L' Auberge "Chez Richard"

Classic Sole Meunière

2012-01-22T19:18:00.000+01:00

It was “perfectly browned in a sputtering butter sauce with a sprinkling of chopped parsley… I closed my eyes and inhaled the rising perfume. Then I lifted a forkful of fish to my mouth… The flesh of the sole was delicate, with a light but distinct taste of the ocean that blended marvelously with the browned butter… It was a morsel of perfection… It was the most exciting meal of my life.” - from Julia Child's My Life in France

The sole meunière, in my humble opinion, is about as "classic" as it gets when it comes to French food. This delightful dish has its roots in the wonderful region of Normandy, a land dotted with apple orchards, hedgerows and a rocky and dramatic coastline. Enjoy!

Classic Sole Meunière:

Ingredients:

1/2 cup all purpose flour
4 sole fillets (each Dover Sole, about 3 to 4 ounces)
Coarse kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper6 tablespoons salted butter

Sauce:
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces
2 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Lemon wedges

Directions:

Place flour in pie dish. Remove the black skin from the soles. Rinse fish; pat with paper towels. Sprinkle both sides of fish with coarse salt and freshly ground pepper. Dredge fish on both sides with flour; shake off excess. Place on platter.

Melt butter in large skillet over medium-high heat add fish and cook until golden on bottom, 2 to 3 minutes.

Carefully turn fish over and cook until opaque in center and golden on bottom, 2 to 3 minutes. Divide fish between 2 warmed plates; tent with foil. Pour off drippings from skillet; wipe with paper towels.

Sauce: Place skillet over medium-high heat. Add butter; cook until golden, 1 to 2minutes. Remove from heat; stir in parsley and lemon juice (sauce may sputter). Spoon sauce over fish. Serve with lemon wedges.

Serving suggestions: I'm a traditionalist and would expect to see boiled parsleyed potatoes and a Boston lettuce and tomato salad in a vinaigrette Dijon mustard dressing. A nice cheese plate would be welcomed and perhaps une Tarte aux Pommes - Apple Tart straight from the apple orchards of Normandy and, as always, appropriately laced with a little Calvados.

Now about those wines...

You can enjoy this dish with almost any white wine so if your wine collection looks a little meek and you have a few orphan white wines they will do just fine. I suppose you could also go to Trader Joe's in an emergency. All that aside, here are a couple wines that pair beautifully with the Sole Meunière. Personally, I would make an immediate dash to the Val de Loire and once there, find myself torn between picking a Muscadet and or a young Sancerre and in the end opting for a Sancerre so as not to detract from my Sole Meunière. But that's just moi.

2010 Willm Riesling Reserve, Alsace

2006 Thierry Matrot Meursault, Burgundy

2009 Domaine des Noelles Muscadet, Val de Loire

2010 Domaine Vincent Delaporte Sancerre, Val de Loire

2011 Vergelegen Sauvignon Blanc, Stellenbosch, South Africa

2009 Salentein Chardonnay Reserves, Mendoza, Argentina

2009 Philo Ridge Chardonnay, Mendocino County, California's North Coast

Blanquette de Veau - French Veal Ragout

2012-01-17T00:20:00.001+01:00

The time has come. The weather is crisp and it's snowed. You know it, you don't have to be reminded by anyone. The great Gods of French cuisine, of comfort food and home cooked meals "chez nous" have been calling me much like the Sirens in Greek mythology. I hear their whispers "Blanquette--Blanquette--Blanquette" almost taunting me as if I wouldn't dare to take up my whisk and carving knife and attempt to recreate one of the finest meals I can ever remember having growing up in Paris. We would wait to gather around the table for what seemed like hours and all the while smelling those incredible aromas. How many times was I shooed out of the kitchen? I lost count but returned determined not to leave empty handed. My father, with his nose deep in the Herald Tribune, would occasionally shout out words of encouragement "my that smells good, do you need any help?" words meant to hurry the process along, please! My older brothers would poke their heads in the living room or the kitchen and complain about why was dinner taking so long? We all waited and waited. The clock struck slowly seven times. Then we heard those magical words "everybody sit down to table please." I don't think we had super-human powers but I believe we flew to our chairs.

So there we were, tout le monde à table, waiting for kitchen door to swing open et voila, the Master Chef of the house and resident culinary genius made her grand entrance with the Blanquette!! Our little noses inched towards the dish taking in every possible savory moment. My mother made humble excuses that she wasn't sure if it was as good as the last, maybe it needed more salt? The sauce had decided to be problematic, was it still good? We knew better. As we sat around the table, the only sound was the occasional clinking of silverware against the china plates. We were all so engrossed in savouring our meal. At that very moment there was nothing better in the world.

Blanquette de Veau
(thanks to Gourmet Magazine)

Ingredients:
2 3/4 pound veal breast (bone in)
1 pound boneless veal shoulder, trimmed and cut into 2-inch pieces
2 1/2 quarts water
6 fresh parsley sprigs
2 fresh thyme sprigs
1 bay leaf
4 black peppercorns
2 onions, halved
4 carrots, quartered crosswise
1 leek (white and pale green parts only), halved lengthwise and cut crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons unsalted butter1/2 pounds mushrooms, quartered

For sauce
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons crème fraîche
1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Directions:
Stew meat and vegetables: Cut meat away from veal breastbone, reserving bone, and cut meat into 2-inch pieces.

Bring veal breast and shoulder, veal bone, and water to a boil over moderate heat in a 7- to 8-quart heavy pot, skimming froth. While water is heating, wrap parsley, thyme, bay leaf, and peppercorns in a small square of cheesecloth and tie into a bundle to make a bouquet. Add bouquet garni and onions to pot and simmer, uncovered, until veal is tender, 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours.

Preheat oven to 300°F.

Transfer veal with a slotted spoon to a heatproof serving dish and keep warm in oven, covered with foil.

Discard veal bone, onions, and bouquet garni, then pour stock through a fine sieve into a large bowl.

Return stock to cleaned pot, add carrots and leek, and simmer until tender, 10 to 12 minutes. Transfer vegetables to serving dish. Boil stock until reduced to about 2 1/2 cups, about 10 minutes.

While stock is reducing, heat butter in a 10-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat until foam subsides, then cook mushrooms, stirring, until just tender, 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer to serving dish and season veal and vegetables with salt and pepper. Keep warm in oven.

Make sauce: Melt butter in a 2- to 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderately low heat, then stir in flour. Cook roux, stirring, 3 minutes (do not let brown). Whisk in reduced stock and simmer, uncovered, whisking occasionally, 15 minutes. Whisk together yolks and crème fraîche in a small bowl, then whisk in 1 cup sauce. Whisk yolk mixture into remaining sauce with lemon juice, then cook over moderately low heat (do not let boil), stirring constantly, until it reaches 160°F on an instant-read thermometer and coats back of a wooden spoon.

Season sauce with salt and pepper and pour over veal and vegetables.

Now about those wines...

Now wouldn't you just know it? A stroke of good luck is what I would call it. This weekend I just happened to stumble upon a wine tasting! How unusual for me as I would normally be found chopping logs, and tilling the field and driving fence posts. Hardly. C'est pas moi! So here are a couple of fine wines, nothing you are going fine a Sothebys or a nose in the air crowd. Solid wines for a solid meal. Merci!

2010 Domaine de Bertier Sauvignon Blanc Viognier - Cotes de Thongue. Great little mix which offers crisp, clean aromas and flavors of lemons, pineapples, peaches and melons. I don't believe your guests will recoil in horror, shriek at the very audacity. Remember why you have that 45 under the table?

2010 Chabert Roussanne - Languedoc Roussillon. Tons of peaches and apricots on the nose with more fruit flavors and fresh apples on the palate. Yum (that's French "darn this baby sure is goood!")

2009 Le Roc Blanc - Coteaux de Languedoc. Call me a man of simple tastes but I sure did enjoy this humble little vintage. Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre dancing together. Aroma notes of cocoa and spice. A long rich finish. I like that in a wine or whatever.

2007 Chateau Haut Vignols - Corbieres. What more can one really say other than "it's a Corbieres." On the palate you are knocked over with dark fruits, cocoa, grilled almonds and a delicate hint of oak.

As they say...OMG.

When Are We Going to Eat Real Food?

2012-01-12T16:17:00.000+01:00

The following conversation may well have taken place in an office somewhere along New York's Madison Avenue. Just maybe...

"Listen Harry, I know you're the new kid here, but I'm going to tell you something from the get-go, I don't give a damn if what we're tryin' to sell is not "really" French food, 'cause Harry, tell me who in the hell's gonna know the difference...some schmuck in Toledo? We're calling this stuff French Toast!" They're gonna buy it and think they're in Paree or wherever it is!

On more than one occasion, I've overheard my compatriots overseas speaking longingly about missing "real food" from back home. For many of us, "real food" means the food that makes its from the freezer to the microwave to the diner table in a nano-second. I suppose we like opening up our freezer and venturing deep into its frozen recesses then proudly dragging out a box that might well have been left there by Admiral Byrd on one of his polar expeditions. Nuke that frozen meal until it glows red hot or Homeland Security comes calling, whichever comes first.

It never fails that when I'm in Paris, I'm given the opportunity to observe some interesting behavior from my compatriots. Usually, the consternation is over food and those crazy menus, you know the ones that should be in English but are in a foreign language, as if who doesn't speak American these days? My compatriots have confided in me that what they find quite irritating are the menus scribbled in chalk with a couple of Euro signs slapped here and there and making it look quite like the day's currency exchange market. They added that in some restaurant, the menus were written on mirrors! Nice mirrors too.

The Restaurant
I believe, in large part, it's the French food and dining experience that helps so many American tourists long for home and "real food." With heads bowed, they sadly walk the streets of Paris in quiet desperation looking for something that is recognizable (and edible) from back home in Duluth. Some of my compatriots would return from their first visit to Paree (I saw France thank you) and over a chilly hot dog, cherry cobbler and a diet Sprite, complain and complain and yes, complain some more. If it wasn't about the bathrooms and showers made for midgets, it something else but the food experience usually followed along these familiar themes. Why those awful waiters, surly and nasty they were and I don't care how nice they looked in their little outfits. They ignored us even when we snapped our fingers and very nicely calling out "Garkun." We almost had to trip our waiter just to get any kind of service and then, mind you, the worst was about to begin: the menu. A couple of menu's land on your table, hopefully with pictures, and you find pages of suggestions - all in French- with daily menu prices, special menu combinations and a seemingly never ending pages of "a-pear-ree-teefs" which is French for drinking alcohol. It's awful and not at all like that little place back home, Jack and Joan's Bistro on the corner of Elm and Main. Once you have your menus in hand, the nice little waiter disappears again, gone, left, partis! I don't think the waiter was French anyway because he spoke with an accent. So we need to wave him down again, "oh Garkun over here, dammit, Harry our little man's gone can you get him?" When Garkun finally returns, pen in hand all ready to scribble our request "alors on a décidé?" You point to the only real words you understand, Steak and salad please and French fries (yesss veree gouud), et pour vous Madame?? Tick-tock, tick-tock... el hamburger please. The waiter is not finished with us just yet, he takes a menu and impatiently flips to the next page and points to the deserts and then looks at you the way one might look at a well trained dog, puzzled that you haven't learned your new trick. Menus picked-up, he disappears into thin air. You relax, wipe your brow having survived the awful French waiter experience. But, no, Garkun returns, smoothly maneuvering through the corridor of little tables, he looks generally annoyed and you pray its not because of something you did. He points to a selection of drinks on the menu and then offers a uniquely in-country suggestion: "Coca Cola?"

American Made French Food

The wizards of Madison Avenue has cleverly led us to conclude that we don't have to look very far to appreciate fine French cuisine; we just have to reach in to our freezer et voila! Now you can have all the wonderful foods of France conveniently chez-vous, from the freezer to the diner table without stepping away from your zip code. Paris in suburbia...wonderful! We have some outstanding marketing examples of real French food which can be had at almost any truck stop diner. Fancy menu items such as French fries, French crepes, French bread, French onion soup, French ice cream--oh la la! French toast, French apple pie, and that old standby, "ya want French dressing with your iceberg lettuce, hon?" No wonder when the "ugly American" has his or hers first encounter with French food, nothing is the way it should be, the way we have French food back home. It's at that moment you realize "we're not in Kansas anymore." The "fries" are little and thin and piled in a heap and every one of them seems to have an attitude not like the ones in the frozen section at Shoppers or better yet the ones served up with gravy please. To add insult to injury, horrors when ordering le French toast, it comes as two pieces of bread with little pads of butter and a dainty assortment of preserves that look very strange and foreign and barely enough to feed a child. I mean where's the fluffy gooey battered bread covered in an ocean of syrup? I miss it so.

The Baguette
The French bread, is not the sliced spongy variety that we know and love and the hallmark of any good hot turkey sandwich, smothered in turkey gravy; non Monsieur, the baguette is not ever to be destroyed in that fashion. If you are running short of ideas and decide on buying a baguette, lets say, to take home and show the relatives in Muncie, please keep in mind that in a day you will have a lethal weapon in your possession that will, as all the ones before, get confiscated when entering the United States. American expats in Paris quite often use day old baguettes as bats when playing a pick-up game of baseball in the Bois de Boulogne. In France, hardly a day goes by without someone getting hit over the head with a baguette - usually a slow husband who's hard of hearing. It's never pretty and the police no longer interfere with Madame and her weaponized baguette, smart flics.

