I don't have photos to contribute to this post, but I wanted to write anyway.
I leave La Forge on Thursday, which is a little sad but I'm really itching to get out and travel some more. I'm in a bit of a routine here and it's time to break it up, as it were. And, I have a plan! But I'll get to it in a bit.
My French has definitely improved with Michele's help, and while I'm a long way from fluent, it's passable. As long as I can fully understand a menu, ask for what I want and need, and make pleasant small talk with people, I'm not particularly worried about being able to have grand existential discussions or reciting world history in exacting detail. Fuck it. I doubt I've ever spoken this well and I have no qualms patting myself on the back for the progress I have made. I even catch myself thinking and then talking to myself in French as I putter around the cottage which goes to show you that personal oddities transcend language. It's good practice anyway, right?
But let me tell you about last night. So, this is for Kevin and Mare: I learned how to make foie gras. Backstory - before leaving Kevin insisted, repeatedly, that I MUST eat foie gras in France (with brioche toast). He lived in France for a bit and knows good food so I trust his judgement. Now, I haven't eaten it, yet, but I did make my own. Bonus of all bonuses, I learned how to make it from an older French lady using her recipe and directed entirely en Français. We had a foie gras making party, for god's sake. And before we get into it, yes I am fully aware of the horrors of foie gras, but before we get all judgy let me remind you just how many things we as Americans eat that are equally horrifying and inhumane. If you honestly think the chicken that went into that sandwich you got at the local deli was treated much better than the ducks and geese that contribute to the French's obsession with fatty liver products then I suggest you do some serious googling. 'Nuff said. And besides, when in Rome, or in this case France...
First, Michele picked me up and drove me to Vero's parents' house, where I met Maman, Papa, and Vero's sister and daughter as well. Joseph, who's son (who I've since found out is named Theo) is the one working on Vero and Michele's chicken coup, I've already met and had lunch with. Anyway, Maman and Papa are my kind of people. Maman is formidable (which actually means wonderful), just the right balance of warmth and no-nonsense attitude. Sit down, eat more salami, and here's how you make foie gras properly, young lady. Papa I took an instant liking to, as he is both lovable and absolutely full of piss and vinegar.
So, first you get your hands in the liver and carefully pick out any stringy bits (which I have since identified as veins). If you are squeamish, this is not for you. Then you let the liver sit in milk for at least an hour, before draining it, patting it dry piece by piece, and then liberally dosing it with salt and pepper (which I believe was smoked) before drowning it in cognac, brandy, amarnac, or whatever hearty booze floats your boat. After an overnight soak (this part we finished today), you drain and pat dry again, before placing it back in the terrine in a water bath in the oven at 150C for 25 minutes. Drain the foie gras "butter" off the top (reserve for cooking things in it, like potatoes), then refrigerate the foie gras for a few days before liberally spreading it on toast and manging you little heart out. It certainly smells awesome so I suspect it probably tastes pretty good as well. Unfortunately as I will be leaving Carol will be enjoying my handiwork and I will have to order it at a restaurant at some point instead. Quelle dommage.
Which brings me to, le grand plan! So, as much as I love the whole idea of flying by the seat of my pants, it makes me a bit nervous. I like to have a general idea of where the hell I'm going (well, at least a week or two in advance), particularly since it's almost Christmas and therefore almost New Years and therefore a bad time to be making last second plans. So, I spent the weekend making decisions, which for those of you that know me well is not exactly my strongest skillset.
So, my train leaves Bordeaux at 15:25 on Thursday afternoon, where I go straight to Toulouse. It was on the way South, and after a bit of research I found out that it's actually a pretty cool city. Originally it caught my eye, to be perfectly honest, because as a kid we had a Toulouse Goose named Blossom who got eaten by the local Mendo wildlife. A terrible association but hey, ce comme ça (which is the basic French equivalent of my favorite phrase, "it is what it is"). So, Toulouse is nicknamed "the rose city," because the local stone used to build the place is pink. They also have several museums, it's completely walkable, and I've never been there before. I found a hostel in the city center and will be spending four days.
Voila! Then, I head to Barcelona, where I'll be spending Christmas. Yes, it's a hard job but I'll take one for the team. Since I've never been to Spain I'm really looking forward to exploring, even though I speak about ten words in Spanish, none of which are actively useful. Time to download a dictionary, I think. After a week in Barcelona I head to Madrid for New Years, because as I understand it they have a pretty rollicking good time. I have train tickets booked and printed, and reservations at hostels in good locations. After Madrid, I'll probably head South, but I haven't plotted anything substantial yet. I'll probably head back to France sometime in February to visit a friend of mine in Montpellier before dawdling my way slowly northward towards tulip season in the Netherlands in mid-spring. I still have so many ideas, I'm getting really into it now that I'm adjusting.
So far this trip has been so good for me, and honestly I feel healthier than I have in a while. Imagine, healthier in the land of dairy products and inexpensive wine, but it's true. I've actually lost a few pounds, which I find more than a little inconceivable, but if I can eat duck cooked in its own fat and lose weight I'm not looking THAT gift horse in the mouth. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
And tonight I have to go through the fridge and figure out a meal plan to use as much of my ingredients as possible, because I'll be damned if I leave that fresh ravioli stuffed with broccoli and pancetta for someone else to scarf down.
Hope all is well back at home guys, enjoy the rain!
~Swan
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