.  Entry was 5euro and the bonus was the best view from the entire village.

This picture doesn't do this garden justice, it was one of the coolest gardens I'd been to.  A swedish prince, in the 1920s shirked his swedish, princely duties and just hung out at this site until the mid 1950s.  Saw some fine specimens of cactus, agave, aloe and other such succulents. 

 

It was Prince Day in Monaco, which meant that the Monte Carlo casino was closed.  We went to the world class Museum of Oceanography instead (Prince Albert in the early 1900 was an avid and devoted oceanographer).  The museum is part of his legacy.  This is me, trying to figure out how to work the one-person submarine developed in the second half of the 18th century.  It's as fun as it looks.

And...some amazing aquariums in the basement.  The museum is large building tucked into the cliffs, right on the water.  It was impressive, both inside and out.

Some...swell pictures of Nice

This was the view from the terrace that our room opened out to.  The first night we arrived, there was a soccer game on.  We watched the sun go down, serenaded by soccer chants.  How romantic.

Sugared fruits (glacee).  Everything can be "glaced" - kumquats, oranges, plums, pears, chestnuts...you get the point.

We had half an hour to kill before catching our ride back to the hostel...no problem, we'll just sit by the beach and watch this insanely beautiful sunset.  Easy.

The view from the other end of the beach.

I felt like chicken that night...

When deciding on a city to live in, Lyon was the one that we had in mind the entire time.  The 3^rd largest city France and known for its gastronomy and film/cinema scene – it seemed like the perfect fit.  It was an exciting place that had all those things to offer, you couldn’t walk 3 steps on any given block without coming across a restaurant, a patisserie, butcher or specialty food shop.  The city was awash in “bouchons”, or rustic little restaurants that served all things pig and regional.  Although it was exciting and offered us all that was expected, we had to weigh some important factors.  Did we want to live in a large French city when we were planning on moving to Paris in the spring?  Would Toulouse feel too sleepy after 5 months time?  Big and exciting?  Charming and quaint?  We had to endure a few tense hours – keeping in mind this was the first MAJOR decision (aside from choosing where to eat every night) we had had to make since coming to France. What it all boiled down to was this: no matter where we live for the next 5 months, it was going to be hard and it was going to be wonderful.  I won’t say just yet – you just might have to check back in a weeks time to find out where we’ve ended up.  The apartment search is on!

One of the most special things we came across while here in Lyon was the Poulet de Bresse.  I had seen it on a food network show once and was hoping to get my hands on some of it while in France, the demand is so high in France that very few chickens make it out of the country.  The Bresse chicken was the first livestock granted an AOC designation.  You might be familiar with AOC (appellation d’origine controlee), which is a designation that ensures that certain agricultural products meet very exacting standards with reference to where and how these products are produced.  Most would recognize it on some wine labels, but I was first introduced to the concept when I worked at the cheese shop - yes, cheeses have AOC designations.  Leave it to the French to promote and exalt a chicken to such a degree.  We saw them at the butchers, where they’re always proudly displayed and sold with the heads (red comb and white feathers) and feet (grey blue in colour) on.  Check out these beauties:

We went to a restaurant that specialized in Bresse chicken to see what the hype was all about.  I ordered a poulet a l’Ain a la crème (chicken of the Ain region in cream) and P got the andouillette sausage, which was another specialty of the region, made of pig intestines and other delicious pig insides.

My chicken was presented as a leg/thigh piece resting on a shallow pool of cream, garnished with 3 little pomme dauphinoise and accompanied by a bubbling ceramic dish of potato gratin.   I never had bresse chicken before, but…it was perfect!  Good job France!  Yes, keep them regulated and make sure they always taste this way!  It’s hard to describe, after all it is chicken and I can only liken it to the most chickenest tasting chicken.  If you’ve ever had chicken, steamed/boiled whole, you will know that a free-range chicken, aside from the colour, tastes different from an industrially farmed chicken.  It is a bit “gamier”, that is to say it HAS flavour…which is something we don’t seem to ask from our grocery store, boneless-skinless chicken breast in trays of 2.  I don’t know how the chicken was prepared, but I got hits of a wine-y aroma, and it wasn’t the sauce.

My chicken was the star of the show – but P’s andouillette showed pretty well.  Served with frites, it was white in colour (all the way through) and seemed to be loosely held together in its casing, distinguishable pieces would fall out as he cut his fork through it.  It was very delicately seasoned and what came through was salt, and clean tasting organ meat.  Although, there are no winners and losers at a nice dinner, P and I always declare winners of each course.  My Poulet de Bresse was true to its reputation, but Paul made a surprise come back in the dessert round with the fromage blanc.  Who knew that just a little cup of fresh plain cheese, turned out into a bowl would beat my terrine of grapefruit and oranges served with a coulis cassis?  

Lyon has some great residential neighbourhoods...only they are waaay up some treacherous hills.  The City built up 2 funiculars for a touristy neighbourhood, but most people make the daily trek on these long stairways.

A getaway from my vacation...

Now I know I shouldn't complain, but it's been a bit of a grueling schedule, we've been on the move, skipping from city to city every 3-4 days since we've left home.  As a reward for picking a place to live, we've decided to treat ourselves to a luxurious 5-night stay in Nice.  Here, it's 18 degrees and sunny and with none of the wandering around random french neighbourhoods trying to imagine living there.  We're staying in a great hostel, recommended to us by a ridiculously good-looking couple we met in Prague, if it's good enough for the beautiful - it's good enough for me.  It's an old monastery/villa on the hill converted into a hostel.  The common area is inside a chapel - where they serve breakfast, dinner and drinks.  We got a private room on the top floor which opens onto a big terrace that looks out over Nice.  Sunsets on the french riviera look as good as they sound. 

