So, of course as an American in France, I am overwhelmed at the quality of food. It's France after all, the mother country. Wine everywhere, and more pastry than you could shake a baguette at. I really hadn't missed much in terms of American food, excluding caffeine, but that's a different case in itself. Every now and again, I might have something that was kind of like an American product, but not exactly the same, or was supposed to be just like something else, but nope, not really.
One place that I had enjoyed all of my life, and still do despite the tone of this article, is Mc Donald's. I don't know about anyone else reading this, but it was that one place where you always knew what you were going to get. Everyone had their favorites, and rarely deviated from that path. In college, it was my lunch every day, and lord help me when they got debit readers in every location. I was done, and my gut showed it.
I had been to Mc Donald's my first time in France when my partner met me at the airport. We had to catch a train, but we were both hungry. So we took a stop on the metro, and we were searching for someplace to eat. He had found a Mc Donald's, Saint-Graal, as I sometimes call it. So after he thought for a minute about what the actual name was for things in French (imagine the confusion on the face of the woman running the register when he asked for a "double cheeseburger" with a French accent) we had a nice meal. Although the fries were smaller, and the drinks were way smaller. We had to hurry, so I didn't really notice much.
The other weekend, we went to Mc Donald's with our niece. We're relatively the same age, so it was all good. They were ordering together and I was ordering separate. Before we went in, I had to ask a few times to make sure what to ask for, and how. For example, when you order a combo, it's called a "menu." Since it's French so the "u" comes out like your mouth is saying an "e" but your lips are saying a very hard "u."
So I am looking over the prices of stuff. It's quite ridiculous. 6 euros for a combo meal. I say I guess, and just go with it. I ended up getting what looked like a quarter pounder with cheese combo, a 6 piece mc nugget, and a chocolate muffin. 14 euros. I am not joking. After the initial laughter wore off, I ran my card, which had to be signed because it was a foreign card. French people are very ill equipped for this. It literally causes all kinds of confusion. So I sign and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
They were short on fries, and they really didn't seem to be in a hurry about it. I am used to the American ones where they handle lots of people fast. they just kind of stood around and waited for the fries to get done. Not much of a rush place. I dunno, Mc Donald's in the US just seem faster. Maybe it's just me. So we head home and have a great dinner where I know exactly what to expect.
The next day I talk with my sister in law about how expensive it was. She said that yes, it's very expensive to be prohibitive. That way people will not just get fast food. There is, literally no joke here, a 20% tax on all food at Mc Donald's. I was shocked. I saw an article where they were trying to do it in the US, and I just thought it was hilarious. I was not as outraged by it as I would have been if I were still living in Ohio. Pretty crazy. But yeah, part of me doesn't think it's such a bad idea anymore.
So I checked my bank account after, and I spent over 18 dollars at a Mc Donald's. I remember when I used to get dinner for my partner and I, we were talking 12 dollars, and we had two full bags. But such is France. More to get used to, I guess.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Chez moi est chez toi
Earlier in the morning I was talking with my partner about what was going on that day. As far as I knew, nothing. We were sitting in the room with our nieces, one talking one coloring. He said that he wasn't sure if he was going out, because my sister in law and my nieces were planning on going to pick up some new shoes and pick up some manga. I wanted to see if the new manga for Ikigami was out, so I asked if it would be ok to go with them. They said it was fine, of course, but I would have to endure getting new shoes first. I didn't really have an issue with it, so I took a shower, and we went.
So as we were going in, one of my nieces said told the other one that we were going "chez [name of store]." I stood there for a minute, amazed at the usage. First and foremost, it was a store. I had heard "chez" used before when referring to someone's house, but it's really amazing at how useful of a preposition it is. It generally means at someone's place.
Naturally, you can say "chez moi," meaning my place, but you can also say "chez boucher," meaning at the butcher's. Additionally, it can be used for a group. So you could say something like "chez les Bleus," which depending on context could mean any number of the stadiums of any national sports team in France. [Most typically used for football, but can just as easily be applied to rugby, handball, etc.] Additionally it can be used for customs, especially when they are peculiar to a culture. For example, "Chez les Français, on fait la bise." [In France, most people you greet will kiss you on both sides of the cheek, unless they don't know you or want to keep their distance. Then it's a handshake. I've found it's easiest to follow the other person's lead.]
It can also mean in the work/writings of someone. You could introduce something like "Chez Dumas . . . " meaning "In the works of Dumas . . . ." So this is a clever little announcer that might help you sound a little more native, depending on what you're discussing. I am not sure of it's level of formality, so it's on the watch list for now.
