Christmas Day

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Yes, there is the wondrous, cultivated land, the tastefully and fashionably dressed women (and men), the ancient towns and their castles, the lingering old country life, the art, the presence everywhere of history.

But what is France if not food?

Is there anything more gratifying than walking briskly home from the boulangerie with a still-warm baguette under your arm? tearing it open and dropping yet another new variety of cheese onto it? sinking your teeth into this banquet, and washing it down with a delicious 2 Euro bottle of Cote du Rhone?

Yes, sometimes there is. Yesterday we drove to Montpellier to spend Christmas Eve feast day (and overnight) with friends Elian and Francoise, who served us (as they called it with some chagrin) a “light” Christmas dinner. It went like this:

Scotch

Guacamole
Olives stuffed with anchovies
Muscat

Endive salad
Fish loaf paté
Raw oysters on the half shell
served with white wine

Wild boar stew (marinated for three days prior - the boar was shot by Elian’s brother in the Cevennes)
Steamed potatoes
served with red wine

Cheese plate (aged roquefort, Comtè, chevre, Camembert)
Green salad

Assorted fruit

Truffles
Candied fruits
Yule log cake

Cognac
Tea

Through it all we had a lively night of talk that ranged from family quirks to films, from recipes to intractable questions of theology. Part of our dinner conversation included the near-existential question popped by Dawn (but put politely): “With such a rich diet, how is it possible that the French people are not fatter?” We mused on that for a spell until Priscille offered her physicist’s-in-training reply, “Hmmmm, I don’t know! Eet ees – comment dit-ou? - a mystereee.”

Good friends, very good friends, and good food are among the greatest joys of life. No? So we indulged, eating far too much and yet happily. Beguiled by Bacchus, the festival of taste in our mouths, and the pleasures of spirited conversation, who would not? I remember somewhere in the evening, no doubt in a passing moment of middle-aged angst, we (Dawn and Paul) agreed to begin our austerity measures – bread, water and exercise – oh, let us say tomorrow.

But wait a sec. Tomorrow, being today, is Christmas. We could hardly begin Cistercian acts of denial on the day Christ was born. So, while Paul embraced the mixed blessing of his solidarity with over a billion people the world over celebrating the advent of their redemption, Dawn put together an even lighter supper, all from the bounty of the local fields (and seas).

olives aux poivron
served with a bottle of Medoc (the best of Bourdeaux )

Baby salad greens mixed with arugula, beets, chevre, and white onion (from the Cevennes)

Coquilles de St. Jacques

Fresh Cod, sautéed in butter, garlic and milk
Mashed potatoes
Served with a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape

Dessert is officially pending, while this is being written and while we debate whether we really need it; but it’s looking like the flan will be served.

So we sit this Christmas evening cozy in our small apartment. The Mistral is blowing very hard, south through the funnel of the Rhone Valley. The temperature hovers around 1 C. We have stomachs like Buddhas but resolve like marathoners. Yes, tomorrow we return to the simple joy of the baguette once again! TOMORROW we will go on that run!

Merry Christmas to you all, and to all a slim, trim and prosperous 2011.

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