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Posts from the ‘Around France’ Category

May 25

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No. 255-257: French Mother’s Day: Repopulation, Advice from Vichy France and Cake


“L’avenir d’un enfant est l’oeuvre de sa mere.” (The future of a child is the work of his mother.)

                        -Napoleon Bonaparte

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While Mother’s Day in America was first officially celebrated in 1914 after Anna Jarvas campaigned for six long years for a day to honor “the person who has done more for you than anyone in the world,” Mother’s Day in France came to be celebrated with slightly more practical and economic intentions behind it: the necessity to repopulate a country distressed by its declining birth rate.

Journ-e-famille-nombreuse

In fact, French Mother’s Day was first instituted with an award attached to it for producing a high number of children. In 1906, a medal of haut mérite maternel (high maternal merit) was awarded to mother’s who had more than nine children. By 1918, some cities in France had established les Journée Nationale des Mères de Familles Nombreuses (National Day for Mother’s of Large Families), and in 1920 it became an official national holiday celebrated on the last Sunday of May. From the 1920s through 1940 the French government continued to support the holiday to help officially promote and reward large family policy and honor those mothers’ with the ability and desire to pop out baby after baby.

During the reign of the Vichy government, in an attempt to win favor with all mothers, the occupational government (while still actively promoting large family policies), extended the holiday to honor all mothers, even those with smaller families. After the war ended, Mother’s Day gradually became less attached to politics and nationalism, and became more of a day to celebrate your fabulous do-it-all mom.

While I was researching the history of French Mother’s Day, I came across this poster from 1941 Vichy France offering advice on how French children should behave on Mother’s Day and throughout the year, according to the field marshal, no less…

fete_des-meres.jpg

Ta maman a tout fait pour toi, le Maréchal te demande de l’en remercier gentiment.

Invente la surprise la plus belle que tu pourras, celle qui lui fera le plus grand plaisir.

Offre-lui des fleurs que tu auras cueillies…

ou un cadeau que tu auras fabriqué exprès pour elle…

Fais-lui un dessin aussi beau que tu pourras…

Fais un effort en classe pour rapporter de bonnes notes…

Ne te dispute pas avec tes frères et sœurs…

Va faire les commissions sans qu’elle te le demande…

Aide au ménage en souriant…

Apprends une jolie récitation…

Travail-Famille-Patrie.

 

(Your mom has done everything for you, the field marshal asks you to thank her kindly.

Come up with the most beautiful surprise you can that will give her the greatest pleasure…

Offers her flowers that you picked …or a gift you have made especially for her …

Draw her the nicest picture you can …

Make an effort in class to make good grades …

Do not fight with your brothers and sisters …

Run errands without her asking …

Help with the household with a smile…

Learn a beautiful recitation …

(Remember) Work-Family-Homeland)

 

…and finally in France, fête your lovely mother with a gorgeous cake from your kitchen or pâtisserie that looks like a bouquet of flowers or something too delicious to be true.

source: Meeting the French

source: Meeting the French

 Bonne fête des mères!

 

May 23

6 Comments

No. 254: Bidets

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…so civilized and refreshing…

May 20

6 Comments

No. 252: French Body Language Redo

After my semi-successful attempt in January to interpret French body language, my favorite virtual French teacher, Géraldine, has come to my rescue again with her helpful new lesson: 12 Common French Gestures.

Finally a clear explanation of j’ai du nez: tapping the side of your nose = I have a good instinct/idea; I have flair; and she offers up a few new ones that I have seen a lot of lately but had not quite understood correctly:

  • Je m’ennuie (making a sort of shaving motion along your jaw line with your fingertips curled in) = I’m bored
  • Cassé! (a sideways karate chop) = Gotcha! or I win!

Follow Géraldine weekly on Comme une française TV every Tuesday. Moi, j’adore.