So I asked what the root was of "chez." Fairly obviously, it's Latin root is "casa." It means house, hut, or cottage depending on use. Most if not all Latin languages share the root. More specifically in meaning, "chez" comes to mean something where someone, or a group of people, has control over it. In using "chez" for a house, it's implying that it is relating to the person who has control over it.
"Chez moi" is more saying the place where I have control than specifically, "my house." If you wanted to generally say that it was your house, you would simply say "ma maison." In a way, you may be able to compare it to the difference between "house" and "home" in English.
Also, my niece has developed a taste for declaring the United States, "Le plus drôle pays du monde." I don't think it would be nearly as funny, were she not six.
So as we were going in, one of my nieces said told the other one that we were going "chez [name of store]." I stood there for a minute, amazed at the usage. First and foremost, it was a store. I had heard "chez" used before when referring to someone's house, but it's really amazing at how useful of a preposition it is. It generally means at someone's place.
Naturally, you can say "chez moi," meaning my place, but you can also say "chez boucher," meaning at the butcher's. Additionally, it can be used for a group. So you could say something like "chez les Bleus," which depending on context could mean any number of the stadiums of any national sports team in France. [Most typically used for football, but can just as easily be applied to rugby, handball, etc.] Additionally it can be used for customs, especially when they are peculiar to a culture. For example, "Chez les Français, on fait la bise." [In France, most people you greet will kiss you on both sides of the cheek, unless they don't know you or want to keep their distance. Then it's a handshake. I've found it's easiest to follow the other person's lead.]
It can also mean in the work/writings of someone. You could introduce something like "Chez Dumas . . . " meaning "In the works of Dumas . . . ." So this is a clever little announcer that might help you sound a little more native, depending on what you're discussing. I am not sure of it's level of formality, so it's on the watch list for now.
So I asked what the root was of "chez." Fairly obviously, it's Latin root is "casa." It means house, hut, or cottage depending on use. Most if not all Latin languages share the root. More specifically in meaning, "chez" comes to mean something where someone, or a group of people, has control over it. In using "chez" for a house, it's implying that it is relating to the person who has control over it.
"Chez moi" is more saying the place where I have control than specifically, "my house." If you wanted to generally say that it was your house, you would simply say "ma maison." In a way, you may be able to compare it to the difference between "house" and "home" in English.
Also, my niece has developed a taste for declaring the United States, "Le plus drôle pays du monde." I don't think it would be nearly as funny, were she not six.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Phony
Tonight, I was trying to get some stuff taken care of on the telephone, and I needed to call someone here in France. As I am speaking with them, I realize I am getting the run around. This happens a lot when you ask the question, "Parlez-vous Anglais?" to a French worker on the telephone. Also, if you're polite with them. So after a few more calls, my sister in law said she would call. She deals with these kinds of people all day, so she'll strike fear into their hearts. If they started to cry, she said she would put them on speaker phone. All she needed was the number. So I start reading off the number in the standard American format, "Cinq, Cinq, Cinq, etc." She is typing in the number, but she missed one. So she goes again. I start reading the numbers off again. She misses the area code this time. So I set the paper down, and my partner reads her the number.
My niece was also there and she was smiling a little, and then she asked the question, "Is that really how Americans read off telephone numbers?"
I said, "Yeah, this is pretty much uniform. We read one number at a time, unless it's something that ends in a 5 or 0. We'll read all four if it ends in two zeros too."
So it was then, I realized the problem. French telephone numbers are not formatted like American numbers. All numbers in France are formatted as two number groupings. So if you were to see a number like, 22 32 60 45 19, it's read as "vingt-deux, trente-deux, soixante, quarante-cinq, dix-neuf." It would break an American's brain to say something like "four hundred nineteen, seven hundred eighty four, five thousand five hundred twenty-two." So for telephone numbers it's just what we do. Just like French people say their numbers as the two digit versions.
It was really fun to see her in action I have to say. As my partner put it, "The problem is that you're too nice on the phone."
My niece was also there and she was smiling a little, and then she asked the question, "Is that really how Americans read off telephone numbers?"
I said, "Yeah, this is pretty much uniform. We read one number at a time, unless it's something that ends in a 5 or 0. We'll read all four if it ends in two zeros too."
