A Cheese for Every Occassion

Charles de Gaulle summed up France rather succinctly when he wondered how anyone could "govern a nation with two hundred and forty-six varieties of cheese".  In fact, the General underestimated his countrymen's passion; there are over three hundred and fifty recognized French varieties.  Until setting up shop in France, my knowledge of cheese had been limited to cheddar.  Not even particularly good cheddar, but rather that bright orange variety sealed under thick plastic wrap, purchased at the local A&P and kept hard and cold in the refrigerator's "cheese compartment".  Imagine my utter confusion, amazement and lightheadedness when I was faced with a veritable wall of cheese in every market, grocery store and specialty shop I entered here.  The choice was truly staggering, and what's more, some of the varieties looked so strange, even dangerous, blanketed as they were in blue and grey and green and orange molds, that I would have thought they were only good for the garbage bin.  I quickly sussed out the cheese situation in my newly adopted home, however; serving a platter at the end of a meal was absolutely expected, and serving the right selection of cheeses to complement the meal as a whole was akin to the name of the Parti Socialist's Under Secretary, or how many lovers Simone de Beauvoir took; it is something you simply must know.
Luckily, I found my local cheesemonger only too happy to guide me in selecting the components of my cheese plate.  Here's a few tips he's given me over time...

How to buy it

• Let your palate be your guide.  Always ask to taste before buying; it's your prerogative as the customer, after all, and if you like it, then go for it!  If not, ask to taste something else.
• Ask lots of questions.  Cheesemongers carefully select their cheeses from trusted producers, and often tinker with them further themselves, ageing them or soaking them in alcohol or dusting them with herbs.  They will help you select cheeses based on what you're serving and steer you in the right direction.  A fifteen minute conversation with your cheesemonger is genuinely educational and worth it every time.
  
• Don't buy more than you need.  Let's say your serving a dinner for four; a plate with three good-sized hunks of cheese will be ample.  Also, try to avoid packaged or pre-wrapped pieces; cheeses that are cut from the wheel in front of you are generally of superior quality.

How to keep it

• Respect your cheese!  Cheese contains living organisms that need to breath.  Keep them in a cool, dark and well-aired place, like a cupboard or a shelf in the pantry.  The refrigerator is not the place to keep your beautiful French cheese; it's not ventilated enough and the cheese will dry out.  Also, wrap your pieces of cheese loosely in waxed paper rather than plastic wrap.

How to serve it

• If you have stored your cheese in the fridge (old habits die hard) bring it up to room temperature for at least a half an hour before serving.
• Consider a cheese plate a taste journey from subtle to full-out riot.  Offer a choice of mild, medium and strong flavours, soft, hard and creamy textures, goat's, sheep's and cow's milk varieties, pasteurized and unpasteurized, and cheeses with different types of rind.  
• Make sure there's plenty of slices of crusty bread on hand and a good, full-bodied wine, hearty enough to stand up to the strongest cheese on your plate.
  

It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This: Baked Brie and Fig Jam

I am not so green as to serve a bunch of French guests a cheese plate with crackers before the start of the meal.  At least, not anymore.  While I remember this was the height of sophistication at my parents' gatherings in rural Ontario, I learned the hard way that a cheese plate is served at the end of the meal here.  Though you will get a good dose of raised eyebrows if you offer up a platter of your favorite varieties during cocktail hour (known here as l'apéro, an absolutely sacred element to the three hour French dining experience), cheese can be eaten under various guises, and at just about any moment of the meal, from starters, to sauces, and on through dessert.

It's hard to teach a cheese-and-crackers girl new tricks.  I still like a bit of cheese with drinks before the meal properly gets under way, and I've found the perfect compromise that impresses, or dupes, my French friends every time.  It's so easy, you have no excuse not to try it!


Baked Brie with Fig Jam


Get creative and try replacing the fig jam with any of your favorite jams, preserves or chutneys, either sweet or savory.  Serve the cheese warm on a platter with some slices of crostini and a knife and watch your guests dig in.

Ingredients

1 package of pre-rolled puff pastry, 30 cm in diametre
1 whole brie cheese, about 12 cm in diametre
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup fig jam

Directions

Preheat the oven to 180°C.  Roll out the pastry on a piece of waxed paper and spread the jam in a 12 cm circle in the centre.  Don't be stingy.  The sweetness of the figs will bring out the creaminess of the brie beautifully, so go ahead and spread it on thick.

