Bicycle GourmetThe Inside Scoop

Producer/Director/Author Christopher Strong shares the human, senic, cultural, culinary, and historic “Treasures” discovered during the filming of his TV series – BICYCLE GOURMET'S TREASURES OF FRANCE.

The Inside Scoop

- Part One -

What are the French really like? A fair question to ask someone with a fair experience of their likes/dislikes – wot? But first, visualize the French asking the same question of Me: “What are ze Americans really like?”” Uh………which Americans? Native Americans? African Americans? Italian Americans? Poor Americans? Middle class Americans? Rich Americans?” You’re getting my drift, are you not, dear reader? Gross generalizations produce gross mis-information and cultural clichés. Ie – the rude French. The loud Americans. The stingy Scots. That said – given that France is roughly fifty times smaller than the excited states; there are some common cultural traditions/attitudes throughout the land of wine, perfume and fashion. Like most of us, the French don’t like to be cold. So, when vines become grapeless skeletons, terrace lunches are only for polar bear club members, and it’s dark by four thirty; those that can afford it head to the sun. Typically, Morroco, Tunisia, or the French isles of Gaudeloupe and Reunion. The ones who can’t – The ones in those hilltop villages with no multiplex – No twenty-four seven supermarket – No videos-r-us; They eat. They drink. And they tell stories. Used to be, in simpler times, they did that in the excited states. The travelling storyteller was a respected and welcome guest. An “Oral Historian” who kept traditions, heritage, and regional humor, alive and vibrant.

They still got ‘em here folks. Here’s how it works: The regional cultural council sets up a series of “Contes” (story evenings) in villages throughout the area. These nights of food, wine and tall tales are hosted in the local community center. (Salle de Fete) For ten to twelve Euro, you get: A choice of two aperitifs; as the storyteller launches into round one. As my more sophisticated and erudite readers (“the buttheads”) know – The French are not renowned for vegetarianism. Alors, Quelle surprise round two of “stories-be-us”, is accompanied by a plate of cold cuts (“charcuterie”) along with wine number one. When this action winds down, it’s time to circulate, commiserate, and appreciate an exhibition of local art. The main course(usually chicken or lamb) arrives chaperoned by wine number two.

Accompanied by – you guessed it – more stories! Na turally, by this time, after one or more aperitifs, at least two glasses of wine and the grub, the assembled multitude are feeling no pain. And the story teller is feeling his oats. (And you thought this was a family evening. Silly you!) The story teller is now definitely on a roll. And tho’ his humor is past borderline risqué, his double-entendres, register only on the adults. Then, just when you think these folks could’nt possibly be any happier, guess what? You’re right. Wine number three!

At this point, the locals are seriously inter-acting with the man-o-many-words. Exuberantly investing themselves in the narrative and the spirit of the evening. Something that’s difficult to do with the slasher movie from videos-r-us. Aware of the French passion for chocolate, cream, and all things diet-busting; I know your taste buds are spewing rivers of saliva as you imagine – what’s for dessert!? Black Forest Cake? Kirsch- soaked. Studded with cherries? An orange extravaganza with alternate layers of hazelnut crème and pear puree? The classic Profiteroles? Dark chocolate rounds stuffed with lightly sweetened heavy cream? Hard cheese for you, dear reader. Tonight’s “piece de la resistance”, although a French dessert classic, contains no chocolate. No cream. No exotic puree. No candied fruit. And – glorly gee to besus – no calories! It’s a seasonal favourite. Served in a cone. Of warm newspaper. Does the phrase, “Chestnuts roasting on a open fire” ring any bells? Next to Wine and Cheese, Meat is the staple of the French diet. And most of it, comes from Porky. Couchon (pro – coo-shawn) will be found, in mind-numbing variations, on virtually every French table. In earlier days, I passed a Summer, singing/playing at a hotel on a Greek isle; where the Chef had managed to include veal in the menu thirteen consecutive nights.

Thus, I was obliged to endure the rapier-sharp wit of the (mostly English) guests, who with sly smiles, borne of self-appreciation asked: “ Do you know…………Veal meat again?” Like that resourceful Greek chef, the French have invented many unique methods of pig presentation. First up – “Saucisson.” As you have no doubt divined, dear reader, this is a form of sausage. But not the usual, soft, pliable sausage you may be familiar with. Instead, imagine a tube of fibreglass, filled with leather, seasoned with spices, which requires a chainsaw to cut. This is “Saucisson.” Some eat the entire slice. Others cut off the rind. Regardless of how you chow down on it, you will not be able to avoid it. It’s the number one aperitif munchie.

A close number two is Ham. “Jambon” (pro – “zjam – bone”) The crème de la ceme being: “Jambon Cru.” This is raw, uncooked pieces o’ porky. Rarely refrigerated. Usually wrapped in a burlapish sack and hung in a cool place between slicings. Tho’ it’s texture varies, Jambon cru, is generally more pliable than saucisson. But, not a lot more. It is, bien sur, a gross social faux pas for any non-Frenchie to refuse to A) taste B) be enraptured by C) Rave about Jambon Cru/Saucisson. The bottom BG line: They’re not smell- bad-disgusting-horrible tasting things. The way I navigate this social minefield is to:

A) Nibble small quantities enthusiastically. B) Ask questions about the munchies. C) Drink a lot. OK – so far I’ve been gentle with the strength/palatability of French Culinary specialities. Now, it’s time to take the gloves off. The next variation on the theme of (chuckle, chuckle) “pig meat again”, is “Boudin.” This is a sausage as you know it, dear reader. Soft. Pliable. Easy to fry or bar-b-que. Boudin is a mixture of pig’s blood and meat. (Hey, I told ya I was takin’ the gloves off!) But however Boudin hits your taste buds, it’s small potatoes on the “offensive-to-non-Frenchies” culinary scale, compared to Andouillette. (pro – An-do-yet) This “delicacy”, originally conconcted in Normandy, is a sausage casing stuffed with pig intestines. Imagine a chunk of soft, creamy cheese, stuffed into a sock, and buried under your dog’s blanket for a year. Then, sealed in an air tight container in the Sun, for two years. Suffice to say, until the assulative aroma of Andouillette blasts your smell receptors off the Richter scale, You have not yet even begun to bring up your cookies! But – surpise, suprise , every time I give the French a definite, firm, not-gonna-budge “No” to their “tripe in a tube”, They always say: “Tu deja pas gouter le vrai!” (You did’nt taste the real deal before) Hey, Pierre, the stench alone is enough to get me dialing 911!

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