Oxen in action

The vagabond expected everything from greens to goats in Le Buisson’s spring fair, Foire aux Bestiaux de St. Vivien. In the tradition of medieval fairs, this event has long been held early in March, on the day of St.Vivien, drawing traders and farmers with their calves, donkeys, horses and sheep. Le Buisson’s  location on the road from Bergerac to Sarlat sprawls across a major intersection, luring shoppers to its Friday morning market and annual foire.  Eager to see what has changed in the passing years since we last strolled through the fair, I could hear load speakers as we approached the center of town.

Tools and plows of yesteryear

Where the stalls of calves, cattle and sheep once lined the aisles, now space was cleared for a demonstration of a working ox team.  Driven by a farmer in clogs and peasant shirt,  it struck me as théatre as he drove his ox team back and forth for over an hour, shouting at the beasts and cracking his stick on their backs if they didn’t go as directed.  A few old plows sat forlornly aside, as pieces of folklore planted next to the oxens’ path. We found no goats, no calves, but there were donkeys and ponies for kids to pet – and one enormous bull to admire (but I wouldn’t venture to touch its broad chestnut back).  A couple appeared to be bargaining for a pair of donkeys, however that was the extent of trading that I observed, and moved along hoping to find a basket in the marché.

Dark willow baskets, for shopping or walnuts

And baskets there were, many shapes and sizes – but not all local.  Instead of the old basket maker I remembered – who demonstrated and readily discussed traditional materials -  a basket dealer had spread his wares on the ground.  But I did find a basket:  a garlic vendor displayed small oval garlic baskets, just what I need to keep this staple at hand until  new shoots of aillet arrive in upcoming weeks.

Pink garlic from Lautrec, a good "keeper"

Relieved that more products from the greater southwest were represented, I popped for garlic and the basket before moving along to chat with a prune seller.  It was clear that he had shucked many walnuts for his oil, spread many plums to dry, pressed chestnuts for purée and was proud of his products – all organic, I was assured. I’ll  cook the prunes in tea and spice to tenderize the skins, we’ll  enjoy them in a simple prune whip or clafoutis, and recall the wizened artisan at the Le Buisson marché.

Prunes, walnuts and chestnuts pass through an artisan's hands

‘Tis the season, the plump red tomatoes of Marmande are in the spotlight:  on July 24 and 25th the bastide town overflows with Tomato Fiesta festivities.  One of the most important French fruit growing regions surrounds Marmande in northern Gascony, south east of Bordeaux. Until the nineteenth century’s Phylloxera epidemic wiped out French grape vines, lands sloping down to the Garonne River were a patchwork of vineyards. It took over fifty years of recovery to plant the same hills in fruit and vegetables, primarily strawberries, tomatoes and fruit trees, taking advantage of a fruit-favorable micro-climate. It was only in the latter half of the twentieth century that wine making was revived and the Côtes de Marmande wines were again produced. The perfectly round tomato called the Marmande, developed in this region, is only one variety to be found in the town’s animated Saturday morning market. And this is indeed the season to sniff out other varieties, their heady aromas filling the air. The rosy-pink Coeur de Boeuf (pictured above) is a local favorite, but Romas and San Marinos for super sauces appear on vendors’ stalls as well.

The Tomato Fiesta gets underway  Friday the 24th of July with a late afternoon market and chef Fabrice Biasolo’s cooking workshops. A recipe contest will also be judged (deadline for all recipe-blogger entries is the 23rd!), and tomatoes are featured on Marmande menus all weekend.  At 7:00 on Friday evening, a fanfare parade led by the Confréries Chevalier de la Pomme d’Amour* opens the festivites.  Saturday morning, things get rolling early and an expanded weekly market teases shoppers with tomato tastings. Another chef’s atelier/workshop led by an Italian and a Spanish chef fills the morning; contests, games and music hold sway all day.  And after the choosing, the tasting, the cooking, you will still say:  Some French tomato!

