AMERICAN FOODS I MISS, FRENCH FOODS I'VE FOUND

 

I can't buy Nathan's Hot Dogs in France, but our butcher puts together a very tasty frankfurter (saucisse francfort). 

Folks say that there are places in France where you can buy a decent bagel. I've tried to find them. I've looked in Paris, in Toulouse, in Narbonne and Beziers. I really have tried. In the end, I've learned to bake my own bagels. They're not perfect, but they are a reasonable substitute.

And that's what you'll have to be prepared for when you move to France. There's stuff that you can find and stuff that you can't find. To be expected. France is all the way across the Pond from the USofA after all. Such differences (inconveniences?) are to be expected. But in most cases there are workarounds. That's assuming, of course, that you are not an expat billionaire willing to pay for the international shipping of a pastrami sandwich from Katz's. We're not. So here are some examples of what we miss and how we've coped.

Yes. Pastrami. As with most other foods, folks will insist that you can buy it here. They know a place. But here in the rural south of France, I stop at every butcher shop and provider of charcuterie. Honest-to-goodness pastrami is simply not to be found. Corned beef? Same. How do you put together a sandwich without pastrami or corned beef? I've given you a hint in a past post. Head to the butcher. Order a few thin slices of jambon blanc - cured cooked ham. Stop by the bakery for a fresh baguette. Slice the baguette lengthwise, smear on a healthy dose of creamy French butter, and layer on a couple of those slices of ham. It's a sandwich called simply jambon-buerre (literally 'ham-butter'). It ain't a classic pastrami sandwich, but it's a classic French sandwich and that's good enough for me.

French beef sucks. Not corn fed or fattened up in a yard. Grass fed. Not at all marbled. Chewy and gamey. I keep ordering pièces du boucher (butcher's cut) in hopes of being served a thick, well-marbled steak. It's a recipe for disappointment. Three workarounds:

1. Forget beef in favor of pork or lamb. In France, both meats taste as they are supposed to taste and the French know how to prepare them. Even if you weren't enamored of their taste back in the States, give the French version a try. Oh, and don't forget duck. I had a seared duck breast with tataki sauce last night that knocked my socks off. You might be surprised.
2. Patronize restaurants or butcher shops that specialize. Since we've arrived, dry-aged Angus beef has become available in many supermarket meat counters and in mid to high-end restaurants, some of which specialize with their own glass-windowed drying racks. You pay a premium, but if you are a true carnivore, you pay the price.
3. Get a delivery from 'Bacon by the Box'. They ship fresh, properly-packed Irish bacon and sausages and, among many other Irish grocery products, about every cut of steak you'd want. And shipping to France is free for a moderately-sized order. There are other such purveyors, but these guys seem to have the best selection and price.

It's a sad state of affairs when microwaving popcorn becomes your preferred method, but popcorn just isn't a French thing. They do sell kernels for popping, but usually not in sealed jars or vacuum-packed containers, meaning that they've been sitting on a shelf for awhile and become stale. I was a fool not to bring my Whirley Pop with me when we moved. (If you don't know what a Whirley Pop is, you are not a true connoisseur.) I do keep some jarred kernels around and occasionally pull out the air popper or shake a batch in our deep cast iron skillet, but I do sincerely miss my jar of Orville and my Whirley Pop. So, on occasion, I fire up the microwave and pretend.  

Barbecue is a noun in our house. Smoked brisket, ribs, and sausage are barbecue. They are not barbecued. They are barbecue. And the nearest barbecue available to us is either a caterer who doesn't have a brick and mortar restaurant or a smokehouse in downtown Montpellier well over an hour away. We did have a smoker of our own for a while. Cathey tried to make it work. But if you're used to the good stuff, a cheap smoker on our terrace just doesn't cut it. There's really no workaround. You buy a top-end smoker, buy the best beef that you can buy, and spend a couple of years learning how to make it work. Or you drive to the nearest smokehouses and hope that you find one that's got it right.

For our first several years here, the pizza available to us can best be described as crackers with toppings - thin, crispy crusts with mild tomato sauce and odd fixings. No pepperoni. No Italian sausage. Not enough cheese. At least they hadn't discovered pineapple. Yet. We've tried making our own pizza and, truth be told, they are better than our village guy. (Don't tell Christophe I said that though. He's a friend and a good guy. And he delivered during the COVID shutdown.) Lately though, two pizza restaurants have opened nearby. Sicilians. Real pizza. Still no pepperoni or Italian sausage. But soft, tasty crusts and interesting toppings. So the workaround? Find Sicilians.

You get the idea. I could get picky on the edges. Dr. Brown's Cream Soda? Never. Monterey Jack? Sometimes. Goldenberg's Peanut Chews? Thankfully, I know the guy who bought the company. But we're living in France, fer chrissakes. One of the great cuisines of the world. Forget the past. Live in the moment. Enjoy.