The Baguette Goes Postal
Speaking of baguettes, several years ago I was in Brittany with my grown children when my son informed me that, as a joke, he wanted to mail a baguette directly to his office because whenever anyone from the office was overseas they shipped something equally clever and smart. No further explanation on that point. So, with baguette in hand, we marched into La Poste and, as the interlocutor on this sensitive assignment, I explained to the young lady what we wanted to do. A strange look came over her face, best described as the kind of look you get when they realize you are on 24hr leave from the asylum. The rest of the waiting customers slowly shook their head in disapproval. The young lady immediately went to Madame the supervisor and heads huddled together, brows furrowed, both heads repeatedly turning back and forth in our direction when finally they approached us with a look that screamed "just how stupid are you?" Monsieur, the supervisor politely explained, we cannot mail the baguette to America because (and here I was waiting for a reference to the Napoleonic Code) because Monsieur the baguette would not be fresh when it arrived chez-vous! Impossible Monsieur! Case closed, the state had spoken. Putting my best foot forward and oozing as much charm as I could possibly muster, I explained that I recognized the importance that the State placed on baguette being served fresh -why more than one village baker had been run out of town for having sold weaponized baguettes. I assure her that "freshness" was not an issue and that I would sign whatever papers were necessary to hold the post office, the bakery, the village and the State, harmless. Wrap it up and mail it, that's all we silly Americains would ask of the State. Once both parties agreed that the baguettes' freshness was no longer an issue, it seemed as if the entire Post Office got into the act. We watched as the postal team Bretagne got to work with much giggling, smiling, whispering and head shaking (ahhh que voulez-vous, les Americains.) And so, bit by bit, the baguette slowly disappeared from view, wrapped in sturdy brown paper half of which was covered in French document stamps. Fresh or not, the State wanted its share of this noble experiment.

Real Food
When the French hit our shores, do we see them upset and fusing with a burger that's bigger than them? Of course not. When you look back they are already up the ladder and carving our their dinner. Do they puzzle at our iceberg lettuce and wonder how the Captain of the Titanic even thought he could outmaneuver the bergs? No, they willingly pick up a jack hammer and attack the lettuce. Nor do have I seen them holding up their noses at a pile of hungry jacks pancakes with a handful of eggs on top and held in position by several encrusted sausage links and doused in strawberry syrup - everywhere. Nope, they love it and it's everything they hoped it would be and more. We must be doing something right because they keep coming back time and again for more of 'yo Mama's roadside diner serving hot (sort of) roast beef sandwiches with mashed potatoes and gravy and washing it down with Root Beer. Ahh, le sweet life!

Grilled Salmon in Champagne Sauce - Le Saumon Grillé avec Sauce au Champagne

2012-01-05T14:36:00.003+01:00

For some time I have been meaning to go salmon fishing in Brittany. From what I have been told, the Armor Cornouaille seashore is the place to be with its incredible assembly of rocky coast, sand beaches, old market towns and superb trout and salmon rivers. Why Brittany you ask? Especially when I can go to the supermarket and pick up salmon, smoked or otherwise just by asking. I guess I have a long family attachment to Brittany, it's not like any other place I've ever known and I thank God for that. In northern Brittany, the locals fish from the banks but some like to do the chest waders; however the locals seem to do just fine fishing from banks in low boots and grinning at smart ass foreigners such as myself falling over themselves all in an attempt to be truly "du pays." I will be smart, for once, and follow their advice. So this recipe is to get me in the mood, that would be for salmon and salmon fishing, and for my readers this is just another wild and crazy culinary adventure of mine. Won't you please join me? We gather at Au Rendez Des Pécheurs very early in the morning for un petit verre to get us started, for medicinal purposes only.

I know this is a big assumption on my part, coming so close on the heels of New Year's Eve rejoycing, but, should you have any Champagne left over from that case of twelve magnums (Veuve, DP or whatever), I have come up with an excellent way to start off the new year on a note of hope and joy and financial prosperity for the coming year, etc., etc. Why not start anew with salmond and Champagne? This is a wonderful tasty recipe, the smokey flavor of the grilled salmon combined with champagne sauce of mustard, tarragon, and cream. Ooh-la-la, be still my heart, I get chills just writing about it and my mouth, much like a well-trained Pavlovian dog, begins to water at the very thought. You see, that's what happens when you know something is really that good. Spot on as they say. Yes indeed, Mesdames et Monsieurs, without further ado, pop open two bottles of Champagne, one for the recipe and the stress of managing this culinary event and the other for your dinner enjoyment.

Le Saumon Grillé avec Sauce au Champagne

(serves 2 - the mathematical equation for 4 servings is to double the ingredients)

Ingredients:

1/2 lb salmon fillet , about 1-inch inch thick

olive oil

salt and pepper

2 tablespoons chopped shallots

1/2 cup champagne

1/2 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1/4 teaspoon dried tarragon

3 tablespoons sour cream (you can try using creme fraiche as a substitute but if you die, don't call me)

extra tarragon

Directions:

Heat grill to medium heat.

Paint each fillet on both sides with olive oil; salt and pepper.

Place on grill and cook for approximately 3-7 minutes on each side, depending on your choice of done-ness.

Remove to heated platter and cover.

Heat 1 teas. olive oil in saute pan over medium heat; add shallots.

Saute about 1 1/2 minutes to soften.

Reduce heat to med-low.

Stir in Champagne, mustard, salt(if desired) and tarragon.

Blend well.

Remove from heat, stir in sour cream.

Place half of sauce on heated serving plate; top with salmon fillet and garnish with very light sprinkle of tarragon.

Serving Suggestions:

Serve with a big smile on your face (from the Champagne, of course) or with boiled parsleyed baby potatoes, Parisian-style potatoes, angel hair pasta, or a pesky vegetable of your choice!

Please make sure you have both Champagne and white wine - from Burgundy, Bordeaux or the Loire Valley (hey I'm easy to please!)

Chicken with Shallots, Prunes, and Armagnac - Poulet aux Pruneaux à l'Armagnac

2011-12-28T15:09:00.000+01:00

How could I say no to any chicken recipe that involved prunes steeped in Armagnac and smothered in shallots? I'm only human (though some might argue otherwise) and I have been a loyal camp follower of Armagnac for some time. As many of you know, Armagnac is the oldest brandy distilled in Gascony, in the southwest of France. The name dates back to the gallo-roman times of Arminius. The first known distillation was in 1411 and first commercial activity involving Armagnac was registered in 1414 in Saint-Sever in Landes. In the past, Armagnac was consumed for its therapeutic benefits and one of the principal reasons I still consume it today. According to a 14th Century sage:

"It makes disappear redness and burning of the eyes, and stops them from tearing; it cures hepatitis, sober consumption adhering. It cures gout, cankers, and fistula by ingestion; restores the paralysed member by massage; and heals wounds of the skin by application. It ... renders men joyous, preserves youth and retards senility."

But wait, mes amis, for the few non-believers amongst you, research conducted by scientists at Bordeaux University in 2007 "suggested" that Armagnac has health benefits finding that moderate consumption can help protect against heart disease and obesity. The research indicated (alright, suggested) that the benefits were derived from its unique distillation process and aging rather than from its alcoholic content. The southwestern area of France, where Armagnac is produced, has some of the lowest cardiovascular disease rates in the world (and some of the happiest people around, if I may add.) I'm only sorry I didn't start enjoying this little eau de vie sooner.

So it is with the very best of intentions and wishes for your good health in the coming year, that I humbly submit this recipe. Eat and drink and stay healthy. And remember, always eat your prunes with Armagnac!

Chicken with Shallots, Prunes, and Armagnac

Ingredients:
(serves 4)

1 cup large pitted prunes (about 20)
2/3 cup Armagnac (or other cognac or brandy), divided
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 4-pound cut-up free-range chicken (frankly any chicken, liberated or otherwise) 12 large shallots, peeled
1 1/4 cups organic chicken broth
3 large fresh thyme sprigs plus 1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
1 teaspoon Sherry wine vinegar

Directions:

Boil prunes with 1/3 cup Armagnac in small saucepan until almost all liquid is absorbed, about 3 minutes. Cover and set aside.

Heat oil in heavy large skillet over medium-high heat. Sprinkle your free chicken with salt and pepper.

Add to skillet, skin side down; cook until browned, about 5 minutes per side. Transfer to plate. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons drippings.

Add shallots; cook until browned in spots, about 5 minutes. Add remaining 1/3 cup Armagnac; boil 30 seconds, scraping up browned bits. Add broth, prunes, and thyme sprigs; bring to boil.

Add chicken in single layer, skin side up, and any accumulated juices. Cover, reduce heat to medium, and simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 17 minutes. Transfer chicken to plate.

Stir vinegar into sauce; simmer until thickened, 3 minutes. Remove thyme sprigs. Season with salt and pepper. Pour sauce over chicken. Sprinkle with chopped thyme.

Serve simply with boiled or steamed baby potatoes. Let them do the all work and soak up the juices. Invite a few friends if you wish to share if not, well its certainly understandable.

Now about those wines and eau-de-vie...

Coteaux du Langedoc-St.Georges d'Orques
Les Deux Rives Corbieres Rouge 2005
Chateau Bois de Lamothe Cotes de Duras 2009
Cote de Beaune (Rouge)
2006 Gouges, Nuits St Georges, Clos des Porrets Rouge, 1er Cru
Domaine Mont Tauch Fitou Rouge "A.O.C." Grower's Reserve 2008
2004 Chave Hermitage

Eau-de-Vie (prepare several samplers served on a nice silver tray)

Delord 25 Year Old Bas-Armagnac

Cles Des Ducs Armagnac V.s.o.p.

Marie Duffau Bas-Armagnac Napoleon

Chateau de Laubade VSOP Bas Armagnac (I hear the 1900 and the 1941 vintages are well worth taking out a second mortgage.)

Say "Yes" to Champagne Throughout the Year!

2011-12-22T13:48:00.001+01:00

On learning that Marilyn Monroe was reputed to have taken a bath in 350 bottles of Champagne, I didn't know whether to cry or blush at the thought. Did you know that the "saucer" shaped glass is a Champagne icon associated with a celebrity sex symbol. The Champagne coupe is often claimed to have been modeled on the shape of the breast of a French aristocrat, often cited as Marie Antoinette or Madame de Pompadour both busy little bees in French society. Ian Fleming's fictional spy character James Bond is portrayed as a frequent drinker of Champagne prestige cuvées. In fact, a count of over 22 Bond films reveals 35 occasions on which the character was portrayed drinking Champagne, of which 17 were Bollinger, preferably Bollinger R.D., and 7 were Dom Pérignon. To add just a little bit more history, Champagne became, in effect, a major symbol of France. During World War II, the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, once motivated the British forces with the claim "Remember, gentlemen, it's not just France we are fighting for, it's Champagne. That's all I would have needed to get me going. And in closing on this bubbly little narrative, the humorist Mark Twain once commented, "Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right."

With that as my preamble to a little bit of heaven, here are but just a few suggestions from around the world, as you begin to stock up for the holidays. This year there's a lot to drink to and yes, a lot to salute goodbye and good riddance as well!

Jacob's Creek Blanc de Blancs Brut Cuvee NV, Australia

A special cuvée, made from 100 per cent chardonnay, and better than the more usual blended bubbly from JC. It will appeal to fans of soft, rounded, less-fierce fizz.

Champagne Les Pionniers Brut NV, France

Young, breezy and very fresh champagne at a decent price – you can't ask for more than that. This is in the snappy, whistle-clean aperitif style rather than rich and food-worthy, so chill it for a spot of glass clinking before your Christmas meal.

Asda Extra Special Vintage Champagne Brut 2002, France

The words 'Asda' and 'champagne' might not seem like bedfellows, but open your mind. This is a wonderful vintage release from a good year, full of toasty, buttery richness and with a dry, satisfyingly full-flavoured finish. I served it to some friends with a smoked-salmon starter, and it went down a storm we didn't bother with dinner.

Roederer Estate Anderson Valley Brut, California

Reviews say it's easy to mistake the California-made Roederer Estate NV Brut for fine French Champagne, partly because it's made using techniques developed by top French producer Louis Roederer. Experts say this wine's bouquet of cherry and apple gives way to flavors of citrus and spice. Adding to its appeal are wide availability, low price and a long finish.

Aldi, France
The rather stylish looking Philippe Michel 2008 Crémant du Jura is an excellent choice is you want to serve a crowd coming over. Just tell them "Of course Aldi is Champagne! Where do you the Jura is located?" Excuse yourself and leave quickly.

Tesco Cava Brut NV, Spain

The value of the year with astounding quality and easily the best bargain bubbly widely available this Christmas. Lemon peel and apples combine to give a dry but distinctive palate, the bubbles are a mass of small, vivacious beads and the finish has a biscuity, bready note.