So it was then, I realized the problem. French telephone numbers are not formatted like American numbers. All numbers in France are formatted as two number groupings. So if you were to see a number like, 22 32 60 45 19, it's read as "vingt-deux, trente-deux, soixante, quarante-cinq, dix-neuf." It would break an American's brain to say something like "four hundred nineteen, seven hundred eighty four, five thousand five hundred twenty-two." So for telephone numbers it's just what we do. Just like French people say their numbers as the two digit versions.
It was really fun to see her in action I have to say. As my partner put it, "The problem is that you're too nice on the phone."
Thursday, March 4, 2010
You cough, you die!
I do have to say, there is one thing that never ceases to amuse me. I can go downstairs, right now, and I can pull out somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 different medications with varying drugs used. There are syrups for a dry cough as well as a separate syrup for a wet cough. If it's caused by something in your throat, I can find that too. Should it be a chest cough; don't worry, there's something for you there too. There's paracetamol, nurofen, efferalgon, dafalgon, advil, and helicidine just to name a few.
I should preface this with the fact that I am coming from a different perspective. I was always taught that it is both stupid and dangerous to take drugs unless you seriously needed them. As a result, I became terrified that if I took drugs too much, I would someday have something that couldn't be relieved, regardless of the drugs. So, instead of taking pills when I had a headache, I would take a nap. If I had a fever, I would take a lukewarm showers.
Should it mean anything, I grew up in a medical family. 10 of my mother's 11 brothers and sisters were either doctors, nurses, or lab technicians. My mother was an x-ray technician. My dad is a registered nurse and still works in the emergency room. I could always ask them if I was unsure about something, or if I needed to go see a specialist. However, it was always the rule: "Unless it's an emergency, wait a week on what you have. If it's still there, it's something to worry about. We'll see a doctor then."
However, I feel I was an exceptionally immune child. I never had strep throat until I was older, the same for a sinus infection. I had chicken pox when all my brothers and sisters did, but I never had measels, or really got worse than a cold or a fever. I remember there were certain classmates who would just disappear for a few days and come back after some sort of illness. Another friend I had in high school was showing me all the different medications she was on. I couldn't believe it. She wasn't even 20 and she was on probably 6 inhalers and/or medications. So I thought that maybe it was just my family. Maybe there was something off. Maybe.
I really never though much about it until I came over to my partner's apartment one day. I said I had a headache, and I needed some tylenol. He pointed me in the direction of one of the bathroom drawers. So I walked up and pulled it open. A tidal wave of drugs, pills, and syrups came out at me. I just had to laugh for a minute, and my thought went back to my friend. I still wondered if there was something I just wasn't getting. So I grabbed what I hoped was a headache remedy and went back to make sure it was indeed what I needed. It wasn't.
There were other times, like when his mother came to visit, and she would bring a fairly large bag of different French medications. We seriously had an entire drawer and a shoebox packed to the gills with medications. I had 4 of things in this drawer: a bottle of pepto-bismol, a box of nyquil sinus, a bottle of pseudoephedrine my father got for me from the pharmacy at work, and a bottle of Alieve. But every time he came back from France, or someone came to visit, we had a whole new stock of medications we hadn't come close to using up.
Moving on to France though, it turns out everyone is like this. If you have a headache, you take a pill. If you have an ache, drug up. A cough? There's a syrup for that. People have no issue with just running to a doctor and getting it taken care of. Since I have been here, I think every member of my family here has been to the doctor at least once.
Now, obviously the difference lies in the systems, partially. In the US, you can expect to pay a minimum of $50 to as much as $200 to see a doctor. In France, it's usually less than 30 euros, and is usually reimbursed. There are also pharmacies everywhere. My partner comes from a town of less than 10,000 people and I know of at least 5 pharmacies there. (You can always tell because there's a green cross out front.) You also can't just buy medications. You have to ask for them. You speak about what your problem is and the pharmacien will determine what's needed for your special case. And this is for anything, seriously, anything. Imagine having to speak to a pharmacist every time you want to buy a bottle of ibuprofen or tylenol? It's bad enough that in Ohio you have to ask for pseudoephedrine at the counter. Annoying.
Another thing that amuses me is this medication called Actifed Jour &Nuit. (translated as Actifed Day and Night.) Yeah, you're thinking Nyquil or Dayquil and so was I. Well, not exactly. You don't just take one when your feeling ill, you have to take a whole series. There's a pill for when you wake up, another when you eat, another in the late evening, and another before you go to bed. French people are also very serious about taking those pills. I was asked every morning, afternoon, and night if I had taken my pill. Even if I hadn't, I just said yes.