May 20

No. 251: French MREs (Meals Ready to Eat)

MRE_RCIR_france.jp

Here is what I know about the American military’s Ready to Eat Meals or MREs: the military chefs strive to make meals that “don’t just taste good… but last … for three years stored at 80 degrees F (26 degrees C), are capable of withstanding chemical or biological attacks, and (can) survive a 10-story free fall (when packed in a crate of 12).”

American MRE: noodles in butter flavored sauce and toaster pastries

American MRE: chili macaroni

American MRE: chili macaroni

I am assuming that the French Ration de Combat Individuelle Rechauffable (Reheatable Individual Combat Rations) or RCIRs, which a friend of mine in Paris let me take a peak at, have to follow the same rigorous guidelines, as they are NATO approved.

French RCIR: slightly more gourmand...

French RCIR: slightly more gourmand…

Whatever the circumstances, you’ve got to love the French’s dedication to meal planning. I don’t know what the rest of the brave soldiers serving their countries are eating tonight, but somewhere in the world, some French soldiers are eating rillettes de saumon préparé en Bretagne (salmon pâté from Brittany).

rillettes de saumon préparé en Bretagne, along with some other very French eats...

rillettes de saumon préparé en Bretagne, along with some other very French eats…

MRE_RCIR_france4.jpg

MRE_RCIR_france5.jpg

 

SALMON RILLETTES : Food and Wine Magazine – Anna Zepaltas

            ACTIVE: 30 MIN

            TOTAL TIME: 1 HR 45 MIN

            SERVINGS: MAKES 2 CUPS

 

 INGREDIENTS 

.    1/2 pound center-cut, skinless salmon fillet

.    1 tablespoon anise-flavored liqueur, such as Pernod

.    Salt

.    Freshly ground white pepper

.    1 celery rib

.    1 leek, halved lengthwise

.    1 small onion, quartered lengthwise

.    1 bay leaf

.    1 teaspoon black peppercorns

.    1 cup dry white wine

.    4 cups water

.    5 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

.    1 large shallot, minced (1/4 cup)

.    1/2 tablespoon sour cream

.    1/4 pound skinless hot-smoked salmon, flaked

.    2 tablespoons snipped chives

.    1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

.    1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

.    1/4 teaspoon smoked sweet paprika

.    Toasted baguette slices, for serving

 

 DIRECTIONS:

  1. On a plate, sprinkle the salmon with the anise liqueur and season with salt and white pepper. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature for 30 minutes.
  2. Meanwhile, in a large saucepan, bring the celery, leek, onion, bay leaf, peppercorns, wine and water to a boil. Simmer for 25 minutes.
  3. Add the salmon to the pan, cover and remove from the heat; let stand for 10 minutes. Remove the salmon, picking off any peppercorns, and refrigerate until chilled, about 45 minutes. Flake the salmon.
  4. In a skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter. Add the shallot and cook over moderate heat until softened. Let cool.
  5. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter until smooth. Whisk in the sour cream. Add the cooled shallot, along with the poached and smoked salmon, chives, lemon juice, olive oil and paprika and stir until combined. Season the rillettes with salt and white pepper. Serve with toasted baguette slices.

MAKE AHEAD

The rillettes can be refrigerated for up to 3 days. Pack into a crock and press a sheet of plastic wrap onto the surface.  Pour melted butter over the top to seal in freshness. 

Rillettes-salmon-france.jpg

 

May 18

8 Comments

No. 249-250: An Ode to Estragon and Chicken Tarragon

 

estragon_french_tarragon.jpg Before your mind starts to wander to the widely debated female hormone that’s fluctuation can send us femmes d’un certain âge spiraling through rapid mood swings, drop the final “e” and add an “o” and you will realize my ode is to the terrific, tried and true French herb, tarragon, not the natural chemical so essential to the female of the species.

