...And it's almost Christmas....

    I'm not going to waffle on about the long silence between blog posts. Just know that my New Year's resolution is to post more often. It's late afternoon on Christmas Eve, there's a cup of tea at hand, a nap in the offing, friends coming for aperos at 6:30 p.m., a table booked at the café for an hour later--and all the ingredients for the Christmas feast in the fridge, or in the making.
    I'm in the middle of foie gras preparation. It's been deveined, sprinkled with salt, pepper and some of Alain's legendary eau de vie. This morning, I wrapped it into a roll, and wrapped it in plastic. Next, I'll wrap it in cloth, poach it for 90 seconds, chill it, and rewrap it even more tightly with a second layer of cloth. This is the "torchon" method as spelled out by Michael Ruhlman. http://ruhlman.com/2011/05/how-to-make-torchon-recipe/
     Yesterday, we were on the road before 9 a.m. and at Lavelanet market soon after. What a magical drive there with thick mist covering the fields, and steaming away into invisibility as we watched.

   With the mist gone, the sky was as blue as heaven.
The town was bustling, everyone in a convivial mood as they went about collecting their Christmas orders. I'd ordered a chapon--a capon--from the butcher's so we picked that up first and took it back to the car after the moment of terror when the butcher ran his finger down the hand-written list of names and couldn't find mine...

A corner of the butcher's shop. Note the silver  Christmas candelabra on the counter, and the row of cups awarded to "best butcher..." on the top of the sausage display case. Carcasses hang behind the wooden doors to the left.

   Chapon out of the way, it was time to whizz down the length of the market to the halles--and my favourite produce stall.

    The family who run this have a farm about half an hour away. Everything they sell, they grow. Can you make out the bright pink and red stalks of the chard? We got through a few kilos of that at a meal with friends earlier this week.
    No chard needed today but Brussels sprouts, parsnips, parsley, carrots, leeks, shallots, onions and garlic...the bags were getting heavy by now. I walked back outside on this bitingly cold day, and spotted Peter queueing to buy oysters which, like foie gras, are traditional at Christmas.

  
    While he waits patiently, I want to tell you about the profusion of seafood at this time of year. Earlier this week, we drove over to Pamiers where, among other places, we trawled the Carrefour supermarket. As well as the usual fish counter, pretty impressive at any time of year, there were two huge displays of oysters in wooden boxes, and a central table covered in seaweed, and heaped with live lobsters, crabs, langoustines, mussels and clams. (Next to it was a cooler the size of a bus filled with foie gras in various forms: pale beige lobes, vacuum-packed to be prepared at home, tins of different dimensions, slices...a colossal amount.)
    The other essentials in the Christmas triumvirate are champagne and Sauternes (or some other sweet wine) to sip with your foie gras.

     A bûche de Noël --a Christmas log--is the traditional dessert. So what's it to be? The Black Forest version? The "white lady" kind with vanilla and chocolate? Or a Norwegian omelette which, for reasons unknown, is the French name for Baked Alaska. Our friend Isabelle is bringing dessert so I can't tell you what we'll be eating....
    Merry Christmas to all--and to all a good night.

Pre-Sunday lunch...

   "We'll bring dessert." Friends visiting from overseas had invited us to their rented apartment for Sunday lunch. Amazing as one of them had done the dreaded Vancouver to Paris flight the day before.
    Patisseries are everywhere in Paris but we wanted something special so, as one does, I Googled and found this article. http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2011/may/06/top-10-french-rench-patisseries-paris  Blé Sucré was only three metro stops away so that's where we went.

    It was a gorgeous sunny day, just right for wandering into a little tree-filled square with a park and bandstand in the middle--and buying sweet things to eat. Word has got around about patissier Fabrice Le Bourdat and the queue for the pastries and bread stretched out on to the pavement.
     Here are two of the four we bought:

Tarte Tatin for one. Don't you just love that wee dot of gold leaf on the end of the apple's "stem"?

