There Will Be Blood

There is something about the first frost that brings out the caveman - one might even say the vampire - in me. I want to wear fur and suck the meat off lamb bones, and on comes my annual craving for boudin noir, otherwise known as blood sausage. You know you've been in France for nearly a decade when the idea of eating congealed blood sounds not only normal, but positively delightful.

As a woman recently pregnant, my body craved iron in silly amounts. I could have eaten a skyscraper. It's a shame this sort of thing is not on the French pregnancy diet - forbidden along with charcuterie and liver... It's true that boudin noir is not the sort of thing I'd buy at any old supermarket - ideally, you want a butcher who prepares his own. I bought mine from a mustached man with a little truck in the Apt market. I serve my boudin with sliced apples - this time, some golden delicious we picked up from a farmstand by the side of the road. I tossed the apples with olive oil, sprinkled whole lot with sea salt and added a cinnamon stick and a star anise to ground the dish with cozy autumn spices. Boudin is already cooked through when you buy it, but 20 minutes or so in a hot oven gives it time to blister, even burst. I'm an adventurous eater, but the idea of boiled (or cold) boudin makes me think about moving back to New Jersey. (No, not really.) By this point in the post, I know there is at least one reader (perhaps many) thinking...but, that looks like large labrador shit on a plate. True enough. But once you get past the aesthetics, you have one of richest savory tastes I can imagine. Good boudin has a velveteen consistency that marries perfectly with the slight tartness of the roasted apples.

A good boudin is not the only thing in danger of bursting in France this week. Strikes and protests against the raising of the retirement age have left students injured and 1/3 of gas stations empty. The French do love their manifs. It is admirable to have such a politically engaged public, but I suspect that the unions find the power surge of parades more useful than the search for actual solutions.

As usual, the French government has backed itself into a PR corner. I heard a govt. rep on the radio describe the issue in exasperated tones as a “problème technique” – sure, it’s technical if your job is to sit in Paris and juggle a bunch of number that no longer add up. But this is also a “problème social” – there are real people ensuring the stability of the system, and they deserve to be consulted. Pensions are a social contract – yes, there needs to be change, but the government must also find a way to communicate that that doesn’t leave people feeling screwed with their pants on. (The banner in the photo says "Reimburse the Vaseline". Which means exactly what you think it does.) Add to that the fact (strangely absent from the press) that under the new law everyone has to work longer – except parliamentarians. And they wonder why the man on the street is out for blood…

Boudin Noir with Apples and Autumn Spices

Boudin noir for 4 (you’ll need about 5-6 inches of sausage per person)
4 golden delicious apples
2 cinnamon sticks
1 star anise
Sea salt
1 tbsp olive oil
A glass of white wine

Heat the oven to 400F.

Core and slice the apples, skin on. (½ inch slices).Toss apples with the olive oil. In a large ovenproof platter with low sides, arrange the boudin (cut into individual portions) and the apples. Sprinkle with sea salt and nestle in the cinnamon sticks and star anise. Cook for 20 minutes or until the boudin starts to sizzle and the apples have begun to brown.

Add a glass of white wine to the bottom of the pan. Cook five minutes longer. Serve immediately.

Serves 4 as a main course. If you want to double the comfort food factor, serve with mashed potatoes. Although the dish is prepared with white wine, I serve it with a medium bodied red. If you’d like to do this as an appetizer: carefully slice the boudin into coins (1 inch thick) and prepare with apples as above. I might serve this with port – ideally, in front of a roaring fire.

Fig Fest 2010

It's that time of year again.

Every September, I throw myself a little fig festival. A fig par-tay. Figapalooza, if you will. One of the many newfound pleasures of living in Provence is that fig season seems to go on and on. I made my first fig tart over a month ago, and my favorite fruit is still very much at the market. Figs are a coy fruit. Figs hide out a bit. Their exterior is sober, matte – a dignified, often dusky, royal purple. But crack one open, and you have a plupy, fleshy kaleidoscope of seeds. A ripe fig should give slightly when you squeeze.
Figs make an excellent transition from summer to autumn cusine. This is particularly useful this time of year in Provence, where you’ll be eating in the garden one day, turning on the heat the next.
Fresh figs are at home both al fresco, in a rocket salad with golden delicious apples, pine nuts and picnic cheeses,and inside, try these spicy chocolate pots with a side of figs to ease the first chill.

The other day, thanks to my babysitter (source of all knowledge), I discovered that the village has a public fig tree. I pass it every morning on the way back from the boulangerie. Like camembert for school lunches (see this terrific video) and paid maternity leave – that’s my kind of public service.

We will be deepening our village social life this weekend – inviting our neighbors over for tea. Another fig tart is definitely on the books. Between you and me: I have an ulterior motive. I’m trying to sweet talk (or feed) Mr. C into taking me mushroom hunting with him…
Fig and Almond tart

I’ve been in search of the perfect frangipane (almond cream) for most of the time that I’ve lived in France. I started with Eric Kayser's recipe (too greasy, too sweet for my taste), and the trial and error went on from there. The solution came from a colleague of G.’s. This is the almond cream she uses to stuff her galette des rois. It’s easy to make, sweet but not overwhelming, and the rum gives it the right to vote. I’m sure this tart would work nicely with pears as well…

1 good quality pre-made pastry crust

100 grams of salted butter, if you can find it with sea salt crystals – so much the better
100 grams of granulated sugar
3 eggs
1 tbsp dark rum
½ teaspoon almond extract
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
150-180 grams of ground (powdered) almonds
2 teaspoons of powdered sugar
6 or 7 ripe fresh figs – sliced (about 1/3 inch)
Small handful of pine nuts

Heat the oven to 375°F

Whip the butter until soft and airy. Add the sugar and cream the two together until light and fluffy. Add 2 eggs, whisk to combine.

Break the third egg into a cup, stir lightly. Pour ½ of the 3rd egg into the batter. Put the cup with the remaining ½ egg to one side. Add the rum, vanilla and almond extract to the batter, whisk to combine. Then add enough ground almonds so that the batter will hold its shape when mounded on the pastry – it should be just thick enough so that it doesn’t ooze all over the place like a B-movie blob.

Place the crust in a pan (preferably a metal tart pan with a removable bottom – metal helps the crust cook through). Leave the extra crust to hand over the edges. Prick the bottom of the crust with a fork. Top with the almond cream. Slice the figs on top. Scatter the pine nuts. Fold the extra crust over the top of the tart, to form a little border. Brush the top of the folded over crust with the remaining ½ egg.

Bake for 30-35 minutes, until golden and cooked through.

Serves 8