French Christmas Adventure

A variety of roots at the Marché in Besancon including beetroots, cerfeuil tubereux, parsley, Oca du Perou, crosne and topinambourg

The difficulty with uploading photographs and then not being able to move them is that I must compose a story around them or just ignore them completely.

Early on Saturday morning we had a phone call from Corinne`s mother explaining that the weather conditions were very bad, and that we might not make it to Besancon. A few minutes later there was another call, from my mother, who explained that the weather situation in Ireland was severe and that our flight may be delayed. I had already taken out the rubbish and wondered where this bad Irish weather was, or if it turned up since! It was not an auspicious start to our little trek but we stepped off the train in Besancon 14 hours later in good order. It was -14 Celsius and there was snow everywhere, but not too deep.

In describing poor driving conditions the French say "les rues sont delicates". This was the first of many double meanings which I might experience over the next few days! As the temperatures began to increase the weather changed and it also began to rain. It was still freezing and the roads. In France snow is either all good or all bad and the rain altered matters considerably making the roads deadly.

Butchers preparing meat at the marché in Besancon

The marché at Besancon is building up to the biggest family feast of the year; le Rèveillon. This is effectively a feast of gourmandies and as midnight approaches the children are put to bed just before Pere Noel (a.k.a. Santa Claus) arrives at midnight. This character, typically clad in red with a white beard, indulges in disappointent and never appears to wait around for the good childen of the land to open their presents. Obviously the disappointment of the children is short lived for the most part as they tear the wrapping from their presents.

The food is always the centre of attention during his time and the build up to Rèveillon is everywhere to be seen. The year end fixation for figures and statistics is bound up into this expectation and excitement. The chiffres (figures) reveal that there was 20,400 tonnes of foie gras produced in France in 2007. One newspaper article centered upon a producer from Alsace who had created an academy for foie gras. He elaborated on the characteristcs and qualities of the various foie gras; the vigeur (vigor) of the foie gras de canard and the douceur (sweetness) of the foie gras du oie. However, he also brought it one stage futher announcing "canoie"; a combination of foigras de canard and foie gras du oie (duck and goose livers). Foie gras forms an important part of the meal of the Rèveillon and its subtle flavours have gone through many fads and styles of preparation through the years; it is available smoked, salted or sweetened with figs and other fruits and now as canoie.

Corinne's mother has prepared her foie gras by placing it in milk for two days with salt, pepper and a little spice. After that it was wrapped in plastic and mascerated in a little port hile rolled into a cling film and bound in your best dish cloth! It tasted stunning this morning and no doubt will acquire a little more flavour from the port over the next day or so. In this part of France it is normally served with pain d'épices; a tradtional dence golden brown loaf made from honey and spices.

Chocolate snowmen or bonomme de neige at Hirsinger, Arbois

Chocolate shops do a roaring trade in France over Christmas. There are sweets everywhere from the humble papillottes to the more elaborate pieces produced by master choclatiers. The papillotte is the equivalent of our crackers at the table. They are typically a chocolate covered praline sweet and are covered in bright eye catching wrappers. While our crackers have jokes the papillottes contain questions to be posed to your fellow diners. For example "How heavy is a big male chimpanzee? a. 70 kgs; b. 90 kgs; c. 110 kgs". The answer of course, as everybody knows, is 70 kgs and more impotantly we are informed that he is three times stronger than a human male of the same weight! In contrast Corinne and myself pulled a cracker together before we left, and I was left explaing the following joke contained therein; "The local police station was burgled recently. The police had nothing to go on".

Le Morillon - a cheese stuffed with morelles

There was almost 50,000 tonnes of Comté cheese produced in Franche Comté this year, a fact based upon the offical chiffres or statistics. Cheese mongers are far from left out in this season of feasting; cheese is an essential course and every region celebrates its own produce. The fromageries or fruiteries in Franche Comté are stunning emporia and often produce their own cheese on the premises, some only selling what they produce such as bleu de gex, Comté, or Mont D'or. One shop in Champagnole sold a number of locally produced buches de chèvre or goat's cheese which I had never seen or heard of. They included Truffe ventidor, Tanpiniere and Bicaillon which were all stunning looking and quite individual in their appearance.

