An American suddenly finding himself in a small town in France a week or more before Christmas might well wonder whether this holiday is celebrated at all. To him, all outward show of it would be lacking. The small shops aren't bright with red and green trimmings or stacked with Christmas merchandise, the post office looks little different from any other time, and neither the elaborate toys and gadgets made for the Christmas trade nor the brilliantly lighted Christmas trees that Americans have come to expect are anywhere to be seen.
But Christmas, believe a Frenchman, is not overlooked and never has been. Mais non! Just settle down for a winter in a French town and you won't be able to escape the week-by-week preparations that lead up to December twenty-fifth. They are preparations for food, however, not for gifts, because in France this is a religious feast day and centers, as they all do, first around the church and then around the family dinner table. It is as memorable as an American Christmas, albeit, I think, a shade less nerve-wracking. If there is un arbre de Noë;l, it is set up by the town in the schoolhouse, parents taking only the little ones under five to see the tree. Very inexpensive presents are given them, oranges or small animal toys. Older children are remembered at New Year's by père Janvier, with gifts placed in sabots left on the hearth. And the special holiday candies—fancy fondant, chocolates, and marrons glacés—are for New Year's, too.
When late autumn and winter bring colder, shorter days and long nights, it is almost like another life in France. The change of season spurs appetites, and there is more time for sitting around the table and enjoying a good meal during la veillée, as the time between dusk and bedtime is called. After the first weeks of December are ticked off the calendar, the honking of geese carefully fattened up all summer will be heard no longer, and many a grunting pig has disappeared. The farmer's wife begins cleaning the big black kettles, and a good supply of boudin and andouillette and tête de porc for Noël is assured. Then, since the harvest is all in, there's time for hunting, too, and December's pheasant, rabbit, and other game come to the Christmas feast as spicy pâtés enclosed in golden-brown crusts.
My memories of Christmas in France are threefold. Many were spent at my grandparents' farm where the poultry and animals for their own table were raised and slaughtered. Root vegetables were stored for a long winter, fruits dried, chestnuts gathered and taken from the prickly burrs, and all the other chores done that townspeople are not concerned with.
But in my own home I watched the preparations of a small-town Christmas, a recurrent pattern my mother went through each year. She had, for example, a special farmer with whom she traded in the market and with whom she dickered, I might add—and for many weeks she never stopped asking him about our holiday goose that he was raising. Was it getting extra plump? How much did he think it would weigh? And so on. She bought the chestnuts when they arrived in the market in the autumn and set aside enough for stuffing the goose. That was usually the last time during the year that we had chestnuts because they are not good when kept too long. The dried plums had to be picked over and the best ones selected for the Christmas tarts, the wine placed in the cellar to wait quietly for the feast alongside a good bottle of cognac.
And as the great day drew near, extra eggs and cream must be ordered for the oeufs à la neige and from the pâtisserie enough ladyfingers and macaroons to eat with them. Finally the crusty bread must be picked up from the boulangerie and the headcheese and saucissons from the charcuterie. The aunts, uncles, cousins, and others who would sit around our big table all Christmas afternoon could put away plenty of good food.
But I also have memories of Christmas in Moulins, a larger, more sophisticated place, where I served my apprenticeship. That was cooking of another kind done for the rich aristocracy. The kitchens of their great chateaux, although always very well staffed, seldom made the holiday extras. So we started our Christmas at three or four in the morning and kept going until eight or nine at night. We made the beautiful Christmas brioches which the gentry gave to the hospitals and convents to brighten their Christmas morning and which they also sent to the church for the pain bénit. That is the bread blessed by the priest and then cut into small pieces to be passed through the church by altar boys with cheeks bulging from what they have managed to stuff into their own mouths first.
