Cheese: Brique du Forez

Brique du Forez

Given the abundance of cheese France produces, I’ve decided to tackle the subject once a month in a series of posts that bring some of the lesser known cheeses, (at least outside the France borders) into focus.  Some cheeses have a complicated history which I try to boil down to what makes them unique and notable, and others simply developed from “farm cheeses” made to be consumed where they were produced.  Either way, “Cheese” gives me a chance to explore one of the gastronomic delights of France and justify my excursions to a cheese monger as “research”.  And the research can be oh, so grueling…

Cheese: Brique du Forez

Christophe noted a new cheese had been purchased when he opened the fridge this morning, “Whoa, not what I was expecting before my coffee”, he said taking a step back.  “What did you buy?”

Brique du Forez is a soft cheese, made from goat or sheep milk and sometimes mixed with cow’s milk.  Its form is notable: rectangular, 17 centimeters by 8 centimeters and 2.5 centimeters high.  The name, brique, comes from the form of its pine mold in which it is aged.   It is fabricated in Auvergne, Puy de Dôme, which is located in the central and rather cold part of the country.  Traditionally, it is made from raw milk, but like with many other cheeses, its producers are caving into market trends and creating a pasteurized version.

No considerable history on the cheese has been found, except for the fact that the fermentation process has been modified from pressure to the use of lactic curds over the last 20-30 years.

Its texture is creamy, soft and has a slightly hazelnut taste.

Ratatouille

Eggplant

So the question is, what do I do with all those tomatoes?  We can a lot, but one of my favorite summer dishes is ratatouille.  We have everything needed in the garden: sweet onions, zucchini, eggplant, and of course, tomatoes.  It was the first dish Christophe ever made me, and I swear to this day, no one makes it better.  When he told me he was making ratatouille that first time, I didn’t understand at all; it’s that whole accent thing.  He repeated the word over and over again, and then I finally had a light bulb moment and got it. (However, understand Jewelia Rowbear for Julia Roberts took a good hour.)

And, I have to be honest, before that moment, I never ate ratatouille before.  Growing up, we had more zucchini than we knew what to do with – zucchini bread, zucchini and tomato casserole, zucchini chocolate chip cookies, and zucchini chocolate cake – but we never ate eggplant.  I think if I was handed it as a child I wouldn’t have known what to do with it.  I grew up in a typical Mid-Western family; we had green beans, corn, and of course, zucchini.  In the winter, we ate potatoes.  Its funny how all that has evolved; I’m in a Mediterranean environment.  It’s super-hot, we eat late, and eggplant (2 varieties) is an everyday summer food.  Ratatouille anywhere else just wouldn’t be the same.  Yes, part of it is the vegetables are fresh from the garden, but the other part of it is location; the vegetables scream “Mediterranean” and not “Mid-West”.  I do miss a good ear of sweet corn freshly husked, boiled, and buttered, but I have an appreciation for new local comfort foods, that like that ear of corn, reflect the place and the people who live there. 

The 2012 Tomato Line-Up

I gave a run down last year on the tomatoes we planted, so I think it’s only fitting to give this year’s crop its props.  Here we go, in no particular order:

Gardener’s Delight:  (heirloom) Small and grows in bunches; very sweet.  They are also very productive.

Great White Beefsteak: (heirloom) Last year we got a plant from our neighbor, who thought she forgot seed them this year.  Luckily, she was wrong.  We have at least two in the garden.  Mild, sweet and has meat that can look like a peach.

Caro red: (heirloom) Another, “Opps, I forgot seed this”, but “wrong”!  We ate the first one last night and it was delicious.

Cornue des Andes:  (heirloom) Shaped like peppers, these tomatoes turn bright red and can be pretty heavy.  An excellent sauce and cooking tomato, but a little too mealy to eat raw.

Noir de Crimee: (heirloom) From the “purple” tomato family.  Excellent raw, thin skin, and lots of meat.

