- Amsterdam have opened the first plastic-free supermarket. What appears to be plastic on the shelves is actually a biodegradable vegetable matter that will decompose over 12 weeks in a composter. Brilliant.
- The Parabere Forum was held in Malmo in March, listen to these five stories on BBC Radio, to have a little taste of how excellent this program is. Speakers include Ronni Kahn, Indira Naidoo, Rene Redzepi and Lara Gilmore ... There's a lot to be inspired by.
- The James Beard awards were announced over the past fortnight, with both the media winners and restaurant/chef winners now released. There is always so much great fodder in the media list, I have included a few of my favourites below:
- The Chef’s Table ep on Buddhist nun Jeong Kwan. If for nothing else, for this:
“Soy beans, salt and water, in harmony, through time. It is the basis of seasonings, the foundation. There are sauces aged five years, ten years, aged for one hundred years. These kinds of soy sauces are passed down for generations. They are heirlooms. If you look into yourself, you see past, present, and future. You see that time revolves endlessly. You can see past from the present. By looking into myself, I see my grandmother, my mother, the elders in the temple, and me. As a result, by making soy sauce, I am reliving the wisdom of my ancestors. I am reliving them. It’s not important who or when. What is important is that I’m doing it in the present.”
- For more on the importance of ingredients at their source, read The Fight for a Flower - looking at the political fight over plant Akoub, known in English as Gundelia and said to taste like a cross between asparagus and artichoke, in Palestine. You should also take a look at this article on the complicated history of Carolina Gold rice.
- Barbecue won the doco category: from the alchemy of binchotan and sake to the connection between sunshine and engangsgrill in Sweden and a healthy dose of 'straya. It was good, but if you're looking for something a little grittier, you may like to watch Todo Sobre El Asado - beautifully shot, a little crazy, certainly controversial and thought provoking.
- On a scientific note, The Great Nutrient Collapse gave me goosebumps. The article looks specifically at the relationship between increased levels of CO2 in the environment and decreasing nutrient levels in our food. While the argument focuses on that one causal relationship, it’s not hard to extrapolate the idea to include other inputs.
“The increased light was making the algae grow faster, but they ended up containing fewer of the nutrients the zooplankton needed to thrive. By speeding up their growth, the researchers had essentially turned the algae into junk food. The zooplankton had plenty to eat, but their food was less nutritious, and so they were starving ... Across nearly 130 varieties of plants and more than 15,000 samples collected from experiments over the past three decades, the overall concentration of minerals like calcium, magnesium, potassium, zinc and iron had dropped by 8 percent on average. The ratio of carbohydrates to minerals was going up. The plants, like the algae, were becoming junk food.”
We need more science, more studies, more focus on this. I loved that when the paper was finally published Loladze listed his grant rejections in the acknowledgements. Sometimes (often) you have to fight for what's good and important. Bravo.
- And while we’re looking at the environment, spare a thought (and help where you can) for those in drought in our sunburnt country. John Fairley's impassioned plea for help at Country Valley will give you a little of the story. He's asking for help with the $1350 he requires to feed each cow to get them through to spring. Read his post and do what you can …
If you have the strength, also read on the vicious attacks on his post and his work at the bottom of the post. What is with people? I am so sick of reading this self-righteous diatribe about the benefits of veganism on the world. Their choice is their choice, but, really, what on earth do they think those huge soya monocultures are doing to animals? To the field mice, the birds, the cycle? And since when could the soil live without a cycle of plants, animals, insects? Again, more words, more smarts, more conversation ...
Postcards from my bookshelf
This will be the year of reading. At the moment I am dipping in and out of Patience Gray’s Honey From a Weed. I’m ashamed to say it’s the first time I am reading this exquisite book – it was a gift from a beautiful, softly-spoken, wild-haired philosopher I met on my travels in France. The book and its spirit are now inextricably linked with her’s. This week’s take-out came while reading about sauces – PG suggests soaking old bread or breadcrumbs in vinegar, then squeezing it out before using the bread as the base for the aioli. Clever. (I also liked the use of a soda syphon, to spray calamari before adding a little flour and frying, a little as it is with tempura - I love the way different cultures find their own solution to the same problem.)
Eight Days (16 February 2018)
This week's soapbox, brought to you by the state of California.
- There was an excellent article in California Sunday about the rise and rise of the Resnicks – the couple who own the land of “Wonderful” (actually). It’s the Disneyland of agricultural land, 281 square miles covered with 6 million trees: pistachios, almonds and pomegranates. The couple are farming more than fruit and nuts, with water and even people on their agenda.
He is the farmer who moved the rain … “He uses more water than any other person in the West. His 15 million trees in the San Joaquin Valley consume more than 400,000 acre-feet of water a year. The city of Los Angeles, by comparison, consumes 587,000 acre-feet … The more water he got, the more crops he planted, and the more crops he planted, the more water he needed to plant more crops, and on and on.” How? The article suggests it was largely down to the illegal pipeline he ran, with water bought from another agricultural weasel, Vidovich who “… isn’t farming dirt. He’s farming water” and together they created their own kingdom, playing God for all they were worth (literally).