Joy, Iron Horse Vineyards, California

Joy! is a new Sparkling Cuvée from Iron Horse, produced only in magnums and aged 10 to 15 years on the yeast in the bottle. With a couple of friends, a magnum is hardly a challenge!

Champagne Charles Heidsieck Brut Reserve NV, France

Heidsieck champagnes are pretty darn fine and deliver a beautifully crafted bubbly that contains a hefty dollop of mature 'reserve' wine in the blend.

Nicolas Feuillatte Brut NV, France

Critics agree that Nicolas Feuillatte Brut NV Champagne is an excellent value. Although not as refined or elegant as vintage Champagne, non-vintage Champagne really showcases a winery's house style, and costs less. In the case of Nicolas Feuillatte, the house style is said to be fairly light and delicate, and a great complement to party foods. This is one you easily stock up on.

Note: If your credit card feels unwanted from lack of use, may I suggest R and L Legras Cuvée Exceptionelle St-Vincent 1990, Old vine Grand Cru Chardonnay (beware, you will never drink just any old Champagne after this.)

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Neuilly Postscript: A Little Christmas Story

2011-12-20T15:37:00.000+01:00

I wanted to share what I consider to be a most unusual little story because I have written previously about growing up in France on more than one occasion, that is, when I was not running mouth off about a French recipe I just tried or about an outstanding bottle of wine I just had to taste. I call it an unusual story but perhaps amazing might be more appropriate. The French would understand and say "Comme c'est curieux et quelle coïncidence, la vie c'est bien comme ça !" We Yanks might say, "small world man, you can run but you can't hide!" Both may have the correct spin but I leave it to you to decide for yourselves. Our story takes place in Neuilly s/Seine, a lovely, leafy affluent suburb just over the Paris city line, the home to many diplomatic residences, corporate headquarters and of course the famous American Hospital of Paris - a medical institution dating back to before the 1st World War. We begin in 1961 where , at that time, I was attending a small private school called Cours Montaigne located on the Avenue du Roule in Neuilly. Some may remember my Neuilly trilogy which had, as the third part, a story about my time at the school in question and a less than pleasant encounter with my teacher and Madame la Directrice. I will let you cycle back to that story should you wish to know more of the details. http://aubergechezrichard.blogspot.com/2011/05/neuilly-sseine-snapshots-of-days-gone_21.html?

When I returned to Paris and Neuilly in 2003, I found the school had moved or closed forever and for a while, doubted myself if there had ever even been such a school. It was one of those pieces in my life that was doomed to be left, in some respect, unfinished or unresolved. I have a thing about going back and tying up, wherever I can, loose ends from my past. I don't know why maybe it's where I find myself these days. With the above as general background information, the curious part begins. In December 2011, I received a comment on my blog from a reader regarding the Neuilly trilogy, part three, stating in so many words, that I should "hold on to my hat" because the writer had also attended the very same school on the Avenue du Roule and apparently, so it seemed, at the same time as I. He recounted that some of my crazy antics with my brothers reminded him of his youthful days in Neuilly playing soldier with his friend and hiding in the various garage in Neuilly. If you recall, I was involved in such charming antics as throwing firecrackers (aka bombe Algerienne) from our apartment porch down onto unsuspecting passers by. If we were operating on the street, then we would throw our bombs then run and hide in the garage. I suspect that somehow I am still paying for those antics. When we left France, I know there had to have been an audible sigh of relief from somewhere in the Mairie de la Ville de Neuilly, the Gendarmerie and la Republic Francaise in general. "We thought those American boys would never leave our country!" or something along those lines.

In any event, as you can well imagine, I immediately responded to my mysterious blog reader telling him that I lived at 61 rue Perronet. His answer? Well, that was his address as well which prompted a flurry of email conversations recalling life in Neuilly, living on the rue Perronet, landmarks such as the movie theater on the rue de Chezy, green grocer, tabac store, the wonderful bakery and many others. I told my new found blog friend that in late 1961 -early 1962 I was yanked out of the Cours Montaigne and placed with my brothers at the Ecole Pascal in the 16, (I presume that I was either shown the front door of the school by Madame la Directrice or my father may have felt it was easier to control three little truants under one roof.) I wrote about my encarceration at the Ecole Pascal in an episode entitled "My Personal Rentrée Scolaire - School Daze.) While I went in the direction of Pascal, my blog friend went to the famed Lycée Pasteur directly across from 61 rue Perronet. We both recalled being able to peer into the classrooms of the lycée from across the street in our apartment.

Now you must be asking yourselves did I know this mysterious classmate from Montaigne? My answer is that I had no idea who he was. So there we were two American kids making our way through the French school system in 1961 unknown to each other yet going to the same school, living in the same street at the same address and doing many of the same typical kinds of activities one would expect like trips to the Bois de Boulogne and the Jardin D'Acclimatation. He sent me a picture which I have included, with his permission, that shows several the students sitting on the school steps which led into the stately residence/villa turned school's administrative building. The bigger boy, the one seen on the first step with one knee on the ground is my new friend. The second little boy leaning against the black ornate railing in a dark sweater and short pants, and who appears to be standing somewhat apart from the other boys, watching but not participating, is yours truly. I've looked at that little boy for some time now and have asked myself had I been able to return as an adult, at that moment in time, what would I have said or done. I've been thinking an awful lot about that but I know one thing for sure, it would have included a big, long and much needed bear hug.

How strange that an event that took place in 1961 should, some fifty years later, come full circle thanks to an isolated event in California, a web search on the Cours Montaigne school which ultimately connected my new friend to my blog and ultimately to me in Maryland. Now thanks to him I have a real link to a particular moment in time in Neuilly that I never had before. Thank you Kevin.

Please let me know what you think of this most unusual little Christmas story.

Chicken in Cointreau with Ratatouille, Languedoc-style

2011-12-17T16:14:00.001+01:00

So there I was, staring at a bottle of the world's most distinguished orange-flavored liqueur, made by France's Cointreau family since the mid-nineteenth century. Call me a fool if you like, but I took it as a sign that I should "get thee to a kitchen" and work with Cointreau in some fashion. But first, I needed to remember how it tasted. Cointreau, Ladies and Gentlemen, is clear and colorless with an intensely exotic, mildly bitter orange flavor—the result of a combination of the peel of sour oranges (from the Caribbean island of Curaçao) sweet orange peel from Spain, multiple revolutions, many a fair maiden, pistol duels, adventure and treachery on the high-seas. How could I not embrace this intoxicating liqueur? I had another sip. Yes I was ready, the vision had appeared before my very eyes and disappeared as quickly. Stand back mes amis, cook or be cooked.

Poulet au Cointreau or Chicken in Cointreau

Ingredients:

4- 6 chicken thighs

3-4 oz of Cointreau (better measurement is to just pour)

1 orange

Sea salt and cracked pepper

Water (or white wine.)

Directions:

Ahead of time, steep those thighs in the Cointreau, the juice of one orange, salt and pepper and let marinate in the fridge for about 2 hours. There is a little prep work involved.

Place the chicken in a baking dish and cook at 425 degrees for 30 minutes. Every so often add a splash of water (God no, add white wine please!)

Serve with Chichoumé and baby potatoes.

Chichoumé or Ratatouille -Languedoc-style

(serves 4)

Ingredients:

1 green pepper

2 1/2 cups eggplant

6 cups zucchini

1 onion

3.4 cup smoked bacon chopped

1 1/2 cup tomato concentrate

2 cups water

sea salt and cracked pepper

olive oil

Directions:

Peel and slice zucchini, sweat in pan then cut in small cubes.

Cut in small cubes your pepper, eggplant (peele) and onion.

Transer your vegetables and the bacon to a deep casserole and add olive oil liberally.

Cook over medium heat for 75 minutes. After 15 minutes, add the tomato concentrate.

Through the cooking, add a little water so your vegetables do not stick to the pan (not good.)

Serve proudly to your guests.

Now about those wines...

This combination of dishes makes for some interesting wines to consider. Granted the chicken with the Cointreau calls for a little robustness in a wine. So I am suggesting a couple of solid Bordeaux reds. How can you go wrong with that? But because the palate is a strange creature, I want to add a couple of selections from the Rhone valley and from the Languedoc region. A balanced approach of wine that neither sneers in the face of the dish nor lies down complacently. Clever? Yes, I thought so as well. Enjoy.

2006 Château du Raux Haut-Médoc Cru Bourgeois, Bordeaux

2006 Château Cap Léon Veyrin Listrac Médoc Supérieur, Bordeaux

2004 Saint-Estèphe Cru Bourgeois Château Beau Site

1998 Corton Château Corton Grancey Louis La tour

2007 Mas Bruguiere La Grenadiere, Côteaux du Languedoc

2009 Robert Arnoux Vacqueyras "Seigneur de Lauris" Rhone Valley

Vegetable Tagine - Tagine de Légumes and Leeks in Vinaigrette

2011-12-09T16:34:00.000+01:00

So there I was, market day and casually strolling from one stall to another listening to merchants plying their trade, when suddenly I had an epiphany - perhaps it was the North African heat, I don't know. But I started thinking seriously about food - more than I normally do. Stand ready everyone - I am presenting a double barrelled vegetarian meal starting with a wonderfully fresh salad of leeks in a vinaigrette sauce followed with a tasty vegetable tagine. No beef or chicken, no pork or veal? Prolonged exposure to the sun will do strange things to a man. I suppose I'm doing my pied noir "cooking thing" as I recently ran across a some interesting French North African cuisine. I could hardly cook alone so I have decided to share with those of you brave enough to have embarked on this cooking cruise across France and Outre-Mer.

Tagine de Légumes

Ingredients:
3 large potatoes, diced
3 carrots, diced
3 sticks of celery, diced
4-6 cloves of garlic
3 courgettes (aka zucchini), peeled and diced
2 onions, chopped
1 mild chili, finely chopped
3 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp cumin
Small bunch of parsley, finely chopped
Sea salt and crapped pepper

Directions:

Bring 2 pints of salted water to boil, then add the potatoes, carrots, celery, garlic and one of the onions.

Cook, uncovered, over a medium heat for 15 to 20 minutes by the vegetables should be pleasingly tender. Five minutes before the other vegetables are done, add the courgettes.

While the vegetables are cooking, gently fry up the second onion and the chili in an uncovered tagine and when your onion is translucent, after 5 or 6 minutes, add the cumin, parsley, salt and pepper.

When your vegetables are tender, transfer them under armed guard to the tagine and cook the combined vegetables for 10 minutes over moderate heat so that the sauce thickens, adding a little more salt and pepper to taste. Voila!

Poireaux Vinaigrette

Ingredients:

8 leeks, washed and trimmed

5 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp balsamic vinegar

1 tsp Dijon mustard

4 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

Bunch of parsley, finely chopped

Sea salt and coarse ground pepper

Directions:

Boil the leeks in salted water, in a covered pan for 10 minutes, then drained, cooled and arranged on a serving dish. Sprinkle with parsley and garlic.

To make the sauce, vigorously mix the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper.

Serve the dish slightly warm, doused in the vinaigrette

Now about those wines...

All of these should pair very nicely with both dishes. All are red because, well because I wanted to that's why. But certainly a chilled Picpoul blanc would go well as would a chilled Rose de Provence.

Château du Cèdre Cahors Red Wine 2006 - Cahors, from Southwest France, is a powerful red wine, often harsh when young but remarkable after a few years in bottle. Or maybe just after a few bottles.

Chateau Puech-Haut Coteaux de Languedoc Saint-Drezery Prestige Rouge from the Languedoc-Roussillon region

Perrin et Fils Cotes du Rhone Villages Rouge 2007

El Bordj - Coteaux de Mascara 2004 red wine from Algeria

"Boulaouane" red wine from Morocco

The Santa Claus School

2011-12-07T00:51:00.002+01:00

The Santa Claus School was located deep in the heart of this busy, bustling metropolis. It was imposing looking building, ivy covered, windows usually firmly shut from prying eyes especially this time of year. The school was open only during the Christmas holiday season - at least as far most people knew. The building was closed and padlocked on the 26th of December and re-opened the following December 1 for a most important event, the new Santa class was starting and by the end of the two week grueling training session, often referred to as "beast weeks," a fresh, portly, balding, bearded, jolie looking crew of graduate Santa's would appear to anxious waiting crowds including families who had not seen their loved ones in so long. The comment most often heard from the crowd was "oh look at him the poor dear, he seems so tired and I can't believe how much weight he's put on!" The Santa team waddled out proud and happy and ready to embark on a most important mission as emissaries from, well, let's just say, the Santa Claus School had some pretty powerful friends in high, cold places!

Known to only a few, and those few were sworn to secrecy before the "big guy", there existed deep below the charming little school, training facilities the likes of which Hollywood directors only dreamed of. Yes indeed, Santa City 01225 was a cavernous structure and included a replica of hometown America, suburbia, and another of an urban, congested confusing metropolis with department stores at every corner and lifelike little children running for no earthly reason other than it was Christmas time. But this particular time the lights in Santa City were shut down for the evening except, that is, for a narrow beam of light coming from a room tucked far away in corner of Santa City. The door to the room had a sign, whic read clear and simply: Santa Squad Room.