Prince Noir: (heirloom) Another purple tomato, but smaller than the Noir de Crimee. Rich and sweet.

Roma: Well-known Italian tomato use for sauces.  Many of my Roma seedlings got sick, so we only have two plants that I am fiercely coddling.

Russian: (heirloom) This is a very large, tasty, and juicy tomato.  These seedlings fared well, so we have many in the garden.

Beefsteak: Classic round, and red.  This doesn’t have as much character as some of the other tomatoes, but it works when mixed in sauces.

Tomatillos: This green Mexican tomato is used to make salsa verde.  I don’t like them raw in salads, which is how Christophe ate them until I came along.  They are very rustic and grow well with other plants.  I’ve never seeded them; they sprout from fallen fruit the previous year.

Pickle Infatuation

I know I’m being a bit single minded about this lately, but I can’t seem to get my mind off pickles.  Perhaps because it’s hot and I’m craving salty foods, or because they’re crunchy and I find they go great with a slice of ham and cream cheese, or because I get a quick blast of cold air from the fridge when I fish them out of the jar, but I’ve been doing nothing lately than thinking about pickles.  I’ve dreamt about finding new cucumber plants in the garden to make them, and I even bothered Facebook friends about them, extensively.  I have successfully made “ice box pickles”, but I decided I wanted pickles year around.  We normally travel state-side at Christmas for a few weeks, so we unplug the fridge and empty it of its contents.  (Which is not easy with Christophe, who loves having a full refrigerator.)  That of course means I sadly have to dump out any remaining pickle juice before I board the plane.

We only have two cucumber plants, so I have to use our cucumbers wisely. Christophe saw me come in the house last night with the four ripe cukes we had and shook his head saying, “So if I understand this correctly, all the cucumbers we have will be pickled?  What’s wrong with fresh?” 

The answer to that is: nothing.  Fresh cucumbers are great, but pickles are just better.  I’ve canned for years now and even though everyone says pickles are easy, I’ve worried about it.  Basically, I just wanted to get it right: a salty brine, a dill-garlic bite, and of course, the illusive crunch.  I completely over-studied the subject.  There are hundreds of pickles recipes out there. (I saw one that took over three days.)  There appears to be no exact science to it, but nothing is worse than a let-down for something you’ve waited for months to open.  The photos are what I’ve got to look forward to once 2013 rolls around. Undoubtedly, you’ll hear about when the jars are finally opened.  Until then, I’ve got my ice box pickles.  I just need to find a good excuse as to where all the sliced ham and cream cheese is going.

Morning Coffee

The garden.

This is where I had my morning coffee.  The sun had not yet pasted the mountain crest so it was cool outside.  I say “cool”, but that’s all relative.  It was only about 80 degrees (F).  I was the only person out and enjoyed the temporary solitude.  Even the birds were silent, except for a neighboring rooster, but he crows at all hours of the day.

I’m preparing for a hot day; August is making its presence clear: hot and bone dry.  While we are still reaping the benefits of the garden, I’m thinking ahead to fall and a welcomed change in the weather.

Homegrown

Ratatouille – all from the garden, of course.

As gardens are starting to go into full bloom, I’ve noticed more Facebook profile photos changing to photos of vegetables.  I’ve seen various photos of tomatoes, cucumbers, and even corn (clearly, a very rare oddity this year) grace my page as people share what they’ve been doing all summer.  Even more so, I’m seeing photos of what people are doing with all those fresh vegetables afterwards.  Pickles seem to be a favorite this year as one tries to handle an avalanche of cucumbers.  There’s also been a variety of tomato-basil salads, and a few adventurous lads have shared photos from their first jamming session – with delicious looking results.   Now, I don’t think this means the whole world has gotten up and gone granola, but I do think it shows a conscious effort to benefit from fresh and local products.  Honestly, a homegrown tomato does taste better than a supermarket one, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.  People are proud of what they grow and even prouder of their creativity in what they do with their products.  Canning, and complaining about the kitchen heat is popular, but those who are doing it are doing so willingly, and are very happy with the results.  Admiration is shared for those generations who’ve done this for survival, and even more so, a deep appreciation for modern conveniences such as a freezer.