Vol-au-vent with special fillings and fine sauces, pâtés and terrines of alouette, faisan, perdrix, and lièvre—game so prized by French gourmets—and another Christmas specialty, les bûches de Noël, the Christmas logs that are chocolate-coated sponge rolls filled with crème au beurre: all had to be made. And in Moulins it was that I was introduced to ice cream as a feast-day dessert. It had never been a part of the cuisine of mon pays—when I was a boy. But we had no easy-turning freezers. The mixture was stirred with a spoon in a big metal can set in a bucket of ice and salt. We made these foods, we delivered them, and we arranged them on the platters with their garnishings all ready for the servants to take to the table. The excellent Christmas dinner that we ate with Monsieur Calondre and his family—and it was excellent—in the middle of the day was well earned. A long, hard afternoon and evening followed it, to say nothing of the busy morning we had already put in.
There's a tendency in France for the same spécialités to appear each year when the various seasons and holidays make their appearance. In most homes on Christmas Eve, for example, a little repast called le réveillon is eaten after the midnight mass. It consists of headcheese and sausages—the kind that are sliced cold—with perhaps a pâtè made of game, all served with crusty bread and good vins du pays. A household not following this custom will serve these delicacies as an hors-d'oeuvre at the dinner next day, but those who enjoy them before going to bed usually skip them at the noonday feast. Soup is always served, pot-au-feu, of course, and we knew that the piece of beef cooked in it had been put away and would appear the day after Christmas with sauce piquante or lyonnaise.
Here is a favorite Christmas menu that I remember well.
Pot-au-Feu
Oie Rôtie
Beignets de Salsifis
Farce de Marrons
Céleri-Rave et Betteraves à la Vinaigrette
Oeufs à la Neige
Petits Fours
Crème Moka
Brioche
Tarte aux Pruneaux
Many families favored turkey, some capon, and others rabbit or hare. Potatoes were seldom served. When one has them every day in the year, and as a rule three times a day, who wants them with the holiday goose? Green salad, unfortunately, was out of the question in winter, so our salad was knob celery and beets, both root vegetables that could be stored. Thus our vegetables were distributed through the meal, as you can see, leeks, carrots, and turnips appearing in the soup and beets and celery in the salad, not all of them served with the goose. When we were eating la pièce de résistance, we didn't like it overshadowed by a vast array of vegetables.
Before the goose is cooked, the stuffing has to be made, and that brings up the matter of the chestnuts. Many people tell me they have trouble in getting the shells off, but it is easy enough when done this way.
Preparation of Chestnuts
Cut a small incision through the shell of each chestnut with a very sharp knife. Put them on a pan in a very hot oven (450° to 500°F.) or under the broiler heat for 5 or 6 minutes, or until they open. If they are well roasted, the shells and the skin underneath will slip off. Put the shelled nuts in a saucepan with enough water or white stock to cover and add 2 or 3 stalks of celery. Bring to a boil and cook for 20 or 25 minutes. Cool the nuts in the water until ready to use.
In preparing goose, always remember that every bit of goose fat should be saved. It is an excellent fat of many uses, second only to butter in the opinion of many Continental gourmets. After Christmas, we always had goose fat spread on the bread we carried to school for our lunch, and my mother also used it in cooking potatoes and many other vegetables like Brussels sprouts and red cabbage. If you remove it from the pan as the goose is roasting and before it cooks too long, the fat can be kept in a jar in the refrigerator for several weeks.
Here is the way my mother cooked the Christmas goose:
Chestnut Stuffing for Goose
Melt 3 tablespoons goose fat in a saucepan, add 2 tablespoons chopped onions, and cook until the onions are golden. Add the chopped goose liver, mix it well with the hot fat and onions, but do not cook it. Season with salt and pepper. Run 1/2 pound fresh lean pork and 1/2 pound fresh fat pork through the meat grinder or use 1 pound fresh sausage meat. Season it with 1/2 teaspoon salt mixed with a little Parisian spice or a tiny pinch of poultry seasoning. To this add either 3 tablespoons brandy or 4 ounces Madeira or sherry. Add the onion and liver mixture, 1 well-beaten egg, 2 to 3 dozen cooked chestnuts, depending on the size of the bird, and 1 teaspoon chopped parsley. Mix all together well.