I found another site that explained a bit more about things. So here's that link:
http://www.petiteanglaise.com/2004/09/30/nation-of-hypochondriacs/
Things are going well here. I had a great birthday, and well, let's just say the hangover was worth it.
I should preface this with the fact that I am coming from a different perspective. I was always taught that it is both stupid and dangerous to take drugs unless you seriously needed them. As a result, I became terrified that if I took drugs too much, I would someday have something that couldn't be relieved, regardless of the drugs. So, instead of taking pills when I had a headache, I would take a nap. If I had a fever, I would take a lukewarm showers.
Should it mean anything, I grew up in a medical family. 10 of my mother's 11 brothers and sisters were either doctors, nurses, or lab technicians. My mother was an x-ray technician. My dad is a registered nurse and still works in the emergency room. I could always ask them if I was unsure about something, or if I needed to go see a specialist. However, it was always the rule: "Unless it's an emergency, wait a week on what you have. If it's still there, it's something to worry about. We'll see a doctor then."
However, I feel I was an exceptionally immune child. I never had strep throat until I was older, the same for a sinus infection. I had chicken pox when all my brothers and sisters did, but I never had measels, or really got worse than a cold or a fever. I remember there were certain classmates who would just disappear for a few days and come back after some sort of illness. Another friend I had in high school was showing me all the different medications she was on. I couldn't believe it. She wasn't even 20 and she was on probably 6 inhalers and/or medications. So I thought that maybe it was just my family. Maybe there was something off. Maybe.
I really never though much about it until I came over to my partner's apartment one day. I said I had a headache, and I needed some tylenol. He pointed me in the direction of one of the bathroom drawers. So I walked up and pulled it open. A tidal wave of drugs, pills, and syrups came out at me. I just had to laugh for a minute, and my thought went back to my friend. I still wondered if there was something I just wasn't getting. So I grabbed what I hoped was a headache remedy and went back to make sure it was indeed what I needed. It wasn't.
There were other times, like when his mother came to visit, and she would bring a fairly large bag of different French medications. We seriously had an entire drawer and a shoebox packed to the gills with medications. I had 4 of things in this drawer: a bottle of pepto-bismol, a box of nyquil sinus, a bottle of pseudoephedrine my father got for me from the pharmacy at work, and a bottle of Alieve. But every time he came back from France, or someone came to visit, we had a whole new stock of medications we hadn't come close to using up.
Moving on to France though, it turns out everyone is like this. If you have a headache, you take a pill. If you have an ache, drug up. A cough? There's a syrup for that. People have no issue with just running to a doctor and getting it taken care of. Since I have been here, I think every member of my family here has been to the doctor at least once.
Now, obviously the difference lies in the systems, partially. In the US, you can expect to pay a minimum of $50 to as much as $200 to see a doctor. In France, it's usually less than 30 euros, and is usually reimbursed. There are also pharmacies everywhere. My partner comes from a town of less than 10,000 people and I know of at least 5 pharmacies there. (You can always tell because there's a green cross out front.) You also can't just buy medications. You have to ask for them. You speak about what your problem is and the pharmacien will determine what's needed for your special case. And this is for anything, seriously, anything. Imagine having to speak to a pharmacist every time you want to buy a bottle of ibuprofen or tylenol? It's bad enough that in Ohio you have to ask for pseudoephedrine at the counter. Annoying.
Another thing that amuses me is this medication called Actifed Jour &Nuit. (translated as Actifed Day and Night.) Yeah, you're thinking Nyquil or Dayquil and so was I. Well, not exactly. You don't just take one when your feeling ill, you have to take a whole series. There's a pill for when you wake up, another when you eat, another in the late evening, and another before you go to bed. French people are also very serious about taking those pills. I was asked every morning, afternoon, and night if I had taken my pill. Even if I hadn't, I just said yes.
I found another site that explained a bit more about things. So here's that link:
http://www.petiteanglaise.com/2004/09/30/nation-of-hypochondriacs/
Things are going well here. I had a great birthday, and well, let's just say the hangover was worth it.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
So when do I get my beret?
So earlier today, my partner asked if I would mind getting bread. He knew that I would say yes, so it was really a loaded question anyway, but he asked nonetheless. So I walk into town and think about what I should do. First priority is to check the game store (which I was totally psyched because I found Ico, which I had been searching for, something like 6 years. It's like Xenogears, it's never getting resold.) and then to go pull some money out for the bread.
