Gastronomic Tour of France

The word ‘travel’ conjures up an image of people in backpacks and cameras slung around their necks. Oftentimes, the mind would even imagine these travellers with a map and looking thoroughly lost and confused! I recently went on a travel myself but instead of lugging a backpack around and looking for the next tourist attraction, I actually drove around looking for the next best pit stop for food! You see, I wasn’t like any typical tourist or backpacker because I was actually on a gastronomic tour of a fine country called France.

That’s right, France. Where else can one go besides France when looking for food? France has been widely known as having the finest food and wine in the world! Ever since I read the book ‘Bon Apetit’ by Peter Mayle, I’ve always wanted to visit France and gorge down all that exquisite food that had been described the Englishman living in France.

So, first things first, I got myself a return air ticket to Paris where I plan to start my tour. Then I exchanged my Malaysian Ringgit for Euros, packed my bag and readied my tummy for the trip. So armed with a rudimentary French I learned during my second semester in University of Malaya and a guide book, I was off to Paris!

When I got to France, I quickly realized that my plans to conquer France in a week were a bit over zealous and poorly planned. Some specialty food or drinks could only be found in certain regions of France and at certain time of the year as well! So it was then that I decided that I should go on a tour of the more famous food in France. I suppose I could say that I was actually following in Peter Mayle’s footsteps who sampled truffles, boudin noir or blood sausage, frog’s legs, escargots, wine and also cheese.

For my first lunch in France, I decided that a little escargot sampling would be appropriate. To call it the snail would conjure up the image of a slow moving, slimy invertebrate that carries its home wherever it goes. I’ll admit that it doesn’t make someone’s mouth water. Calling it an escargot however, gives it a more romantic quality and suddenly, it sounds like a good addition to the table!

Anyway, after checking my wallet for cash, I made my way to the nearest food stand. Although Paris wasn’t the best place to get escargot, (Martigny-les-Baines was the place to be for escargot) I had little choice as I was hungry and I wanted to start my gastronomic tour as early as possible. Martigny was also unfortunately very much out of the way.

I walked up to the stall and attempted a greeting. The owner smiled and returned my greeting. I ordered half a dozen escargots cooked with garlic and butter to begin with before taking a seat at a long table.

A few minutes later, a middle aged man – French I presumed – sat down next to me. He asked if I was alone. When I said that I was, he could not be happier. So after some introductions and explanations that I spoke rudimentary French, we started to talk about the escargot.

The man, Pierre, said that it was rare to see a Malaisien (Malaysian) in France seeking out the delicacies France has to offer before he launched into an explanation of said delicacy we were about to indulge in.

Minutes later, my dish arrived. I was asked to tuck my paper napkin into my collar to avoid ‘accidents’. The escargots came in a tin foil with 6 shallow indentations where the snails were placed in. The smell of garlic butter was exquisite which I eagerly inhaled.

I looked to Pierre for instructions because the only utensil I had been provided with was a wooden toothpick. The miniature tongs to hold the snail shells were nowhere to be seen. My mouth was already watering and I was deprived of an important piece of cutlery.

Pierre showed me how to do it correctly. He broke a piece of bread that had been included with our dish and used the bread to clamp the snails delicately before stabbing the content with his toothpick and withdrawing the cooked snail from the shell. He then sipped the juice from the snail shell before popping the morsel into his mouth and enjoyed his first escargot.

I imitated him as best I could, singeing the tip of my fingers slightly because my piece of bread fell off as I was trying to hold the shell. Finally, after a few more attempts, I got it right and managed to extricate the sizzling content from its shell. Then following Pierre’s move, I tipped the shell into my mouth and drank up its contents.

Then I looked at the black piece of shrunken snail on the tip of my toothpick. It didn’t look very appetizing and despite the delicious juice I just tasted, I was having second thoughts. Pierre watched me interestedly as I tentatively put the snail into my mouth.

As I chewed, the flavour of the escargot intensified. It was the taste of garlic and butter. The garlic was just right and not at all overpowering. The escargot however, was little chewy. From what I read, it was supposed to be tender like a prime steak. Unfortunately, mine must have been somewhat undone.