She, on the other hand, is the marketing queen who not only branded their fruits ("cutie" mandarins, "POM" juice), but then turned her branding iron to the community (of largely illegal Mexican workers) to create “… a kind of utopian village set amid orchards.” Some of those visions are good (healthy food provided at cheaper prices than the unhealthy, free fruit and veg, schools), but you can’t shake the feeling that many of them feel a little too contrived, a little bit big brother - and let's not forget the cleverness of spending her philanthropic dollars boosting her own PR.
Wonderful? I’m not so sure. It's long, but worth reading.
- In equally important, but happier viewing, watch Dan Barber present his lecture at Alice Waters’ Edible Education lecture series (streamed from Berkley, weekly). This lecture focussed on vegetable seed selection and the deplorable lack of interest in breeding for flavour, as opposed to yield or uniformity. “A recipe starts in the field, but this is the story before that.” It wasn’t always this way, with the preamble suggesting that at the turn of last century flavour was the focus (when dishes such as hoppin’ John emerged from Southern agriculture – a culinary celebration of an agricultural truth: they needed the beans in the field to grow the rice). Barber is working with seed selectors to change that, one guy noting: “... in all the years of breeding, no one has ever asked me to select for flavour.” Astounding.
There were also some interesting thoughts about identifying compounds in fruit and veg that people do and don’t like and selecting to remove these. I am developing a fascination for the aversions and sensitivities to tastes: the coriander haters (a compound that some can identify while others are immune) to the mousy wine haters (a sensitivity that, again, not all can identify). We all know tastes are different, but this is not just about palates, it's about physiology …
- Whenever I last sent this missive, I mentioned Chang’s use of fresh veg at Majordomo in LA, a treat he felt he could not access in NYC presumably due to the quality of the produce. It started my mind ticking about the sweeping suggestions that people must buy the best quality produce and do little to it. What if that’s not available? The answer, for some, is to buy the farm.
There were some interesting thoughts on the logistics, finances and some nice ideas and results that came from this chef/farm connection: “… their “Blenheim greens,” a mix of salad greens they created in search of a balance of flavor, texture, and color. Instead of growing each green separately, they mix the seeds in their ideal proportion and then harvest them together — no tossing required.”
Eight Days (26 January 2018)
- You will no doubt have read that Chef Paul Bocuse died. At 91, it was a good innings. I have pored over the many articles written about Bocuse this week, seeking to find us something beyond his resumé. (To that end, I thought the NYTimes had the best summary of his achievements. For something a little more personal, the New Yorker called on Bill Buford, author of Heat, publishing an excerpt from his new book recounting his first meeting with Bocuse at Les Halles.)
You will know Bocuse was one of the bastions of nouvelle cuisine, a cooking style that signalled the departure from the rich, traditional sauces to the lighter more produce-focused style. When nouvelle cuisine began to dwindle Bocuse dumped it quicker than a hot potato. He personified the French coq, going so far as to have the rooster tattooed on his upper left arm. (Apparently, he was also a bit of a coq out of the kitchen too, charmingly alerting the world to the two mistresses he kept through his life via his autobiography.) He had a restaurant in Disneyland. He sold pots and pans with his signature on them. This was a guy who clearly liked to play the game.
That said, Bocuse was a fighter. A seventh (perhaps eighth?) generation chef, he fought to buy back the family restaurant and indeed the family name they had sold with it. His restaurant Auberge du Pont de Collonges has held 3 Michelin stars since 1965. His is an impressive resumé.
However, it was the story of Eugénie Brazier, in whose kitchen Bocuse first trained, that captivated me more than his. Brazier was the first woman to receive three Michelin stars in France. She was the first person ever to receive six. Never heard of her?! Neither had I.
I have changed that by reading this beautiful article. You should too.
Eight Days (12 January 2018)
- I am a little late to share this, but the most-excellent Parabere Forum will be held in Malmö this year on 4 to 5 March. Open to women and men, the theme is edible cities and the speaking line-up is excellent (including our own Ronni Kahn). The idea behind the forum, now in its fourth year, is to highlight the vision and role of women in the culinary arena, this year with a focus on ideas for the growing urban population. If you are (anywhere) near Sweden you should try to get there.
- Late last year, Jay Rayner penned an article on mental health in the kitchen. “The problem is that so much of this takes place not in front of the diners, but closed away behind the kitchen door. As diners we may complain about the cost of our restaurant meals. We may wish it were otherwise. But the reality is that, far too often, it’s not us who are paying too high a price. It’s the people who are doing the cooking.” It's always important.