I think about the really good bakery in town. The bread is that perfect crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside mix. It tastes delicious, and smells even better. Also, nine times out of ten, it's warm when I get it. Since it is a bakery, they also have desserts, and this place in particular, has doughnuts. It's really good too. I remembered that I saw one the other day that was dipped in chocolate. (I have never seen any of the filled doughnuts that I love back in the US, but hey, what can you do? Tim Horton's isn't on every block here.) They also have chocolate croissants, and well, lots of other delicious French pastry. I was sold on the idea, but then I really needed something to drink. They don't have any drinks for sale there, unfortunately.
So then, I remember that there's the other bakery. It's ok, but it's a chain. They have a lot of good desserts as well, and they even serve sandwiches. There's also this woman that works there that I kind of sort of joke flirt with. (One thing to let you know, everyone will think you're cute if you play your accent just right.) But they have so many nice pastries, and these little sugar covered hearts. I was going to buy them the other day to bring home, but was thwarted by a mother of four followed by three high school girls coming in for lunch. Seriously, they all ate enough for a medium sized flotilla. Plus, they sell coke there.
Now, as I said, it's an ok bakery but it's not like the great bakery here in town. The bread is not nearly as crispy on the outside, and it's always kinda spongy on the interior. That I can deal with. After all, I lived on American bread for 26 years, a few more pieces of pain de mie aren't going to kill me. But my biggest issue is with the flavor. The great bakery has this soft, nutty, yeasty taste that makes them the Jesus of bread. The ok bakery is probably a Joseph Smith at best. It just tastes like they used chlorinated water to make it. It's a little chemical heavy compared to the great bakery.
So as I was pulling my money out, I was thinking it was more comical that I was rating bread, considering not only that I had lived my entire life on American bread, but more than that, my parents would always buy about 8 loaves of bread at a time, and freeze them. We weren't even talking Wonderbread or Nickel's, or hell, even Bunny bread for those of you who know it. This was L'oven Fresh. We also went through a lot, and I mean, a lot of bread, and cream cheese, not so coincidentally.
So I take my money, and my American tendency to drink pop wins out. Happy birthday to me. So one canette of coke later, and I am set! I return back to the house triumphantly. I still think it's funny that no matter how long you are in a place, base emotions or wants still take precedence over any layer of foreign socializing that you may install. On a related note, damn if that coke wasn't good.
That's it for now. It's a cloudy 54 degrees here right now. I hope you're all feeling well, and things are going smoothly.
I think about the really good bakery in town. The bread is that perfect crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside mix. It tastes delicious, and smells even better. Also, nine times out of ten, it's warm when I get it. Since it is a bakery, they also have desserts, and this place in particular, has doughnuts. It's really good too. I remembered that I saw one the other day that was dipped in chocolate. (I have never seen any of the filled doughnuts that I love back in the US, but hey, what can you do? Tim Horton's isn't on every block here.) They also have chocolate croissants, and well, lots of other delicious French pastry. I was sold on the idea, but then I really needed something to drink. They don't have any drinks for sale there, unfortunately.
So then, I remember that there's the other bakery. It's ok, but it's a chain. They have a lot of good desserts as well, and they even serve sandwiches. There's also this woman that works there that I kind of sort of joke flirt with. (One thing to let you know, everyone will think you're cute if you play your accent just right.) But they have so many nice pastries, and these little sugar covered hearts. I was going to buy them the other day to bring home, but was thwarted by a mother of four followed by three high school girls coming in for lunch. Seriously, they all ate enough for a medium sized flotilla. Plus, they sell coke there.
Now, as I said, it's an ok bakery but it's not like the great bakery here in town. The bread is not nearly as crispy on the outside, and it's always kinda spongy on the interior. That I can deal with. After all, I lived on American bread for 26 years, a few more pieces of pain de mie aren't going to kill me. But my biggest issue is with the flavor. The great bakery has this soft, nutty, yeasty taste that makes them the Jesus of bread. The ok bakery is probably a Joseph Smith at best. It just tastes like they used chlorinated water to make it. It's a little chemical heavy compared to the great bakery.
So as I was pulling my money out, I was thinking it was more comical that I was rating bread, considering not only that I had lived my entire life on American bread, but more than that, my parents would always buy about 8 loaves of bread at a time, and freeze them. We weren't even talking Wonderbread or Nickel's, or hell, even Bunny bread for those of you who know it. This was L'oven Fresh. We also went through a lot, and I mean, a lot of bread, and cream cheese, not so coincidentally.