   Another single serving classic. This screamingly rich little treat is a miniature Mont Blanc,  completely covered in fine noodles of chestnut purée and adorned with a gold-dusted square of chocolate.

On the topic of chocolate, we left with our four little pastries, beautifully boxed, and a paper bag holding two supremely flaky and buttery pains au chocolat, which we ate at the corner café across from this one. A crossroads with cafés on three of its four corners, could it get any better? Well, yes, because, just down the street is one of the city's best street markets. On this bright Sunday morning, it was jammed solid with Parisians buying heirloom tomatoes, chanterelles...

   ....and any one of these three pork roasts. The mille feuille appears to be layered with cheese and ham, the prune version (which I'm definitely going to try) is self-explanatory. A la diable? Mustard is spread on the pork and then it's wrapped in caul fat.

  

Terrine de Boeuf en Gelée

    My French still isn't fluent enough to hold a deep conversation about politics or the finer points of rugby (but then, my English isn't either) but I can definitely read and follow recipes.
    This one had been drifting around the edges of my brain ever since the weather turned warm. High temperatures and the idea of a shimmery jellied dish sounds just what you need as a main course. Not too ethereal--although that's fine for a starter or dessert--but something with meat to it. In this case, beef.
    Just in time, I found the copy of Elle à Table that went missing some months ago. Like all the Elle magazine spin-offs, it's beautiful to look at, and the recipes are always exactly in lock-step with the season. Our unusually hot late spring has pushed everything forward by about three weeks so last year's July/August issue reflects everything you'll see in the markets right now.
    But back to the recipe for terrine de boeuf en gelée. This could be a lengthy post because what I want to do is take you through the ingredients, one by one. I'll put these in bold face, with notes underneath.

    1 kg de boeuf (paleron, gite, joue). These cuts are, respectively, chuck, topside and cheek--all good for braising. I bought mine yesterday at Lavelanet market from the butcher's van. In fact I bought close to a kilo and a half because it's reassuring to know there's enough beef in the freezer to make a daube for two.
   1 pied de veau. A calf's foot. The butcher told me he had none because there's no demand. I explained what it was for. He said couennes would do. To digress a bit--and there will likely be more than a few digressions in this post--couennes are strips of pork skin. Usually they come with the underlying layer of fat attached, and they are one of the elements that make cassoulet so rich and filling. I said to the butcher that couennes might be too fatty. He turned round, opened the door to the refrigerator and produced a handful of fatless couennes. No charge. "Un cadeau." These travelling butchers' vans are one of the joys of being in France. This butcher comes from St. Quentin, a village about 5 km from our house. Every Wednesday morning, another butcher parks his van at the end of the Impasse where we live. That's even closer. It is very, very pleasant on a brisk fall day to have quail stuffed with wild mushrooms and wrapped in bacon brought almost to your door.
    Yesterday, I also bought a length of sausage from the boeuf and couennes butcher. This is destined to go into the stuffing for a round little courgette that I'd bought earlier. Market shopping works like this. You buy something, quickly think what you're going to do with it and then pick up the meat or olives or other veggies you need. Every week I write a shopping list. Nine weeks out of ten, I never even look at it.
   2 carottes. That's easy. Carrots here are often so fresh that juice spurts if you snap one in half. They also turn moldy in a moment. I've discovered the way to keep them fresh is to peel and trim them, and store them covered in water in the fridge. Provided you change the water occasionally, they keep for weeks.
   1 bouquet garni (persil, thym, vert de poireau, céleri, laurier). Parsley (also bought at the market), some sprigs of thyme from the garden, some celery, a bay leaf that my friend Grace gave me. Actually she gave me a bagful. Everything wrapped in the green leaf of a leek and tied with string. A word about that string. A couple of years ago, I bought a roll of butcher's string, and a couple of balls of hemp string at a vide grenier. I have enough string to last several lifetimes.
   4 oignons frais et 1 gros oignon piqué d'un clou de girofle. Four green/spring onions and one big onion (the usual kind) stuck with a clove. The green onions are used later. French recipes don't necessarily list ingredients in the order they're used. And they're not always that precise about quantities.