It doesn’t mean the world is going to give up tomatoes in winter, but it does mean, and I’m making my own judgment here, that people enjoy making something from start to finish or from seed to plate, if you will.  I’m not starting an ecological or nutritional debate, but rather sharing an observation of trends.  People are growing gardens; it’s cheaper and better tasting, and not to mention, a lot of people clearly like getting their hands dirty.

Inspiration

Red Sweet Onion, Yellow Patisson, Tomatoes: Gardener’s Delight and Black Prince, Basil

I love this time of year; well, I love this time of year besides the blazing, unforgiving, and constant heat.  I can walk into the vegetable garden with no idea of what I’m making for lunch and I can fill my basket with almost anything I’d like and I’m back in the kitchen with a plan.  It’s more than just having a menu idea; the vegetable garden is a place where I find ideas about my life beyond the kitchen.  I often sit on one of the stone walls in the evening and try to take it all in: the garden, the surrounding mountains and forest, and the setting sun.  I hone my future plans and realize what ones are worth keeping and what ones need to be modified.  Perhaps because it is the only green space for the moment, the various colors, or the appreciation I get from watching my seedlings grow into plants that tower over six feet tall, but the garden is a place where I find my inspiration.  I learn more about who I want to be and how to be a better person.  It is constantly changing, and I hope me too, for the better.

Monday's Leftovers: Summer Sizzle

In France, Sunday lunches are sacred.  They are a time for family and friends to gather together, put the work week on hold, and come back to the table to the things that inspire.  Monday’s Leftovers is a periodical series that recaps those moments, the lunches, and the memories that are left long after the dishes are done.

Tartare de saumon fumé, réduction de vinaigre balsamique

It’s been nothing but hot and dry.  I woke up sweating.  Summer is pulling out all the stops, so there was no way the oven was going to get turned on.  This 600 year old house didn’t come equipped with air-conditioning and it’s difficult to keep cool in the summer.  The vegetable garden is not starting to produce in amble abundance, so pulling together a chilled entrée has become much easier.  After coffee, I tried to take advantage of the morning and worked in the garden.  Christophe dove into the fridge not knowing what I had bought at the market and turned out a feast. 

Music: Edith Piaf and The Blues Brothers.  A stark contrast, but we danced to that five years ago, so it only seemed appropriate.

Menu:

Aperitif: Alfred Rothschild et Co. Brut Champagne, Grande Reserve

First Course: Smoked Salmon with Cucumber and Capers and a Balsamic Vinegar Reduction

Main Course: Grilled Duck Breast, Marinated in Muscat de Rivesaltes and Rosemary, Garden Vegetables sautéed with Blue d’Auvergne cheese

Magret de canard mariné au Muscat de Rivesaltes et au romarin, sauté du légumes au bleu d’Auvergne

My favorite color is green

My favorite color is green, and this is my yard:

It crunches when I walk on it.

This is a Mediterranean environment; no one’s grass is green.  I’m not even sure it’s grass; maybe it’s crab grass because each year it gets likes this and happily, it comes back the next spring.  The thing is, it usually not this bad nor is it so prolonged.  The yard has been like this for a month and a half, which is a record and, summer’s not over yet.  It would be completely absurd and irresponsible to even think about watering the grass since it would reduce the water supply for something so frivolous, but I ‘ve noted that doesn’t stop others from trying.  (As if a green lawn is not going to give away a secret.) 

The yard is not the only thing suffering; all the vegetation has taken a hit.  It’s been a hard summer as the trees, bushes, and flowers have tried to bounce back from a particularly brutal winter with freezing temperatures and bone-chilling winds.  We trimmed back a lot of new growth from the year before this spring because it had died from the head spinning winds.  What’s left has had a hard time regenerating.