For now, it's Nice.  Went out to a town called "Grasse" where they are said to put out 80% of all the fragrant essences that are used in perfumes.  We expected to be transported back into time where provincial towns people milled about in full skirts dumping skirt-loads of flowers into wooden vats, while adorable street urchin wove through the crowds chasing chickens with lavender fields in the visible distance.  Instead, we went to a perfumer's factory and joined a guided tour group that included a middle-aged Scandinavian man carrying around a large-sized terrier, I would have retained a lot more information had I not been so distracted by wondering what the dog thought of the tour.  

They still use the method of "enfleurage", developed in Grasse, extracting scents from delicate flowers by placing them on sheets of beef/pork fat.  Flowers are replaced onto the fat every day for up to 3 months until the fat is saturated with the essences.  Then it's all boiled off and separated before use in perfume.  We also learned about "Noses", who create the perfumes.  These people are highly trained professionals capable of identifying up to 2000 distinct smells.  Apparently, a few years back the director of Kenzo wanted to develop a scent that embodied "Strasbourg at Christmas", noses were said to have flocked the streets of Strasbourg that Christmas to try to create that scent.  

Promise to post pictures in the next few days.  Despite this "getaway" in Nice, we've been busy making daytrips  out to other cities on the Cote d'Azure during the day and staying up late in the chapel bar.  Tonight, I'm tucking in early.  

Back posts with pictures to come:

"Prince Day in Monaco/Succulents City!"

"I felt like having chicken that night"

Okay...maybe just one picture:

Aww...he likes castles so much (not in Nice, but in Carcassonne)

Some things I like about France...

Initially, one of the main factors for choosing a city to live in was its food scene.  I promptly crumpled that thought and tossed it out of my head.  EVERYWHERE in france is a good food scene.  France loves and cares about food - like I do, probably waay more than I do.  Here are some things I like about France:

Little violet drops.  As tasty as they are pretty.  Don't let this elegantly casual display fool you, did you really think that these candies splayed out there like this on their own?  I painstakingly sprinkled the violets just so on a brand new pillow in our hotel room.  Surfaces that didn't make the cut: a white towel, my hands and an unfolded napkin from our sandwiches the day before.

The bread.

Shellfish in baskets and oysters in boxes - don't care how the song goes, but these are a few of MY favorite things.

If you really want to know who I am, you really have to understand this:  there are fewer things in life that are more dramatic and special then long, perfect strips of candied orange peel dipped in dark chocolate.  "Orangette", like a whisper from an extinguished candle flame.  It was expensive, but if I hadn't, my heart would never forgive me. 

Toulouse; we're getting warmer...

So Toulouse beats out Bordeaux because: a) it's got a laid back student-town kind of charm and bustle; b) our french classes are right in the centre in an old converted church; and c) this city seems to love markets as much as I do.  I mean all sorts of markets.  On our way to the botanical gardens in Toulouse (yes, I wanted to see another botanical garden), we came upon a crazy antiques roadshow type flea market.  The contents at this market looked like it had been looted from old churches, castles and fancy peoples' homes.  We found out that this market takes place on one weekend each month; the stalls were full of fancy old furniture, french linens, silverware and chandeliers.  Can't wait to sink my ailing canadian funds into some great furniture here - pending an unfurnished apartment.

We also woke up to another market on the street surrounding the church outside our hotel.  This one was slightly less cool, and had stalls of a lot of cheap imported stuff.  I can stock up for those of you who want euro-style man skivvies at 2euros a piece.  And of course the food markets.  I'm unable to write about them.  It's an emotional and  stimulation overload.  Just recalling the sights and smells incapacitates my ability to linguistically organize the experience.  Will try and post pictures instead.

Love Toulouse.

     

Basilique St. Sernin - taken two steps outside of our hotel.

We had lunch outside at "de jardin chez nous" - each had a quiche and salad, as the other specials of the day were being crossed off the chalkboard.   Restaurants in Toulouse are all about lunch, and many of them close at four.  We sat next to some ladies visiting from Biarritz and had a nice chat with them.  Flustered at having french people pay attention to us, I panicked and ordered the pistache framboise...instead of the chocolate gateau I had in mind.

...but that wasn't so bad now was it?  In fact it was SO good!

Little swings in the park at the botanical garden.  They were like jellybean boat swings.  Whoever designed this was thinking about the children.

Bordeaux...

A lovely visit in Bordeaux.  A much bigger city than Rennes and with architecture reminiscent of Paris.  We stumbled upon a cute neighbourhood close to the centre that would be a dream to live in, but the campus for our language school was way the hell out in the suburbs of Bordeaux.  Upon first impressions, a suburb in France is just like a suburb in BC.  Minus points for the campus out in the suburbs, but we both felt that we could put up with the commute if we lived in the city centre - that is, if we didn't like the next cities on the list.  So, the search continues.  Meanwhile, I'm trying to cut down my duck and butter intake.  It's an uphill battle and one that I foresee losing.  What a way to go down, casting arms to the ground and surrendering oneself to duck and butter.

Not a mini bundt cake, but a canelé - a bordelaise specialty.  Custard batter is poured into little moulds and baked until the outside is caramelized and crusty.  Fancy canelé shops dot Bordeaux's streets, we bought this more affordable version at a market from a simple baker.

  
Well look-ey here, another botanical garden.  Not the season for many varieties, but the grounds are kept and beautiful nonetheless.

Taken on a footbridge at the other end of the garden, pretty carousels, like this one, are characteristically found in many large public parks and squares.  It's even sweeter up close with little kids yelling, "mom, look at me!" in french.

Just another monsieur on his way to work at city hall.  Haven't seen such a great shape on a man since Danny DeVito as "the Penguin"...but really, he who wears the Burberry scarf laughs last.