Granted it’s well past the fact, but no one really reads this blog anyway.
In America, Christmas is a time to decorate our homes with whatever didn’t melt in the attic the year before and to listen to a genre of songs so tacky that we make exceptions for Alvin and the Chipmunks. But in France, there isn’t this same hysteria necessitating countless movies, songs, and decor which have begun to emerge on the other side of November’s third-Thursday. Rather for the French, it’s all about the food, meaning the holiday is more comparable to our Thanksgiving than Christmas. I was lucky enough to have a friend invite me to celebrate it with her family.
Smoked salmon from a four-star hotel with cream, homemade foie gras (duck liver pâté), and bread with nuts.
Capon is a male chicken that has been castrated so its hormone imbalance makes it grow fatter and softer than any chicken you’ve eaten before. While its price keeps it from being eaten year-round, it’s central to the Christmas dinner table. Filled with a mushroom-based stuffing and accompanied with chestnuts and sweet potatoes.
Saint-Jacques, a common name for scallops, command a tender kiss straight from the sea with a little gristle when you get to the orange part. Tangy sauce for a spin.
Though not strictly a Christmas dish, this cake’s pillowy strawberry body set atop a bed of pistachio was more than welcome. Her mom stores bottles of wine in a cellar and pops one open after some time, pouring out Médoc of a fifteen-year vintage as if saying, “oh this ol’ thang?”.
The Last of Fall at Gran Paradiso