FRENCH AWAKENING

MANGE  PRIER  AIMER   Style Francaise

“I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on the water.”

― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

I lost myself completely in my version of “eat pray love” trip that accounts for the disappearance from my blog.  I have eaten well, found my God and well…..love is all around.

A cat has many lives, supposedly nine.  I am not a cat lover or feline in nature but I have had many lifecycles and in this particular one, France “was” once my home.  So without much fanfare, in this life, I jump into an adventurous unknown.

The smellier the cheese, the heavier the wine, the creamier the sauce, the fragrant the perfume, and the sexier the men, all seem to incorporate my inner self.

This trip starts from Paris Gare du Lyon, a journey that is full of excitement.   The restaurant car promises an amazing lunch,  my compartment companion fluent in 4 languages just had me at hello.   A composite of a young Gérard Depardieu and French actor Olivier Martinez, he was regaling the merits of what a good lunch can do for the body and soul.  I was starting to believe him.  With the trains’ mesmeric beat, rapidly picking up speed, the classic French dining car, my first sip of Sancerre 2010 transported me to a decadent life I once belonged.

Our estimated trip to Dijon takes five hours with the little Fiat smart car awaiting me to take me from Dole.  The crisp starched linen napkin unfolded by a very cross looking maître d’ who started spouting French to me, asking if I had selected my lunch.  I immediately did my best school French with an exaggerated accent, and magic, he seemed to nod – I hope I didn’t order cervelle de veau by mistake.  What the hell, even if I did, a leap into the unknown with a gulp of Champagne would wash it down nicely, chalking up my list of weird foods ingested through the years.

Pommery Royal Brut Champagne

Pommery Royal Brut flowed throughout the meal which started off with my favourite creamed Morrel over poached egg.   

Morels are a feature of many Provencal cuisine.  This particular mushroom looks like a honeycomb but has incredible taste and texture.

                                                

The Roast Leg of Lamb with potatoes au gratin avec fromage Forme D'ambert was so succulent.  Just pink and beautifully carved, so aromatic with rosemary leaves and tossed with roasted garlic  and a cheesy potato gratin.

The French, slightly stranger than the rest of the world as they like to end their Le Plat Principal with a cheese platter before dessert.  This is my best part as I could dine on cheese and wine alone.  Since there are more than 400 types of cheese in France, it is no surprise that the cheese board is comprised of a variety of textures and flavours accompanied by fruits and bread.

For dessert, Rum Baba with fresh cream had me wanting more.  This small yeast cake 

tend to be sweeter, richer, and more complex than cakes which are made with other forms of leavening. Rumbaba is no exception. 

Even before the rum syrup is used, the cake has lots of butter and eggs, making it a very rich and intense dessert.

The result is a moist cake with a heady 

alcoholic note.

I could have just had the platter of cheese and the Champagne, but my undoing can only be the hypnotic French history lesson by Francoise, the Olivier/Gérard combo.

The rhythmic train sound seem to be in tune with my heartbeat and after such a gastronomic feast, delicious wine following through my veins, blood cursing through my stomach digesting the richness of my lunch, Francoise suggested we retire to the compartment with my Brandy liqueur.  The proposition met with non-resistance with a promise of more French history.     

Two hours into the trip, the train stopped and backtracked.   “A coupé” says the conductor, “A coupé”  .  My limited knowledge of French and Françoise’s vast knowledge of everything meant that our small carriage was being cut to go to Dijon, and the rest of the train unhooking to go to Lyon.   The last hour before we departed company was centered on dipping chocolate macaroons into our coffee cups.

The train ride flew by.  All the houses, and trees whistled passed so quickly but the lessons in French history, French politics, and the art of flirtation stayed embedded in the mind.

Dijon mustard originated from the town of Dijon but now the mustard seed ingredient that goes into the famous Maille Dijon mustard is imported from Canada.  Was Francoise a Canadian import too?   I will never know.  We lingered saying our goodbyes.

Awaiting me at Dole was my transportation.

The Fiat smart car attached with a brainy GPS, it flashed the destination as:  Andelot en Montagne.  

Allons-y!

Mme Bourgeouse is the name of the owner as well as a Pension.   It is a guest house, a term typically used in Continental European countries,  right in the middle of Andelot.   Petit dejeuner plus diner is included.  The rest of the day will be  spent with long time friend Royce discovering the Jura.   

Royce, the linguist can switch from English to French to German to Italian with great ease.  His personality also changes as the tongue is twisted to suit the thoughts he puts into words.  My fantasy of knowing all these people in one person was soon to be gratified.  Royce the German vs Royce the Italian - the dumplings vs the pasta - which would win my stomach or my mind?

The Franche 

Comté 

 region famous for its cheeses and our foray this morning is walking up a hill to visit a cheese farm.  

Franche Comté cheese have very different characteristics due to the age of the cheese, which is usually matured between 4 and 18 months and sometimes longer.  This cheese is one of the oldest styles and has been made for over ‘ten centuries’ in Eastern France in the stunning region of mountains that stretch between Jura and Doubs in the Franche-Comté  region.   The unique taste is dependent upon the time of year and diet of the cow affects both the flavor and colour of the cheese.

Monsiuer Dubois in his white overalls and white boots is pulling the curd out of the vat as we entered his domain.   He is making Morbier.   Royce understands my love affair with cheese and bringing me to witness the making of Morbier is loosening my reserve on many issues.

The cheese is elastic and not easy to slice. It has a pale interior with a beige-orange rind. A black streak of vegetable ash gives the cheese an inimitable look but doesn't change tt's flavour.

Chuckling away with Monsiuer Dubois, Royce translates their little joke for me.  It appears that cheese making has health consequences, Royce dutifully asked if I knew what they were.  High Cholesterol count?  No he says, try again.  Clogged arteries?  Na-da, he shakes his head.  Well, I give up.   He whispers that they all suffer from acute rectal hernia.  Now if they did squats with weights in the gym like I do daily, surely that will help to prevent this debilitating issue.  From now on, word association for me will be Morbier - Squats.... what confusion must my therapist analyse and conclude?

Part two continues with  Salins les Bains, Besançon, Pontarlier and  Royce.