La vraie cuisine francaise is only really appreciated when one becomes familiar with the regional dishes. And by regional dishes I mean those that are made in certain sections from the local foodstuffs. A Frenchman never looks down his nose at foods that happen to be abundant and therefore inexpensive. Mais non—that is when he goes to work on them to bring out all the most delectable qualities and evolve the dishes renowned the world over. Sometimes these regional dishes cannot be exactly duplicated away from the little sections which have made them famous. But usually it is possible to substitute a different vegetable or fish, another wine or cheese, and still achieve an unusual and distinctive dish.
Typical of this kind of cooking is matelote, a fish stew made from fish caught in the rivers that thread their way through France to the sea. There are many variations of matelote, each section using its own local fish. You can, in fact, find almost as many different fish in matelote recipes as you will see among the cupids and mermaids that decorate the Pont Alexandre III, that well-known bridge crossing the Seine at Paris. And that is a wide choice. Matelote is, however, pretty much a dish of the interior, a fresh-water fish concoction. The sauce of this stew must contain wine, the kind depending, as does the fish, upon the region where the matelote is made. In other words, the local fish is sauced with the local wine.
I write about matelote with the most nostalgic of feelings because it is a favorite of mon pays—of that interior section of France where I lived—far removed from the coastline of France and a part of the country where very little salt-water fish was available. In my youth the business of icing and transporting fish regularly from the Mediterranean and Atlantic Coast cities to small inland cities and towns had not been developed. So we depended on the local streams and lakes for our fish, all fresh-water kinds. And very good they were, I can assure you, the finest truite, carpe, tanche (tench), anguille (eel), goujon (gudgeon), and brochet (pike).
In the neighborhood where I was brought up, we didn't depend only upon the local rivers for fish. Almost every farm—and our verdant fields made the most splendid of farms—had its own fishpond. These were low spots in fields, covering perhaps an acre or more of ground, which were dammed up to hold in enough water to make a place for fish to live. From this source the farmers got most of the fish for their families—a very practical and economical way, in fact, for country families to have a regular supply of fish. Without these ponds they would have eaten very little fish and missed the variation and enjoyment that fish can add to the menu. Without them we would certainly have been denied the occasional treats of matelote that we were so fond of.
The fish in these ponds always seemed to breed more rapidly than they could be eaten and, in the course of two or three years, would have to be thinned out. With the many farms spotted over the countryside, this meant that every year several ponds would be cleaned out. These pond drainings were gala occasions for the neighbors who shared the event—and the fish. They were always masculine affairs, never shared by the women or small children. I can remember how grown up I felt the first time I was allowed to pull on my long boots in preparation for the trip in the two-wheeled cart with my uncle—and with what anticipation I watched my aunt pack the food hamper with saucissons, cheese and bread, with meat pies and fruit tarts. How eagerly I helped my uncle stow this provender into the cart, along with plenty of his favorite vin rouge, his long-handled nets, and the big, round fish tub. It comes back to me as a confused picture of food, wine, nets, and excitement with Tante Pauline waving “bonne chance” from the kitchen doorway, as we drove off, my young chest bursting with importance.
It took the water quite some time to drain out after the dam was opened, so our waiting lasted through one night at least, often a second one, and even sometimes a third night. The last night called for a big fire around which we sat and ate the good food, washed down with plenty of wine, and recounted stories of the neighborhood—many of them the exaggerations of bygone days that Americans call “tall stories”—the better to keep awake. Especially we kept a weather eye out for petty thieves from other sections who, hearing that there would be a pond draining, would drive quietly over on the other side of the pond and try to steal the fish to take away and sell. The flickering firelight on dark trees and glistening water, the tales of past exploits and rough fights when thieves became too bold, and the late hour of eating were all very exciting to a youngster and a generally satisfying kind of picnic for the men.
Finally the time would arrive when the water became so shallow that the fish covered its entire surface. This ended the picnic, and work began in earnest. We rushed back and forth, first filling our nets with fish and then emptying them into the tubs because we had to work fast to get out as many fish as possible before they were sucked into the mud by the sinking water. Experience told these farmers about when to open up the dam so that we would finish about sunrise, a convenient hour to start off to town with the catch. Some of the men sold theirs in nearby villages, others to rural inns, which in our part of France invariably had small garden pools stocked with enough fish to assure their customers a continuous fresh supply. But some of us always took our share home, our mouths watering for the good matelote which would soon come steaming to the table. This fine fish stew needs several kinds of fish, just as does bouillabaisse, and in my home it was only after these pond drainings that my mother had all the different kinds of fish together at one time.