So I take my money, and my American tendency to drink pop wins out. Happy birthday to me. So one canette of coke later, and I am set! I return back to the house triumphantly. I still think it's funny that no matter how long you are in a place, base emotions or wants still take precedence over any layer of foreign socializing that you may install. On a related note, damn if that coke wasn't good.
That's it for now. It's a cloudy 54 degrees here right now. I hope you're all feeling well, and things are going smoothly.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
-flettes of varying degrees
So the other day, my brother in law was making dinner with my niece. I noticed a boiling pot of water on the stove, and in it were a lot of little squares of pasta. I had never seen it before, and I did remember that it was being discussed the other night, when discussing this as dinner. As with most other French meals to which I have been a party, there was also various pork products and of course cheese. It was pretty damn good looking overall, and I briefly discussed a couple of language points, but well, my interest in food, got the better of me.
So of course, I asked what it was called. Croziflette. So I have no idea what that means, but it's one of two dishes that end in -flette that I know of. The other being Tartiflette. It's good, and gets its flavor predominantly from the cheese you use in it, Reblochon. It's potatoes, cheese, and some kind of meat. It's a lot like what we would call a skillet in the US, so called because they are cooked in a skillet. I always did wonder why my partner always got the same thing when we would go to the breakfast place down the street. After a few weeks in France, I understood why.
We'll start first with the pasta. They are known as crozet au sarrasin. When I asked about the last word in that expression, yes, all of the medieval history buffs' eyebrows should be shooting up, it was confirmed that it's the English word, Saracen. For those who don't know, Saracen is an old word for any Muslim, but it more precisely refers to members of the nomadic tribes on the Syrian border of the Roman Empire. I think it's most likely because of the nature of the pasta. It is made from rye flower, and I have been told, similar to couscous in make up. Either way, I was totally ready to eat it. So that worked.
Now as I said, it's similar to a skillet, an to the average American, it means meat. There was one breakfast skillet I used to get in particular that had a variety of meats in it. And it was paradise. Much like the American one, -flette at the end of a dish seems to mean pork products. Of course, being that I think I have discussed it ad nauseum, it usually means lardons. Lardons are these tiny little cut up pieces of thick bacon. They are poetry. There was also ham. Big strips of ham. It's wonderful. I was hoping they would be latticed like a covering for a pie, but it was not in the stars.
Of course, what skillet would be complete without cheese? Americans are not adventurous when it comes to cheese typically. There are people who can stomach strong cheeses, but well, most Americans are just fine with cheddar, or its exotic cousin, Swiss. French people normally put Swiss cheese on everything. However, if you have ever been to France, it becomes obvious that Emmenthaler cheese is not exotic, like it is to Americans. Emmenthaler is sold in bags like how we sell cheddar or mozzarella, or when they decide to get general and just call it Mexican cheese, or my personal favorite, pizza cheese.
No, the cheese used this night was the stuff that you find in a case across from the deli that costs about ten dollars for 3 inches. First, there was gouda, and another whose name escapes me. it was poetic though. And as I mentioned earlier, reblochon. Reblochon is one of those cheeses that you couldn't even buy in the case in the supermarket in the US. Reblochon, like Raclette, is one of those cheeses you have to buy at the whole food store or a specialty cheese store.
Reblochon is a cheese that is naturally a little melty, like Brie or Camembert. It has a bizarre taste alone, and complements starches and carbs really well. It comes from cow's milk, so it's not anything too out there, to let you know. It comes from a verb meaning "to pinch the udder twice." This was done because the owners of the herds were charged by how much milk their herds produced. Holding the milk back was advantageous for two reasons. First, it meant that the owners of the herds paid less in taxes, and the resulting milk taken after was richer. As a writer's note, if you cut it and leave it on a plate, it will stick like hell. Just a friendly warning.
So after that triumph, there was the mixture of onions, shallots, and spices. Everything came together a lot like lasagna. It was about three or four layers, and then cooked in the oven for something like 20 minutes. When it came out, it was beautifully crisp on top. I am a huge fan of crispness, which is demonstrated by the copious amounts of breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, and cheese that I believe is compulsory for good macaroni and cheese.
So if you see something that ends in -flette, it will most likely involve carbs/starch, lots of cheese, lardons/ham, and onions.
So of course, I asked what it was called. Croziflette. So I have no idea what that means, but it's one of two dishes that end in -flette that I know of. The other being Tartiflette. It's good, and gets its flavor predominantly from the cheese you use in it, Reblochon. It's potatoes, cheese, and some kind of meat. It's a lot like what we would call a skillet in the US, so called because they are cooked in a skillet. I always did wonder why my partner always got the same thing when we would go to the breakfast place down the street. After a few weeks in France, I understood why.
