I never wanted to be one of those gastro-philes publishing images online of ‘about to be consumed’ food for my friends to see. However, I couldn’t resist sharing after a day wandering in Grenoble and AMAZING French food. I was beaming with happiness. My cup hath runneth over, literally onto my Facebook page.
Nothing but just good, wholesome and expertly made artisanal food. I love finding authentic cultural experiences off the main tourist trail, especially those that stimulate ALL of the senses as well as the travel budget: food experiences, they feed my soul.
The day started at 9:30am at on Place St Claire where I had a delicious pot of tea with milk. Ok so that isn’t very French but for me it is just too early for coffee. The café can’t serve food so the owner told me I could purchase breakfast from a bakery two shops down, which I understood based on his sign language and the brown paper bags on other tables. Fantastic! Economical ambience - my kind of place. I braved the early Spring low temperatures and in bakery I purchased a beautiful with dark chips in buttery croissant dough folded into a square. I also purchased a slice of quiche baked with bacon pieces topped with cream and potato slices. The quiche tasted like the oven was wood-fired which added one more level of complexity. Delicious. I’m pretty sure the French would not eat quiche at breakfast time. There are so many little rituals about French food that I am still learning but that didn’t stop me.
I stayed in the warmth of the little dark wood café for an hour entertaining myself with some French language apps on my iPhone. The locals sat in the sun on tables alfresco in the warmest day of the season, 10 degrees! – bless their enthusiasm after a long cold winter. Customers came and went sharing their latest gossip with the owner and with each other. I was actually quite amazed at how social it was in a café was right in the heart of old Town Grenoble, but with a population of 157,000 it is not much larger than Mackay, where I grew up in North Queensland. I could imagine the same scene unfolding with the regulars on their way to work. I had to look twice as two older women shared conversation over glasses of straight Campari with a slice of fresh orange in the mid-morning. The French culture is to be admired; or for those less inclined to admire a drink, respected with a healthy sense of curiosity.
I wandered past , the fresh food market on the same street. The selection of fresh fruit and vegetables in the cobbled lanes were an image of perfection. Apples, pears and many more, immaculately lined up like soldiers in little wooden crates. The artichokes and round zucchinis had me gaping, not to mention the huge firm tomatoes with crinkled folds near their stalks that I supposed was a heritage breed but without any French I couldn’t ask the vendor.
At 11:30am I spotted another café on Rue Alphand with a tempting showcase of fresh desserts and hand-made chocolates. (The Black Forest) had a gorgeous setting with red velvet chairs. The vanilla éclair caught my attention with sweetened fresh cream and a smear of white icing on top. A miniature friand topped with fresh blueberries would also have to be sampled. I ordered to stimulate my travel writing even though for the locals it was almost lunch time.
A beautiful experience with dainty classic chinaware and a very cosy atmosphere. Although the coffee here in France is so strong even with warmed milk that I can only manage half a cup. The cafe was empty when I entered, except for two local ladies picking up gifts of an amazing fresh strawberry gateaux with edges so sharp it did not look to be made of cream; and little cellophane bags of personally selected chocolates and Easter candies. After 12pm the ritualistic lunchtime in Central Europe, the café began to fill up for the lunch menu. I definitely wasn’t conforming to the French food rituals but none the less, I was enjoying myself immensely.
I wandered into still on the same street, a well-known label of local and fresh French products. To prepare for dinner I bought the , a ravioli specific to this region since roman times, with a delicate white pastry filled with fresh white cheeses and parsley. I also purchased Roquefort cheese sauce to accompany. The staff who indulged me with English agreed this would by a typical match. At least in France you are guaranteed the Roquefort will definitely come from its certified region.
Now what else could I conjure up for my Australian-interpreted French dinner menu. I passed a butcher on Rue President Carnot. The showcase of (Tender Bites) was filled with rustic sausages, terrines, pates, and fresh cuts. I purchased a handsome slice of (rabbit terrine) with a few hazelnuts pressed within and the aspic (meat jelly) shining at me on its sides.
I completed the dinner menu with a traditional baguette from the next bakery I passed, and from the supermarket near my bus stop, a piece of cheese (semi-soft washed rind of cow milk), a bag of ready lamb’s lettuce and last but not least, a lemon for olive oil and lemon salad dressing. I would have bought white wine too but I couldn’t carry anymore home with me. The day had warmed up to 25 degrees – glorious!
Once home in the mid-afternoon I had a small lunch of last night’s home-cooked squid ink spaghetti with sole fish, fresh tomato and zucchini in simple garlic and olive oil. It was magnificent, especially after a night to marinate the flavours. I followed the meal with thin, holy Breton crepes filled with either cherry jam or chestnut and vanilla paste. For an Australian, typically European produce like cherries and chestnuts are such a treat. Can the day get any better?
Dinner took 10 minutes to prepare and was a smash. Starter: Rabbit terrine with sour pickled gherkins, lamb’s lettuce salad with lemon dressing and St Nectaire soft rind cheese. Main: Ravioles de Dauphine and Roquefort sauce.
I laughed at my next French ritual ‘fail’ as I placed a slice of soft cheese on my starter plate with the rabbit , baguette and salad, when Baptiste, my French host, politely declined the cheese and I remembered that the France have their very own cheese course after the main! The wine supplied by Baptiste was a 2009 burgundy red or Bourgogne of Cote de Nuit-Villages, a dry pinot noir that was smooth and light and frankly, much too drinkable.
If red wine is good enough for a Frenchman to eat with Roquefort and fresh pasta it was good enough for me! What a glorious day of hunting and gathering, every French street corner is a world to be tasted! Grenoble, the gateway to the French alps is worth a visit and while you are there perhaps visit an alpine village or two.
Katrina McArthur is a local grown Mackay girl and Queenslander who after years abroad was the family member who prepared ‘weird’ food for the Christmas dinner. Katrina’s biggest regret is there aren’t enough meals in a day to taste everything she finds in her meanderings. Her journey may be unconventional but it has a uniquely Australian perspective of the world of food.
Food notes:
Roquefort is a blue cheese of sheep’s milk sheep from the south of France and only cheese aged in natural Combalou caves of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon are legally Roquefort.
Burgundy is a region in eastern France, in the valleys west of the Saone River, a tributary of the Rhone that produces pinot noir red varieties and white chardonnay.
St nectaire is in the Auvergne region of central France. The semi-soft, washed rind cheese has been made here since at least the 17th century. Saint-Nectaire is a pressed, uncooked cheese made from cow’s milk cheese either pasteurised or unpasteurised.
Ravioles du dauphine are produced in the Romans-sur-Isere community in the Rhone Alps in South East France, an area of only 33 square kilometers.