*Brotherhood of the Love Apple

Note:  For details on the tomato recipe contest, see: www. marie-marmande.fr or www.concours.tomatoaquitaine.fr and for other tomato events in France, see http://tomodori.com. September’s tomato harvest is celebrated in the Loire valley near Montlouis: visit www.chateaulabourdaisiere.com for more on this major autumn fête.

Fête des Plantes, Floralies, Foire aux Fleurs…anywhere in France during May and June, plant-shoppers flock to their favorite plant specialists’ stalls to bring color back home.  In fact, color, fragrance, and taste are all to be found  in every Foire aux Fleurs. Vendors gather in a church square, or on the grounds of medieval monasteries to tempt gardeners of all stripes.  Geraniums for your balcony? Maple trees and bushes of great diversity to enhance your slopes or lawns?  A Meyer Lemon tree for the terrace (and pies in good time), bamboos or ferns, perennials or old roses are all to be admired – and bought – in this season’s floralies.

Two of the vagabond’s favorite plant festivals are set against 13th century walls.  In Cadouin, between Bergerac and Sarlat, stalls sprawl across the square of the grey stone abbey church that was once a stopping point for pilgrims on the route to St. Jaques de Compostella. Now, the village May Floralies draws some of the finest plant specialists in  southwest France.  Whether one is searching for a special cyclamen or pots of lavender, a wide variety of greenery and related wares tempt gardeners.  How many new kinds of peppers can you find for the potager?  The vagabond succumbs to enticing piments et aromatiques each year at the Cadouin fair.

At L’Abbaye – Nouvelle, a 13th century Cistercian site in the Lot  south of Gourdon, a Fête des Plantes in May brings together vendors of everything from bonsai to aquatic plants, as well as camelias and jasmins.  Usually held on Sunday, floralies fit into my calendar of special markets, a visual feast as well as  a chance to bring fragrance home….and to watch a new season unfold in the garden.

A note on the Poppy shown above:  the star of the borders this week is Picotee, a robust poppy found at a plant fair three years ago.  Picotee has a different tint or orange sorbet blush every year.  And the seed pods are always left to dry, ready to poke open and sprinkle a few black seeds into yogurt cakes or for an added crunch in a crumb crust for fish.  Any poppy seed recipe ideas are welcome…to include in the Poppy Seed file – comments and tips bienvenue!

Making pancakes is good exercise, look at it this way.  When I watched women making crèpes at a foire in Brittany, they stirred, they flipped, they rolled or folded the golden pancake envelope around a sweet filling- and so deftly it took but a minute.  Practice makes perfect (as we all know, the first pancake is always ratée - a mess!) and these crèpe flipping experts have been at it since they were about six years old. But why, I wondered, is the crèpe always eaten on February second, Chandeleur ? Thank the pagans, whose sun-worshipping traditions were reinterpreted as Christianity took hold around the Mediterranean.  Roman revelers worshiping Pan carried torches on their noisy processions to chase away the last traces of winter and celebrate the longer days of early spring.  Forty days after Christmas, when the Greeks carried candles to the mass for Hypapante (the meeting) in the fifth century, they marked the day Mary and Joseph presented Jesus for consecration at the temple.  This follows – torches, candles for Chandeleur - but what about pancakes? The round, quickly-made blini symbolized the sun for Russians, who saluted the return of spring during “butter week” before their forty meatless days of Lent began. Blinis bathed in butter answered the need for street food as they invoked the nature’s spirits for an upcoming season of abundance.  So, the round crèpe is still flipped across Europe, certainly in France, during February’s days of Carnaval that run from Chandeleur to Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday.

For a far better description of the crèpe and all its cousins around the world, I dipped into a tidy little volume: Pancake, A Global History, by food historian Ken Albala.  Pancake is one of a delicious series called Edibles by Reaktion Books, a UK publisher.  Not only does Albala’s book answer many questions about this universal favorite, he amusingly covers such traditions as pancake races (what was I saying about the pancake as exercise?!). The last pages are devoted to recipes for everything from Berry Explosion Pancakes to Provençal Socca and Brittany’s Galettes.  Oh, and do try the blini – with or without caviar – to celebrate the sun’s return.

