March 17, 2010
Before the snow began to melt in the French Alps, we loaded up the car with too many snowboards, hats, and gloves, and trekked across the country from the Loire Valley to Châtel, a beautiful ski station in the Haute-Savoie. While I was looking forward to learning how to snowboard (did I mention that it was my first time?), I was equally excited to discover the gastronomic specialties of the region.
On the slopes, there wasn’t a day when the sun wasn’t shining. This was great for tanning on the terrace with a cup of vin chaud, but it also meant that the snow was melting, the slopes were icy, and, yes, I quickly ended up with a sprained wrist… but this didn’t prevent me from eating.
Snow was not the only thing melting in the Haute-Savoie this week. In French fondre means “to melt,” which is the origin of fondue. While there are many different versions of fondue, fondue savoyarde is a longtime favorite. After all, how can a pot, or caquelon as they call it, filled with melted cheese and white wine be a bad thing? The village of Châtel is filled with numerous restaurants serving this specialty, which is a mixture of hard and semi soft cheeses (often composed of beaufort, gruyère, and emmetal) melted with a dry white wine in a large ceramic pot prepared by rubbing a garlic clove.
Eating fondue is a communal ritual. One large caquelon is placed in the middle of the table, and each person takes a turn dipping in a stale piece of bread with a long thin fork. But, be careful! If you drop your bread in the pot, you’ll either be faced with kissing or neighbor or accepting a dare, often resulting in the removal of clothing.
February 24, 2010
Producing wine is an activity that requires patience and passion, but even with these traits, a winemaker might come across a problem that he or she just can’t seem to get right. This is where the oenologue comes in. Oenology can be considered as the science of wine, used in such a way as to better the quality of the wine. In the wine producing region of Saumur in the Loire Valley, where the vineyards are small parcels of land passed down through the generations of sons (and on occasion their daughters), two women fill the role of oenologue, Nathalie and Isabelle.
This past week, I worked with these two women as an intern in the lab that they have established just outside of Puy-Notre-Dame, a small village that is famous for its beautiful cathedral. While Nathalie and Isabelle spend much of their time in the lab working on the samples the winemakers have brought them, a large part of the job is also going to the vineyards, studying the vines, and visiting the chai (wine or barrel shed) that might be the root of problem.
During my week working in the lab, we saw quite a few interesting problems. There was a Coteaux de Layon (a sweet white wine) that smelled intensely of mold, a Saumur Rouge that smelled of reduction, and another that smelled of oxidation. The goal of the oenologue is to help the winemaker find a solution to better his or her wines. Sometimes the solution can be simple, such as blending the wines, while at other times it might call for a more extensive measure, such as ThermoFlash, that heats the wine in a very precise manner as to prevent or cure microbiological flora in the wines.
In addition to visiting the vineyards and working in the lab, we also participated in a wine tasting for the pre-selection of the Concours Général Agricole 2010. This competition selects the best agricultural products to be later presented in Paris. We tasted and judged 19 créments de la Loire (sparkling wines), which is no easy task at ten in the morning.
January 21, 2010
My fascination with pintxos (PEEN-chos) began back in college when I convinced my sociology professor that Basque immigrants maintain their identity thanks to a little slice of meat or cheese placed on a slice of bread and stuck together with a toothpick. It was a far fetched idea at the time, but after weeks of researching Basque food and culture, both in Basque country and around the world, I was convinced… and so was my professor (at least I hope). I wrote a 20-page term paper about Basque food and identity, and after having read about the delicious flavors, the bar hopping, and the people, I was persuaded that I must to go to Basque country.
I finally found myself in San Sebastian, right in the heart of Basque gastronomy, over the winter holidays. My little pension that I stayed in was right across from numerous bars that all served their versions of pintxos. Traditionally pintxos are slices of bread served with some sort of delicious topping, and stuck together with a toothpick (they’re kind of like the French canapé except bigger and with a stick). They are then placed on the bar with little labels describing their topping. They are generally consumed by gangs of friends partaking in a daily pub crawl or txikiteo, and who respect the honor system by paying for their consumation based on the pile of dirty toothpicks they’ve created. The pintxos I saw (and ate) went from basic Basque cheeses and hams, to slices of Spanish tortillas (a sort of egg and potato omelette) and stuffed bell peppers, to deep fried seafood.
And, of course, you can’t forget about the drinks – served in little glasses to match the miniature-sized food. Basque country is known for it’s cider which is refreshing and crisp, but a little sour. I tried the Saizar sidre, as well as a basic white wine called txakoli, which is also crisp and slighting effervescent.
