There's no place like home. I feel so happy and lucky that I was able this year to be at home with my family in France, to celebrate both Christmas and the New Year, to wind down, and ease myself gently back to work in the congenial surroundings of my parents' house. I had a book to finish, and this was absolutely perfect, with breakfast served to me every day. My greatest cooking effort was teaching my son, Olivier, to make a Grand Marnier soufflé good enough to woo his girlfriend. In France we have two Réveillons, or winter feasts. The first is on Christmas Eve and the second, called la Saint-Sylvestre, is on New Year's Eve. Poor Saint Sylvestre had nothing to do with auld lang syne, kissing under the mistletoe or the extravagant menu for the feast named for him: he was Pope from 314 to 335, when Constantine the Great was Emperor. It's just a coincidence that 31 January, the last day in the Gregorian calendar, is his feast day. (And the "la" doesn't reflect on his gender - it's simply short for "la fête de Saint Sylvestre.")
It always makes me smile to think about how much the family eats, and how we spoil ourselves on these occasions. Part of the réveillon menu is written in stone for every French family - and this is not a class thing. Everyone in France knows how to feast; it is the democratic part of our republican heritage! So between Christmas Eve and New Year's Day we drink thousands of bottles of Champagne and eat tonnes of foie gras. Statistics are available for 2005, for example, when the French consumed 19,000 tonnes. I can promise you most of this was eaten during the holidays, and that every village builder, plumber and postman got his share.
For la St Sylvestre we went to my sister Martine - she is a seriously good cook, so we were 17 around the table. Oysters or escargots are on the menu of every French family at the réveillons. And, mon dieu, we had both. The table creaked under the weight of the oyster shells. We are all very good at opening them, and our joint efforts meant that they were brought to the table in their cupped half-shells as quickly as we could eat them.
The contrast of the cold oysters and the garlicky, hot snails is unforgettable. But the quantity! They have to be made in advance, of course, and brought piping hot to the table - and there were endless trays of them. But then, an escargot is barely a mouthful, and if you're careful not to fill up on snail-buttery bread, you'd be very surprised how many one person can account for.
I had plenty of room left for the next dish, poulet vin jaune aux morilles. First several huge poulets de Bresse were cut up and the pieces sautéed, then cooked in the unique local Vin Jaune from the Jura - and with a virtual forest of local morels. These are the most coveted overground fungi, and our chicken dish was heaving with them. (A recipe is on page 197 of A Taste of My Life.)
Though it wasn't really traditional, we had a delicious Bûche de Noël, the traditional French Christmas sweet course. So naturally I gave them all some good old British Christmas pudding. Don't believe it when people claim the French don't appreciate our plum pudding - it disappeared in a trice, especially with the brandy butter!
The French have even more reason than the British to be gloomy at the moment. But not today! Let's remember whatever feasts we managed to celebrate 2011, and hope we can keep their sweet taste in our mouths through the months to come. Happy New Year!
The contrast of the cold oysters and the garlicky, hot snails is unforgettable. But the quantity! They have to be made in advance, of course, and brought piping hot to the table - and there were endless trays of them. But then, an escargot is barely a mouthful, and if you're careful not to fill up on snail-buttery bread, you'd be very surprised how many one person can account for.
I had plenty of room left for the next dish, poulet vin jaune aux morilles. First several huge poulets de Bresse were cut up and the pieces sautéed, then cooked in the unique local Vin Jaune from the Jura - and with a virtual forest of local morels. These are the most coveted overground fungi, and our chicken dish was heaving with them. (A recipe is on page 197 of A Taste of My Life.)
Though it wasn't really traditional, we had a delicious Bûche de Noël, the traditional French Christmas sweet course. So naturally I gave them all some good old British Christmas pudding. Don't believe it when people claim the French don't appreciate our plum pudding - it disappeared in a trice, especially with the brandy butter!
The French have even more reason than the British to be gloomy at the moment. But not today! Let's remember whatever feasts we managed to celebrate 2011, and hope we can keep their sweet taste in our mouths through the months to come. Happy New Year!
looking forward to your new book :)