Crèpe flippers take note: London’s pancakealympics are set for February 22nd at Blackheath Market, and the flip-finals to be run at Islington Green Farmers’ Market on February 24th at 12:20.  For directions and further details about the pancake races, visit: www.pancakeday.lfm.org.uk. Bonne chance!

And Shrove Tuesday is Pannukakku Päivä in Finland, where the vagabondgourmand learned to eat split pea soup on this day – always followed by a pancake with strawberry jam.  Bring on the pannukakku!

A week in Lorraine – the Meuse and Moselle region of northeastern France – isn’t enough. What I had planned as a jaunt to visit Verdun, to taste and learn more about fine, artisanal sugared almonds turned out to be a revelation beyond candy-making. Wedged between Alsace and Champagne-Ardennes on the northern route to Luxembourg, the Lorraine region doesn’t get much ink in travelogues – or even in foodologues. The fact that Jeanne d’Arc lived here is an item tossed into guides and tourist pamphlets, as an aside to the glories of the Isle de France and the Loire valley. Since pre-Roman times, this cross roads has carried its history well, surviving invasions and changing rulers. In fact, it is amazing that so much remains after centuries of warfare.

After a day in Verdun, where Dragées Braquier have made sugared almonds since the eighteenth century (this is another, sweeter story!), we took a regional bus back to Metz, rolling through tranquil landscapes of pastures and river valleys from the Meuse to the Moselle. The city’s enormous central train station has a hulking stone presence, reflecting the neo-roman style popular in early twentieth century Germanic architcture (Metz was at the time under German rule).  I looked up at the modern fingers of light ringing the station plaza, and thought: these look like talons – or claws of a beast. We would meet the monster later, in the crypt of Cathedral St-Etienne.

We ambled up and down walking streets lined with shops on the way to the city’s central market. The best of Metz’ shopping streets is Rue Tête d’Or, where pastries and confections decorate windows, enticing me inside to inspect and to catch a whiff of raspberries and vanilla. I stopped to admire fanciful pastries as we passed Claude Bourguinon’s chocolate shop and tea room, just as a case of artisanal ice creams was temptingly rolled onto the street. We found the U-shaped Metz market hall facing the grand cathedral, which is still the hub of this vibrant city. Longer than the cathedrals of Bourges or Strasbourg, and nicknamed “God’s Lantern”, Metz’ cathedral is illuminated by 6,500 square meters of stained glass. Like many buildings in this historic center, St-Etienne is built of a luminous golden stone, pierre de Jaumont. With or without exterior illumination, these plazas and surrounding façades seem to glow from within. After a pause to study the cathedral looming over a café on the plaza, I was ready to scout for regional specialties in the market hall. June brings the melon season, berries and rhubarb for tartes, along with early green cabbage and flats of chantarelle mushrooms. Jars of Mirabelle plums are everywhere, but fresh Mirabelles will not be in the market until August. Then, the sweet, golden plum is cause for celebration in Metz, attracting thousands to its annual Mirabelle Fest.

Well past noon, a mounting hunger sent us in search of lunch à la Lorraine. The Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is a short walk, across two bridges, from the cathedral. We luckily found a table on their shaded terrace, an ideal spot to watch swans dipping into the river. I sipped a fruity white Moselle wine and awaited the arrival of a Tarte aux poireaux (Leek tart), then a Pintade au choux (Guinea fowl braised with cabbage) before tackling a Tarte aux groseilles à la crème d’amandes. The waitress, dressed in peasant skirt, cap and bodice, smiled when I rolled my eyes and took the last bite of the dark berry (currants and raspberries) tart with almond cream. My husband, Michel, didn’t look surprised and asked: More cream, eh? Well, a two-tart lunch doesn’t happen every day – only in Lorraine.

The crypt below St-Etienne cathedral holds artifacts of the city as well as religious documents and sculpture. And that is where I encountered a replica of the city’s legendary monster, the Graoully, suspended from the ceiling. St-Clement, the first bishop of Metz, was credited with destroying the menacing beast who was said to live in the old Roman arenas. It is a story reminiscent of St-George and the dragon, a familiar metaphor of Christian force crushing pagan beasts. In the third century, St-Clement founded the first chapel on the site of the Roman forum’s ruins. But tales of the Graoully are still told, in fact a literary award for science fiction writing, Le Graoully d’or (The golden Graoully) is awarded annually in Metz.

