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.