Postcards (the one that gets lost in the post and turns up after you get home):
A few random thoughts I would have shared, had I not gone silent:
- Italians call all ham prosciutto. All of it. Not just the finely sliced, cured and hung number. Don't argue with the Italians about it, like I did, you won't win.
- The Croatians cure their table olives in sea water drawn directly from the Adriatic. Unadulterated sea water, collected in buckets and driven home on someone's lap. We tried it and it worked beautifully. Nature is ever so clever.
- In sadder news for the Med, we visited Coulliore (in France, near the Spanish border) to taste their anchovies but found the cupboard bare. The locals say the sea has been plundered for too long and she is now all but empty.
- The Salers cow, a French breed used in the production of Cantal cheese (and beef), won't produce milk unless her calf is by her side. Another clever trick by nature (a dairy cow must calf each year, but most will have their calves taken away in the first few days). Incidentally, the sound of their cow bells floating on the wind in the mountains of Cantal is among my favourite memories from my trip.
- Elderflowers are best picked in the middle of the day, when there is the most oil in the flowers.
The week that was (8 October 2017)
- Australian farmer and agricultural activist Charles Massy has launched his new book: Call of the Reed Warbler: A New Agriculture – A New Earth. I have not yet read the book, but the article raised many points of interest: ecological grazing, the importance of eating "nutrient-rich food out of healthy soil", a system that combines "the best of Old Organic – namely its respect, empathy and reverence for Mother Nature – with the best of modern, ecologically simpatico science and Earth-empathic thought.”
He is quoted: “We have lost touch with the land, we manipulate the Earth to our own ends, we dominate it and are ultimately destroying it. Aboriginal people, he says, saw it differently, as something to be nurtured and nourished, a living entity. He calls their custodianship “one of the greatest ever sustainable partnerships between humankind and the ecosystems they occupied” ... Until we throw off the European mechanical mind we are going to continue to stuff the joint. It is not something inanimate that you can belt. It is almost like being with a lover, you have got to nurture it and care for it.” He sounds like the kind of person I want to have a meal with.
- Compare that to the “sea of plastic” spreading across Almeria in Southern Spain. As anyone who has shopped in markets in France or Italy will know, Spain has become Europe’s fruit bowl, but at what cost?
“As we drove along, the smell of plastic and chemicals permeated the car and offered the first scent of the larger environmental problem. The greenhouses are almost all hydroponic—growing vegetables in water, air and a chemical stew of fertilizer, herbicide and pesticide …”
When I talk about the cost, I am talking beyond the consumer and the natural environment sweating beneath that plastic (it's 50km across - check out the pics), if you scroll down you will find a movie looking at the exploitation of migrant work from Africa to support this horror.
- The Michelin Guide had a tough week. Beyond bestowing a star to the closed and chef-less The Square in London, Sebastian Bras asked to “give back” his three Michelin stars. Apparently motivated by a search for serenity, he noted that “while the pressure to retain three stars could be an engine for creativity, it could also prove debilitating ... Food should be about love — not about competition ..."
Of course, he is not the first. MPW renounced his in ’99, Gaertner and Alain Senderens in ’05. With that said, the “giving back” is unlikely to succeed. The guide is written for the customers, not for the chefs, and you can well-imagine the precedent if they allow one chef to do it, then any chef with a bad review etcetera would ask to do the same. It kind of defeats the purpose. It does, however, beg the question of the role and importance of criticism (and praise). Does it serve a purpose?
Postcards from Croatia:
The restaurant recommended to me was closed. It was late, past 2pm, and to wind my way back to the small port town of Jelsa, where I am staying on Hvar, would have meant certain starvation (until dinner).
The road up to the hinterland had been busy, but it was the industry of the grape harvest not tourists that was clogging the streets: salt-battered cars towing tiny trailers stacked high with crates of grapes; vigneron’s jumpers left hanging on posts in the vineyards, long discarded in the hot autumnal sun. These people were working, not eating.
I vaguely recalled a wooden panel I had seen en route – the only words I had clocked were “slow food” - it was something. The driveway was long, the bitumen gave way to pebbles and then to dirt. The deeper I went the wilder the foliage became - the olive trees closing in over the road - but in the distance glimpses of the ocean teased me closer, as did a little plume of smoke between the trees.
As I made the final turn, up what had now become a rather treacherous goat track, a babble of voices joined the smell of smoke. The voices grew louder: laughter mixed with conversation, clearly many people, too many people for this remote part of the world, particularly out of season. Furthermore, I could only hear Croatian – a wedding? A wine-makers lunch? My plans would be thwarted, but still I pushed on. I had come this far …
There was the slightest tinge of embarrassment as I left my car and walked between the stone walls of the tiny path towards the noise and the smoke. A small stone house presented itself, a wide veranda and two long tables laden with people, with glasses, with happiness. I waited quietly to the side of one of them as a woman with an apron laughed with her customers. They had seen me, she had not.
