Luchon/Bourg d’Oueil – Page 4

Lo Magret goes to Paris!

André Daguin, chef/owner of the Hôtel de France in Auch (Gers) until 1997, tells how he gave a new life to the tasty magret de canard — and made it famous in the process:

“The magret was served only as “confit” in soups, cassoulets and everyone would find it dry. The only way to avoid that was to cook it less, but no one dared. I had arguments with my customers; they couldn’t believe it was duck meat! Bob Daley, the New York Times journalist, reported on the discovery of this ‘new’ meat.”

In Occitan-Gascon the word magret —from the latin magre, literally means “lean”. It is definitely the leanest piece of the canard gras — that is the fattened moulard duck raised for foie gras. To make moulard ducks fat, force-feeding is required for a few weeks.

A bas relief depiction of overfeeding geese

This ancient technique seems to be referenced as far back as the 5^th century BC. The Moulard duck is a hybrid cross of Pekin and Muscovy duck. Do not confuse Moulard with the very lean wild Mallard duck.

magret

The magret is the breast that is detached from the carcass once the liver had carefully being extracted. In the canard gras nothing goes to waste. The skin is rendered for fat; the fat is then used to simmer the legs and manchons (wings). Once cooked this meat is known as le confit. Le confit is then stored in earthenware pots, covered with fat to seal it, and used throughout the winter in various preparations. The hearts (look here), livers, gizzards are pan fried with garlic and parsley, the carcasses (called “demoiselles” —or the misses) & tongues are grilled in the fireplace for snacks.

Speaking of carcasses: in 1990, while doing an internship at the Daguin’s restaurant I witnessed a “concours de demoiselles” organized by the Château St. Mont in Plaimont (Gers). The goal of the “carcass eating/cleaning contest” is to eat as many demoiselles as possible in the least amount of time while leaving the bones clean as a whistle. The winner then stepped on a Roman scale and the opposite pan was filled with cases of Château St. Mont wine until it balanced!

carte tour Eiffel

Another anecdote related to magret took place at the top floor restaurant of the Eiffel Tower in December of 1967. Jean & Renée Peyrafitte, my parents, & André & Jo Daguin, Ariane’s parents, were handed over the restaurant for La Quinzaine Midi-Pyrénées à la Tour Eiffel —two weeks of French Southwest fare in the skies of Paris — kind of the birth/ recognition of Cuisine du Terroir. I didn’t get to go, but I was 8 years old and I still remember all the excitement. The opening event was a banquet for the food writers and VIP’s. One of the most exciting items on the menu was the newly ‘dressed’ magret de canard. The magrets had been shipped from the Gers to arrive just on time, but on the morning of the event they had not yet arrived. The magrets were replaced with lamb and as in the Vatel story —though unlike Vatel my dad & André Daguin kept their calm and didn’t need to end their lifes over the problem— the magrets arrived during the luncheon. André Daguin, who like his daughter is never short of a creative idea when it comes to p.r., announced to the press that the magrets had just arrived; he showed them what they looked like, explained how to prepare them and one their way out all the diners were handed a magret wrapped in foil. They got many write-ups, lot of word of mouth publicity and the restaurant was packed for the two full weeks!

Today you can purchase magret through the d’Artagnan website. Some specialty store have duck breast but most of the time there are Muscovy Duck breast, which are good but smaller. One of my favorite recipe that I used to make often at the family restaurant is Magret with walnut and honey glaze. I made it the other night and yum! it is tasty.

Recipe for Magret aux Noix et au Miel:

magret sauteed

2 Moulard magrets can serve 4
1 Shallot finely chopped
½ cup of Armagnac or Brandy
1 cup of stock or 2 tablespoon of demi-glace
2 teaspoons of honey
2 Tbsp shelled walnuts
1 tbsp of unsalted butter

Score the skin of the duck magret. Do not cut into the meat, only the skin.
Salt and pepper both side.
Place in a warm skillet on the skin side — no need to add fat, the skin will render plenty.
Cook for about 8 minutes or so on the skin side —if you like it pink. More for well done.
Flip it over on the meat side for about 4 minutes.
Remove from the pan keep the magret between two plates to avoid loss of heat.
Drain the fat from the pan except for about 1 tablespoon—keep fat to sauté potatoes.
Sauté ½ cup of shallots until translucent.
Deglaze pan with 1/2 cup of Armagnac and flambé —I alway turn off the fan when I do it.
Add 1 tablespoon of honey and 1 cup of broth or better, some demi-glace. Let reduce, then add 2 Tbsp shelled walnuts —do not let the walnuts sit too long in the pan as they will give a bitter taste to your sauce.
Cut you magret in slices horizontally, pour all the juice in the sauce pan. At the last minute finish your sauce with a dollop of soft butter, salt & pepper to taste.
Serve with your favorite starch.
Thanks again and again to Renée Peyrafitte for saving & scanning the original documents.
Merci à André Daguin de répondre à mes questions.
And taben mercès pla ta l’amic Marc per l’ajude dab los mots en Gascon!
Adishatz!