We'll start first with the pasta. They are known as crozet au sarrasin. When I asked about the last word in that expression, yes, all of the medieval history buffs' eyebrows should be shooting up, it was confirmed that it's the English word, Saracen. For those who don't know, Saracen is an old word for any Muslim, but it more precisely refers to members of the nomadic tribes on the Syrian border of the Roman Empire. I think it's most likely because of the nature of the pasta. It is made from rye flower, and I have been told, similar to couscous in make up. Either way, I was totally ready to eat it. So that worked.
Now as I said, it's similar to a skillet, an to the average American, it means meat. There was one breakfast skillet I used to get in particular that had a variety of meats in it. And it was paradise. Much like the American one, -flette at the end of a dish seems to mean pork products. Of course, being that I think I have discussed it ad nauseum, it usually means lardons. Lardons are these tiny little cut up pieces of thick bacon. They are poetry. There was also ham. Big strips of ham. It's wonderful. I was hoping they would be latticed like a covering for a pie, but it was not in the stars.
Of course, what skillet would be complete without cheese? Americans are not adventurous when it comes to cheese typically. There are people who can stomach strong cheeses, but well, most Americans are just fine with cheddar, or its exotic cousin, Swiss. French people normally put Swiss cheese on everything. However, if you have ever been to France, it becomes obvious that Emmenthaler cheese is not exotic, like it is to Americans. Emmenthaler is sold in bags like how we sell cheddar or mozzarella, or when they decide to get general and just call it Mexican cheese, or my personal favorite, pizza cheese.
No, the cheese used this night was the stuff that you find in a case across from the deli that costs about ten dollars for 3 inches. First, there was gouda, and another whose name escapes me. it was poetic though. And as I mentioned earlier, reblochon. Reblochon is one of those cheeses that you couldn't even buy in the case in the supermarket in the US. Reblochon, like Raclette, is one of those cheeses you have to buy at the whole food store or a specialty cheese store.
Reblochon is a cheese that is naturally a little melty, like Brie or Camembert. It has a bizarre taste alone, and complements starches and carbs really well. It comes from cow's milk, so it's not anything too out there, to let you know. It comes from a verb meaning "to pinch the udder twice." This was done because the owners of the herds were charged by how much milk their herds produced. Holding the milk back was advantageous for two reasons. First, it meant that the owners of the herds paid less in taxes, and the resulting milk taken after was richer. As a writer's note, if you cut it and leave it on a plate, it will stick like hell. Just a friendly warning.
So after that triumph, there was the mixture of onions, shallots, and spices. Everything came together a lot like lasagna. It was about three or four layers, and then cooked in the oven for something like 20 minutes. When it came out, it was beautifully crisp on top. I am a huge fan of crispness, which is demonstrated by the copious amounts of breadcrumbs, parmesan cheese, and cheese that I believe is compulsory for good macaroni and cheese.
So if you see something that ends in -flette, it will most likely involve carbs/starch, lots of cheese, lardons/ham, and onions.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Kouign Amann
Before we went to visit in Bretagne, we were having dinner with my sister and brother in law. As we were speaking, the conversation turned to the trip. My partner said that we would bring back a Kouign Amann. Everyone at the table had wistful looks on their faces at the mere mention of this. Of course, myself being the odd one out, I had no idea what it was. There was a brief discussion of how wonderful it was, but eventually I had to interject, and ask what on earth this was.
Before I continue, this is apparently an exceedingly difficult thing to pronounce. The way I heard it pronounced, it sounded like something from the Lord of the Rings. (Apparently, when said incorrectly, it sounds like the Elven language, Quenya, with the word "man" attached.) However correctly pronounced, I apologize in advance for my horrible phonetic transcription, it sounds something like Kwen amahn. There's a dangerous tendency for an engma, to mysteriously appear in it. So this little bugger is pretty hard to pronounce.
Now, as for what it is, I will use my brother in law's explanation as it amuses me the most. As he told me, Think of it as a cake that's 80% butter, 20% sugar, and enough flour to hold it together. So my first thought is, "how can this possibly taste good?" I am immediately thinking of a custard like cake, only no eggs or gelatin added. I also question this because my partner's family are fairly health conscious individuals. Although they may have a strong love of Galette Des Rois, this just seemed a bit too much. Of course, they said this is the kind of thing you only have one piece of. I still found this idea amusing, as I could out eat anyone at the table of course.