When she finally noticed me, she greeted me warmly. Beautiful eyes, a gentle smile, her hand on my arm as she spoke to me. The apology was sincere but seemed final, she gestured around her - the restaurant was full, there was no denying it. Perhaps tomorrow? How many people? And then she looked again, into my eyes, “You are hungry? And alone? Sit, we will feed you. Would a mixed grill be ok?”
I was given the only remaining table, outside in the sunshine, a table reserved for the ashtray, with a few smokers congregating around it. It was perfect. And then the guitar began and, one by one, voices joined in. I can only assume, given the enthusiasm, these were Croatian folk songs. A second guitar joined in and the voices grew louder. It was a goosebump moment.
As the large tables were served their food that beautiful silence descended over the countryside, the silence of gustatory appreciation. The quiet gave my other senses the space to see beyond the conviviality. Olives in the foreground, growing haphazardly between the grass and flowers, the island of Brač across the water, mainland Croatia behind it, her steep rocky mountainside coloured white and grey against the blue sky.
Lunch was delicious – you could fairly ask how it could be otherwise in that environment – but the meat was cooked well: the pork here is particularly delicious, the native breed a relative of the Spanish pata negra, the lamb was excellent too, and the skin on the chicken: crisp, smoky and salty. The meat was accompanied by ratatouille of vegetables seeped in prošek, the local dessert wine, a sweet and slightly acid foil to the fat.
The owner, the woman in the apron, joined me on numerous occasions to check on my progress. Sometimes her husband, the chef, would shadow her. When he was not there she confided in me the reason for her happiness – a move from the north to the south, a second marriage, a little daughter, the energy of her guests and just enough seats to occupy her and her husband, providing them a way to earn enough to live, but maintain time for a coffee in town each morning – her life is a happy one.
As I started eating, they finished. The guitar started up again; the voices, fuelled by food and alcohol, became louder. My life, too, is a very happy one!
(The restaurant is called Konoba Maslina, if you go to Hvar, you really must go and visit.)
The week that was (27 September 2017)
- We'll start with something to make the blood boil - an excellent article in the NYTimes about the trail of destruction being led across the developing world as the multi-national food companies move into poorer regions, chasing the business they are losing in the western world. Unsurprisingly the health problems follow. "The new reality is captured by a single, stark fact: Across the world, more people are now obese than underweight."
- I counter that with the beautiful words of the late AA Gill. GT have published his story of a fishing expedition with Jock Zonfrillo off Kangaroo Island. It is, as it always was, captivating reading. I'm not even going to quote it, I implore you to read it ...
- You may also want to seek out the latest Conde Nast Traveller - their annual food issue. Among the mix, this little wrap on Sydney dining and the 97 restaurants they'd travel the world for.
- Foodservice Mag announced the results of their inaugural Women in Food Service Award. Do check out all the winners online.
- Sticking with the chicks, WOHO are launching their mentoring program on 25 September. The program is run by Jane Strode and the mentoring team includes Christine Manfield, Jemma Whiteman, OTama Carey, Danielle Alvarez and Mike Bennie. That’s a lot of my favourite people. I am also thrilled to see there is a penis in the mix. I have said it before, and will say it again, feminism is not a woman’s issue – it’s one for everyone. Get your tix here.
- Last Thursday was RUOK day. We all know how important it is to ask; how important it is to realise there are battles you may not see and that walking in their shoes might not be enough. Ben Shewry, poster boy for gentle thoughts, chose this week to share his new working hours with the world. An excerpt of his post below (the post is a picture of Ben):
“Occasionally well intentioned people will say to me "your success must feel amazing" or the old chestnut "you must feel so lucky" and I'm grateful for sure but this year I've been reflecting on some facts of my "success"; I'm 40, I've averaged 75 hours per week in kitchens since the age of 14. I've already worked roughly the same amount of hours as a person averaging 40 hours per week throughout their career to retirement age. So no I don't feel "amazing" I feel like I'm 65! We've built the restaurant on the values of questioning everything, EVERYTHING. This year I feel we took a major leap forward in the development of our culture by putting the young men and woman who work in our kitchens on a 48 hour weekly roster. 4 days on, 3 days off ... Changing the roster structure to accommodate the fact that cooks are humans, not machines and indeed can have lives as well has been cathartic ... We get an elite 48 hours out of each one of them and all of our cooks can work on multiple sections at any given moment, becoming multi skilled in the process ... it is very important to me that our cooks to leave here with the ability to cook properly. And while they are working at attica it is also important for all of our staff to have a life with their partners, friends and family.”
He's a good man.
In the SMH article they go on to say: “Remember that when your food is cheap, chances are, someone else is paying. That needs to change if we still want decent chefs in ten years.” Yep.