Roast Goose
Clean and singe the goose. Stuff it and sew the vent. Truss the bird to hold legs and wings close to the body and rub the outside with a clove of garlic and a little salt. Put the goose in a roasting pan on its side and brush it with 2 tablespoons goose fat. Pour 1/2 cup hot water in the pan and cook in a moderately hot oven (425°F.), allowing 15 to 18 minutes for each pound and basting frequently with the fat in the pan. If the water evaporates and the juice which comes out of the bird seems to be getting too brown, add a little hot water to the pan. Skim off some of the surplus fat from time to time.
After 1 hour, turn the bird to the other side and continue to turn it about every 1/2 hour. Lay it on its back for the last 15 minutes to brown the breast. The bird will be done when the juice which follows the fork used to test it is clear and no longer pink. Remove it to a serving dish.
Skim all the fat from the juice in the pan, add 1/2 cup water or white stock, and cook the gravy, stirring in all the brown crustiness that has formed around the pan. Serve this gravy separately. During the last 1/2 hour of cooking the goose, broil or sauté small sausages to garnish the platter. Two dozen cooked chestnuts or mushrooms sautéed in goose fat may be placed around the bird.
When the goose is cleaned and prepared for the oven, the neck, wings, heart and gizzard are left out. These parts were always made into a stew called abattis and served for lunch the day before Christmas.
Abattis of Goose Ménagère
Season the wing tips, neck, gizzard, and heart of a goose with salt. Melt 2 tablespoons goose fat in a saucepan, add the pieces of goose, and cook them on all sides until they are golden-brown. Drain any excess fat from the pan and add 1 tablespoon chopped onion, 1 teaspoon chopped shallots, 1 clove of garlic, crushed, and 2 tablespoons flour. Mix well and cook until the flour is golden-brown. Add 1 cup red or white wine (and 1/2 cup tomato juice, if desired) and enough water to cover the pieces of goose. Bring to a boil, mix well, and add a faggot of 4 sprigs of parsley, 1 stalk of celery, a little thyme, and a small bay leaf.
In another pan parboil 2 cups chopped celery or knob celery and 3 carrots cut in pieces for 8 to 10 minutes and drain. Sauté 12 small onions in butter or good fat until golden. Add the vegetables to the stew and also 2 or 3 cups potatoes cut in pieces.
Cook the stew for 45 to 60 minutes longer, or until the meat is tender. Remove the faggot and, if desired, add 24 cooked chestnuts, heating them for a few minutes in the stew. Correct the seasoning and add a little freshly ground pepper. Put in a serving dish and garnish with broiled small sausages and chopped parsley.
If you want to serve salsify, or oyster plant, as it is often called, it is important to know that after the roots are peeled and the inside is exposed to the air they will darken more quickly than almost anything else I know. Therefore plunge them immediately into water to which vinegar or lemon juice has been added.
Salsify or Oyster Plant
Cut the tops from salsify or oyster plant, scrape them, and put them into acidulated water, 2 tablespoons vinegar for each quart. Use large vegetables so that the pieces will be 3 to 4 inches long. Mix 1 tablespoon flour with a little water in a saucepan, dilute it with 1 quart water, and add 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1 tablespoon vinegar. Bring to the boil, add the salsify or oyster plant pieces, and cook for 1 to 1 1/2 hours. When they are tender, drain.
To serve, combine the salsify with cream sauce or meat gravy; sauté it in butter; fry it in hot deep fat; or make it into fritters.
Salsify or Oyster Plant Fritters
Roll pieces of cooked salsify or oyster plant in chopped parsley and marinate them for 15 minutes in a mixture of 2 parts salad oil and 1 part lemon juice. Dip the pieces in fritter batter, covering each completely. Fry the slices in hot deep fat (375&176;F.), a few at a time, until golden-brown. Drain and salt lightly.
The salad may be made with either raw or cooked celery knob, which is also delicious by itself in a vinaigrette sauce.