There are so many sensory delights at the French markets, and quite a few that I am completely nutty for, and estragon is certainly one of them. Prior to moving to France, I had rarely cooked with tarragon, and I had certainly never cooked or eaten fresh from the market or garden tarragon. Now I can’t seem to get through a day without it.

I throw it in so many different dishes, that the last time I served a couscous salad with chopped up green flecks, a guest asked what it was, and then another replied, “hmmm…tastes like Nancy, must be tarragon.”

source: tastingpages.blogspot.fr

source: tastingpages.blogspot.fr

Maybe too much of a good thing can be too much, but I am not quite ready to say that about my beloved estragon. I’m always looking for uses for my favorite window box friend.

To refresh you memory, tarragon is the herb known for its anise-like flavor and scent. Its longish, green leaves are slender and tender and heavenly scented. This delicate yet tasty herb is wonderful with eggs, salads, cheese, and fish and makes the elegant and mouth-watering Tarragon Chicken Fricassée my new favorite dish.

Lucky for all of us, my friend Marie-Françoise just taught me how to make this old-fashioned French recipe. Give it a go, you won’t be sorry.

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Tarragon Chicken Fricassée (Serves 4)

From the kitchen of Marie-Françoise

 

Ingredients:

6 large free-range chicken thighs (or legs)

4 shallots (or fresh spring onions), finely chopped

3.5 oz. almond powder

1.5 oz. butter, divided

1 Tbsp. l’huile d’arachide (peanut oil)

½-1 cup dry white wine

½ cube chicken bullion

5 oz. crème fraîche

2 bunches fresh tarragon, washed, spun, and finely chopped

salt and freshly ground pepper

Directions:

  1. In a medium saucepan, heat half of the butter and oil. Add the chicken thighs and brown both sides until golden. Remove from the pan and rest on a plate. Discard the fat and wipe the pan clean.
  2. In the same pan, heat the remaining butter and oil over medium heat and add the finely chopped shallots. Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring often to avoid coloring. When soft and translucent, set aside.
  3. Return the chicken to the pan, add the wine, bullion cube, and shallots. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper and cook covered over low heat for 45 minutes. (You may have to add some water if the sauce looks too thick.)
  4. After 45 minutes, set the chicken aside on a warm plate. Sieve the sauce for a “cleaner” result, or for a true French bistro experience, do not sieve. If sieved, rewarm the sauce and add the almond powder. Cook for 2-3 minutes over medium heat. Add the crème fraîche at the last-minute and incorporate into to the sauce stirring constantly. Do not over cook. You don’t want the crème to “turn”.
  5. Add the chicken and the finely chopped tarragon. Serve immediately with white rice.

Vocabulaire

estragon: tarragon—and a few tips—smell your herbs before buying, they should have a clean, fresh scent, and keep it fresh for up to five days by wrapping it in a just damp paper towel and sealing it in a plastic.

femmes d’un certain âge: women of a certain/unknown age

 

May 13

4 Comments

No. 238: Lost Bread

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It was another rainy and cool day in Paris, making it the perfect day to serve up some pain perdu, lost bread as the French call it, or “French toast”, as we Americans call it.

The facts and history don’t seem to back up our anglicized name, as its origins date much further back than the foundation of a French state. En fait this delicious French dessert or American breakfast staple can be traced back to medieval times when the recipe (and I use that term loosely) first appeared to make inedible, stale loaves of bread more appetizing. Times were tough back in the day, and the masses could not afford to throw away any bit of edible anything, so the otherwise “lost” bread was battered, buttered, rescued and revived instead of being thrown out.

It doesn’t appear that the French were the first to dip their bread in a milky-egg mixture and fry it up. The English had their own versions (suppe dorate and tostees dorees) during the Middle Ages, and later a similar dish called “Poor Knights of Windsor”. There are even some “French toast” recipes traceable to ancient Roman times, which ironically, the French named pain a la Romaine (Roman bread).