The famous Dragées de Verdun drew me to the Moselle, but there are many other reasons to return. The Mirabelle Festival in August, the huge monthly flea market – perhaps to find Madeleine molds or oval earthenware terrines – a gathering of brocante dealers second only in size to Paris’ noteworthy Marché St-Ouen, and the Marché de Noël would all be fun. Imagine stepping out of the monumental railway station into a frosty plaza filled with cabin-stalls chuck full of jams, pâtés, wines, novelties and preserved Mirabelles – all well lit by designer Philippe Starck’s narrow, pointed street lights. In any season, Metz is well worth the detour.

To view more images of Metz, tap the photo above. Then tap category “Bites of History” to return to the story.

Note: Take the TGV Est from Paris’ Gare de l’Est, about one hour’s train ride to Metz, via Nancy.

Restaurant du Pont St-Marcel is at 1, rue du Pont St-Marcel in Metz. Open year round, reserving a table for dinner is advised : tel. 03 87 30 1229. Claude Bourguignon’s chocolate and pastry shop at 31, rue Tête d’Or, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 9:15 to 7 p.m., and Sunday from 8:30 to 12:30.

Some call it “homely”, others say: “just a simple pudding” – whatever its reputation as a provincial dessert, the cherry clafoutis of the Limousin has wide appeal as an adaptible, versatile treat. James Villas, one of my favorite oracles on French cooking, calls it a Cherry Flan. And around Limoges, cherries are the classic fruit (always with the pits – for flavor) to be used. But when my black currant bush was loaded with berries this year, and juicy nectarines from the market called out to be included, the “simple pudding” took on a new identity. With a penchant for including almonds (in most everything), I reached for a small bar of almond paste to be grated into the mix. The nectarines are washed, not peeled – for color – and a sprinkling of flaked almonds toasts on top as it bakes. Bring the clafoutis to the table warm while the nectarines have puffed to the top, or let it cool and enjoy the custard chilled. This recipe is adapted from two sources, given below, and serves four or five. Try your own variations, even as a savory starter with cherry tomatoes by adding some salt (or chopped anchovies?), omitting the sugar, steeping a bay leaf in the hot milk, and scattering grated parmesan over it all. Salty or sweet, pour this batter into a baked pie crust, to be dressed up for the fête. Allow an hour for the batter to rest, and about 30 minutes to bake.

1 cup milk + 1 T. butter

2 large eggs

1/3 cup vanilla sugar + pinch of salt

2 T. grated almond paste

1 tsp. almond extract

3/4 cup sifted flour, or half flour and half ground almonds (almond flour)

2 large nectarines, sliced

1/2 cup fresh, stemmed black or red currants

1/3 cup of flaked almonds + 1 T. sugar

In a small saucepan, heat the milk and let the butter melt in it – do not scald – and let cool before adding it to the eggs. Whisk the eggs until foamy, then add the sugar, flour, and then stir in the grated (soft) almond paste: then stir in the milk and extract. Allow this batter to rest an hour. (This makes a firm flan – use less flour for softer consistency.) Meanwhile, slice the peaches, butter a 9 inch baking dish (I use a glass pyrex pie plate), and pick (and stem!) the fresh currants. Don’t forget to chill the wine. Preheat the oven to 375°f/191°c. Arrange the nectarine slices in a radial pattern, scatter the berries in the middle and a few around the edges, the pour the batter over all. Scatter flaked almonds on top, then sprinkle a little sugar over all. Bake for 30 minutes or until toasty and golden. Pour chilled sparkling Vouvray into flutes with a few black currants, or serve with a cool Saussignac sweet wine from Clos d’Yvigne.

This clafoutis is adapted from: Suzanne Goin’s Sunday Supper at Luques, Knopf, 2005. My copy falls open to her recipe for Cranberry-Walnut Clafoutis with Bourbon Whipped Cream. Inspired. And for a larger, more classic clafoutis (for 8), refer to James Villas’ French Country Kitchen, Bantam Books 1992, his superb collection of basics.