Celery Knob and Beet Salad Vinaigrette
Peel 6 celery knobs and cut them in julienne. Spread them on a platter, sprinkle generously with salt, and leave for 1/2 hour. Drain and press out all the moisture with a towel.
Or cover the julienne of celery knob with boiling water, cook for 1 minute, drain, and rinse with fresh cold water.
Combine the julienne prepared either way with vinaigrette sauce (see below) and chopped parsley mixed with a little chopped tarragon and chervil.
To cook celery knob, peel 6 celery knobs, cover them with water in a saucepan, and add a little salt. Boil for 40 minutes, or until they are soft but not mushy. Cool the celery, slice or dice them, and salt to taste.
Wash 6 large winter beets and bake them in a moderately hot oven (375°F.) for about 40 minutes. Peel, cool, and cut them in julienne or mince them rather coarsely. Boil 1 onion for 15 minutes, drain, cool, and dice it, or use 1/4 cup chopped scallions or 1 tablespoon chopped chives.
Mix celery knob, prepared in any of the ways, and beets with vinaigrette sauce or cream mustard.
Vinaigrette Sauce
Mix together 1 tablespoon vinegar, 3 tablespoons salad oil, a little salt and pepper, and a little dry mustard.
Cream Mustard
Mix together 1 teaspoon prepared mustard, a little salt and pepper, and a few drops of lemon juice. Add little by little 1/2 cup cream, stirring vigorously until it is well combined.
The dessert was always a high point of the meal, probably because we didn't have dessert every day in the week. Oeufs à la neige was a great favorite, rich and tasty. It corresponded in a way to ice cream in that the custard base is made much like the mixture that is frozen to make ice cream. Oeufs à la neige, at any rate, was always a real holiday dessert. My mother used to serve it from her great big china salad bowl, and we ate great dishes of it.
Oeufs à la Neige (Snow Eggs)
Beat the whites of 8 eggs until stiff, adding 1/2 cup sugar, little by little, as they start to stiffen. Add a piece of vanilla bean to 1 quart milk in a large saucepan and heat until it is scalded. Remove the milk from the fire and drop spoonfuls of the egg white on top. Return the saucepan to a low heat, poach the meringues for 2 minutes, and turn them to poach for 2 minutes on the other side. Remove the meringues with a skimmer and drain them on a towel.
Mix together 8 egg yolks and 1 cup sugar, beating until creamy. Add 2 teaspoons flour. Pour the hot milk over the eggs, stirring briskly. Return the pan to the fire and cook over low heat, stirring constantly until the mixture thickens. Do not let it boil. Strain the custard through a fine sieve and chill. Serve it with the meringues floating on top and, if desired, sprinkle them with grated chocolate or caramelized sugar.
The prunes for our plum tarts usually came from my grandfather's farm, and many a one had gone into my mouth from the trays while they were drying first in the sun and then in a big brick oven. My grandmother baked her own bread about once a week: one week in her own oven, the next in her neighbor's, and so on, a fashion they all followed to save fuel and the work of making the fires to heat up the huge ovens. In the fruit-drying season, the big straw trays were put in the ovens when they had not quite cooled, and the bricks gave off a little gentle warmth. The great iron doors were left swinging open, and the smell of the drying fruit was too much of a temptation for little boys, especially when there was room enough to climb inside. Many a time I was pulled out by the seat of my pants by a very annoyed grandparent. The dried fruit was distributed to the sons and daughters living away from the farm.
Tarte aux Pruneaux (Dried Plum Tart)
Cook 12 to 15 prunes slowly in 1 1/2 cups red wine to which a scant 1/2 cup sugar and 1 or 2 slices of lemon have been added. When done, remove the pits and cool the prunes. Line the tart pan with tart pastry, building up the edge to hold in fruit and juice. Fill it with the fruit and cover the top with strips of the pastry. Brush the pastry with a mixture of 1 egg beaten with a little milk. Bake in a hot oven (450&176;F.) for about 15 minutes, or until the pastry is browned.