It is also interesting that pain perdu was not just a meal for the poor man. Indeed the wealthy kept this staple on their menu too. Of course, the rich had their chefs make it to order, which meant only the finest white bread could be used—the crust cut off and discarded—before it was dipped in a mixture of beaten eggs, sugar and rose water, fried in butter or lard and topped off with more saffron and sugar infused rose water.

Like the medieval peasants, I also grew up making pain perdu with stale bread we could not afford to throw away. And boy, did my dad make a mean Sunday morning French Toast (and “Eggs Over Bread”), another poor man’s delight.

In France, I have learned that the best and most authentic way to make pain perdu is with day-old brioche (a lightly sweet bun or loaf-that the boulangers of France do so well), sliced thickly and dipped in eggs, milk, or better yet crème, seasoned with a little sugar and nutmeg, and gently fried in, what else, salted butter from Bretagne.

C’est délicieux! Que pensez-vous?

Here is a recipe for the “original” pain perdu, and please click the underlined links for my other favorite “lost bread” recipes along with my daddy’s famous Eggs Over Bread.

 

From: The Medieval Kitchen, Recipes from France and Italy by Odilie Redon (dated to 1450)

  1. Take slices of white bread, trimmed so that they have no crusts.
  2. Make these slices square and slightly grill them so that they are colored all over by the fire.
  3. Then take eggs beaten together with plenty of sugar and a little rose-water and put the slices of bread in to soak.
  4. Carefully remove them, and fry them a little in a frying pan with a little butter and lard, turning them very frequently so that they do not burn.
  5. Arrange them on a plate, and top with a little rose-water colored yellow with a little saffron, and sprinkle with plenty of sugar.

 

Vocabulaire

C’est délicieux! Que pensez-vous? It’s delicious. What do you think?

pain a la Romaine: Roman bread

pain perdu: French toast, literally: lost bread

May 12

4 Comments

NO. 237: It’s Raining Ropes and Other Such Things

I think I am getting my comeuppance for posting so much about our long and warm fall and our early and bright spring.

Taz_paris_flowers

We have definitely hit a rainy spell in France……and by rain, I mean “cats and dogs” type of rain. Which of course got me to thinking about the equally vivid, but much less random French phrase, il pleut des cordes, or it is raining cords, as in, there is so much rain, the drops have joined together like long thin ropes dangling between the heavens and earth.

news_illustre_1326049185

Which is much more poetic than “cats and dogs”, especially now that I’ve researched the genesis of that not-so-whimsical-to-me-anymore phrase. There are of course many different theories about the origins of our four-footed friends tumbling from the skies. They most fanciful being that in the olden-days thatched roofs couldn’t support perched animals in the rain and they literally fell through your roof when it rained. The phrase more likely originates from inferior seventeenth century drainage systems, where heavy rains washed dead and decaying cats, dogs, rats, and birds stuck in the gutters onto the streets.

A less grim and more agreeable explanation (and one that will please francophiles) is that the phrase “cats and dogs” is merely a mispronunciation of an old French word: “catadupe” which meant “waterfall”. And raining waterfalls makes a heck of a lot more sense, and conjures a much more pleasant image than cats and dogs plummeting to the ground.

Of course the French do have their less polite way to describe the weather we have been having for the past few weeks: Il pleut comme vache qui pisse: It’s raining like a pissing cow.

But remember:

Après la pluie le beau temps!

Every cloud has a silver lining!

(literally, after the rain, the nice weather)

 

Here are a few more of my favorite European expressions describing buckets of rain:

The Danes would say: Det regner skomagerdrenge: It’s raining cobbler boys/shoemakers’ apprentices.

You might hear a German say: Es regnet junge Hunde: It’s raining puppies.

In Greece, it rains chair legs, of course: Brékhei kareklopódara.

And our Norwegian friends just might tell you: Det regner trollkjerringer: It’s raining troll women/witches.

 

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU SAY IN YOUR COUNTRY…

 

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