Inside, the room was packed - not an empty seat to be found. There was an air of merriment, excitement and festivity among the 30 Santa candidates present that evening -all dressed per instructions: matching red jacket and pants, standard issue black belt with large buckle, black boots, and red fur hat trimmed in white. Formal Santa outfits would be forthcoming on graduation. The door swung wide open, the noise subsided to a dull roar, heads turned and Sergeant William "big Bill" Smorsky, technical trainer for class '11 came in looked around, shook his head, placed his Santa coffee cup on the dais and studied the clip board for a few minutes in silence. Without a word, he turned to the blackboard and started writing: Santa Training Class (STC-2011), Sgt. Smorsky, teacher (STC '05.) Putting the chalk down, he turned to the assembled Santa's who were now quiet as mice and watching the instructor's every move, bib Bill finally spoke in a measured but gravely voice of a true veteran:

"This is the Santa Training Class (STC-2011) better known as STC-11. If you are here for Elf-101 you are in the wrong class and I will ask you to please leave yesterday! That would mean now. Thank you"

He surveyed the class, nobody moved.

"OK you Santa-wannabe's, first things first. I've got some important announcements, so kindly stay wake and listen-up! First, once you enter the classroom you are not to be wearing your Santa hats (during your training they will be know as your "cover.") You will be issue official Santa hats at the conclusion of graduation ceremonies. Second, there is nothing more unpleasant than to see a Santa with food stains all over his red tunic, especially yellow mustard. That would mean you, the rotund Santa-wannabe in the back row. Be a jolly 'ol soul and dispose of that hot dog now! Third, some of you actually have beards which I find commendable on your part, however the other ninety-nine percent with fakes ones, may I remind you to take them off before you eat. Watching a sweet little child pull some food from Santa's beard, which happened last season, is unsightly, uncalled for and very un-Christmas-like. Four, you have all been issued official-looking Santa boots. If you loose or misplace them you will be held liable however you are not to appear in anything other than regular school issued Santa boots. That means you don't come in here with cowboy boots, high-heeled boots (yes, we've had some), workman's boots or motorcycle boots. Lastly, a word about your uniforms. There is no Mrs. Santa Claus around to keep your outfits clean which means you all have to behave like grownup Santa's and care for your uniform. They have been issued with the understanding that each will be returned in good condition for next year's class. That means they will be returned clean with the pockets empty. As a reminder, in past years we've found, underwear -men and women's, numerous brandy and cognac miniatures, toys -not children's, magazines, subway tokens, laundry list, numerous telephone numbers written on every possible kind of paper. And photos, I don't need to explain but let me add that the Santa outfit is for Santa and belongs on Santa- not his girlfriend, wife, boyfriend, dog or even stuffed animals."

Big Bill took a breadth, hoisted his suspenders, gargled with some more 'jo and complained to himself that his back and feet were already killing him, a little bit like this class of rejects. Where did the N-Pole Recruiting Group find these sadsacks? Back in his time it was completely different, Santa's looked sharp, their uniforms crisp and clean, boots that reflected they were so shiny, beards pristine white and trimmed to regulation standards. The good 'ol days. And now he had to turn this crew into functioning jolie Santa's in less than two weeks. He wondered, who, upstairs, came up with all these stupid ideas. He sighed, probably some marketing wimp, he gulped more 'jo and continued on:

"Listen up Santa-wannabees!" he yelled clearly irritated by the returning low roar of voices.

Big Bill continued. "All of you were issued a training syllabus is that correct? Also you were given a copy of "SantaStars: A Digest of Important Holiday Factoids" is that correct. Bill continued on without waiting for answers. Addressing the eager Santa's, he remarked "there is one change to the syllabus that I would to point out. You may strike Roman numeral two: "Santa Claus: Myth and Reality Throughout the Centuries." If we have time at the end of training, I will attempt to cover that topic."

Big Bill, walked among the seated Santa's holding up a dog eared copy of "SantaStars." For the next two weeks, he droned on, until graduation, this book is your Bible do you understand? You will have it on you at all times, wherever you go and whatever you are doing. It contains a wealth of information about the Santa Claus story, history of the family, known living relatives, vital statistics on global travel with distance and estimated arrival times, also key words you will have to learn in Spanish, French and Italian. You will be expected to successfully break down a sleigh in total darkness, understand the technical reasons how a sleigh with enough reindeer's to take over a third world country, can in fact fly! You will need to know this why? Because..." And here big Bill paused for effect, "because of one word..." Big Bill whispered "Authenticity."

You could have heard a pin drop. All eyes were on big Bill.

"For those of you fortunate enough to make it through the training and actually be a Santa Claus graduate, you will be tested on a daily basis by children, some a lot smarter than you, I guarantee that; also parents, many of whom still have a long standing ax to grind with the North Pole, want to prove a point to their little loved ones that you are not the "real Santa" but a mere mall impostor of the worst sort. They will ask you questions, difficult ones, to stump you in front of the children, questions that only a real Santa (or his emissary) would know. Therein lies the real importance of "SantaStars and Authenticity" We at the school take this very seriously!

Big Bill returned to the front of the class. He had made his point. And now for the final one of the evening.

"For many of you, I suspect this will not be an easy course to complete. If you look to your right and to your left, one of you will not be graduating. It's just like that. I look forward to our next class. Remember to study your "SantaStars" and be ready for a pop quiz on the first 4 chapters. Good night.

Poulet aux Bananes - Chicken with Bananas

2011-11-30T00:29:00.002+01:00

This charming little recipe is taken from "La Cuisine Coloniale - 100 recettes d'Outre-Mer." The one I've chosen is a popular one from the French Antilles (or French West Indies). I completed my due diligence by reaching out to my good friend Luc who, as some of my readers will remember, has helped give greater authenticity to several of my dishes including the ones from North Africa. I have teasingly referred to Luc as "Beau" Geste because I always had this image of him, as the last man standing, and manning the ramparts at Sidi bel Abbes. Anyway, I reached him at his little hideaway in St. Jean de Luz, in the Basque region of southern France; I explained my cooking theme and did he have any suggestions. There was pause on the other end of the line. I helf my breadth for a second, then he chuckled and began to tell me about the time he was stationed in Martinique having been dispatched to the islands by the French Ministre de la Defense. I've learned over time never to inquire too-too deeply into the reasons why Luc "just happened" to be here or there around the world. He told me about the time he met this native girl who was not only beautiful, (mon amis), she could cook like none other, better than even his wife, but "we can't be excellent at everything we do, non?" I gently brought Luc back to the matter at hand, the dish please. "Ah yes, she made the best poulet aux bananes learned it from her mother, also very attractive." I could just see the smirk on his face and let that drop. So there you go, how perfect for me, Luc came through with a recipe that I was initially thinking about choosing. I thanked Luc and told him I would be visiting soon.

I truly believe this dish is best enjoyed by the water's edge in a warm climate while watching the sun sink below the blue-green Pacific Ocean. Enjoy this with whomever, if you must, but don't forget to enjoy it with a glass of crisp white wine or a nice mellow red wine.

Poulet aux Bananes - Chicken with Bananas

(serves 4)

Ingredients

1 chicken cut up

1 large onion sliced

1 tsp of dry sage

1 bay leaf

2 green bananas* or 2 small plantains medimum ripe
*Green bananas look very much like yellow bananas but are very different in several respects, most notably their flesh is firm and starchy tasting rather than soft and sweet like a yellow banana's

3 tomatoes

salt and cracked pepper

1/4 tsp of ground cloves

1/4 tsp of nutmeg

1 small hot red pepper

juice of 1 lime or lemon

2 or 3 tbsp starch

Directions

First catch you chicken and cut off its head. Remember locals may wish to use the head for medicinal or other purposes so giving away is a noble gesture. The beauty of this dish is that it lends itself to interpretation. So if you feel that creative desire, follow it and see what happens.

Cut your chicken and put in a deep dish frying pan with just 3 - 4 cups of water and bring to a boil. Then add onions, sage, bay leaf and let simmer for 10 minutes. Alternatively, if you're not in the mood to make stock, then use ready-made chicken stock.

Meanwhile, inspect the wine you're serving with dinner and peel the bananas then cut them in slices.

Scald the tomatoes by plunging them into boiling water for a few seconds then peel them and dice them (concassez-les)

Set aside the chicken, remove the carcass and add back to the stock and reduce by rapidly boiling. You can skip that if you are already working with ready-made stock.

With your stock reduced, add back your chicken along with the spices (cloves, nutmeg and finely diced hot pepper). Cook for 8 minutes at low heat then add the lime juice, the bananas and tomatoes.

Cut until tender approximately 20 minutes. Just before serving thicken the sauce with the starch mixed with some cold water.

Now about those wines...

I believe you can have a white or a well balanced red and not risk having your guests shaking their heads, whispering in disbelief and eventually throwing down their napkin - enough is enough monsieur, you insult the dish and our culinary sensitivies. At which point you reach under the table and...lock and load. Maybe not, but we've all thought about it.

An Alsace Pinot Blanc Schlumberger “Les Princes Abbés” 2006, is a great wine to choose. Comte Lafon Mâcon 2008 white burgundy and the Chapoutier Crozes Hermitage La Petite Ruche Blanc 2009 would work famously.

For red wines, think fruity with tanins that are not out in left field that way the chicken taste like old shoe leather: Having said that, a Pessac-Leognan-Graves, from the left bank, Bordeaux. A Côtes-de-Bergerac from the Dordogne region pairs wonderfully and lastly, Domaine Bernard Gripa, 2001 St.-Joseph Rouge from the Côtes-du-Rhône region. As far as I'm concerned, you just can't go wrong with a St. Jo!

Le Grande Thanksgiving

2011-11-22T14:14:00.002+01:00

I was once asked if the French celebrated Thanksgiving the way we do. I answered as politely as I could, "the Americans do, yes." For many Americans who find themselves overseas and away from the "good ol' US of A" nothing brings them closer to home then celebrating Thanksgiving, whether with friends or family, in one part of the world or another. Expat Americans miss this holiday and will do just about anything to scrounge up a turkey or something that could pass for a turkey, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce (in a can) and whatever else we feel we need to celebrate this day. In some instances, putting together the key items for the meal is easier said than done. I can recall celebrating past Thanksgivings in the heart of Africa, France, Belgium, and later as an adult in Switzerland and Spain, I was in a Super Mercado in the South of Spain trying to find cramberry sauce and canned yams. Wherever you find yourself on this planet, remember to be sure and invite friends who may have absolutely no idea what Thanksgiving, and the meaning of Thanksgiving, is all about.

Now to shine a lighter note, I simply could not, in all good conscience, let Thanksgiving Day pass me by without bringing this wonderfully amusing article written by Art Buchwald, a humorist and columnist. He wrote it in 1952 while he was working in France for the International Herald Tribune. The "Trib" regularly republished it each year thereafter. I can recall quite clearly my father reading the "Trib" wherever we where in the world at that time and exclaiming "oh for goodness sake's, Buckwald's article is in the paper again this year. You would think people would be tired of reading this silly story." He falsely complained of course, then proceeded to re-read the story and yes, as always, read portions aloud, laugh, chuckle and at times, gasp in theatrical horror.

So without further ado, and in the spirit of sharing on Thanksgiving, here is Art Buckwalds "Le Jour de Merci Donnant."

Le Jour de Merci Donnant

Le Grande Thanksgiving

By Art Buchwald

Paris — One of our most important holidays is Thanksgiving Day, known in France as le Jour de Merci Donnant.

Le Jour de Merci Donnant was first started by a group of Pilgrims (Pèlerins) who fled from l’Angleterre before the McCarran Act to found a colony in the New World (le Nouveau Monde) where they could shoot Indians (les Peaux-Rouges) and eat turkey (dinde) to their heart’s content.

They landed at a place called Plymouth (now a famous voiture Américaine) in a wooden sailing ship called the Mayflower (or Fleur de Mai) in 1620.

But while the Pèlerins were killing the dindes, the Peaux-Rouges were killing the Pèlerins, and there were several hard winters ahead for both of them. The only way the Peaux- Rouges helped the Pèlerins was when they taught them to grow corn (maïs).

The reason they did this was because they liked corn with their Pèlerins. In 1623, after another harsh year, the Pèlerins’ crops were so good that they decided to have a celebration and give thanks because more maïs was raised by the Pèlerins than Pèlerins were killed by Peaux-Rouges.

Every year on the Jour de Merci Donnant, parents tell their children an amusing story about the first celebration. It concerns a brave capitaine named Miles Standish (known in France as Kilomètres Deboutish) and a young, shy lieutenant named Jean Alden. Both of them were in love with a flower of Plymouth called Priscilla Mullens (no translation).

The vieux capitaine said to the jeune lieutenant: “Go to the damsel Priscilla (allez très vite chez Priscilla), the loveliest maiden of Plymouth (la plus jolie demoiselle de Plymouth). Say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of action (un vieux Fanfan la Tulipe), offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier.

Not in these words, you know, but this, in short, is my meaning. “I am a maker of war (je suis un fabricant de la guerre) and not a maker of phrases. You, bred as a scholar (vous, qui êtes pain comme un étudiant), can say it in elegant language, such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, such as you think best adapted to win the heart of the maiden.”