Reminding myself that I was not in Martigny but Paris, I reached for my second snail. Pierre grinned at me pleasantly and assured me that we would be spending at least an hour at the stand having at least 2 dozen snails each. Lunch was a slow affair in France, I had read from somewhere. They take their time. Much like the snails.

After about an hour or so, I had indeed progressed to my second dozen of escargots. They were like finger food, you just can’t get enough of them. My second dozen of escargots were cooked in a different fashion – they were stewed in white wine.

At the end of lunch, I had sampled three different ways of cooking escargots and had enjoyed every bit of the delicacy. Thanking Pierre for instructing me to wear a bib – the bib was speckled with gravy – and also for his various advices, we parted ways. My first meal in France and I can’t wait for the next one despite being so full of snails and tea!

As I was a big fan of cheese back in Malaysia, I thought it would be great to try the cheese of France. The next day, after some sightseeing in Paris I decided to venture to Livarot with a rented car. Livarot was where one of the most pungent cheeses originated from. Since it was early August, there was a cheese fair there also known as ‘La Foire aux Fromage’. This was how I found myself driving down the countryside of Normandy where the only scenery to be seen was the green orchards, cows and apple trees.

After what seemed like hours, I finally arrived at the main streets of Livarot. When I came out of the car, I must have been an odd sight. Here I am in the small town of Livarot, a 5’3” Malaysian Chinese. I looked quite out of place in the place dominated by white skinned people. I gave the few people standing near me nervous smiles and muttered ‘Bonjour’ as I walked past them.

I could see that stands had been erected, some of them bearing signs in French saying things like ‘Calvados testing’ or ‘Cheese tasting’. The smell of food of every kind began to waft into my nostrils.

It was in the town square that I saw the Livarot cheese. The cheese was a large disc and rusty orange in colour with its girth contained by five bands of sedge grass. A sign in front of the cheese on display was the words ‘Le Colonel’ as reference to the 5 stripes on the cheese. The smell of the cheese was definitely pungent. One need not even go close to smell the cheese!

I wandered down the street and observed the going-on around the town square before turning into what looked like a place that was serving the famous Livarot cheese and other food.

I took one of the plates and patiently waited in the buffet line behind a couple who were discussing the Livarot cheese with great enthusiasm. I listened intently, trying to decipher their alien language. As I’ve already mentioned, my French was very basic and I knew some words here and there. As the line moved and as I piled my food onto my plate, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned, I saw that a Frenchwoman was looking at me very curiously.

We introduced ourselves and before the conversation could go any further, I explained that I wasn’t very well versed in French. The woman said she would help. I was very relieved to finally be able to get some kind of a guide. The woman advised me on what I should try. The Livarot cheese was a must – naturally. The woman picked a wedge for me, I had wanted the smaller piece but the woman gave me quite the admonishing look. I had to relent in the end.

So, with my plate piled with salad, ham, sausages and the huge piece of Livarot, we proceeded to a long table. I plonked onto the chair next to the woman and gave my food a good sniff.

Again, the smell of the Livarot assaulted my olfactory. It had an astringent smell. I wondered what it would taste like. I decided to first chow down on the ham, sausage and salad before anything.

The Frenchwoman asked me why I wasn’t eating my cheese. I smiled nervously before spearing a small bit of the cheese. I thought I was a cheese connoisseur. I thought wrong because the Livarot tasted nothing like the usual mozzarella, parmesan, cheddar or cottage cheese that I was used to. The cheese was rich – very rich, considering it was 45% fat – and chewy. It was nothing like any of those processed stuff available in Malaysia.

By the time I finished my large chunk of cheese, I felt full to bursting. My stomach felt distended. However, the Frenchwoman who had appointed herself as my guide told me that I was not done yet. Not by a long shot. I had to drink the local specialty – the Calvados – to aid with digestion. I gently refused, touting that I didn’t take alcohol. Madame laughed.

“Then you must try the cider!” She insisted, thrusting a glassful of yellowish liquid under my nose. I cringed at the biting smell of the drink made of fermented apple.