Additionally, there was a quick discussion of where exactly we would be buying one. My sister in law said that it would be exceedingly hard to find. She said it was a very hard cake to make right, and it probably wouldn't be readily available. My brother in law said it would most likely be available in the grocery store but more likely in a bakery. So we had a plan, and we would figure out how things are.
When we first arrive, we ask my mother in law where would be the best place to get one. She said that there was a bakery in the next village over that had received a gold medal for baking them. So with that question answered, We continue our visit to Bretagne, have a great time, and on the second to last day, we decide we need to buy the Kouign Amann. So we go to the bakery, in this little village that I had been in before. When my partner and I came through the first time, I had actually just assumed it was nothing more than a ghost town with a church. It turns out we had just come in the wrong side. There were houses, a bakery of course, schools, etc. So I was rather shocked myself. We picked up the last kouign amann, had it wrapped up, and headed back.
We made it back fine, and presented our cake, victoriously! It looked very similar to other French cakes I had seen before. It was matte on the top, with a little shine to it from the sugar. The top was very caramelized, and sugary. It was wonderful I have to say. The inside was pretty much a sponge of butter. It's not a bad cake, but not something of which I am a huge fan. The top was wonderful, but the inside, could have been better.
I was satisfied with the outcome, and glad to see that everyone enjoyed it. I don't know really what to make of it myself. After I knew how to spell it, I had assumed that almonds would be involved because of the end.
I also should probably apologize for the massive update hole. I let things get away from me, among the things that distracted me was a trip to London. I was debating writing one on England, but well, there were too many things and not enough time. Although I will say this one thing; way out, seriously?
Hopefully I'll have more to rant about soon! :-)
Before I continue, this is apparently an exceedingly difficult thing to pronounce. The way I heard it pronounced, it sounded like something from the Lord of the Rings. (Apparently, when said incorrectly, it sounds like the Elven language, Quenya, with the word "man" attached.) However correctly pronounced, I apologize in advance for my horrible phonetic transcription, it sounds something like Kwen amahn. There's a dangerous tendency for an engma, to mysteriously appear in it. So this little bugger is pretty hard to pronounce.
Now, as for what it is, I will use my brother in law's explanation as it amuses me the most. As he told me, Think of it as a cake that's 80% butter, 20% sugar, and enough flour to hold it together. So my first thought is, "how can this possibly taste good?" I am immediately thinking of a custard like cake, only no eggs or gelatin added. I also question this because my partner's family are fairly health conscious individuals. Although they may have a strong love of Galette Des Rois, this just seemed a bit too much. Of course, they said this is the kind of thing you only have one piece of. I still found this idea amusing, as I could out eat anyone at the table of course.
Additionally, there was a quick discussion of where exactly we would be buying one. My sister in law said that it would be exceedingly hard to find. She said it was a very hard cake to make right, and it probably wouldn't be readily available. My brother in law said it would most likely be available in the grocery store but more likely in a bakery. So we had a plan, and we would figure out how things are.
When we first arrive, we ask my mother in law where would be the best place to get one. She said that there was a bakery in the next village over that had received a gold medal for baking them. So with that question answered, We continue our visit to Bretagne, have a great time, and on the second to last day, we decide we need to buy the Kouign Amann. So we go to the bakery, in this little village that I had been in before. When my partner and I came through the first time, I had actually just assumed it was nothing more than a ghost town with a church. It turns out we had just come in the wrong side. There were houses, a bakery of course, schools, etc. So I was rather shocked myself. We picked up the last kouign amann, had it wrapped up, and headed back.
We made it back fine, and presented our cake, victoriously! It looked very similar to other French cakes I had seen before. It was matte on the top, with a little shine to it from the sugar. The top was very caramelized, and sugary. It was wonderful I have to say. The inside was pretty much a sponge of butter. It's not a bad cake, but not something of which I am a huge fan. The top was wonderful, but the inside, could have been better.
I was satisfied with the outcome, and glad to see that everyone enjoyed it. I don't know really what to make of it myself. After I knew how to spell it, I had assumed that almonds would be involved because of the end.
I also should probably apologize for the massive update hole. I let things get away from me, among the things that distracted me was a trip to London. I was debating writing one on England, but well, there were too many things and not enough time. Although I will say this one thing; way out, seriously?
Hopefully I'll have more to rant about soon! :-)
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