Although Jean was fit to be tied (convenable à être emballé), friendship prevailed over love and he went to his duty. But instead of using elegant language, he blurted out his mission.Priscilla was muted with amazement and sorrow (rendue muette par l’étonnement et la tristesse).

At length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: “If the great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, why does he not come himself and take the trouble to woo me?” (Où est-il, le vieux Kilomètres? Pourquoi ne vient-il pas auprès de moi pour tenter sa chance?)

Jean said that Kilomètres Deboutish was very busy and didn’t have time for those things. He staggered on, telling what a wonderful husband Kilomètres would make. Finally Priscilla arched her eyebrows and said in a tremulous voice, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, Jean?” (Chacun à son goût.)

And so, on the fourth Thursday in November, American families sit down at a large table brimming with tasty dishes, and for the only time during the year eat better than the French do.

No one can deny that le Jour de Merci Donnant is a grande fête and no matter how well fed American families are, they never forget to give thanks to Kilomètres Deboutish, who made this great day possible.

Sautéed Pork Chops in Green Peppercorn Mustard Cream Sauce

2011-11-20T15:57:00.003+01:00

I found this little recipe and was wonderfully intrigued, not having worked with green peppercorn mustard before. It sounded so good that I sat down at the kitchen table and with a full glass of 2010 Jean-Marc Burgaud Morgon Vieilles Vignes at arms reach, studied this gem more carefully. After thinking this over, I came to the conclusion that another glass of wine was needed. I then reached a verdict. Get thee to a kitchen and make this dish. Et voila ladies and gentleman a wonderful little dish to be enjoyed by family and friends alike. You know, maybe what attracted me in the first place was that it reminded me of a little bistro in Paris, in 16e I use to frequent quite often with one amie or another. Madame la patronne, who would greet with open arms "mon petit Americain" and would usher me à table and telling me what I was having for dinner. I just know this selection is something she would have urged me to try without even letting me read the menu. I like that.

Cotes de porc a la creme de moutarde au poivre vert / Sautéed Pork Chops in Green Peppercorn Mustard Sauce

Ingredients:
(serves 4)
4 nice size pork chops
Flour
1 tbl of olive oil
1 oz of butter
2 large shallots
1 glass of dry white wine
4 tbl of crème fraiche
1 egg yoke
1 tsp of lemon juice
2 tbl of green peppercorn mustard
Salt and pepper

Directions:

Salt and pepper and add a dusting of flour on each side of the chops then brown them in a pan with the oil and melted butter.

Once the chops are nicely brown on each side add in the chopped shallots and the white wine. Bring to a boil then cover and cook at medium temperature for 15 minutes. Test the white wine to ensure its integrity.

Once the chops are cooked, set them aside on a warm plate or pop them in a heated over. Don't dry them out, please.

Return the pan to the heat and scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon to get all those delicious bits waiting for you. Add in the crème fraîche letting it thicken all the while stirring like a mad man.

In a little bowl, gently beat the egg yolk adding the lemon juice and mustard. Incorporate the ingredients, thoroughly mixed, into the warm crème, bit by bit. Check the seasoning and add as needed. Add a spoonful of the sauce on top of each chop, place on a platter with the rest of the sauce.

Serving suggestions: I would present this with red new potatoes on the side, a basket of crusty baguette slices and a pichet vin maison. Alternatively, spoil yourself with plateful of frites.

Now about those wines...

You are lucky because was a wine tasting (I know, hard to believe) and the wines were Beaujolais which are some of my favorites. I grew up in a family that favored Beaujolais, Cotes-du-Rhone, Nuit-St.George or St.Emilion with lunch and dinner. It was just like that.

2010 Jean-Marc Burgaud Beaujolais-Village "Les Vignes de Thulon." Delicious, let me tell you. You can enjoy over the next couple of years (weeks for me) or drink now, I mean right now!

2010 Jean-Marc Burgaud Regnie Vallieres, Beaujolais. This little baby was rated 90 points, The Wine Advocate. My opinion on this, they were being stingy. A superb wine at a reasonable price deserves to be tasted and tasted again. It's going to be a long winter.

2010 Jean-Marc Burgaud Morgon Vieilles Vignes, Beaujolais. This wine truly reflects its terroir. A pleasure to drink. I like wines that are like that. No punches pulled, it is what it is.

2010 Jean-Marc Burgaud Morgon "Cote du Py" Vielle Vignes, Beaujolais. Wonderful notes of red and black raspberry. Rated 91 Points, The Wine Advocate and I can see why. Truly exceptional!!

Fresh, fruity, fun and oh so French!

2011-11-17T21:46:00.002+01:00

That's right folks, I'm talking about The Nouveau!! It's here, shout it out! OK maybe I'm suffering a bit from irrational exuberance. But tolerate me for just a moment longer while I recount a most interesting but unusual story.

You see, it was one of chilly late November afternoons, the kind where you're already longing for a speedy return of those hot summer days you complained so much about. I was feverishly working my pencil down to the nub, massaging numbers on an impossible cost proposal for an ambitious project and a demanding client. That's just about when I received an intruding tweet that read "Beaujolais tonight 18:00#wine." Who sent it, I was a little irritated. I could not imagine which of my dear friends was trying to funny or worse cute. My attempting to reverse engineer the message just led me down one empty alley after another on the tweeting super highway from Hell.

I was bothered, yes but yet intrigued after all the mysterious sender was somehow knowingly tempting me with red wine. That's serious business where I come from. But where was I supposed to go? A restaurant or private party? Or was it someone's idea of a bad joke. As if reading my mind, a second tweet arrived,"X marks the spot#wine." I was confused, apprehensive. I wondered, could this be an international agent reaching out for my priceless recipes, baiting me with wine? Had my recipes risen in such value that people were now resorting to stealing? Who could be the culprit? Was it the little man who called himself "Chan" the one I saw every morning when I purchased my cup of Java? Or maybe it was that exotic looking young lady at my book store who always seemed more than just a little interested in my crazy cuisine project. I thought a moment longer, there was also a British couple who lived one floor above me, he's Indian I believe, charming fellow really, but I bet he could handle a curved dagger across my throat with about as much ease as saying "jolly good of you, ol' chap." My list of conspirators was growing by leaps and bounds. A third tweet interrupted my thoughts, "you should leave your office soon." They were watching me! I looked around, the office was empty, I peered out into the street but only saw the faceless rush hour crowds on their way home.

I pulled on my hat and overcoat and decided to take the stairs rather than the elevator. I didn't want to leave my head on the fifth floor and my body on the lobby level. I'm particular about certain things like that. Out I went into the madding crowd matching umbrellas against umbrellas, mine with multiple spokes showing, gave me a clear advantage in forging my way ahead. Once home I checked my mail and there it was, a small envelope that obviously had been slipped in the letter box. Inside, an invitation, you are invited to an Xceptional Nouveau Beaujolais Wine Tasting Soiree, formal attire suggested. Below was the address, 1603 Spaniard's Neck Lane. I knew the area but not that well. It was quaint part of town, slightly Bohemian and near the water. Definitely an interesting address.

I hailed a cab and gave him the address. The cabbie looked at me "you sure that's where you're going mister?" "That's right" I answered. "Is there a problem?" "Not for me there ain't."

He let me out on the corner, I paid him and before I could manage a tip, he disappeared into the night fog. Spaniard's Neck Lane was barely wide enough for one car to pass let alone two. I listened quietly for a moment and heard the muffled sound of music which only grew louder as I neared my destination. The occasional sound of high pitch laughter, the clinking of glass and the umistakable sound of French music, I thought I recognized Aznavour. I pressed the bell and waited then pressed it twice, this time longer. Finally the door was answered by a young lady who asked for the password, thinking for a slit second, I replied quickly "Beaujolais Nouveau." She giggled, "Mai oui, perfect Monsieur, please come on in and join the party." I was in!

It was all there and more. Opulence at its finest. I had only imagined places like this. It was as if I have ventured into a turn of the century mansion fitted out with chandeliers and silver everywhere, thick Persian rugs, painting and portraits adorned the walls. No sooner had I stepped into the crowded living room than a butler presented me with a glass of Nouveau. Seeing her standing there just like that made me catch my breadth for just a second. There she was on a silver platter in a delicate fluted crystal glass looking at me, smiling, new and as charming as she could be. She knew what she was doing. I tempted fate and dared to bring her closer to me, to risk a whiff of her aroma. It was captivating, an exotic combination of forest fruits with notes of ripe wild strawberries. I inhaled, deeper this time noting beautiful scents of red currants, and occasionally almost teasingly, vine peach aromas. With a nod of appreciation, I brought her to my lips and exulted in the very full body, voluptuous, generous and bountiful flavors that filled my mouth. I screamed silently with joy. Yesssss! I was somewhere in heaven, that much I knew for sure and far away from Spaniard's Neck Lane.

Poulet au Champagne, Girolles et Champignons - Chicken wild mushrooms in a champagne sauce

2011-11-10T15:34:00.002+01:00

Once upon a time in the early 18th Century a very industrious Benedictine monk by the name of Dom Pérignon nearly drove himself mad while trying to remove those pesky bubbles that were ruining his fine white wine. Dom P finally raised his hands to the sky for forgiveness and resigned himself to a life of fermenting mediocre bubbly white wine that no one would ever want to drink. History proved him quite wrong. That's certainly one version of the story and I was unable to track down either Dom P or one of his brothes for a quote on the record.

From the beautiful Champagne region where names such as Moet et Chandon, Dom Pérignon, Mumm, Laurent-Perrier, Louis Roederer, Krug, Taittinger, Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin and others are so well known, comes this most excellent recipe. This is but one of many recipes that brings chicken and champagne so perfectly together. Last year I introduced a chicken and champagne dish: Poulet a la Lavande avec Sauce Champagne. I hope you will find this one as as tasty as I did. In fact, I had my neighbors sniffing around my front and back doors the other evening demanding that they be served. It's only fair they told me.

Chicken with Wild Mushrooms and Champagne Sauce

Ingredients
(4 servings)

1 chicken

1 large sweet onion

3 cups of mushrooms champignons de Paris (or storebrand mushrooms)

1.5 cups of girolles (or wild mushroom such as morels, chanterelles, shiitake mushrooms )

1 bottle of Champagne (a crémant de Bourgogne or a domestic varietal)

2 Tb mustard (preferably with the mustard seeds)

10 oz whipping creme (or crème fraîche if you can find it)

Bouquet of tarragon or basil

Vinegar (sage flavored - as a substitute, vinegar steeped in sage for an hour or so)

1 Tb butter and 2 Tbs olive oil

Directions

Cut your chicken in 8 pieces - alternatively use can use any combination of parts that suit you.

In fry pan add the oil and butter then brown the chicken pieces approx. 5 minutes per side

While the chicken is browning, pour a glass of champagne, and finely dice the sweet onion.

Remove the browned chicken pieces and replace with the onion and cook until translucent. One there, add back the chicken and add 40 cl (12 oz) of Champagne (I used a Crémant de Bourgogne but use any bubbly from Spain or Italy (just keep that fact under your hat), the important thing your looking for is that gaz carbonique.)

Cover and let cook at 1/4 heat barely boiling for an hour.

Meanwhile, clean your "champignons de Paris" and your "girolles" failing to have either of those on hand, use your basic garden variety mushrooms and any store varietal wild mushrooms.

Lightly toss your mushrooms in olive oil and while they gently cook, mix the whipping cream, the mustard, vinegar and a couple of basil or tarragon leaves that have been finely chopped.

Pour the mixture of mushrooms and herbs into a small casserole on low heat and add a splash of Champagne.

Takes the chicken pieces from the pan placing them on a platter and place in a warm oven - preheated to keep the chicken at the right temperature.

Reduce the sauce in the pan to approximately three - four soup spoons.

Add back the chicken and bring sauce and chicken together with a healthy serving of butter.

You serve the chicken, the mushrooms and the sauce separately (alternatively, you may wish to live on the wild side and blend all three together - that is, if you dare...)

Serve with wild rice and the rest (if any) of the champagne with dinner or a nice alternative would be pairing the dish with a dry Vouvray 2000 from Thierry Nérisson wineries.

Monsieur le Facteur or The Mailman

2011-11-08T00:52:00.000+01:00

Nothing is more sacred in France than the lunch hour. Whether you are sitting in a busy cafe in Paris, in a bathing suit at some station balneaire, or quietly in the country somewhere. It's all the same. Missing out on lunch well, it's like missing out on life. It's not done.

We would be having lunch, all sitting around the large dining room table, the shutters and windows were all open, the curtains swaying ever so gently with the occasional ocean summer breeze. It was quite outside, even the cars filled with packed tourists on as summer outing had found a little place to stop for lunch. It was a sacred moment in the day. People stopped what they were doing, gathered around and broke bread. Well almost all.