Place the brie in the centre of the pastry on top of the jam and then wrap the whole thing up as you would a package, bringing up the pastry around the brie and twisting the excess on top to make a pretty knot.

Brush the pastry all over with the beaten egg, slide the waxed paper and your cheesy package onto a baking sheet, and pop in the oven for 20 minutes.  Reduce the temperature to 150°C and bake for a further 20 minutes.  Remove from the oven and let cool about 15 minutes before serving.

Gelin': How to Ensure a Perfectly Set Jam

If you've ever had the domestic urge to make your own jam, you've perhaps experienced the frustration of washing and peeling and pitting a vast quantity of fruit, sterilizing jars and lids, stirring constantly for over an hour, all to have it go pear-shaped when the jam refuses to set.  Don't despair.  give it another go (homemade jam is so worth it) and try this tip for perfectly set jam every time:

Place a saucer in the freezer when you begin stewing the fruit.  When the jam becomes quite thick (after about an hour over medium heat), spoon a dollop onto the saucer and return it to the freezer for a minute.  Remove the saucer and gently poke the dollop of jam with the tip of your finger.  If it wrinkles slightly, your jam is ready.  You can take it off the heat and pour into your hot, sterilized jars.

Well Hung: The Fig in All its Glory

Try as I might to join in the fun, The French sense of humour has always eluded me.  It's either loftily erudite or miserably low-brow.  There's no middle ground for an ironic, self-deprecating girl like myself.  That, or something is definitely lost in translation.  I had all but resigned myself to a mirthless existence of never quite getting what was so funny when I came across a certain jam. How could a jar of fig confiture make me laugh out loud?  It's all in the name.

Couilles du Pape, produced by award-winning confiturier (jam and preserves confectioner) Francis Miot, is made using only the highest quality provençal figs and unrefined cane sugar.  It is sweet and sticky and full of the Mediterranean sun,  everything you want a fig jam to be.  For those of you not fluent in French slang, couilles du Pape translates as Pope's balls.  Yes, seriously.

The name stems from the legend of Jeanne, the cross-dresser who became Pope thanks to a rather embarrassing oversight.  Whether this really happened or not was of little importance to the Holy College; the very idea of a woman pope was enough to push for a modification of the papal throne.  After Benoît III's election, he was made to sit on a throne with a hole cut out of the seat.  One lucky cardinal had the job of slipping his hand under the throne to testify as to the presence of the papal jewels.  The declaration "Duos habet et bene pendentes" (there are two, and well hung) was then made, presumably to a collective sigh of relief.  On the streets of Avignon, the seat of the Papacy at that time, the people hastened to add "like two figs" to the proclamation.  A joke, and a jam, was born.

You can order directly from the maker's website, though for deliveries outside of France you'll have to contact them for an estimate of shipping costs.  Alternatively, you could try making your own.  I did, and the results were divine.

Couilles du Pape Fig Jam

Ingredients

1/2 lemon

1 kg ripe figs, stems removed
750 g sugar
1 vanilla bean, split length-wise

Directions

Combine the lemon juice and zest, figs and sugar in a bowl. Cover and let stand about 2 hours, stirring occasionally.

Transfer mixture to a saucepan and add the vanilla bean. Over medium heat, bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for about an hour, stirring frequently.

When things start to look all jammy (you can test by following this tip), remove it from the heat, taking care to extract the vanilla bean, and pour into hot, sterilized jars.  Cover tightly.  Your sticky-sweet treat will keep for about 2 months in the refrigerator.

Fig jam works in so many ways, not just on toast.  Try my baked brie and fig jam.  So easy, so good.

Vanilla Sugar: Killing Two Birds with One Stone

Make your life easier and cut down on the list of ingredients for just about any dessert that calls for vanilla extract by making yourself some vanilla sugar.

Take those split, scraped-out pods left over from that gorgeous custard or cake you just whipped up and burry them in a few cups of sugar (one pod for every cup, or there abouts).  Store in an airtight container for a couple of weeks, and voilà, vanilla-flavoured sugar.  You can use this sugar in any recipe that calls for sugar and vanilla extract; one tablespoon of vanilla sugar is the equivalent to 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla extract.

A no-brainer, and oh, so thrifty!