Barked Memories

August 21^st 2009 / Lunch Time
Culinary Institute of America
The American Bounty Room

I am back in the Mid-Hudson Valley to accompany Miles for the last three days of the Muttnik shoot. I cannot resist returning to the C.I.A. This time I’ll have lunch at one of the “big” restaurants, preferably at the “Escoffier” or the “Villa de Medici.” No, I didn’t make a reservation and therefore I will not be “accommodated” in either of these rooms. Now my choices are: the “American Bounty Room” or return to the “Apple Pie Bakery Café.” No hesitation, I am on my way to the “American Bounty room.” I am ushered to a table for two facing the open kitchen. The setting before me is removed; I sit on the banquette across the “Julia Child Rotisserie Kitchen.” Two rows of antique rolling pins frame the sign. Below it, two impeccable pastry students are busy setting up dessert plates. The reverent & courteous student/waiter brings me the menu and offers cocktails. A quick look confirms that I will have the Dr. Frank Rkatsitelli, Vinifera 2006 from the Finger Lakes. I have read the online wine and lunch menu; it is easy for me to scan through and to decide on:

Sautéed Halibut ($16)
Sweet Manila Clams, Soffrito Rice, white Wine Broth
(sorry no pix, remember? not allowed inside the school)

And then starts an annoying conversation with two of my selves (I’m a Gemini):
Moi 1: “I am really overindulging by coming twice for lunch at the CIA in the same week.”
Moi 2: “But, I am here for a reason.”
Moi 1:“Oh! Yeah and what is the reason?”
Moi 2:“ Well, I’m gonna write about it on my blog!”
Moi 1: “Again?”

Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy writing the blog, but sometimes it feels like self-inflicted homework. English is not my first language and I am not a born writer. Why do I do it then? In different ways, whether I draw, sing or write, I find myself doing the same thing: I dwell on a particular situation and seek its “essence.” Using the blog gives a very convenient format, as it allows for all my interest to converge. But today feels like having a “still day.” I put my pen down, close my notebook and sip my wine.

Yum! the wine is crisp, clean & light. It reminds me some of the wines from Luxembourg. Rkatsitelli is an ancient grape from Georgia (Old world not USA!). I had it once before and liked it. Dr. Konstantin Frank wines are always interesting.

What is that human barking coming out of the kitchen? Every time one of the kitchen doors opens — there is one on each side of the kitchen window, one to get in & one to get out — we can hear the “aboyeur” (literal translation: the barker) dispatching orders. In this case an “aboyeuse” as it is a female announcing the orders to the appropriate station of the kitchen. This is a strategic position in a brigade system kitchen. Wow! I am having a flashback, and next thing I know I pick up pen and notebook:

I am a little girl in the corridor of the “office” of the family hotel. The “office” was the upstairs kitchen where some dessert and cold foods were prepared and most of all where the manual dumb waiter delivered the food from the downstairs kitchen. The orders were shouted into a speaker-phone. Then one copy of the order slip was sent down, the first carbon copy pinned on to the board next to “le passe” —that’s how we called the dumb waiter— , the third carbon copy was kept by the waiter to add any supplements and then sent out to the cashier to make the bill.

I was born in this hotel, in my parents’ bedroom just above the action and almost in the midst of it. It was June 18, 1960 at noon; the restaurant was running at full capacity. There was a banquet for a 100 top, the annual banquet luncheon for the Master Accountant Guild of the Southwest France region. The interesting fact is that my maternal grandfather, Maurice Gallot, was the president of the guild! My father didn’t get to see me until after the banquet was under control. My mother and I were in good hands between the midwife and her uncle who was a surgeon. My mother still remembers that my maternal grandfather bought champagne for the entire party! As far as the memory of the birth itself is concerned, she would always say: “C’est le mal joli, quand c’est fini on rit!” “It’s the pretty pain — once it’s over one laughs!.” She is always very positive! In case you are curious to know what was served the day of my birth, here it is taken from my grandfather agenda/menu book. The left side of the page is the regular Menu du Jour and the right side is the menu for the banquet.