The ground is dry and the sun is unforgiving. I’d have better luck breaking cement than trying to break ground.  Even my succulents are crying out for water.  We never got the seasonal spring rains so reserves are plunging and plants are digging their roots in deeper in hopes of finding something to drink.  Those that are surviving have been around awhile with well-established roots or it’s due to us watering them from time to time in hopes they’ll make it until in the next rainy season.  This is a hard environment and I am learning just how unforgiving it can be.  I should be happy that cutting the lawn has been tremendously limited, but a green lawn is something I miss.  That, along with anything green around me, anything.

Ham and Pickle roll ups....in France

I made these special for the photo and then ate them.

I feed ham and pickle roll ups to the French… and they liked it.

Yes, yes, those ham and pickle rolls that you either love or hate; the things that appear at almost every family party and disappear faster than the 7 layer dip.  Many consider these simple snacks a lowbrow culinary disaster and a guilty pleasure.  I served them at the annual village party and I didn’t even get to fill up my beer before they were gone, and I put them down right next to me. Who says the French are snobs when it comes to food?

French food will always have its impeccable reputation, but there is a trend I’ve been observing: the appearance of American finger food.  Pigs in a Blanket are now listed on caterers’ menus and dips have been spotted at weddings.  Not that they are called Pigs in a Blanket or the French know and practice the “double dipping rule”, but these items are replacing the traditional dried sausage and olives.  There is something to be said about that, but for the American counterpart, I’ve also seen a change: Brie with fruit compote is replacing cheese balls and sliced baguettes are in place of Chicken in a Biscuit crackers (and oh, how I loved those crackers).  Do I think the American palette is destroying the French cuisine?  Absolutely not.  The French staples will always stay even though there might be an ebb and flow in food trends.  Philadelphia Cream Cheese has been available for years, but placed in the “English Section” of the supermarket it was ridiculously priced at over six dollars a packet.  No one was going to touch it.  (I’ve tried explaining it’s not English, but even with the “Philadelphia” in its name, my cries fell on deaf ears.)  Recently, reasonably priced store brand cream cheeses have appeared that have conveniently piggy-backed upon the appearance of the real McCoy on Top Chef.  Cream Cheese’s popularity is growing which has tempted me to venture into my culinary dare. It’s worth saying again: I feed ham and pickle roll ups to the French… and they liked it, no they loved it. 

Will I try to pull out something even more profoundly American at next year’s festivities?  Absolutely.  I’ve got a catalog of dip recipes that need to be dusted off and broken out.  Will I partake?  No, not yet.  The French are devouring our finger foods, but until they get the “double dipping rule” down, I’ll search out something else.  Maybe I'll make a cheese ball.... with crackers, Chicken in a Biscuit crackers.  That should do the trick.

Night Watch

The garden at night.

The drought has taken its toll on quite a few things: trees are suffering, there are water restrictions, and even the animals are acting a bit odd.  The blue jays that attacked our fig tree have now striped it bare and we have discovered a new problem: foxes, or at least we think they are foxes.

For the last few weeks we have found an animal has dug up part of the garden.  It’s not attacking the vegetables, but it’s digging in the dirt leaving giant holes and unearthing the plants.  We think it’s burrowing for worms or any other form of nutrition.  At first we thought it was cat, but the damage was far too extensive.  Then the idea of a boar developed, but it couldn’t have been one both since the damage was not nearly enough and the potatoes have been left untouched (boars like potatoes).  It’s most likely not a dog, so all fingers started pointing towards a fox.  We’ve already lost a few plants to the digging, and unearthing the plants each morning that have been buried is time consuming, so we’ve had to act defensively.  Each night around midnight we go out to the garden and wait.  It sits at the edge of the property next to small cliff that plunges into a forest below which harbors anything from deer to boars to foxes.  We wait for any sound from the darkness and when it happens, we go on the attack, hurling rocks into the tree tops above so the sound amplifies and frightens the animal.  After a small barrage, we stop and hear it scurrying away.  It works, but it’s not a permanent fix; if we don’t go out to defend the garden each night the animal comes back.  It’s changing our night rituals and stretching out long days even longer.