I took a swig of the drink after much encouragement from madame. The drink tasted acidic and was vinegary. It had a sharp and tangy taste but it actually enhanced the taste of the Livarot I just had. It also helped swirl down the bits of cheese that had gotten stuck to the back of my throat.

After downing the rest of the glass, I gave a loud belch, much to my embarrassment. Madame laughed. A Frenchman sitting near us roared good naturedly.

“Tres bien, mademoiselle!” The man said.

Oh yes, it was very good indeed! It was quite an experience having real cheese for the first time in my life! That night, with my stomach heavy, I slept like a log – dreaming of Livarot and cider.

On the third and last day of my stay in France, I had tasted frogs’ thighs while on my way back to Paris. If it had been up to me, I would have stayed the whole year and attend every single food fair in France. As it was not, I had to leave already.

To comfort myself, I stopped by a very small café after turning into a small town for a petrol refill and for lunch. As I exited my car and head towards the small café, I could smell the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. I wondered if they had frogs because I was dying to have some.

I plonked myself down at a table under a shady tree and asked for the menu. What better way to enjoy a meal than to do it outside isn’t it?

When the waitress appeared, a plump motherly looking lady of about 40, she began spouting off the specialties for the day. I tentatively asked if they had étangs, the French word for frogs.

I guess it was my lucky day that day because they had indeed just received a fresh supply of frogs this morning! I promptly ordered for the frogs thighs with French fries. To complement the meal, the waitress suggested Chardonnay. I tried to convince the lady that I was no drinker, but this time I did not get my way.

A few moments later, a glass of Chardonnay was placed in front of me. It was on the house, said the lady.

“Let this be the day you lose your virginity!” The lady said. At least, that was what I assumed she said. I supposed she meant my virginity towards alcohol. After assuring me that one glass wouldn’t hurt and that it would go well with the thighs, I relented. It was so easy to be swayed by a person who speaks the exquisite language of French!

The atmosphere of the café was very peaceful – the only sound came from the nearby fountain and the soft music coming from a radio inside. It seemed that I was the only customer for the hour and wondered if anymore would come. As I waited for my dish, I took a sip of my wine.

The taste of the wine assaulted my senses. I realised that white wine did not taste as strong as red wine.

My dish arrived about 5 minutes later, trailed by its wonderful aroma of garlic, herbs and white wine. The waitress placed my plate in front of me, whipped off the cover and announced, “Voila! Bon Apétit!”

There were about a dozen thighs on my plate, all of them evenly sautéed in white wine and garlic. They had a creamy colour and looked quite appetizing. I picked up one thigh and tore off the tender flesh with my teeth. The frog’s thigh tasted very good – almost like chicken except that it was much silkier and smooth. The garlic was help add to it flavour while the taste of the herbs weren’t overpowering at all. After scraping the last bit of flesh off the bone, I sucked on the bone to get at the remaining juice. My first frog thigh and I was having a lot of fun!

The frogs I had before in Malaysia were misnomers because in Chinese they literally meant ‘water chicken’. As a child, I’ve always thought that I was eating some kind of new breed of chicken that is able to live underwater. When I found out that all this while I have been having frogs, I could not believe it. It tasted like chicken and besides, the style of cooking of frogs in Malaysia drowned the frogs in thick soy sauce and chilli. One could hardly taste the frog’s meat!

I very much like the way the French do it. It was simple yet tasty! It preserved the real taste of the frog and made the flesh sweet and tender! The fries that came with the dish were also different from the greasy stuff we get in McDonald’s. The potatoes were fat strips, lightly grilled and doused with salt and vinegar.

Overall, I had the a very good lunch and one I wouldn’t mind repeating before I had to make my way back to Paris! Thankfully, the wine did not make me tipsy and I had managed to arrive on time for my flight back!

I had the best 3 days of my life. My gastronomic tour had been quite short and despite having only managed to taste 3 different delicacies, it was a good start. This meant that I would be able to return in the future for the other famous food of France like the truffle, foie gras, boudin noir, the Breese chicken, the various cheeses and also all the types of wines (if I ever get the taste of alcohol!). For now, I return to Malaysia with keener taste buds and probably a few pounds heavier!