Postcards from Chassignolles (and a petit back story):
I was thirteen years old when I fell in love with France. It was in a town called Limeuil, a medieval village on the confluence of the Vezere and the Dordogne. We, my parents and I, had arrived late. It was unusual to have them to myself (I am the eldest of four) but in their parental wisdom they had decided to take us each on a trip of our own to see some of the world. It changed the dynamic. It didn’t change Dad’s poor driving and Mum’s poor map reading. We arrived fraught and hungry.
The first place we stumbled upon was Isabeau de Limeuil, a local bistro, the only bistro. We opened the door to a group of locals talking animatedly under a cloud of their own cigarette smoke (smoking laws had just been introduced in France, but the non-smokers table was either beside the toilet door or, on one occasion, actually outside). We were seated in the cozy dining room: a fire roaring to one side, half a dozen tables, a dog, her litter, and a couple of cats - a health inspector’s nightmare.
We were tired and Dad, the French speaker among us, asked for a small, simple meal, perhaps a bowl of soup, or an omelette? A tureen of soup arrived and Dad, rather chuffed with his language achievements, encouraged us to eat up. We did, and watched the empty tureen cleared, only to be replaced with a second soup … then an omelette, a terrine, roast pork, salad, cheese and finally an apricot tart. While I don’t remember each dish, let alone the individual flavours, I do know it was the first times I experienced the enchantment of a meal in a restaurant, a meal that wasn’t just about filling someone up (although it certainly did that) but a meal that was about ritual, about being proud of what you had to offer, about conviviality. I was smitten, both with the impact food could have and with la belle France.
This romantic image of the French countryside bistro/auberge was reinforced when I began reading Elizabeth David. Each time I had saved enough money I would return to France, always with one of her books tucked into my suitcase. Her words would transport me if the reality didn't always match up. On one of those early trips I returned to Limeuil, a pilgrimage of sorts, sadly to find the restaurant long closed.
The idea of the country auberge (or bistro) is not simply a respite from a long drive; a true auberge offers a taste of the land around you, in the same way that you open your car window and breath in the perfume of a place, the auberge provides the flavour of the place. A tradition of warm country hospitality, a comfortable bed and a simple yet delicious meal created with the aid of the local terroir.
At Auberge de Chassignolles (where I have spent the last fortnight) this tradition is upheld in a way I was worried had ceased to exist. The tiny town is its own postcard, but the food and wine are the true indulgence. Thomas, the chef, cares for an abundant potager 100m from the auberge. Each day he can be seen with his wheelbarrow – on the way down it’s filled with kitchen scraps for the chooks and feed for the lambs (their number now diminished by half as they’ve been sacrificed for feasts shared with local wine makers and guests). When he returns it is full of summer veg, now, coloured with the tinges of autumn that are also creeping across the surrounding forest.
The food, presented as a casual five course dinner (or an excellent Sunday lunch) that you can take as a demi-pension with your accommodation, is a little like salt to an egg (or a squeeze to a hug) – the lightest of touches, the slightest complementary or opposing accent, each element cooked perfectly, balanced not just of flavour but also of tradition and modernity – just enough to enhance the beauty that is already within. I once wrote in this missive of the joy of a potato plucked straight from the earth, its heart still beating – it is like that here, but every vegetable you eat seems to be still holding onto its heartbeat.
The wine list is also a thing of beauty, living wines, collected from around the region and further afield. We have drunk abundantly and very well. There is a delightfully ramshackle feel to the hospitality too, you are part of the family: you are looked after / you fend for yourself / you look after others.
Interestingly, this auberge is not in the hands of the French, but rather the British. Current owners Peter and Max bought the auberge a few years back from another Brit, Harry (who runs the excellent Le Saint Eutrope in nearby Clermont-Ferrand, another must-do if you are in the area). At the beginning, I admit to finding all the English banter a little jarring in the rural French setting. But ED was not French and her words took me there ...
And so, I have fallen in love all over again - a modern idea of France, with a heart embedded in her deep history. Places like this are important for more than the culture of consumption - with great food and wine comes culture in its pure form. Conversations at the table have been rich in ideas and thoughts - concepts that have been shared across metiers - wine makers talking to chefs, who are in turn talking to writers, scientists, students, artists. It is the very idea of conviviality. We may not have Isabeau de Limeuil anymore, but we do have Chassignolles.
The week that was (7 September 2017)
- The delightful Mr Bennie took a look at the state of play in the Australian wine industry. Those places where "... where vineyard expression trumps winery intervention.” It was an interesting retrospective of the industry – a look back in order to help the looking forward. "Australian wine has never been more exciting, diverse or looking to improve its own culture. While natural wines have their detractors, the life that it has breathed into a technicolour vision of Australian wine is potent. Importantly, natural wines are focussing the lens on vineyard and winemaking practices, from which better wines, more diverse wines and a new wine paradigm is emerging." You should read it.
