Special Thanksgiving Issue

As the middle of October creeps by, I find myself yearning for an entire pumpkin pie with whipped cream, lots of whipped cream. Crystallizing the concept of Thanksgiving, I want to let everyone know I am very thankful for the curious new world in which I find myself, and the blind luck to be sharing it with my family (and the cats, who I guess are part of the family, but would be less so should we run out of food, in, say, an emergency). So perhaps this issue is less about Thanksgiving ‘the holiday’ and more about Thanksgiving ‘the food’.

After three months I can say I’m getting the hang of most of the food here. Some things I know simply don’t translate between cultures: pancakes (crepes just aren’t the same), Chinese food buffets (it’s so bad I’m surprised the French haven’t put a torch to the local restaurant, yet it is always busy), and parts of animals I didn’t think were eaten by humans (the butcher section at the supermarket is interesting).  I also saw turkey legs at the butcher counter, which I wouldn’t have given a second glance if they had been labeled ‘ostrich legs’, which may explain why they don’t sell the whole bird.

At the same time, many things here are kind of the same (without half the labeling being in English) including: really salty instant rice products, too-sweet breakfast cereals, frozen dinnery things that are nutritional aberrations, and the potato chip aisle. For things we used to eat in Canada which are not available here, I can usually find some local substitute (e.g. croissants instead of Taber corn). Also, there are many yummy things here I wouldn’t find easily in Canada (e.g. giant tins of duck grease, or 75 varieties of fois gras). At the end of the day, two or three strawberry tarts from the local bakery can suppress any perceived dietary deficiencies with one exception: beef.

Coming from Alberta, the home of the best beef in the world (apologies to Australia, Argentina, Texas, and perhaps Japan), I have struggled. Beef has proven to be a bit of a black hole in our nutritional landscape. To start, the beef here could be from a two year-old grain-fed Limousin or Blonde d’aquitaine breed. A little research tells me these breeds were once well-known as work animals. Hmm… is ‘tender’ the first word to pop into your head when you think about something pulling a plow?  The beef could also be from a former dairy cow, aged beyond milk productivity, but perfectly willing to supply some fine cuts suitable for your barbeque.  Interesting choice. For a while we decided to become selective omnivores, avoiding large mammals as a source of protein, including humans, for those of you who were wondering. So instead of a tender prime rib steak we went with duck breasts. Instead of filet mignon, we might have seafood. Instead of every other cut of beef, we would have chicken, and occasionally pork. This worked for a couple of months but I still found myself looking longingly at the juicy slabs of beef in the meat section. Only the image of some little French dairy farmer backing his trailer up to the barn kept me from breaking down and buying something. Also, the beef here is very, very red. My pals on the internet tell me the French don’t hang their beef for very long (zero days, zero minutes, zero seconds) so the meat retains a very fresh look.  I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure there is a tenderizing aspect to hanging meat. Eventually, I went to the internet for help, and there was plenty to be had. Many people must wonder about beef in France and the experts were there to give advice. I was quite pleased until I saw one website suggest a good rump roast as an excellent cut for a fine meal. Further inquiries gave similar suspect advice (rump roast will yield edible meat after no less than 100 hours in a pressure cooker). And then I realized I had been getting advice from citizens of the United Kingdom, home of the food de-flavorizer and mad cow disease. Oh-oh. 

Tomorrow we’re having duck breasts.