We had just finished soaking up the last of the vinaigrette, having made sure we had carefully wiped every square inch of our plates so as not to miss even a drop. The doorbell on the front gate rang as it was pushed open by a man of some size with a large leather bag strapped around his chest, and his official hat tilted back on his head revealing beads of perspiration from his bike route. Simone, our dear housekeeper, three star cook, confidant, country doctor and timely bearer of all the bad news Ouest France could publish each day, greeted Monsieur le Facteur. Country pleasantries and local gossip were exchanged as both were, du pays. As if on cue, my father would turn around and ask Monsieur le Facteur if he would care to join us for a little glass of wine - un petit verre de vin Monsieur? It's good business to be polite in these parts and one cannot say no to a kind offer of just a little glass of wine; that's all he has time for. He is a busy man. The second course was kept on hold while this little ritual played itself out.

There we were all nursing our wine or in my case watered-down wine (injustice), Mom and Dad making small talk about the weather (warm for this early in the season), the unusual amount of tourists, the markets (I don't mean the capital markets) and Monsieur le Facteur doing his share in a very heavy Breton patoit (local accent - which I am proud to say I have been know to mimic quite well (beinn oui,dame). A second round was offered but respectfully declined by Monsieur le Facteur who collected his bicycle and walked out the gate. Until the next time when a letter or a postcard was to be delivered. I don't know if any of us every knew his name. As far as I know he was always Mister Mailman, Monsieur le Facteur. That was it.

At long last, the second course was presented and Simone would place in front of my father, with much flourish and a corresponding "ooo--la-la" on our part. This time the piece de resistance was a colin en sauce blanche (hake fish) with head still firmly attached in a delicious cream sauce with capers and boiled potatoes from the vegetable garden. The colin and I had a staring contest going on and I believe I blinked first. When the colin was a mere shadow of its former self, dinner plates were removed and replaced with a third round for the cheeses and the tossed green salad -home grown, of course, salade verte. More bread and more wine please. Finally, it was desert time and a special desert had been prepared just for Simone's favorite petit chou-chou (that would be me folks). The crepes were proudly presented tableside and we added sugar or jam or both - if no one was looking. My father would abstain and state matter of factly: "I don't see how you could possibly eat that sweet stuff after such a delicious meal." Finally, with our additional poundage, we made our way outside to the courtyard for coffee which meant for the children we would have a "canne a sucre" or a sugar cube dipped in coffee. Our bellies completly full and our system well sugared, maybe it was time for some light reading in the deck chair perhaps or a nap upstairs, or was I going to be shanghaied into making yet another trip to antique stores, another magasin de brochante. Please say no.

That scene was typical of the many, many meals we had all gathered around the table as a family on those lovely summer days in Brittany. We ate like kings, we swam in the ocean, we took long walks and played like the kids we were in a summer we felt sure would last forever. When I returned by myself, many years later, I opened wide the windows onto the courtyard, and enjoyed the late afternoon breeze as it gently moved the curtains and filled the dining room with fresh sea air. There I sat at the same table and in the same ladder-back chairs I use to complain about as a child; I listened quietly, letting my mind and my senses travel back to those days once again. The same smells, the loud ticking of the grandfather clock, the sound of feet running upstairs then scrambling down the well worn staircase, the ocasional car zipping by on it's way to the beach. It was as clear as a bell for me, and I know I heard someone say tout le monde at table! Sit down everyone, it's time for lunch!

Pork Chops in a White Wine, Mustard and Cornichon Sauce - Côtes de porc charcutière

2011-11-03T14:37:00.002+01:00

I don't know about all of you, but it's hard to beat a good pork chop. Now in the U.S. our cooking style is to cook a chop within an inch of its life. In other words, cook that monster until you can make it into a nice pair of shoes. In France there are more delightful ways of cooking pork than to bring a dish to the dinner table looking as if it spent a week in Death Valley; it is a disservice to good cuisine. There are more mysterious combinations of sauces to go along with pork than mankind ever thought possible. This particular dish is evocative for me, it conjures up images of a rainy Fall evening "en ville" somewhere as I duck-in to the nearest little bistro for just a glass of wine but the hustle and bustle of la maison, the waiters working at warped speed, and the heavenly smells coming from the kitchen and chain me to my chair for dinner. I offer little resistance and go no further than my waiters suggestion. Oh yes, and a demi-pichet of your vin maison, likely to be a Chinon from the Loire or a Cotes-du-Rhone. A table tout le monde! Could things get any better? I doubt it, I feel as if I'm home finally.

Côtes de porc charcutière
Serves 6

Ingredients:
6 pork chops (6 oz +/-)
2 small onions
2 oz lard (use butter alternatively)
1 tablespoon of flour
2 tablespoons of sliced cornichon (those delicious baby pickles)
2 glass of dry white wine (and additional one for you)
Salt and cracked pepper
1 heaping teaspoon of Dijon mustard

Directions:
Salt and pepper your chops and set them aside and away from the dog.

Chop the onions and sweat them in the pan with a little butter.

Add the flour and cook until the flour begins to color a bit.

Add the first glass of white wine and bring to a boil then add some chicken stock and let simmer on very low and stirring every so often so the mixture does not stick to the pan.

The sauce should reduce down to a third in 20 minutes or so. Salt and pepper to taste.

Brown your chops in the reduced mixture and as soon as they are brown on either side, lower the heat and let cook for another 15 minutes.

Set the chops in a serving dish and the sauce in a separate pan.

Remove as much of the grease as you can from the pan then deglaze it with one or two teaspoon of stock and using a wooden spoon to work the bottom of the pan. Add the sauce back into the original pan along with the mustard and the cornichons. Heat up then serve in a sauce dish.

**Alternatively add the chops back into the pan for a family reunion. And let everything simmer. It's easier that way and the presentation is a little more "rustic" unless the Grandparents are coming over then get out those silly looking lace doilies. I fail to see their use. But that's just moi.

Now about those wines...

As you may remember, having pork on the menu is a signal that almost wine will pair well because pork is essentially two-face working just as well with the whites as it does the reds. Do not attempt to read any geopolitical prognostications into all of this, please. So here are a few good reds to help kick things off.

Domaine Annie Charmensat Cotes d'Auvergne Boudes Rouge, Auvergne
Costières de Nîmes, Domaine De Campagnol, "Avec Les Copains", 2006
Chateau Greysac Medoc 2007 Bordeaux
Beaujolais or a Chinon (both traditional standbys and personal favorites.)
Minervois, Le Clos Du Marbrier, 2006 Languedoc
Macon (white), Burgundy
Aligoté (white), Burgundy

This week's sleeper: Chateau Coupe Rose, Minervois 2009 La Bastide The vineyards are situated in the highest region of Minervois which guarantees cool nights and a long growing season. The Château Coupe Roses produce wines of excellent acidity and freshness. "La Bastide" is made from a red Rhone blend with a wonderful intensity of grenache and carignan with a touch of syrah. It is extremely pleasant to drink. Great taste, great price, great wine. What's not to like?

This week's sleeper: Chateau Coupe Rose, Minervois 2009 La Bastide

The vineyards are situated in the highest region of Minervois which guarantees cool nights and a long growing season. The Château Coupe Roses produce wines of excellent acidity and freshness. "La Bastide" is made from a red Rhone blend with a wonderful intensity of grenache and carignan with a touch of syrah. It is extremely pleasant to drink. Great taste, great price, great wine. What's not to like?

Pumpkin and Potato Soup with Curry - Velouté de potiron

2011-10-31T22:10:00.000+01:00

I know this is Halloween night and all sorts of things can happen -both good and sometimes not so good. But that's the nature of the beast, right? So here is a quick little recipe to make before you go off trick-or-treating or supervising same. When you get home and the children are finally through bouncing off the walls from too much chocolate and are no longer running around like wild indians and their collective blood sugar is no longer at the crisis level, settle yourself down to a little soup. Soup cures all just not the economy. Sorry to burst your bubble and mine.

This pumpkin soup recipe has a velvety texture and a delicate, savory flavor perfect for a light lunch, a refined first course or just anytime. The real treat is that it’s as easy to prepare and healthy as it is delicious!

Velouté potiron et carottes au curry
Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

3 medium shallots, chopped

2 garlic cloves, chopped finely

5 cups chicken stock

1 tablespoon of curry

1 medium pie pumpkin (3 lbs.), seeded and cubed

3 large potatoes (2 lbs.), peeled and cubed (alternatively carrots are great)

½ cup heavy cream

Directions:
In a large saucepan, sauté the shallots and garlic over medium heat until they turn translucent and tender.

Add the chicken stock, curry, pumpkin, and potatoes to the pan and bring to a simmer.

Allow the vegetables to simmer gently for 35-50 minutes, until they’re tender.

Puree the soup in a countertop blender or with an immersion blender until it is completely smooth.

Stir in the heavy cream and heat through. Season the soup with salt and pepper

Serve nice and hot with a crusty bagette and a glass of red wine.

Waiting for Laddie's Return or Le Potager

2011-10-29T16:41:00.003+02:00

I think few things can be as traumatic in a young boy's life as the passing of a much loved family dog. And so it was for me.

We sat on the outside steps to the courtyard, my brothers and I, waiting for our Cocker Spaniel Laddie to return. We were each somewhere in our own thoughts on that late summer afternoon when things stand still and quiet as they sometimes do in the countryside. The low buzz of a passing bumblebee, an occasional breeze coming from the sea would gently rustle the leaves of the old fig tree that held a commanding presence in the courtyard. Somewhere off in the distance, the sound of a bicycle bell ringing as a lone rider made his way down to the village. In the fields adjacent to our house, a cow would occasional remind us of its presence. We waited some more. The grandfather clock momentarily shattering the silence and strike the hours solemnly, almost as if it were in pain. Then quiet again. A fig would drop with a sound as it hit the graveled courtyard and lie there momentarily before one of my brothers would pick it up and throw it high over the gate and across the road to the farm. A well placed shot was always a good thing as the fig wars may have stopped for a while they certainly did not signal a total cessation. Sitting on the steps, we said nothing and watched nothing in particular. Then we heard the unmistakable sound of the Peugeot horn. The sound could just as well have been an air raid horn going off, warning us to take cover but it was too late. My father was signalling us to open the gates so that he could drive into the courtyard. We watched as the Peugeot rumbled in to a stop beneath the old fig tree. That moment I had hoped would never arrive, yet knowing somehow in my heart it would inevitably come, was finally here. I dreaded it. My father, in a white button down shirt, khaki long pants and loafers stepped out of the car and gave us all a look that needed no explanation. He felt as bad as we all did and I felt myself biting my lower lip to stop it from trembling and valiantly holding back my tears. How unfair was this? It wasn't suppose to happen, never ever. As the trunk was unlocked and opened, we three boys peered in only to see a rug which we knew held Laddie's last remains.

"Come on boys, give me hand, each of you take a corner of the rug and I'll get the shovel."

My father lead the procession, shovel in hand, then came my brothers each holding a side of the rug and Laddie, and me following behind. The only thing missing would have been a top hat on my father's head, me twirling an umbrella high in the air and the sounds of a New Orleans funeral dirge playing in the background. Slowly we proceed from the courtyard pass the little white gate into the garden, walking slowly as our footsteps crunched along the gravel, passing the pear and apple trees and finally through the last gate into the far right hand corner of the potager or vegetable garden, Laddies designated final resting place. He would go no further ever again. My brothers took turns digging a deep hole, my father smoked a Kent cigarette looking at nothing in particular, emotions had passed and some things just had to be done that's that. I don't know what I expected him to say or for that matter, do. It felt like an out of body experience, me watching myself watch the burial. The rug was unfolded and I caught my last look at Laddie, his black and white coat, his grey muzzle and his eyes closed, forever. Into the hole he was placed but without the rug which had been unceremoniously rescued by my father "it's still a perfectly decent rug, no use throwing it away." After many shovelfuls later it was all over. Just like that, the end. We were left with our memories of Laddie our dog; memories which would inevitably fade perhaps forever, perhaps not. Many years later when I finally returned to visit the family home in Brittany, I found myself strolling down to the old potager, swing open the gate and walk back to Laddie's corner and remember. I will do it again next time. I hope he understands.

Basque-Style Lamb Stew with Tian (Tapas Style Pumpkin)

2011-10-21T15:11:00.000+02:00

By now some of you may have gathered that next great food found in Parisian bistros, I also have more than a passing interest in recipes from the Basque region. The cooking is trans-national as the Basques were already firmly entrenched long before some cranky politicians in powdered wigs and three cornered hat decided to draw arbitrary lines on the geopolitical map. Now some Basques have French passports others Spanish ones. But what really got me going is that I learned that The Culinary Institute of America just inked a deal with the Basque Culinary Center to promote cultural exchange and shared research among students and professors about the history and benefits of Mediterranean gastronomy, particularly in regard to how it can benefit U.S. diets. Lord knows we could use some help and I throw myself into the mix as well. That was a real eye-opener so I needed a nice glass of red du pays to absorbe all this information. As I sat down at my desk, by candlelight, I thought it would be most fitting and quite proper to suggest two interesting regional recipes - a lamb stew because how can you go wrong with that - except if your the lamb, I understand the finer point of that argument. Secondly, it's getting close to Halloween and if you can hang on to your pumpkin in its entirety until after the celebration, then you have the makings of a great side dish (or a desert.) Think of this as my sustainable gift to you. I don't usually do such nice things but we are talking food. So let us put on our berets and start cooking!