- Pete Wells wrote his restaurant wish list, it was thought provoking. “A few years ago I would look at these lists and, if a good number of projects were backed by big restaurant groups with a strong track record, I’d take it as a sign that an interesting season was in the wings. Now I’m less sure. What I see more and more is the way power accrues to chefs who are already powerful, while independent restaurants struggle to get going … I’d like the path to the top of the restaurant business to be cleared of the obstacles that make it difficult for women and minorities.” This is important. "A mix of backgrounds and points of view makes organizations smarter and more self-aware, as anybody in the human-resources department will tell you. For restaurants, it’s also one of the clearest ways to signal that everybody is welcome.”
- Eater also had a good article looking at the way in which food can be political, off the back of the #sheetcake carry on in the states. “Food is politics. It’s always difficult for me to say that without adding “of course” to the end of it: Food is politics, of course. Of course there are political forces pushing and pulling at it, the engine behind everything from the price of grain to the availability of labor to the potability of water to patio zoning to how much sawdust you can add before your processed dairy product is no longer allowed to be called cheese. How can you not understand that?”
- Richard Fiedler talked menu engineering - the ways you can change your menu to increase spend. I wish people would understand that good produce and good restaurants need to cost more, a cost that should in turn be passed on to the producers, staff and restaurateurs. For me, it's not about hiding, but rather about educating.
Postcards from Rayol:
Last week I returned to my second home, Le Rayol Canadel. It’s a tiny town on the Côte D'Azur, where Provence meets the Mediterranean. It is unlike most other towns on the coast because it remains a little wild and unscathed by the mass tourism that plagues Cannes, Nice and St Tropez. It is the locals that mob the cafe in the morning, not the tourists. The town consists of a butcher, two boulangeries (you are fiercely loyal to one or the other, but you do not go to both), a small supermarket and the cafe. I lived here many years ago and make the pilgrimage to return each year when I come to France.
The Massif des Maures, a small mountain range, runs behind the town and forms an amphitheatre to the Med. To one side is the sea, to the other is the mountains. It gives that feeling of infinite space with reassuring protection. It is a true paradis sur terre.
If I was to play Pete Wells, I would look to this part of the world for some of the restaurants I would like to see more of. Take, for example, the local beach club - it’s the restaurant you have always wanted to own. Even if you have never wanted to own a restaurant, you would want this one. There are no walls, instead a narrow garden of cacti separates the Tropicana Club from the beach. Everywhere feels the breeze and is part of the sea. The exposed blue rafters and white sails provide a feeling of solidarity and yet it feels lucid, like you could pack it all up at a moments notice.
During the day it offers relief from heat of the Mediterranean sun. There is coffee in the morning, drinks by night, lunch throughout the day, simple meals: salads, carpaccio, grilled fish and moules. But Tropicana is more than this, it’s a summer home. It feels as if the rooms and their uses have grown organically over the decades, like a family home that grows with the addition of more children. It is not unusual to see four generations of the same family eating together - there is a feeling of continuity.
I have also eaten many meals outside in the shade of trees: the enormous plane trees with the cicadas singing from the branches, or the low fig trees with their leaves so close you can almost reach up and touch them. Why don't we have more outdoor restaurants in Oz? There is something so entirely delightful about the cool provided by the leaves of a tree, the way the wind and sunshine filter through in equal measure. Meals are served a la bonne franquette; you keep the same plate and the same cutlery as you work through the dishes. The vegetables are most often served separate to the meat. It’s a progression. A piece of baguette is used for cutlery, to help push your food onto your fork. Salad leaves are eaten with your fingers, cheese too. Dessert can be as simple as a piece of fruit.
This culture of dining is not just an indulgence for the adults. Children are not considered a burden, but rather are made to feel part of the conviviality. If we are drink an apero, Marilou (who is 5) is also offered a cordial. If the apero melts into a dinner the children eat with us, at the table, and they go to bed when we do – which is often late. There is much more fluidity to life and time is almost irrelevant. The experience at that moment is the most important.
It would also be fair to say the rosé is flowing through my veins, in French they say à fleur de peau – flowering on your skin. In the heat of the Med, I am drinking it à la piscine, “like a swimming pool” and thus full of ice. I am happy.
The week that was (27 August 2017)
- Coca Cola is offering one million dollars to the person who can come up with a sugar alternative for their drinks. The article notes people drink 19% less “soda” than they did 15 years ago. (Bravo.) As Quartzquite rightly points out, if you did come up with a “solution” for this "problem" it would be worth much more than a cheeky mill. Pass the water, please …
- I loved Jay Rainer’s article on friends in the kitchen. “From cooking alongside someone, you can learn whether they attend to the details of life; whether they sense the passage of time; whether they can refill a wine glass, keep an eye on the steaming clams so they haven’t gone into the rubber stage, and spot that the gratin is on the edge of burning under the grill, all at once. By cooking alongside someone you can tell whether they are a good listener. Because so much of cooking is about listening to the sound your food makes.”