The scenery of the Haut Doubs of Franche Comté is dominated by pastures, forests, large farm houses and cow sheds that often resemble large farm houses. When the snow arrives it becomes a winter wonderland and the Montbeliard cattle are nowhere to be seen as they have retreated to the safe havens and sheds where the chill of the wind and snow will not be felt.

Winter in the Haut Doubs

Cerfeuil tubereux - a vegetable wonder!

In our last trip to France we had a number of little excursions, and true to form I sought out and explored the local and covered markets that exist in most French towns. The main difference between global and national supermarket chains and the local markets is that you stand some chance of discovering local foods, traditions preserved, and presented for sale by indigenous bakers, butchers and farmers.

Visiting Dole was an interesting experience and I was not sure what I would find there. Situated on the border of Franche Comte and the Burgoyne, I was expecting a strange mix of the regions - a crossroads perhaps. The butchers had a strong Burgundian influence selling stuffed snails, andouillettes, boudin noir, and poultry from Bresse, but they also sold the smoked ham and saucise de Morteau from Franche Comte.

Just when I thought I had brushed the dirt off most of the tubers and edible roots known to mankind, I was pleasantly surprised to find a few baskets of cerfeuil tubereux, sorted into batches of small, medium, and large sizes. The largest of the cerfeuil tubereux were about 4 inches long and perhaps 1.5 inches wide. Obviously the imperial system of measurement and weight should be applied to when referring to tubers.

Corrine engaged the lady at the stall in conversation, as she was keen to try a number of the Jerusalem artichokes and other tubers to taste to compare them. Having demonstrated genuine interest, the lady mentioned that she was one of the only producers of cerfeuil tubereux left in France, and that the cerfeuil tubereux were not grown outside the region around Dole. Her enterprise was not a large scale affair, however she was obviously proud of her humble stall and produce.

The cerfeuil tubereux is a very ordinary looking small root vegetable, and you would pass it by without a second glance or thought; it looks like a dirty little parsnip and is not readily presentable. Even carrots can be arranged in attractive bunches, but the cerfeuil tubereux are not big and are at their best just thrown together in a wicker basket. Corrine bought a bag, which managed to carry about 16 ounces of cerfeuil tubereux. In presenting the paper bag and wishing us all the very best, the lady suggested we might boil them for a few minutes and they should be fine.

Upon our return home I lazily scrubbed the cerfeuil tubereux and plunged them into a pot of boiling water, cooking them for about five minutes. I was not fussy about the time, and having drained them I decided to put them into the oven with a small libation of olive oil and a little salt. Don't ask me why I did this, but it just seemed like the right thing to do as I was cooking a few varieties of Jerusalem artichokes in a similar manner.

Once taken from the oven and plated we gazed at them for a moment before tucking in. Breaking through the skin you are faced with a flesh that is not dissimilar to that of a parsnip, but once you taste this little root you are overcome with a sweet nourishing flavour comparable to sweet chestnuts. They were devoured with great relish without any accompaniment. I was immediately struck by how these little gems could have failed to crawl their way onto the foodie radar. In the early grips of an addiction we acquired another little bag of them and had them served with roasted shoulder of wild boar, roasted garlic and haricots; a rich, robust and luxurious combination of flavours.

It is good to be surprised once in a while in this manner; finding something unusual in a market in its raw and dirty form, taking it home and cooking it. The moment of discovery and experience bears no comparison to picking an unknown dish from a menu in a restaurant. I honestly hope we can buy cerfeuil tubereux in Dublin some time in the future at a reasonable price, but given its lack of beauty and a name that reminds one of a non-fatal, but lingering, thyroid condition that may not be likely in the near future!