I think there's a deeper understanding in France of how to cook. For instance, last week, the local supermarket  had a special on quarters of lamb. We bought a front quarter which, as far as I can make out, breaks down into a shoulder (with a bit of front leg attached), miscellaneous chops, some odds and ends that I think will do nicely in a curry or a tagine and a breast of lamb. No handy labels, no explanation, you obviously have to be able to identify, and know how to cook, each cut.
   2 gousses d'ail. Garlic cloves.
   1 petit piment frais. I forgot to buy this. But I did have some dried ones left from a bunch I bought in Lavelanet last summer.
   1 c. a soupe de gros sel de mer. A tablespoon of coarse sea salt.
   10 grains de poivre. Ten peppercorns.
   Persil plat. Flat-leaf parsley.
   1 c. a café de graines de coriandre. A teaspoon of coriander seeds.

Couennes. I used about half of these as I reckoned that would add up to about the same as one calf's foot. The dish can go three ways: A) It'll be perfect, B) It'll collapse all over the plates because the jelly isn't stiff enough to hold it together. C) It'll be so rigid that slices will bounce. Three guesses as to the outcome I'm hoping for.

Make it today, eat it tomorrow--which is what we'll do.

Laos: Markets in Luang Prabang--the one outside our guesthouse door.

     It's a long story...how we landed in Luang Prabang, took a taxi for the estimated 25-minute ride to the guesthouse, and how two fraught hours later, I arrived there on foot, having left Peter with the luggage and the taxi. By now it was well after dark so we had no idea that our little laneway was home to a daily food market. The first morning, I went outside and tah-dah!

Everything fresh as fresh could be. Someone who lives here told me that the farmers arrive in the wee hours, sleep in their trucks and have set up their "stalls" by 5 a.m.

  

Mirepoix's annual triple market

Carpet of flowers is such a cliché but that's honestly what it looks like.

Can't resist a louche or two of olives.

Just part of the haul.

So it's cracked and stained--just think of the life this platter has already led.

And look how well it goes with some of my other finds found at other brocantes.

Around this time of year, Mirepoix's weekly Monday market starts to get more and more crowded. At its peak, you literally find yourself in people-jams. The only way around this is to shop earlier than you usually do. But, on Pentecost weekend, you could probably arrive there the night before and you still wouldn't find a parking spot. 

   That's because the main square houses a brocante--antiques and collectibles fair--all weekend. Then, on the Monday, there's the annual flower and plant market. And the regular market with all its produce, meat, cheese, and other stalls has to be there too. What happens is that the market expands into the surrounding streets where parking is usually at a premium anyway. 

    But it was all worth it. A terrific one-euro find at the brocante. Lots of pots of lavender and rosemary, and a climbing rose, colour unknown but we're told it's red. The usual lettuce, parsley and other salad makings, and eggs from the egg man. We came away so laden that I stood by a tree and waited while Peter went and fetched the car. 

'Tis the season

   We must have already taken last week's supply of "pub"--the printed publicité that shows up in our mail-box--to the dechetterie, otherwise I would have photographed and posted the front page of the Intermarché flyer which shows an almost life-size foie gras.

   Foie gras and other duck parts are everywhere in the run-up to Christmas. The butcher in the marché couvert at Lavelanet had a fine stock on Friday along with duck gizzards, big white fat-laden duck legs for making confit, duck necks to stuff, duck wings, and duck carcasses (I keep meaning to buy a supply of these for stock-making purposes). 

   Also displayed was what looked like an enormous sausage. We asked about it and, as well as explaining what it was--the duck carcass deboned, stuffed, rolled and stitched with stout black thread--the butcher cut us a slice to taste. Good stuff indeed, essence of duck. It can also be sliced thickly and seared in a pan, he said. There's no name for this seasonal "sausage" so I expect it's a dish he invented.