The world has caught on, as thousands of thirsty visitors are drawn to a Rhône village: Beaujeu. For more than thirty years, this traditional new wine celebration has spilled over into towns and bar terraces across two continents (at least!). I recall being among enthusiastic wine-lovers who gathered annually at the New French Café in Minneapolis to toast the beaujolais nouveau. And now, the Sarmentelles or Fête du beaujolais nouveau is underway in Beaujeu, lighting the village with fireworks at dusk on the eve of November’s third Thursday.

But it isn’t just wine that would draw me all the way to this town in the Rhône hills. It is Beaujeu’s liquid gold in addition to liquid rouge:  autumn is time to press nuts for rich, aromatic oils.   Jean-Marc Montegottero uses a century-old stone press to extract a dozen types of oils at his Huilerie beaujolaise. Pressing is done to such high standards that he is counted in many a chef’s little black book of suppliers. For a whiff of heaven, walk into the shop at 29, rue Echarmeaux on the day he is roasting hazelnuts and pressing the oil. Browse for awhile and choose from their range, a delicate pistachio oil, the hefty walnut oil (superb sprinkled on pumpkin soup or purée with just-shelled and toasted nuts), or refined argan oil. If Beaujeu is not on your itinerary, contact them to ship an order. Their website is “under construction” but the telephone is: 33 (0)4 7469 2800. When in Beaujeu, stop in for a tasting and take a scheduled tour of the mill (2.50 Euros). ‘Tis the season – for new wine and fresh nut oil!

p.s.  This line of nut oils is also available in Paris at La Grande Epicerie de Paris.

In between one mousse and another, a quick word on current and upcoming chocolate events: In Perugia, Italy,  Eurochocolate is this week, 13th to 21st October.  In addition to tastings and demonstrations, sit in on a round table discussing “The Sustainable Economy of Cocoa Producing Countries”. If not 2007, put Perugia on the Tasty Travels plan for October 2008.  Check www.eurochocolate.com/en/perugia for details.

Over 100 chocolatiers and 400 exhibits fill the Salon du Chocolat, the 19th & 20th of October  in Paris – events on the menu include chocolate-hued fashion shows.  In New York, Chocolate Week is the 4th to 11th of November, 2007.

You can’t sneak a bite of fouace without a bit of evidence: a cheek dusted with sugary crumbs. The traces are quickly brushed away, leaving only a smirk behind. We first encountered rings of fouace in the Auvergne at Aurillac’s annual June Snack Festival, Fête du Casse Croûte. Once discovered, I took on the duty of sampling fouace across southern France. Not a bad assignment. Initially, this briochy and light yeasted bread was in the basket for our after-market picnic lunch. Then it traveled along to be sliced for breakfast in a Rhône valley gîte. With its airy texture and a hint of orange-flower water (many are brushed with this before baking), fouace soon replaced a morning croissant with my first cup of café au lait. I found fouace in both large and small sugar-studded rings on baker’s stalls in the Albi and Castres markets, or shaped in ovals and topped with glossy cherries in Céret. The latter version lifted a humble hearth bread into a new role as a festive dessert.

When I stumbled upon a savory fougasse in the Nyons market, I wondered if the two breads were related in some way. Not at all. The easily-gripped ladder bread or fougasse is firm and often has a salty topping of onions or olives. It can be snapped apart rather than sliced, so a knfe isn’t essential. With slits to separate the bread in parts, its maximum crust makes fougasse a good partner for cheese. Across the diverse regions that make up sunny Provence, I have seen many variations on the fougasse theme. In some markets, one might find a sweet version, Gibassier, flavored with almonds and orange flower water, though it is not as common as the slitted, salty fougasse.

As is true of many regional specialties, both fouace and fougasse can be found in some Paris markets. I have bought fouace, made by a baker from the Auvergne, in the 5th arrondissement’s Rue Monge market. The more widely popular fougasse is sold in bakeries and city markets, such as the bustling Bastille market on Sunday morning. Which is best? Its all a matter of mood, appetite and the time of day. Why not begin the day with a feather-light slice of fouace and save the fougasse for an evening picnic, to nibble while watching the sun set over the Seine- or over a rolling panorama of Roussillon vineyards?