Basque-Style Lamb Stew

Ingredients
4 lb of lamb shoulder cut into pieces.
oil or lard
3 onions diced
4 cloves garlic crushed
3 carrots cut into pieces
1/2 mild red pepper (dried and chopped)
1 glass red wine
1 1/2 cup vegetable or chicken broth
salt (taste)
6 potatoes medium size and cut into pieces
fresh parsley, chopped (cilantro is traditional)
I tend to add Spanish paprika to my Basque dishes because it bring a delicious smoky flavor to the dish. It's optional.

Directions

Brown lamb in oil or lard with onion, garlic, carrot, and pepper.

When vegetables are soft and meat is getting tinges of brown add salt to taste, parsley, wine and broth to cover.

Cook for an hour or until meat is getting tender.

Add potatoes which have been previously browned in oil.

Cook until done.

Tian (Tapas Style Pumpkin)

An unusually exquisite seasonal side dish that serves double-duty as a conversation piece. This crispy treat makes a unique addition to your average hors- d'oeuvre or even a side dishes.

Ingredients

3 lb. cooking pumpkin (Fresh whole) - (I found that a surprising ingredient)

1 White Onion
Brown Sugar
Fresh ground black pepper
Salt (to taste)
Olive Oil

Directions

Cut pumpkin into 3"x 3" squares (leaving peel on).

Arrange in large baking dishes (covered).

Bake 300 degree oven for 45 minutes or till fork inserts easily.

Arrange slices on greased cookie sheet, side by side.

Slice onions into paper thin rings, placing one layer of concentric ring slices on top of each pumpkin.

Top each with 1 tbsp. brown sugar, pepper, salt, and 1 tsp. olive oil.

Place in broiler, browning tops till onion gets light-medium brown.

Try substituting the onion with a splash of pumpkin liquor or a sweet brandy. Knock 'em dead for Halloween!!!

About those wines...

Txacolí, pronounced Cha-ko-LEE, comes from the Spanish Basque Country where this wine reigns as the local specialty. And withj good reason, its a tasty light, mainly white wine which often has a touch of natural carbonation to it. If you were in Pamplona running with the bulls and unhurt, this wine is refreshing and you can toast your insanity.

Alavan Rioja, young Spanish reds, full of fruity aromas, light and slightly pungent on the palate, very much in line with the 'Beaujolais Nouveau' from the other side of the Pyrennees.

Château Montus, Pacherenc du Vic-Bilh Sec 2003 - Floral and pineapple tones and a real exotic ripeness. The fruit has real opulence and sweetness on the mid-palate, and delicious ripe pear acidity that is still pithy and grapefruity.

Domaine Berthoumieu, Madiran Cuvée Charles de Batz 2006 - Tannat with 10% Cabernet Sauvignon, this comes from 50-year-old vines and spends 12 months in new barriques. Rich, dark, black plum and olive, very sinewy and tight, with a blue/black richness and edge of woodsmoke, lovely concentration. The palate is dry and savoury, with a tight, meaty intensity and lovely tannin and acid balance that keeps it fresh.

And - even though it is not strictly speaking "du pays" this is a great wine (affordable, I mean)

2010 Chateau Tour des Gendres Classique Rouge, Bergerac, France - A blend of 70% Merlot and 30% Malbec. The nose is powerful, with notes of ripe plum, cherries and spices. On the palate, the wine is supple with a complex structure. It finishes with fruity notes and a fine balance. If you can track down this little gem, it pairs beautifully with a dish such as the Basque Lamb Stew. Delicious!

The 2011 Stomach's Choice Awards

2011-10-19T20:09:00.003+02:00

It has been a week of frenzied activity just getting ready for the 2011 Stomach's Choice Awards. My choice of venue was closer to home but had to settle for Cannes in the South of France. That just compounded my problems and had to deal with French headaches and everybody is just a little more temperamental and there's a lot more pout, Oh yes you know what I'm talking about. Cute but aggravating after a while. So there I was trying to make sense of all my food data, dealing with a really ticked off flic (I mean oui Monsieur l'Agent, I'm moving my Ken doll-size car right away). Then, to make matters worse, I had to deal with a crowd of pushy you know what all speaking at me in horrible English, passable French or yelling in Italian and waving their hands in disgust. Dear Lord give me a disgruntled MVA employee anyday, please! I have a meeting set up with my opthamologist when I get home because I am still suffering from camera flash shock. All in all things went well and as I will recount shortly, the ballot process was smooth and the red carpet at this year's Stomach's Choice Awards was extremely well attended. My dog decided it looked too good to pass up. I don't think they want me back. Not that I'm particularly anxious to return, thank you.

A little of over a year ago, I tried to see if I could get a sense of what you the readers were enjoying and thanks to modern day technology I was able to gleam a little of what you enjoyed. The link to the results of that highly scientific poll are found at the bottom of the page.

This year things are different, much different. Voted by you, the readers worldwide, who willingly subjected your stomachs to my recipes then were forced to wash it down with a great Cotes-du-Rhone or perhaps a crisp white Burgundy; or tried their best to stay awake past the first few sentences of one my short stories, some of which naturally included food to keep you reading. I should tell you there was no stuffing of ballot boxes or otherwise illegal tampering, nor any questionable shads; everything was really quite up and up. But just to make sure, I called in a special team of UN advisers, who are old pros at this sort of stuff, to be on hand to monitor my activities (I made sure they ate and drank very well) and they also monitored my dog just to make he didn't eat a ballot as I was told that ballots and socks apparently look remarkably similar to certain four legged creatures. I thought about calling in the accounting firm of Do Figures Lie and How to certify the ballot results but decided my UN guests, full of food and wine would be sharp-eyed enough when they woke up not to let any fraudulent activities occur. It was a rather quiet and uneventful process and perhaps maybe next time I will scream ballot fraud and corruption - like the good 'ol days when money would buy you just about anything, maybe even a vote or two. Come to think of it, that wasn't that long ago...

I can't tell you if I agree with the Stomach's Choice Awards but there you have it. Interestingly enough only two dishes from last year made it to this year's challenging tournament. Also, for the first time we have five food related stories. Maybe reading makes you hungry? A scientific query I must look into further.

Top 5 in Food and Wine

1. Poulet Marengo - Chicken Marengo: A Dish With a Sense of History
2. Poulet Sauté Grand Mère - Grandmother's Sauteed Chicken
3. Pork Tenderloin with Merlot, Shallots and Blackberry Sauce
4. Côtelettes de Porc Sauce Moutarde with Gratin Jurassien
5. Wine Pairing - Steak au Poivre

Top 5 in Stories and Food (mostly)

1. Le Grand Vefour -Lunch with French History
2. Petit Déjeuner - Les Deux Magots
3. The American Cathedral on Avenue George V
4. Le Dossier de Marriage -The Marriage File
5. Like Mon Dieux, Les French Chocolates Redux

***The results of the first highly unscientific outreach effort of eating habits ever to be conducted are found at: Global Tastes: It's All Good

Chicken Escalopes Flambées with Cognac - Poulet Flambées au Cognac

2011-10-14T02:19:00.000+02:00

Just when you thought it was safe to approach the flame, once again I am presenting a cognac laced dish that will knock your tennis socks off along with your remaining eyebrows from the last meal I suggested. We live and learn but somethings still hold true, come Hell or high water and that is: Cognac, shallots and creme fresh comprise the culinary trinity. How could anyone question that especially after licking their fingers and wiping up the sauce left on their plates with a crust of French bread. I rest my case your Honor. Under today's wine section, I wanted to impart some tasting notes from a recent tasting at my favorite local "Wine Cellars of Annapolis" where great people and excellent wines come together.

Escalopes de Poulet Flambées au Cognac

Ingredients:
(serves 6)
Chicken escalopes (see note below)
1 oz of butter
2 or 3 shallots
1 cup of liqueur de cognac (alternatively, brandy or Spanish Brandy both of which are sweeter or a Pommeau de Normandie which is an apple brandy)
1/2 cup of dry white wine (garden variety type)
Tarragon
Salt and pepper
3/4 cup of crème fraiche
1 tsp of corn starch
2 egg yolks

* Note: Chicken escalopes are usually cut from the main part of the breast. The tenderloin is a small piece of breast attached to the underside of the main piece of breast (also known as chicken tenders, mini fillets or faux-filet) they are fairly small so you are likely to need two or three per adult portion. You can easily purchase packages of chicken tender at your local supermarket.

Directions:
Brown the chicken in the butter

Peel and chop shallots

Pour cognac over the escalopes and torch them, so to speak, while paying attention to your hair and eyebrows. Remember, this is not a science experiment and the "science guy"in his lab coat is not around.

Remove the escalopes and set aside

In pan, place the chopped shallots, mix gently and pour the wine and bring to a boil. Leaving a small glass for yourself.

Return the escalopes to the pan, adding sea salt, cracked pepper and tarragon. Cover on low heat for 20 minutes.

While the magic is being made, in another pan mix the creme fraiche, the corn starch, egg yolks, salt, pepper and tarragon.

After 20 minutes, set the escalopes aside, bring the sauce to a boil and skim off any grease.

Add in the creme fresh mixture with a whisk and remove it before the mixture comes to a boil.

Pour the mixture over the chicken escalopes now waiting patiently in your grandmother's ornate serving dish. Wouldn't she be proud?

Serve with rice and a tossed salad. If under pressure, or surrounded, include a vegetable.

Now about those wines...

Some things in life are more complicated than others but I don't want you go for Pabst Blue Ribbon just yet because pairing this dish looks complicated. You have a couple of options available but remember ultimately you, as the chef and host/hostess, Queen Bee whatever hold the cards so your family and/or guests will just have to comply with your selection. If you used an ordinary (read: el cheapo, one dollar) white wine to cook with, you may want to think about upgrading with a wine where Mickey Mouse's picture is not as prominently displayed on the bottle. The choice is yours, my purpose is but merely to suggest, to recommend and counsel. Now, regarding that wine tasting I mentioned earlier, my hat goes off to Monsieur Michael E. Affatato, Managing Director of "Roche-Mère Wine Selections." Michael is passionate about his wines just as any other Brooklyn, NY transplant would be. Both as a fine wine maker and exporter, I'm confident we will continue to see more fine selections. Merci Michael!

2010 Domaine Gardies Les Glaciaires - Cotes de Roussillon. This is going to be a crowd pleaser. A great blend of Roussanne, Grenache Blanc and Macabeu. The flavors are of apricot nectar and fig with hints of honeysuckle. Lovely long finish. Tell your assembled guests that's it's just a classic wine.

2010 Patrick Baudouin Chenin Blanc - Anjou, Loire Valley. Aromas of peaches, nectarines, honey with a hint of apple. You will not be disapointed.

2009 Domaine Chamfort Cotes du Rhone Villages, Rasteau - Rhone Valley. Holy Toledo Batman! It left me desperately looking around for an IV because I needed more! Aromas of intense black fruits with notes of red meat, leather and black pepper. On the palate it was black raspberry and black cherry with notes of Chinese tea, cassis and white pepper. I feel lightheaded just putting this down on paper. Do yourself a favor, scrounge around the countryside, burn and pillage if you have to, but find this wine!

2009 Clos du Roy, Fronsac - Bordeaux. An outstanding Bordeaux with notes of dark cherry and cocoa and on the palate, a velvety texture with layers of dark cherry and mocha. Extremely satisfying and was forced to return for another tasting for proper quality control.

2009 Domaine Gardies Les Falaises Tautavel - Cotes du Roussillon-Village. For your general information, Wine Spectator gave this 94 points. Not too shabby in other words. To quote "This ripe, rich and powerful red has a deep well of dark fruit and spice flavors...The finish shows raspberry ganache and cocoa power, with hints of pepper. Drink now through 2020." I intend to!

And my sleeper of the week: 2010 Altovinum Evodia, Atea Spain. 100% old vine garnacha. EVODIA is an exciting new project in the Denominacion de Origen Calatayud, hailed as one of Spain’s most progressive and promising wine growing regions. The wine maker is Jean Marc Lafage – a man Robert Parker called “irrepressible.” Jean Marc owns one of the Roussillon’s visionary wineries, Domaine Lafage.

The Tennis Lesson

2011-10-11T22:03:00.002+02:00

A number of years ago when I was finishing my last year in high school, we were living in Antwerp, Belgium. By that time, the family unit had shrunk from five children to three - leaving me and my two younger sisters. Living in Antwerp was not a first for us as my father had been posted there in 1958 just in time, everyone noted, to enjoy the World's Fair. The only thing was that my father could have cared less, he was away from his beloved Paris, the center of his universe as far as he was concerned. We lived in a small suburban village of Wilrijk, just a couple of kilometers outside of Antwerp. It was part of greater Antwerp. Our house was on Elsdonk Laan, a quiet, sleepy little street in a neighborhood where nothing much ever happened, that is, with one strange little exception. The arrival of the soup man! Yes indeed, when Soup van Boom came around, the little delivery van ringing its bell created as much excitement as an ice cream truck. At the sound of the bell, front doors swung open up and down they came into the street, ladies with their soup containers to pick out one of two soups du jour. One that I remember as clearly today as then was the chicken noodle and meatballs. It was either delicious beyond compare or we had it every day. I'm not sure which. It was a memorable soup, quite obviously.