The famous French gourmet, BrillatSavarin, put matelote high in the scale of good fish dishes. In his Physiology of Taste he says that “Fish under skillful hands may become an inexhaustible resource of gustatory enjoyments. It is served up entire, sliced in pieces, done in water, in oil, in wine, hot or cold, and is always well received, but it never deserves a warmer welcome than when it is brought up en matelote,” a statement with which I am in hearty accord. He also says that “This stew, though of necessity a dish often eaten by the sailors on our rivers and made in perfection only by the innkeepers on the banks of such rivers, owes to them, nevertheless, a delicacy which is unsurpassed. Those who love fish never see it appear without expressing the highest delight, either because it combines several good qualities, or because it can be eaten in unlimited quantities without fear either of satiety or of indigestion.” And in my boyhood we certainly ate great quantities of it and never knew what it was to have indigestion!
In making matelote, you should select firm fish and the kinds that are not full of tiny bones. In this country, carp, bass, and perch are a good selection, also lake —not brook—trout. Eels are always included. Matelote is a stew and so does not require a great deal of liquid, but wine is the liquid that is always used— preferably a good dry white wine, although there are some who like a dry red better. This recipe is the one we used in my home in France.
Matelote Marinière
Clean well about 3 pounds fish (perch, carp, bass, and eels), cut in medium-sized pieces, put in a saucepan, and cover with white (or red) wine. Add 1 onion, minced, 2 cloves garlic, minced, 1 teaspoon salt, and a fagot made by tying together a sprig of parsley, 1 bay leaf, and a little thyme. Bring to a boil and cook gently for 12 to 15 minutes. Cook separately 8 to 10 small white onions and 8 to 10 small mushrooms. Remove the fish to a serving dish and keep warm. Prepare beurre manié by creaming together 2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon flour and add to the liquid in the pan. Bring to the boil and stir constantly until the sauce is thickened. Correct the seasoning with salt. Arrange the cooked onions and mushrooms over and around the fish and strain the sauce over it all. Garnish with slices of French bread toasted or fried in butter.
Many of the regional variations of matelote are famous. For example, there is a matelote spécialité called la po-chouse that is made in Verdun sur-le- Doubs—which, incidentally, is not the Verdun of World War I fame that is situated on the Meuse, but another Ver-dun located where the Doubs and the Saône rivers come together. The Doubs is a good-sized stream, well stocked with fish, and the hotels in the vicinity attract people from all over who come for a dish of la pochouse—named for that particular section of the country.
La Pochouse de Verdun
In making this dish or any dish using fresh-water fish, it is best to discard the roe because the roe of fresh-water fish is not usually very good. If it seems to be especially good, it can be sautéed in butter and served as a garnish, but I would seldom advise doing it.
Clean 4 pounds fish (pike, carp, perch, bass, eels) and cut in 2 inch pieces. Season with salt and pepper, put in a saucepan, and cover with dry white wine. In another saucepan parboil 1 cup diced salt pork for 5 minutes in water to cover. Drain and return to the pan with a little melted butter to cook until the pork dice are golden-brown. Add 4 cloves garlic, crushed, and a fagot made of 3 sprigs parsley, 1 small bay leaf, and a little thyme. Bring to a boil and cook for 20 to 25 minutes. Add beurre manié, made by creaming together 3 tablespoons butter with 1 tablespoon flour, mixing it in a little at a time, moving and shaking the saucepan to blend it into the liquid. Do not stir with a spoon or a fork because this will break the fish. Cook slowly for 10 minutes longer or until the fish is done. Add 2 tablespoons butter, shaking and moving the pan to blend it. Sauté slices of bread in butter, rub with a cut piece of garlic, and arrange in a serving dish. Place a piece of fish on each slice of toast. Discard the fagot from the sauce, then remove the pork dice and sprinkle them over the fish. Correct the seasoning of the sauce, strain it, and pour it over the fish.
Another kind of matelote is called la meurette. Actually la meurette is a sauce made with red wine that can be used on any white meat such as chicken or veal, as well as on eggs. But generally it is used on fresh-water fish like carp.
Meurette of Carp
Clean 3 to 4 pounds of a fresh-water fish (carp, bass, or perch) and cut in 2 inch pieces. Put 1 quart red wine in a saucepan, boil for 10 minutes, and add the fish. It should be well covered with the wine. Add 1 teaspoon salt, a little pepper, 2 cloves garlic, crushed, and a very little ground nutmeg. Pour on a pony of cognac and flambé—that is, ignite it. Cook for 15 minutes and add manié butter, made by creaming together 3 tablespoons butter with 1 tablespoon flour, shaking and moving the saucepan to blend the butter into the liquid. Avoid stirring with a spoon or fork because you will break the fish. Simmer very gently—or as the French would say, mijoter—for about 5 to 10 minutes or until the fish is done. To make the sauce richer, add 2 tablespoons butter, moving and shaking the pan to blend it. Sauté bread slices in butter, rub with a cut piece of garlic, and arrange in a serving dish. Place a piece of fish on each slice of bread, correct the seasoning of the sauce, strain it, and pour over the fish.