Cooking with those you love is one of life’s great joys. Cooking with my sister is one of my favourite things in the world. I have other friends who love to man the pans and, instead set me up with a stool, glass of wine and a bowl of herbs to pick. Others still, like to take the stool and keep me company, which I love just as much.
Of course, it’s not all roses: “I have felt my heart rate rise as a friend – I say friend; I mean someone I hope never to see ever again in my life – stood slugging rosé and telling a tiresome anecdote over searing steaks that were being ruined with each narrative beat of the pointless bloody story. I have watched someone put Marmite in the salad dressing. They winked at me while they did it, as though I was being let in on a secret.” Ha!
- A correction: “eat food, not too much, mostly plants” was, of course, Michael Pollan, not Dan Barber. I actually picked up In Defence of Food to confirm the quote was correct – and then had a little brain snap while typing. Apologies to the confused.
Postcards from the Auvergne:
- This week I stayed in the beautiful Auberge de Chassignolles. It is an auberge of the old days, of Elizabeth David's roadside adventures, with a demi-pension available for your meals each morning and each night. The food is exquisite. The first night the restaurant was closed and so I was invited to eat family meal with the staff - frittata made with wild spinach, a panzanella salad (with the bread tossed in the most fragrant herb oil), olive tapenade, a warm potato salad, fresh leaves and, of course, baguette. A la bonne franquette - my very favourite way to eat.
There is a thriving vegetable garden behind the auberge where all the salads and vegetables are picked daily. Norwegian chef Thomas Haugstvedt is at the helm, who tends both the vegetable garden and the kitchen. He is currently accompanied by Giuseppe Lacorazza, he who cooked my favourite pea dish at P. Franco when I was in London a couple of months back. A formidable team.
The kitchen's simplicity is beautifully complemented by their creativity - hidden among the pigeon and cabbage were tiny elderflower capers, the berries of the tree - a total revelation, with the flavour of a caper in a tiny seed pod. Poisonous if not treated properly, the berries are salted for three weeks and then soaked in elderflower vinegar for three more. They were incredible.
I have also been spoilt by sharing in the family meals at lunch. I love the French tradition of a proper meal, for every meal: table set, wine, conversation, conviviality. Yesterday, I spent a little time in the vegetable garden, somewhat helping to pick produce for last night's dinner, but mainly eating the most delicious raspberries, still hot from the sun. As I mentioned, the vegetable gardens are everywhere and the competition is fierce. The garden beds are abundant, which is in part necessity (it's a long drive to any shops), and in part the fertility of the soil. What a lovely way to live.
The week that was (20 August 2017)
I’m currently in London. It’s a little bizarre to be back in this world after the simplicity of Pantelleria. It’s not just about being inside, under lights and in temperature controlled rooms (although it has occurred to me that we spend a lot of time bemoaning the plight of animals, while subjecting ourselves to much the same lifestyle) but more about the mentality. The competition for life here seems more astute, but I’m not talking about the struggle to exist, rather the struggle to keep up with the Joneses.
Veganism is a major buzz word, along with “clean living.” It occurs to me that while this generally comes from a good place, it so often comes off as an accusation to the other. I say buzz word because we really know so little about diets. We know so little about what is healthy and what is not. Here the health claims extend from skin care to weight, to curing disease and cancer, while the environmental claims run the gamut too.
I am all for eating responsibly, I am all for making careful choices with the meat, fish and veg we consume. If you want to be vegetarian, vegan, pescatarian, all power to you. Certainly no-one is denying Dan Barber’s philosophy “eat food, not too much, mostly plants" and I’ve also been pleased to see gut health is getting a good run at the moment. I have a feeling that is important (have you read 10% Human?) But, if the sugar vs fat debate taught us anything, it is that food and science and agribusiness are all too closely connected for us to have any idea what is what.
By coincidence a couple of articles have been written on the same topic this week. In the NY Times they looked at the demise of Weight Watchers. The lengthy article is a little hard-going, but the conclusion is thought-provoking for how the marketing has changed: “… they no longer wanted to talk about ‘‘dieting’’ and ‘‘weight loss.’’ They wanted to become ‘‘healthy’’ so they could be ‘‘fit.’’ They wanted to ‘‘eat clean’’ so they could be ‘‘strong.’’ The shift was supposed to be about empowerment. "The word ‘‘wellness’’ came to prominence. People were now fasting and eating clean and cleansing and making lifestyle changes, which, by all available evidence, is exactly like dieting."
That all sounds ok, but it appears the positivity has slipped into accusatory - damaging not just to those who don't conform but also to those who do. "... “clean eating” was more than a diet; it was a belief system, which propagated the idea that the way most people eat is not simply fattening, but impure." The Guardian looked at the wellness movement via those who have become consumed by it - the quest becoming the disease. “We are once again living in an environment where ordinary food, which should be something reliable and sustaining, has come to feel noxious. Unlike the Victorians, we do not fear that our coffee is fake so much as that our entire pattern of eating may be bad for us, in ways that we can’t fully identify.”