Page left:
Lunch:
Hors d’Oeuvres (I have a post on this here) & Cantaloup
Trout Meunière
Entrecôte & Pommes Frites
(always served with Beurre Maître d’Hôtel)
Wild Stawberries & Fresh Cream

Dinner:
Soup du Jour
Braised duck with Garniture Printanière (diced spring veggies)
Asparagus (most likely served with hollandaise sauce)
Peaches

Page right:
The Banquet Menu
Consommé en tasse — cold consommé served in porcelain cup.
Langouste à la Parisienne — rock lobster in a sort of aspic glazed or a.k.a chaudfroid
Grilled chicken à l’Américaine — chicken crapaudine that is first grilled, then covered in a mustard sauce, then breaded and finished in the oven.
Salade Rachel — according the Escoffier cookbook: Equal parts of truffle shavings, rooster kidneys, celery ribs cut into thick julienne, asparagus tips. Light liaison with a thin mayonnaise.
Coupe Poste & Golf — It could be anything my grandfather felt like making! probably some sort of home made ice cream with liquor a fruits topped Chantilly and served with a cookie)

Café/Armagnac/ Liquors
Vin Nature de Champagne Abelé Sourire de Reims

I would like to make that menu for one of my birthdays! maybe for the big 50!
By the way I thank you very much for your comments about the blog on Facebook, but I would really appreciate if you would comment directly on the blog. Merci!

Wild Wild Roast

“No, I’m not coming to eat endangered animal meat,” says Miles. He is talking about the leg of izard, a.k.a: Rupicapra pyrenaica or Pyrenean chamois I cooked on a string before an open fire a few days before our departure from Bourg d’Oueil.
Too bad & more for us! It is a very special occasion as Pierre, my husband, waited patiently for close to twenty years to taste this exquisite & very hard to hunt Pyrenean wild goat. And no, it is not an endangered animal (Miles overstated his case), though it is indeed a protected species.

My close friend Joseph Garcès had heard from my dad that Pierre never tasted izard, so he brought us a leg that was hunted as ethically as possible by his nephew Jean-Claude. In the Pyrenees getting izard meat as a present is a significant gauge of friendship and esteem, all the more so if you are offered the gigot (the leg), as it is the best cut. It is short notice, but I am inviting Joseph and his partner Paulette to eat with us.
The leg is frozen as it was killed during the short and very regulated Izard hunting season last year. Once a year a team of garde chasse —government paid national hunting wardens— goes out to count the animals and apportion how many it will be safe to kill in a particular district. If the lot of apportioned animals is killed before the end of the hunting season, then the hunt is shut down for that year.

isards

Izard hunting is not just a walk in the woods. It takes serious hiking and the chase can last a few days. The beautiful, elegant and fast wild goats rarely hang out below 6000 feet, except in the winter when there is snow and they come under the tree line to find food in the forest. Their weight averages about 60 lbs for a height of about 3 feet. They love to be on steep rock debris covered slopes, and often “perch” on top of a dramatic mountain peak. It is impressive to see them climb straight up these abrupt terrains with a fast and sure hoof. The izard is the totem animal of the Pyrenees.

There are good reasons why izards are protected. The more disconcerting problem is the outbreak of the strange “Border Disease Virus” (BDV), a worldwide virus usually affecting only domesticated animals, that was detected around 2001 in the izard population. The pestivirus Border disease virus, is closely related to Bovine virus diarrhea and Classical swine fever virus, not to be mistaken with the swine flu. At this point it is difficult to get accurate public information, but the general sense is that after the epidemic peaked around 2005, the situation has improved. It is still unknown why some areas of the Pyrenees are more affected than others. My area is one of the less affected ones. There is always a few braconnier –poachers—, who hunt off-season, preferably in the winter when the animals are more vulnerable and easier to track. They use forbidden sniper rifles with silencers. If they get caught they can serve jail time & pay high fines. Another problem talked about is that the deer, introduced into the Pyrenees only in the 1970’s, deplete the resources the izards survive on, especially in winter. I will refrain from discussing the polemic subject of animal introduction or reintroduction in that region; this is a very heated topic especially when it comes to the bear issue.