I admit venturing into the garden so late at night with an active imagination is not always fun.  Sometimes, I’ve darted back to the house after the barrage in fears of the animal taking advantage of my turned back and wanting revenge.  I lock the door after me, happy to be in a well light kitchen and knowing that animals, without opposable thumbs, can’t turn knobs, rendering me safe from their grasps.

Gardening has taken a very odd turn.  I’m losing sleep over a pumpkin and dream about animals that can unlock doors.  The growing season can be quite long, so I’m impatiently waiting for its end when everything can be gathered from the garden and my nights can spent indoors where they are supposed to be.  For now, all I can think is, “That pumpkin better be damn good.”

Why does all of France vacation at the same time?

It’s that time again: the whole of France is on vacation.  Northern France is facing rains and record chills, while we in the South have had endless days of sunshine without a hint of precipitation.  You know what that means?  That’s right, all of France is here along with the thousands of RVs, camping hitches, and overflowing mini vans they drive.   France, along with Belgium, The Netherlands, Germany, and England (Hey, not everyone wants to be right next door to the Olympics). Camping is hugely popular and I often find myself behind an RV moving so slowly that traffic builds for a mile behind it.  I’m convinced those in the South stay put during the summer holidays and quietly sneak away during the off season.  Until then, they lay low in their gardens and only venture out early in the mornings when everyone else is still sleeping.  It works; I was a beach at 9 in the morning and only four people were there.  I had a swim, but didn’t have to worry about someone walking off with my beach towel because they were all in the water with me.  When I left a noon, the cars were starting to stream into the parking lot filled with parents toting everything from floaties to boogie boards and excited kids lubed head to toe in SPF 50.

Vacations are great.  I have wonderful memories of the beaches in Southern Michigan with my family.  Our neighborhood was a revolving door of who is watering whose plants and taking in the mail.  Sometime by mid-August, most everyone was back and the neighborhood kids swapped stories of where they went and what they did.   I don’t knock the people coming here wanting to create meaningful memories for their children to remember, that’s normal.  What I still have a hard time wrapping my head around is why everyone in France vacations at the same time.  I mean, how many people are welcomed home by dead plants?  Does a neighborhood elect one family to stay back each year to keep an eye on things?   For Pete’s sakes, who is taking in all this mail?

Can you drop the Riff-Raff?

We went for a walk this weekend up to the crest and this is the view from there:

Yes, I really do live here.

I really do live in the middle of nowhere – somewhat.  Within less than an hour I can get to a train station, international airport, and a large metropolis.  I spent just about the same amount of time getting to the grocery store as I did when I lived in Chicago, except I’m not sitting in traffic. I’m close enough to things I want, but far enough away from the riff-raff that fills our lives  Oh, and when I say riff-raff I mean the junk we can live without such as fast food drive thrus, Glee, 50 Shades of something or another, and anything vampire related.  It’s out there, but where we live makes it easier to block out; it’s not at my doorstep daily.  When we return to Chicago each Christmas, I absolutely love indulging myself and find that calling for a pizza is much quicker and easier than making one, but I find the distance has given me some space to reflect.  These are indulgences, and should stay that way.  Everyone talks about “getting away from it all”, but I don’t really see anyone really doing it.  Getting away from the riff-raff can really do a lot for a person.  You should try it; I highly recommend it.  The whole “unplug” thing really goes a long way.  I know, it’s a bit hypocrite coming from someone who writes a blog, but I don’t walk around texting on my cell phone.  In fact, I don’t own one.  The mountains in Southern France might not be the place for everyone, but the point is to drop the junk that really isn’t important; look around and take inventory of what’s out there.

Sometimes, I struggle living where I do: I’m far from family, French is not my native language, and my employment opportunities are limited.  But, sometimes, when I’m given a view like this I’m reminded of all the good I have and why I could care less about vampires.