Celebrate Spring: Coulommiers Foire Internationale aux Fromages et aux Vins/ Cheese & Wine Fair

A smooth sliver of Brie and a sip of fruity Saumur seemed like a perfect marriage. When I discovered that an entire family of Brie cheese exists, I decided to meet all the relatives! Every year the weekend before Easter is circled on my calendar, the ideal time to taste Brie from Meaux, Melun and Coulommiers. The focus of the weekend is assembled under the shelter of vast white tents: the annual International Cheese and Wine Fair. Hundreds of cheeses are displayed –not only Brie, but mountain tommes from the Auvergne and the Basque country, tangy chèvre from the Loire and Provence; the selection is amazing. Other regional products (to be tasted, bien sûr!) run from wines to tiny ravioli from Royans, an on to croissants and crusty baguettes baked in wood fired ovens on the spot.

The land of Brie, le pays briard, lies on the eastern edge of the ÃŽle-de-France, just an hour from the heart of Paris. Our route leads through the banlieue and soon we are rolling into open country, past heaps of round, rain-washed sugar beets stacked at the edge of broad fields. My husband, Michel, is at the wheel, and I navigate. Scanning the map, past the turn to Disneyland I notice that the river Seine defines Brie’s southern limits, while the Marne snakes along its northern border. We traverse a landscape of woodlands and flat fields, of turreted brown fieldstone walls hiding manors and farms built during centuries of wealth and power, vestiges of grain and dairy richesse. The major cheese market for the historic pays briard has long been Coulommiers.

At the edge of the city, near La Sucrerie cultural center halls, the Foire Internationale aux Fromages et aux Vins assembles makers of cheese, bread, sausages and wines. Just as we arrive on Friday morning, a fanfare of trumpets leads a parade of regional officials and confréries. A black limousine pulls up to the red carpet, the first lady of France steps out and proceeds to cut the ribbon and inaugurate the fair. Judges have finished their work of tasting and awarding prizes for the best Brie, so this jocular group falls in step behind the President’s wife. Flat, Brie-like hats of the Confrérie du Brie de Meaux bob along above purple, cream and crimson robes of cheese brotherhoods as they march into the fair.

For a sample and a few tips on choosing cheese, I follow the amusing Brie-topped hats of two confrères straight to their stall. The shorter of the two ivory-robed men, eager to expound on the finer points of this famous cheese, explains: “There have been two distinct Brie AOC’s for about thirty years. The zones are clearly defined and regulations are strict for dairies and cheese-makers of Brie de Meaux, and the smaller region of Brie de Melun. Raw cow’s milk must be used for both to merit the label”. With broad smiles, they slice sample tidbits, then wrap up half-wheel portions of Brie for earnest cheese shoppers. When there is a brief lull in tasting and wrapping, he continues: “Affineurs, play a key role in preparing Brie for market. These cheese-aging specialists take the cheese one week after moulding. At first each cheese is turned several times daily, then weekly as the Bries ripen on straw pallets, with conditions closely monitored for about two months. Brie de Nangis, de Provins, and rarer Brie de Montereau are made in regional dairies. Experts have noted that the smaller rounds of Brie de Coulommiers most closely resemble the original Brie. Now…” he remarks with a furrowed brow, “we worry about regulations from Brussels on the use of raw milk”.

When ripe and ready, the powdery crust will take on a few reddish-brown points, as though woven under the snowy cover. A Brie’s pale, straw-toned interior should be even in texture when cut –with perhaps a few tiny bubbles. The refined and balanced Brie, reportedly the favourite of Charlemagne, has been called both the King of Cheeses, and the Cheese of Kings. Perhaps this first French king chose a goblet of champagne from neighboring Epernay to sip when he savored an aromatic Brie. And he may have remarked that a sweet note lingers after a bite of Brie- just the right note before setting out to explore a wealth of flavors in the enticing pays briard.