Coupled with Ecoanxiety, we have a recipe for fear and loathing where there should be celebration and conviviality. It's a dilemma. I'm not sure how to fix it.
The final nail in London’s coffin was an article in Time Out explaining to the people of London how to eat their xiao long bao. Nope. I'm looking forward to heading back to the Med.
The week that was (12 August 2017)
- The delicious. Produce Awards have been announced for 2017. So many fabulous producers - it's something to make your heart sing. They don’t provide links on the delicious. website, so I have tried to add these for the winners in below, but you should click on the link above to find all the medalists.
From the earth: Randall Organic Rice
From the dairy: Cedar Street Cheeserie, A Love Supreme
From the paddock: Piccolo Farm, Pastured Quail
From the sea: Richard Hamilton, Spanner Crab
Best new product: Camden Valley Veal
Producer of the year: Ocean Grown Abalone, Ranched Greenlip Abalone
In the bottle: Maidenii Classic Vermouth
Maggie Beer award for outstanding contribution: Will Studd
Outstanding artisan: Sharon Flynn, The Fermentary
Chef: Josh Niland
Outstanding native producer: Warren and Ewa Jones, Tumbeela Native Bushfoods
Alla’s Foundation Scholarship: Michael and Cress McNamara, Pecora Dairy
Despite the public's fascination with chefs, this is really where Australia's food scene starts and ends. Seek these producers out, get their produce on your menu …
- While we are singing the praises of the oft unsung, you may want to read this article in the WaPo about the importance of kps/dishwashers in every kitchen. Tets, Keller, Bourdain, Peps - a lot of great chefs started here, and every great chef knows their value.
- Children’s meals in restaurants also had a little time in the sun – and as they should. Feeding kids shit food is shit. My beautiful friends at Racine brought it to my attention – where they serve real food on the kid’s menu. This should be the norm, not the exception.
Postcards from Pantelleria:
Every day, around 5pm, the jellyfish hunter appears at the lighthouse. He comes prepared with net, a mat for the rocks (although he rarely sits) and his beautiful wife. They smile and chat happily as they scale the vertical cliff wall to the ocean, to his hunting ground. This easy athleticism belies their age, they must be at least 70.
Net in hand, he stands on the rocks, waiting for the inevitable cry - medusa - and, just like bindies at a picnic everyone freezes, carefully looks around, and then, if the coast is clear, swiftly exits the scene. The jellyfish hunter holds his ground, directing those with masks and snorkels to the place of the last sighting. If he can’t reach the medusa, he will throw in his net. It is the children he is protecting, from three and four-years old, they swim in the ocean largely unattended, at eight or nine they learn to dive and start jumping off the high rocks – the island disappears steeply into the Med and so the jumping is (relatively) safe. It's a community service he clearly enjoys. I love it.
The volcanic rocks and cliffs of the island make these trips to the ocean somewhat perilous. There are no beaches. Swimming holes are hidden and, as I have made friends, I have been taken to secluded places; dark, rugged moonscapes I would never have tackled alone. And yet, I am constantly impressed by the variety of people who make the effort. Beyond the frivolous holidaymakers and the majestic jellyfish hunter, spearfishing is a loved pastime and hauls of fish leave the beach on strings each day. There are also those collecting capers, quietly perched on the rocks filling their small buckets, while others gather urchins for their dinner. It is comforting to know that this will all be consumed. They are acutely aware of waste here.
The ocean is generally crystal clear, as we are way out in the Med, but there are certain winds that bring rubbish with them. There is so much plastic swirling around the Med (I was heartened to read the supermarkets et. al. are finally banning single use bags back home) and the Pantesco are conscious of the need to protect their small island.
Nino, the restaurateur at Altamarea, perhaps my favourite on the island, is also an artist. He creates incredible fish sculptures from the refuse he finds on Pantelleria's shores, including the colourful driftwood from the boats of desperation that come across from Africa. Knowing the original of these bright colours, now stripped back by the ocean, lends a potent melancholy to his works. Modelled on species from the Med, the eyes, fins and tails are fashioned from plastic bottle tops, string, net, toothbrushes and skateboard wheels. He gives the profits back to an association created to raise awareness for the plight of the sea. This connection between the people, land and sea is visible everywhere.
Of course, waste is a terrible problem for us all. In the Gulf of Mexico they’ve just announced a “dead zone” the size of New Jersey – largely due to run off from agribusiness upstream. However, the most shocking for me this week was Caro Meldrum-Hanna’s report on ABC. It was an exposé on our recycling industry in Australia. Apparently, the bottom has fallen out of the recycled glass business – and so, instead of actually being recycled, up to half of the glass you carefully separate is going to landfill. It’s shocking. Watch it here.