Reine Claude, the Queen of Plums

While poking around my local market earlier this week, hoping for some inspiration, my eyes were drawn to a mountain of little oval gems the colour of sage.  I only had to approach within two feet of the stand to be struck by their honey-sweet perfume.  Looking up at the hand-scrawled sign suspended above the pile, I read Reine Claudes €3,50/Kilo.  The vendor, noticing my curiosity, handed me one to taste (I love all the free tasting that goes on at French markets).  One bite and I was hooked.  Golden juice dribbled down my hand as I sank my teeth into what could only be described as a little bit of heaven.  Soft and yielding, the flesh had an almost caramel quality to it.  I bought a brown paper bag-full and headed home with the lot, popping a few in my mouth along the way.

Reine Claude is a variety of plum not so readily available outside of France.  Known as Greengage plums in English, they couldn't be more different from the hard, round, dusty purple fruits I remember from my school lunch box.

I could have eaten the whole bag myself, but I thought better of it and so shared a few with my daughter.  The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to her chanting "More plums?  More plums?  More plums, please?"  I searched through my collection of French cookbooks for some fabulous dessert that would do justice to these little beauties, but all I found were recipes for jams.  While I'm sure Reine Claude jam, sticky and velvety green and spread on a warm slice of brioche, could quickly become my second most favorite way to wake up on a Saturday morning, I wasn't in the mood for making jam.  That, and I'm not so well equipped as to have dozens of jam jars and pound upon pound of sugar sitting about in my tiny Parisian kitchen.  So I improvised.

Here's my recipe for Reine Claude Clafoutis.  It was such a hit that I made it all over again a few days later for a dinner party.  Sweet, custardy goodness!

Reine Claude Clafoutis

Serves 6 (or a greedy 3)

Ingredients

500 g Reine Claude (Greengage) plums
3 eggs
500 ml milk
100 ml heavy cream
1 vanilla bean
50 g softened butter
100 g sugar
125 g all purpose flour
butter and sugar for the cake pan

Directions

Preheat oven to 190°C.  Butter a 24cm round cake pan and generously sprinkle the bottom and sides with sugar.

Gently heat milk and add the vanilla bean.  Take off heat when steam begins to rise off the milk.  Set aside and let the vanilla bean soften in the warmed milk.

Meanwhile, wash and dry the plums.  Cut them in half and remove the stones.  Line the cake pan with the halved plums, cut-side down.

Remove the bean from the milk.  With a sharp knife, split the bean lengthwise, open it with your fingers, and scrape out the black vanilla seeds with the edge of the knife.  Add them to the milk and either discard the bean pod or save for making vanilla sugar.

Beat the eggs, milk, cream butter and sugar.  Add the flour and beat until combined.

Pour the egg mixture over the plums in the cake pan and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean.  Remove from oven and let cool before serving.

Learning to love France

I've never been a francophile.  Frankly, I just never really saw what all the hoopla was about.  I'm simply not cut from the same cloth as the Peter Mayles, the Stephen Clarkes and the Nadeaus & Barlows of the world who wax romantic about all things gallic.  France? Nice place to visit, but...

Then I came to Paris in 2002 on a bit of a whim, and still haven't left. In fact, it looks as though I'm here for life, for that whim of a visit turned first into a job, then blossomed into a marriage and motherhood.

If I must be honest, however, I still don't love France. More days than not, I find myself struck by how I just don't mesh with what's around me.  The queues at the post office drive me to distraction, the old ladies informing me that my child is not covered enough leave me fuming, and don't even get me started on the dog feces all over the sidewalk.  I've been here for seven years, am married to a Frenchman, have a daughter who is half-French, have French friends, but I'm still not feeling the love for my adopted homeland.  There is, of course,  the brilliant exception of the food.  I've eaten all kinds of meals all over the world, but there is something wonderfully simple and solidly comforting about French cuisine.  I have never lived in a place where so much fresh, high quality, beautiful ingredients have been so readily available.  Where good food is a national obsession, a collective pass time, a widespread passion.  Where a meal is a joy to prepare, to eat and to share, not just a source of fuel.  With this in mind, I've decided to learn to love France the most pleasurable way I can think of:  One bite at a time.

Check back regularly as I cook, sniff, taste, squeeze, slice, pinch and eat my way through the foods of France. After all, it's never fun to feast alone.