This being said, it’s been more than 10 years that I ate a leg of izard. My brother Pierre, a barbeque expert, had roasted it inside his fireplace hanging on a string, and that’s the way I’m going to do it too:

Two days ahead I take the leg out of the freezer. The night before dinner I immerse it in a marinade of red wine, onions, garlic, herbs, pepper and a touch of honey —the one Joseph collects from his bees. I also install the nail inside the top frame of the hearth of the fireplace. I wanted to have about 3 hours before Joseph and Paulette were to arrive, but I got delayed visiting my dad and doing errands in town. I have only a couple of hours. The priority is to start a roaring fire and get the leg going, I have no idea how long it will take. Remember, I have never done this on my own, though I draw heavily on my vivid recollections of that day I sat with my brother and watched the leg roast while we sipped wine by the fire and gave the leg a little push once a while. I must admit that I am a bit nervous although I am trying to underplay Pierre’s anxiety. Yes! I started a little late, but I will play with the adjustable length of the string and will prop the leg as needed to make the cooking as efficient as possible. I know how to do that! I make the spaetzle with fatback and dried cèpes —I had hoped for fresh ones but none were found while we were there, the terrain was too dry. The guests arrive. Pierre says “it’s gonna take for ever!” I ignore the comment and rush them into having apéritifs. Everybody is more relaxed after the first whisky! I sensed that Paulette was also a little suspicious of my undertaking. The leg is definitely roasting well and there is plenty of food to nibble on while we wait. We serve some sardine tartines and the delicious pâté de chevreuil —venison pâté—Paulette made, followed by fresh goat cheese & tomato toasts.
It is intense: one side of my brain is totally engaged in the conversation that reveals some aspects of my family history Joseph & Paulette know a lot about, and the other side is directly connected to the leg in the fire! I occasionally sit down for a sip of wine and a bite of pâté, but I am mostly standing next to the fire moving the leg around, brushing it with olive oil & garlic until it finally looks done. At which point we all gather around the fire, I poke the leg with a long knife and the verdict is unanimous, there is no blood running when I pull the knife out, which means the meat is cooked! Joseph masterfully carves the burgundy colored red meat, showing off his 20 years of Maître d’H experience —14 of which were spent working at my family hotel. We all eat a lot of meat. It is tender, moist, it melts in the mouth and it is not as gamy as I remember it.
I love the rare slices close to the bone. The red burgundy wine Joseph brought complements it beautifully (sorry I forgot to write down the info).

We are sated but …what about a little slice of Poubeau cheese? O yeah! Just a tiny piece to finish the wine! And we can’t possibly ignore Paulette’s scrumptious and light fondant au chocolat. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, now let’s wash it all down with a 25 year old Armagnac to make sure we digest well!
Merci Joseph, Paulette et Jean-Claude!

The party is over!

The party is over in the Pyrenees, we will return home tomorrow. I will post a few more things about my trip, but with much regrets it will be from New York State. Miles and I have to return early as Miles is being called to finish Muttnik.
Today we had our last concert in Peyragudes and I will post a few pix and videos later. We had a blast and after the concert as we had a drink at our favorite watering hole, “le Faisant Doré,” one of my brother’s friend paid me the funniest comment ever: “How come you speak English wich such a perfect accent and French with such a thick one!”. Yeah! go figure!

Anyhow, 2 days ago Pierre decided to go back to Bourg d’Oueil early after a day in Luchon to be able to stop for dinner at the Sapin Fleuri. We had a marvelous meal full of remiscences for me. This is what we had:

Potage de Légumes (both of us)
vegetable soup

Truite Meunière (Pierre)
Pan fried trout
Ramequin (Nicole)

Faux Filet (Pierre)
Truite Meunière (Nicole)

Tarte aux Fruits
Fruit Tart

Our wine was a simple clean & chilled Saumur Champigny (Cabernet Franc). This was a lovely way to say good by to Bourg d’Oueil. The Ramequin where definitely a wink to my grandfather’s version called “Le Ramequin Poste et Golf” ( a light a divine crust less quiche, remind me to give you the recipe. It will make a great low-cal brunch item). My father always said : Jeannot Toucouère (father and co-owner of the Sapin Fleuri) was one of the best cook they had at my family restaurant. The hotel-restaurant is now run by Jeannot (father) Olivier (son) & Sylvie (Olivier’s wife) and I even saw Adrien (their 3 year old son) helping out super efficiently in the kitchen! They are all very dear to me and eating there is always an emotional moment. I will have a last glass of wine and then close down the suitcase for tomorow early call. Can’ wait to be back!