   On the way home, we stopped at the supermarket for basics. The first item that greeted us was a sale on champagne--another sign that Christmas is on its way.

Market Think

    I've been known to go to a weekly market--Mirepoix's on Monday, Lavelanet's on Friday--with a long shopping list and arrive home to find I never once even looked at it. 

    Recent random thoughts in Mirepoix:

    1) Do the stallholders selling vegetables deliberately price aubergines, courgettes, peppers and tomatoes all the same to make it faster to put for customers to assemble all the veggies they need for ratatouille? Except that I've noticed that this particular shot breaks this particular rule. But trust me on this, normally they're all priced the same.

    2) Aren't these organic heirloom tomatoes jaw-droppingly beautiful? Just look at those scarlets, sharp yellows and oranges, and all the different shapes and sizes. I can't count the number of times recently that I've bought a kilo and simply arranged them, sliced or not, depending on size, on a dark green plate, and simply poured a little olive oil over them. Check out that price too--three euros a kilo. Canadian readers: that's roughly $2.12 a pound. 

    3) Why is it essential to sit down at the St. Maurice café for a crème and a pain aux raisins with loaded baskets or else it doesn't feel like a "proper" market visit?

    

Many moules

This is the always smiling man who sells mussels at markets, also oysters, and occasionally tellines and clams. Mondays, he's at Mirepoix, Fridays at Lavelanet. Today we bought four "bons" kilos from him, "bons" meaning he weighs out far more that. The result was one very heavy plastic bag so we left it with him as we often do while we did the rest of our shopping. And, as he often does, he pretended we hadn't paid when we went back to collect it. 

  These aren't well-mannered cultivated mussels but wild ones, clumped together and covered with seaweed and barnacles. 

  Six of us for supper tonight and warm enough to eat outside. An easy dinner. Pâte, cornichons and a salad of roquette and shallots to start. Then the moules, steamed with onions, with a bowl of the tiniest imaginable new potatoes to mash with the back of your fork to soak up the moules juice. Cheeses with walnut bread (also from Lavelanet market) and fig jam. Fruit salad and cream to finish. 

A for asparagus, B for bake sale

Asparagus is now in season, green or white, sold in various qualities. We brought home a half kilo of the white variety which is now sitting on the counter waiting to be cooked and eaten with a dish of gratinéed shrimp-filled crèpes. 

For whatever reason--a warm sunny day, maybe?-- Lavelanet's market was jammed by the time we got there around 9:30 a.m. this morning.  Our first stop is often les halles which is where you find local producers. One old lady I often buy from was today selling cabbages and big bunches of lilac. You could buy wine, meat, baguettes, even bunches of cilantro (seldom seen around here) and you could pick up a homemade cake or pie from this bunch of kids who were raising funds for a school trip. We came home with some small Moroccan pastries drenched in honey.

   

Opportunities at the market.

Markets in France offer scads more than fruit and veggies. A sample of what you could have bought if you'd joined us in Lavelanet this morning.

Small tractors and large mowers--you can always get those. I've never worked out how you're supposed to get them home. Do you ride them and join all the other agricultural vehicles we see around here?

Next, takeout food. Here's the rotisserie man skewering a number of chickens. He also sells, depending on his mood, ham, pork, rabbit and quail. The pan on the left holds paella which is sold by the portion with each portion containing precisely the same amount of chicken, prawns and squid.

Elsewhere you can buy churros--we're very close to Spain--or couscous because we have lots of North African people living locally. Pizzas, I almost forgot those with a wealth of different toppings. Chinese food--nems is French for spring roll. Mussels cooked in cream. Usually a daube smelling so good you could dive right into it. If you don't want to cook, this market makes it easy.