So there we were, Antwerp, circa 1969, a town that I new little about but grew to greatly enjoy and appreciate. It's broad avenues with the trams going back and forth then eventually turning down on the Meir towards the Groenplaats or Grande Place. Beyond that were the docks, the port and the busy River Scheldt. It was an exciting town with sights one a seventeen year old might not normally see. Tattoo parlors buzzing away 24 hrs a day, dance clubs everywhere with your choice of entertainment and of course more than one colorful side street with young ladies in their window perches urging you to come inside. I returned to Antwerp several years ago and found it just as vibrant as ever and the food and drink as pleasureable.

As a young student, my daily ritual included getting ready for school then walking for fifteen minutes to catch a privately run Antwerp to Brussels school bus which dropped me and other seniors at the international school in Boitsfort- just a few kilometres from the city center on the road to Waterloo. The lower school and the administration were housed in a 19th century Château while the upper school was in a modern two story building tucked near the woods and the playing fields. For boys, coat and tie were a must and I know we all somehow managed to stretch the definition of wearing a tie or what even defined a coat, all in an attempt to annoy the administration and our teachers most of whom were either from England or Belgium. They were no strangers to student shenanigans, however clever we thought we were.

One day, my father over breakfast let me know that he had signed me up for private tennis lessons; private that is if you didn't include the other dozen or boys and girls assembled on the court. Opening day, there we were all of us in white, a shimmering display of white Lacoste shirts, white shorts, white socks and white sneakers. The classes were held in Wilrijk a suburb of Antwerp and oddly enough the tennis courts were directly across from the house we had once lived on Elsdonk Laan. Perhaps it was that little bit of irony that appealed to my father and made him sign me up. I can think of no other reason. On our way over, he let me know that my tennis instructor was also my sister's ballet teacher! Right, I thought to myself, as if this is really going to last more than a few moments. Ballet and tennis? Hang around for a laugh, ladies and gentlemen.

There I was bouncing a ball and chatting with Willy, my new found friend and tennis partner when, as if on cue from the sounds of an orchestra pit somewhere, the curtain lifted and a short, grey haired ball of fire raced onto the court with her racket high in the air and proceeded to start running in place all the while yelling, in an encouraging, martial-like manner, for all us to follow, allez tout le monde! Allez, allez, allez en place, un, deux, trois... Little Madame Jacob kept on talking all the while twisting, turning, leaning right, left then back into bizarre shapes. This was not the tennis I knew. I was already out of breadth and willing to surrender my kingdom for a beer and a Marlboro when Madame trotted over to me and asked if Monsieur was alright and I assured her, through half closed eyes, flushed cheeks and heart pounding, that yes I was fine. Her response was that well worn French understatement allez Monsieur un petit effort....which translated means with a little more effort and perseverance, motivation and a little more exercise you will be fine. There we were a dozen or so in white, stretching, jumping, twisting, running in place, breathing deeply. In my mind, Madame had become the very definition of hell, a diminutive tyrant, a Belgian drill sergeant. But as the lessons progressed, we gradually moved from conditioning hell, to the fundamentals of tennis with endless serves, posture work (bend from here not there Monsieur) volleying, perfecting our short game, sprinting to the net and back for what seemed like hours on end until finally the sun slowly set and ushered in the cool of the early evening.

After the tennis lessons had run their course, my tennis buddy Willy and I decided to continue with our game. We had obviously learned something from that little ball of fire, Madame Jacob, or as I used to call her the Godiva from Hell. Now we just needed to finely tune the enjoyment of the game of tennis. And we did just that. Nearby was the Kasteel van Brasschaet ("Braskat" Castle - see pic above) a beautiful home that had been build in the late nineteenth century and eventually turned in to a hotel in the 1950's. The extensive wooded grounds included several clay courts which had been made available to the hotel guests and I don't remember if we paid to play or just acted as if we guests. I don't wish to speculate. I would meet Willy on the court by late afternoon and both us, in our formal whites, would play one set after another until we were too tired to even lift a racket let alone manage a killer serve or an energetic volley. We returned to the hotel and sat outside on the terrace and ordered two of the tallest gin and tonic that the bartender could muster. We watched the last of the tennis games especially those where the young ladies were playing. I played more than my fare share of tennis that year in Antwerp and I look back fondly on those days and sometimes wonder what ever happened to Willy, my tennis lesson friend.

Other related stories set in Belgium:
The Lowlands
Brussels Station- East Annex

Abbey Chicken or Poulet de l'Abbaye

2011-10-06T16:20:00.000+02:00

Once again the monks have come up with a winner! One day they're moaning and groaning about bubbles ruining their white wine, the next thing you know crates of Dom P are being shipped around the world. One day they are bemoaning the quality of beer, the next they are producing a Trappist beer that kicks your "you know what" all the way into left field. Aside from the merriment, let's not forget there was also some mighty fine cuisine to be had and this recipe is but one example. Granted, cognac and wine are ingredients but most likely as a preservative and flavor enhancer nothing more. I wanted to match a photo of a French abbey with this dish and chose one of the more famous abbeys, in my opinion, and one that I know of quite well as it's on the way to the family home. I was at the MSM just recently with my daughter, son and daughter-in-law. We had a wonderful time and may I suggest the crepes!! I also felt the dish had certain Normandy/Brittany quality to it - go figure maybe cream, strong mustard, cognac and wine had something to do with it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and I'm pretty sure that la Mère Poulard would approve and give it her blessing.

Poulet de l'abbaye - Abbey Chicken (undoubtedly blessed)

Ingredients:
Serves 6
1 chicken cut into pieces
1/3 cup of cognac (or brandy if absolutely necessary)
1 1/2 cups dry white wine
1 tbl paprika
5 heaping tbls of crème fraîche
2/3 cup grated Gruyere (or garden variety Swiss cheese)
1 Tb Dijon mustard (or other strong generic type)
1 Tb breadcrumbs
2 Tb oil
pinch powdered sugar
salt, pepper and flour

Preparation:
Dust chicken with flour

Brown the chicken in pan with a little oil

Remove any excess, add the cognac and flambe (the chicken, not your eyebrows)

Add the paprika, white wine and sugar; mix well and reduce over medium heat for 5 minutes or so.

Add crème fraîche and just under 1/2 cup of grated Gruyere. Mix and bring to a boil then reduce and cook for 10 minutes or so stirring regularly.

Remove your chicken and place in a gratin-type pan.

Add the mustard to the sauce and whisk well then pour over chicken.

Mix the remaining grated cheese with the breadcrumbs and sprinkle over the chicken.

Place pan under broiler for approximately 5 minutes to get that "gratin" look we all want.

Serve and stay for dinner or quietly escape out the back door to cook perhaps another day.

Now about those wines...

Granted, there's a lot of activity going on with this dish so a light and dainty wine is going to be easily outgunned. You are going to have to tell Grandma and Pa to suck it up and go with the crowd on this one. You need to think about having a heartier wine and to answer your question, is there an absolute wine, a challis of the vineyard? Not hardly but here are a few suggestions that you can run with.

Saint-Nicolas-de-Bourgueil "la Source" Yannick Amirault 2003 - a cabernet franc all the way with a bold taste and a tannin that's well balanced.

Mas De Gourgonnier - Les Baux de Provence, here is a red wine that has wonderful flavors and it will bring back those pleasant memories when you visited that beautiful part of the France. I really like this wine and it stands up nicely.

Graves White Bordeaux - If some of you are more comfortable with pairing a white wine that's fine because in the end it's whatever floats your boat and the wine police have long since left the area. The Graves appellation is located just outside of Bordeaux and Graves gets its name from the soil which is a mix of gravels, clay and sand. For the most part you will find this wine to have flowery notes, passion fruits and apricot. A couple of Graves to keep in mind are Chateau Couhins, Chateau Couhins-Lurton and Chateau Laville Haut-Brion.

All Saints Day Vacation - Les Vacances de la Toussaint

2011-10-01T15:51:00.002+02:00

I have been fidgeting over something terribly important for weeks now, maybe longer. It's not the future of the EU and the Euro, nor the Greek government's financial crisis nor even the Arab Spring. Granted those are important but something far greater weighs on my mind: La Toussaint (All Saints Day) which falls on November 1 this year and as usual, is cleverly co-branded with a little autumnal vacation. All of us agree that it seems like an eternity since we've returned from summer vacation. Our precious tans are already beginning to fade which is in and of itself perhaps the real crisis! This religious holiday just happens to fall during a school holiday (what a coincidence, imagine that ever happening twice!) But to be sure, it's a holiday that's taken pretty seriously throughout France and you can be bet your Euro currency that things are going to get pretty quiet on All Saints’ Day; post offices, banks, stores and most other businesses are closed but you can find a bakery that's open somewhere. The only thing that's moving for sure are the tourists bumbling around, running into each other looking for a restaurants or cafe that's open for le business maybe even a McDonalds. Visions of the irritable AM tourist: We don't have saints in Flexburg Missoura now give me a damn cup of 'jo, Monsieur!

Now before you report me to Rome and suggest that my sainthood be revoked or that I be drawn and quartered or perhaps burned at the stake (five minutes on each side, I insist along with sea salt and cracked pepper as needed), it is as much a meaningful day for me as for the next "joe blow" and I will surely pause and think of those near and dear to me who are no longer here with us. And the marketing folks, being the ever sensitive crew that they are, cannot just watch a holiday go buy without beating us to death with information and options and telling us in no uncertain terms that if we don't take a vacation, we have somehow failed and failed miserably. Perhaps more than that, we have failed as citizens of the French state or to put in another more meaningful context, your neighbors are leaving for the islands and you're not? Shame on you! How un-French of you!

For weeks I have been deluged with offers via email or snail mail and everything is starting to accumulate. I had so much email screaming special values that my gas bill went unnoticed until the lights went out. So last night, after dinner, I went over to my comfortable reading chair along with a hefty snifter of 16 years old Aberlour single malt scotch whisky (I was in Scottish heaven) and a deep trash can so I could begin the process of weeding out the slick and useless from the slick and less useless dream vacation brochures.

I started going through all the hard copy "super values" first because I like looking at the pretty pictures. I'm so visual that way. A hotel in Venice had a reasonably priced packaged deal that looked awfully inviting but would I dare tempt "death in Venice?" Did I want a repeat performance of my falling from my porch (don't ask what I was trying to do) and into the canal nearly crushing a gondola and two surprised Japanese tourists? I think not. Now, Djerba in Tunisia, on the other hand, seemed to call me for a week of navigating the desert sands atop a camel called "whiskey", enjoying fine meals of dates and water all the while looking for that lost civilization only to find it was really an old Peugeot rising from the sands (it still had its Peugeot - Vanceur du Safari '67 decal.) My good friend Luc (who most of you know by now) told me that I should opt for the Tunisian vacation without even a moments hesitation. He said, with a sly grin, "ecoute mon pote, it's definitely your kind of vacation, you just have to march or die but I will let your borrow a pistol just in case..." Fighting off guerrillas, lack of water, way too much sun and a camel-derived sore posterior made me think twice.

I needed a less challenging environment to properly recharge my batteries for who knows how long I would have to wait for the next vacation. La Valette, in Malta looked promising indeed however all the pictures showed far too many happy smiling people, extreme physical specimens and all starved to perfection. Added to that were pictures of families with multiple sets of little kids with beach toys and sand everywhere. I don't mean to sound like WC Fields but he did have a point when it comes to children. Now Soulac-sur-Mer in Aquitaine, finally back in France, looked very nice with a swimming pool and it seemed as if the tanned talent was calling me, just me of course, to join them for a little fun and recreation. I could easily do that but would have to first ask Eleanor as she has some excellent historical perspectives on Aquitaine. The Hotel Gorhulho in the Madeiras looked tantalizing and what better place to sample some excellent wines. A possible. One of my colleagues suggested Alsace, telling me that I would love the mountains, the fresh clean air, the robust foods and an endless assortment wines and the Sound of Music-kumbaya genre that fails to stir my soul. But, for me it all sounded just a little too neat, orderly and overly regimented, go figure. Knowing me, I would lie awake at night worrying needlessly about being under attack.

So now you see what I mean how my choices are far more somber and weighty in nature then some lil' old international crisis being discussed at the Elysee or Foggy Bottom or in a bunker in Berlin. They simply have no idea . They don't feel my pain.

As if this holiday decision matrix from Hell were not bad enough, I am already sweating the next round - that's right folks Thanksgiving because I feel a need for a week someplace, somewhere; I mean it will have been a while since La Toussaint. Maybe I could sneak out of town on Remembrance Day, November 11 and rest up for Le Jour de Merci Donnent (thanks to Art Buchwald's classic 1953 column) or Thanksgiving Day. That would push me into December then I could start really worrying about Christmas and New Year's holidays. Pity me please, this is not easy for someone who is d' habitude not a vacation taker. Hurry up and make your vacation plans. Time is running out!

By the way where did I decide to go for the Toussaint? Can you guess from the picture? The winner gets a week's vacation traveling through the Sahara desert high -atop "Whiskey" the Highland camel.