I Say Poubeau Cheeese!

While in the Pyrenees, Miles Joris-Peyrafitte (my younger son) and I have two gigs at the mountain resort of Peyragudes. Our first one was last Thursday and the next one is this coming Thursday (08/13/09). Peyragudes is located at the top of the Peyresourde pass (If you follow the Tour de France bike race you might have seen this breathtaking valley on TV, the pass has been part of the race since 1910).
When we drove up for tech rehearsal Miles noticed a road sign pointing to “Poubeau”. He asked me if this village was related to the Poubeau cheese. “Yes Miles! and if we have time we should stop on our way down” I replied. Thanks to my brother Jean-Louis’ efficiency our session was smooth and short and we could stop in Poubeau on the way down.

It was rush hour at the farm, the cows had been milked and many customers where lined up for fresh milk and cheese. Jean-Pierre Lavigne, the cheese maker with whom I was good friends when we were young, recognized me immediately and greeted me very warmly. We waited patiently for our turn while being entertained by the banter between Jean-Pierre and the customers. When our turn came we were brought to the cave to taste and pick our cheese. Jean-Pierre apologized for the lack of older cheese: “I got burglarized this winter and lost a lot of cheeses, so there is no way I can give you anything too aged, but this one should be good”. We got one wheel of cheese and 1½ liter of fresh milk. I promised Jean-Pierre that I would return before my departure to take more pictures and chat a little. On the way down Miles started drinking the milk out of the bottle and then asked:
“Is there another place where they make Poubeau cheese?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“You guys talk so much about this cheese that it is hard to believe it all comes from here!”
Miles grew up with the Poubeau cheese mythology. One year my mother managed to fool the US customs and sent an entire wheel through the mail for Christmas – that was before September 11th 2001. Another year our friend Eric Paul, then in charge of the dairy section at the Albany Food Coop, was determined to import Poubeau cheese. A cheese distributor assured him he could get him some. Twice Eric called to urge me to come to the coop; the shipment had arrived and I should be the first tasting the Poubeau cheese. Sadly I had twice to tell him that it was not Poubeau cheese but a generic pasteurized Pyrenean cheese that was not remotely close to the Poubeau.

I told the story to Jean-Pierre and he confirmed that there is no way his cheese could travel overseas via a distributor. As a matter of fact, he is not allowed to sell his cheese beyond a 80 kms radius. He went on to explain that his operation functions with a special dispensation. His mode of fabrication doesn’t comply with all the super cumbersome European Union norms. He sells about 1700 cheeses a year, mostly at the farm. He has 2 retailers in the town of Luchon and a couple of restaurants in the area.
Jean-Pierre minds a herd of 14 Brown cows and makes cheese every other day, he has one helper coming a few hours a day and hopes to be able to take one day a week off, once Gabriel –the new helper- is trained.

In winter, when the cows are stabled for most of the day, he supplements his income working at the Peyragudes ski resort. He works has a ski patrol/rescuer and loves the change of pace and action on the slopes. When Pierre and I went back to take pictures and talk to him I should have asked more practical question on how to make the cheese but we started reminiscing about the past and Jean-Pierre’s loved sharing his salsa dancing passion. One of thing we discussed though was that due to the lack of land available in the area, he had to buy land 70 kms away to be able to make enough hay to feed the cows in winter. The land that could be available for farming is slowly being taken over by the more lucrative business of tourism and second homes. In order to buy the land mentioned above he went to see his banker to get a loan. The banker was being very demanding in terms of guarantees. Jean-Pierre appropriately pointed out to him that if he would walk right into a car dealer’s lot he would get instant credit to buy a 30 000 euro car (same amount of the loan he needed to purchase the land). How come he could get a car in one afternoon and not get land to feed his cows? It is not an easy life to be a farmer anywhere, but it sounds like the European system is applying a lot of the agri-biz policies the U.S is trying to recover from. One hope though is that José Bové was recently elected at the European parliament and is working on agricultural issues.
We returned to the valley with another cheese and left Jean-Pierre with his beautiful children who had been serving us the most beautiful pretend-food throughout our stay. If you want to taste Poubeau cheese you will have to visit the area, however Pierre and I tried to describe it:
A fresh and clean cow milk taste, with a complex nutty undertone. The texture is supple and subtle. The rind is not too thick and I always eat it —I like tasting the mold of the aging layers.

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