Moving along, you can outfit yourself and your family head to toe at the market (I hoped the bra man would be there so I could take a photo but he wasn't). Current French fashion moves down to market level remarkably quickly. Here's one of the shoe stalls. These are fairly granny-ish in style but elsewhere I could have bought cute wedge 40s style sandals and smart black boots--plastic so only 10 euros. The other bargain to be had today were black jeans and blousons for three euros each. 

Beside the shoe stall, you can see the first of the new broad beans. White and green asparagus is also showing up. No fruit as yet but there are still loads of local apples around.

Changing seasons

The edible landscape is gradually turning from shades of gold and orange to sharp bright crimson and green. Like many, this stall at the market is selling both. On your left, squash, on your right, new white-tipped scarlet radishes and artichokes. Asparagus is starting to appear too--but it's staggeringly expensive. 

  

Boot mending, babies and reflections.

Every week, Mirepoix market turns up a few surprises. The first this week was a travelling van that opened at the back to reveal a fully functioning shoe mender's shop. The next was this cute little kid who cheerily munched on an apple while her maman sold me a fat lettuce. The third was the perfect stillness of the canal.

Last Market Before Christmas

A cold, crisp and sunny Monday morning for the final trip to Mirepoix before Christmas. Most people had decorated their stalls. Purple tinsel for the olive, nut, and anchovy sellers. Holly sprigs for the madame who sells antiques. Some folk had set up a festive table behind their vegetable stall, dressed up as Santas and were indulging in a bit of Noël cheer.

Snow on the Pyrenees and Finds at the Market

Low temperatures mean snow on the mountains. On this crystal-clear morning, the contrast was extraordinary between the razor-sharp Pyrenees and the soft Harris tweed colours of the fields and forests. 

In the halles at Lavelanet market, local producers now sell lots of winter crops. I found these utterly gorgeous cabbages, parsnips--which you don't often see in France--and two baskets of medlars which I've never seen for sale anywhere before. In hindsight I should have bought them, so I could let them ripen from now till Christmas. 

A Chicken on the Table

A huge haul at Lavelanet market this morning. Here's a small chicken from the rotisserie man across from the church. As the birds revolve, their fat drips into a trough underneath which is packed with neat slices of potato. We bought both,  put together a quick salad and that, plus some more of the rapidly disappearing kilo of Brie was lunch.

At the market this morning, everyone seemed in a giving mood. When I bought three lettuces, the lady selling them threw in a handful of parsley (which often happens), then said, hmm, but these lettuces are small--and added a couple more. The butcher gave us a deal on the duck confit that we bought for dinner tonight (more friends have arrived from Vancouver). Finally, when Alma purchased a bottle of home-made sparkling apple juice, the grower who had made it looked over the rest of his stock and picked out a particularly nice pear for her. 

Market Day in Mirepoix

August is a cruel month if you want to go to the Monday market in Mirepoix. Last year, the local newspaper reported that the French shop from 8 to 10 a.m., after that it's the turn of the English. True enough, except that this month you have to add in tourists from all over Europe. The earlier you get there, the leaner the crowd. Another reason to be up before cock crow (our local roosters are chronologically challenged anyway, usually performing around 4 p.m.) is that, no surprise, the best produce goes first.

So today we were on the road by 8:30 a.m., and in the market before 9 a.m. The drive is only 10 minutes but, rather than join the slow crawl through the streets, we usually park in the SuperU lot on the outskirts of town. 

A baby could sleep on that huge bread to the left. It's sold by weight (the bread not the baby) and is meant to last a week, in other words from one market to the next.

The man in the photo at the top of this post grinds knives, scissors, axes and any other blunt object you put in his way. We've taken our big Sabatier knife to him a number of times and it's been returned to us with a guillotine-sharp edge. 

Once you've done your shopping, it's time for a grand crème and a pain aux raisins. Café Castignolles (in the other photo) is one of several cafés under the arcades around the central square. All have their devotees. We go promiscuously from one to the other depending on where the free tables are.