In sections where port wine is a favorite, it is used for the wine flavor of the matelote, and in some sections beer is used instead of wine.
Matelote with Port Wine
Clean 3 to 4 pounds of fish (carp, perch, bass, eels) and cut in 2 inch pieces. Make a petite mirepoix (a vegetable base) thus: cut 1 carrot in very fine dice, chop 1 onion very finely, add ½ bay leaf and a little thyme, and cook slowly in 2 tablespoons butter for 15 minutes. Add 2 shallots, chopped, and ½ pound mushrooms that have been cleaned and finely minced. Season the fish with ½ teaspoon salt and a little pepper and place on top of the mirepoix. Add ½ cup port wine and 1 pint white stock or enough to cover the fish, bring to a boil, and cook for 20 to 25 minutes or until the fish is done. Remove the fish to a serving dish. In another saucepan, melt 2 tablespoons butter, add 1 tablespoon flour, and cook until it just starts to turn golden. Add the cooking liquor of the fish and cook, stirring constantly, until all is blended and the sauce thickens. Continue cooking for 15 minutes. Correct the seasoning, add 1 teaspoon chopped parsley, about ¼ cup port wine, and 2 tablespoons butter, and pour the sauce over the fish.
Matelote with Beer
This can also be made with salt-water fish. Clean 3 ½ to 4 pounds fish (carp, perch, bass, eels) and cut in 2 inch pieces. Melt 3 tablespoons butter in a saucepan, add 1 onion, finely chopped, and cook to a light golden color. Add 3 shallots, chopped, 2 cloves garlic, crushed, and ½ pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced. Season the fish with 1 teaspoon salt and a little pepper. Put a layer of half the fish in the pan, sprinkle with the crumbs of 2 graham crackers, add a fagot made by tying together 3 sprigs parsley, 1 bay leaf, and a little thyme, and add another layer of the remaining fish. Pour in beer to cover and bring to a boil. Pour on a pony of cognac and ignite it. Cook for 25 minutes or until the fish is done. Put the fish in a serving dish. Remove the fagot from the sauce, correct the seasoning, add 1 teaspoon chopped parsley, and pour over the fish. The sauce should be sufficiently thickened by the crumbled crackers.
Two other regional specialties are the matelotes of Bourbonnais and of Normandie. The former is typical of the cuisine bourbonnaise with which I am so very familiar because that is mon pays — the section of France where I was raised. The Bourbonnais kind of matelote has the salt pork dice, the mushrooms and onions and the red wine that we love to combine in all sorts of dishes from coq au vin to matelote. The Normandie matelote is made, as you might suppose, with salt-water fish, with cider instead of wine, and ignited with Calvados instead of cognac.
Matelote à la Bourbonnaise
Clean 3 to 4 pounds fish (carp, perch, tench, bass, eels) and cut in 2 inch pieces. Parboil ½ cup diced salt pork for 5 minutes in water to cover; drain. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a saucepan, add the pork dice and 12 small onions, and cook them until golden-brown. Add ½ pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced, 3 shallots, chopped, 2 cloves garlic, crushed, and 1 tablespoon flour. Mix all together well. Add the fish, seasoned with 1 teaspoon salt and a little pepper, and 1 quart red wine. Bring to a boil and add a fagot made by tying together 3 sprigs parsley, 1 bay leaf, and a little thyme. Cover and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes or until the fish is done. Put the fish in a deep serving dish. Discard the fagot from the sauce, correct the seasoning, and add 2 tablespoons butter. Arrange the onions and mushrooms over and around the fish and pour the sauce over. Sprinkle with 1 teaspoon chopped parsley and garnish with crayfish cooked in court-bouillon or with fried goujons and with slices of French bread sautéed in butter.
Matelote à la Normande
Clean 3 ½ to 4 pounds fish (sole, striped bass, sea bass, and other firm fish) and cut in 2 inch pieces. Put in a saucepan 2 onions, finely chopped, 2 cloves garlic, crushed, 2 tablespoons butter, and a fagot made by tying together 3 sprigs parsley, 1 bay leaf, and a little thyme. Add the fish seasoned with ½ teaspoon salt and a little pepper. Add 1 quart cider, bring to a boil, pour on 1 pony of Calvados, and light it. Cover the saucepan, bring to a rapid boil, and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes or until the fish is done. Put the fish in a deep heatproof soup tureen or casserole. Add to the fish in the serving dish ½ pound cooked mushrooms, quartered if very large, 12 or more each cooked mussels, cooked oysters, and cooked shrimp. In another pan, melt 2 tablespoons butter, add 1 tablespoon flour, and cook until it just starts to turn golden. Combine with the cooking liquor of the fish and cook for 25 minutes. Finish the sauce with ¾ cup heavy cream, bring to the boil, and correct the seasoning. Strain over the fish and garnish with French bread triangles fried in butter.