Southern Fried French

Les Petits Chouchous: The Beloved Pets of France

From time to time we do a photo gallery of les animaux of France.  Mostly cats and dogs, but this year we have one interloper in our fauna.

Let's start with les chiens. In the photo above: On a street near us in Beaune, there are big heavy wooden doors which occasionally swing open to reveal the most wonderful of courtyards, guarded by this cutie, although he doesn't look very ferocious.

 

And If you've been to Beaune, you may recognize this fluffy bit of canine, below. He's a regular fixture at the Saturday market, the darling of the flower vendor.

 

This elegant chien was for sale at a French flea market.

 

Next up: the park near our house has a lake with many varieties of ducks. This mama, I believe she is a type of Coot, built her nest out in the water, where she would not be disturbed. 

 

When we were staying near Nice this year, this cat lived in our neighborhood and entertained us every time we passed his perch.  No, he's not snarling; he's a lazy bum, and those bared teeth are from a yawn.

 

A pair of cozy felines, spotted at a flea market

 

 

This particular cat, which happens to be our very own Vino Bambino, is upsidedownwards in Ron's lap, for reasons only he understands. Maybe trying to catch that sunbeam.

Here is mon petit chouchou, (my little cream puff, a term of endearment), right side up:

 

Two cats spotted on a walk in Beaune:

 

From my favorite Beaune vintage store, here is a carousel cat on an elegant silk Hermes scarf:

 

The beauties below are not French, but are rescue cats taken in by my Francophile friend Belinda, who lived in France for a while, and I've included this photo because they are simply irresistible. She fosters kittens, as I have done--and I highly recommend it if you want to be entertained or just need perking up. Just beware of Foster Failures, as there's a chance you may be unwittingly adopted by a cat (Belinda has two Foster Failures; Vino Bambino is one also).

 

And one last heart-warming foster story: My friend Agnes delivered this frightened,  abandoned kitten to me a couple of years ago, to foster. The widowed owner of a château in the area soon showed up to adopt her; he had never had a cat and knew nothing about them, but he had a Labrador that he felt was lonely and needed a companion. We were a bit worried how one little handful of fur would adjust to a big dog and a big château. Update: She is now the châtelaine, the queen of the castle; he says she runs the place. She is the boss of both him AND the dog. This will not be a surprise to anyone owned by a cat.

 

In the COMMENTS: I was amazed by the number of great ouvrier lunch stories y'all had. Ron and I both enjoyed reading the tales from Page, Susan, Rhonda, Martin, Ali and Monty. Page has a really special story, but Martin we got the biggest laugh from yours--that's so French! Rhonda, you've stumped us, we don't know where that place is in Beaune. Paula, your post brought back memories of our visit to Cognac, such a beautiful place. Chris, hoping you can reschedule your trip when (if?) things calm down. In the recipe department,  Suzanne has a yummy tart idea and Francine was kind enough to share her recipe for a true French quiche, made from les restes--leftovers.

Favorite READS: Looking for inspiration and comfort in these troubled times? I'm reading, and loving, The Beauty of Dusk, by New York Times opinion writier Frank Bruni. After a health trauma, he explores the hidden disabilities so many of us have. And my friend Nancy recommends Just Show Up: The Dance of Walking Through Suffering Together.   

 

 

A Laborer's Lunch, French Style

Ouvrier, n. m/f, -ière

1. worker 2. laborer 3. workman

I will tell you a secret about French life, which may be useful if you visit, and if you're hungry.

In French restaurants dans la campagne, there’s déjeuner, then there’s the Ouvrier Dejeuner. Lunch, and the working man’s lunch (I say "man", because there aren't a lot of female ouvriers). Ron figured this out when he noticed that all the little white camionettes (those cute white workers' trucks that are everywhere in France) tend to park at a single restaurant on particular days, and he’s been searching out ouvrier lunches ever since. And since he got his own camionette, he can play the game for real. 

Here is how it works:  the proper ouvrier restaurant is usually the one by the side of the road, in a small village or on a departmental road. And if you are looking for a bargain-priced, hearty lunch, just look for the camionettes. If one goes in dressed normally (that is, with clean clothes), as a couple or a family, one will be seated and given a menu in the cheerful, more polished room. But when an ouvrier  walks in, in dirty jeans or the ubiquitous dark blue jumpsuit, he might be shown to a different table, perhaps in a back room,  and he will eat a different  meal—heartier and cheaper-- than the “clean” guests will.

Ron and our châtelin Pierre, covered in dust and dirt from demolishing a ceiling in one of the barns, decided to try this out one day. Since Pierre rarely lunches out, this was new to him too. They were led past the white tablecloths  where diners politely regarded their menus, to a back room with a communal table that had a large pitcher of red wine in the center. There were no choices, no menu handed out; lunch simply began arriving, in large portions, as the French flew as fast as the forks. First up, paté on a bed of lettuce with cornichons. Next came a steaming plate of chicken with potatoes and a vegetable. Wine and water were passed around the table from the communal carafes. Next, a huge plank with six or so cheeses was plunked down, with the hungry workers cutting off large slabs to go with their baguette. Time for dessert: crème caramel. Expresso followed. All this for the price of a pizza or a salad at a brasserie. 

Another day our friend Ali, all cleaned up in her best jeans, joined Ron and the the boys for lunch after they completed a project at their house. They went to Buxy, where there is the side room for the ouvriers and the sunny room with the pastel tablecloths for the proper customers.  Madame didn't want to let them in for the ouvrier lunch (no women allowed perhaps, or Ali was too clean?). "There is no choice on the menu," Madame said, "it’s for the workers."  Ron, streaked with mud and sawdust, finally raised his arms and twirled around, to show off his dusty self, and they were admitted. 

Ron and his friends who make up our handyman team will work for lunch, so I often fix them something chez nous, after a big project.   A working man needs hearty fare, so here is an idea for a quick and filling déjeuner. Just add wine and cheese.

 

RECIPE: An (elegant!) Ouvrier's Lunch

I spotted these tarts at a French traiteur (the fancy gourmet take-out shops you see all around France), and I thought they were a great idea. They had simply heaped vegetables and/or meats onto puff pastry and topped them with fresh herbs or greens. I always seems to have some leftover veggies and bits of meat in the fridge, so I can make them with minimal effort, using ready-made puff pastry (in France, it's pâte feuilletée). Or you could sauté some mushrooms and onions for a filling, or roast some carrots and red peppers to top the pre-cooked pastry...endless possibilities! If you heat them up, dust them with some cheese first, or simply shower them with fresh herbs  or arugula before serving.

 

In the COMMENTS: Francine, since that mosaic is in Menton, it may very well be Cocteau's work. It certainly looks like it. Colleen, we can't wait to see that children's book, keep us posted.