Dining in Lyon

Lyon is France’s second city. Like Chicagoans, I get the feeling that the Lyonais don’t much appreciate being overshadowed by their more famous countrymen. However, the mini-Eiffel tower barely visible next to the large cathedral overlooking the city seems to reinforce the point.

Where Lyon has staked out it’s own reputation is in the area of fine cuisine. Frenchmen from any region are likely to admit that Lyon has the best restaurants. That’s a pretty high honor to hold in a country obsessed with the culinary arts.

We returned to Lyon for the first time since June, so I could catch a flight to Rome. With only one free evening, we didn’t have much time to explore the substantial city. However, we were treated to some festivities associated with the Christmas shopping season. There was a large Christmas market set up in the square outside the train station and a skiing exhibition outside one of the main shopping drags. Being amid the hustle and bustle of a vibrant city felt nice after our solitude in rural Chusclan.

After strolling through the city and purchasing chai tea lattes from one of the only Starbuck’s in France, we decided to pursue more local flavors for dinner. Our hotel was conveniently close to Brasserie Georges. Unbeknownst to us at the time, this establishment is one of the culinary destinations of Lyon. The space is a throwback to the art deco décor of the roaring twenties. Neoclassical faux columns separate large glass windows and mirrored glass. The ceiling is high, allowing substantial chandeliers to hang into the massive space. The dinning room is huge, surely the largest that I’ve seen in France.

All around the place is a buzz with activity. Row after row of tables are filled with people celebrating special events. We were surprised to get a seat without reservation, despite the obvious seating capacity. The formally dressed wait staff moves urgently from table to table taking orders and delivering food. Watching them work the room, I was tempted to describe French efficiency. The typical French waiter has the uncanny ability to survey a room without ever making eye contact with a patron - not this wait staff. They seem to understand that faster services means more visitors and more profit.

In the corner of the restaurant a four piece jazz band played international standards. Perhaps permitted by the size of the space, we were treated to a trumpet player. He was quite good and on the flugelhorn had a tone to melt butter. In addition to playing their set, the band needed to keep an eye open for any waiter to appear in the main aisle with sparkler topped cake. Immediately, they would jump into a rendition of happy birthday. It didn’t matter the key, time signature or style, they flawlessly jumped into a fitting version of the famous song. This happened repeatedly all night long. Apparently everyone goes to Brasserie Georges for their birthday.

The menu was as expansive as the room, but we decided to stick with the prix fixe meal. As is typical, Mary Ann and I ordered the exact same thing. We started with the poultry terrine, one of those mystery meat products that you’re better not knowing about. The prize of the meal was the main course. It sounded pedestrian, sausage and mashed potatoes, but the way the homemade sausage and an delectable cream sauce made it a dish not to forget. I followed up with cheese and dessert. It was one of the best meals of my entire stay in France. Lyon deserves its reputation as the culinary capital of France.

Celebrating Wine (day 2)

Our antique car disaster was not enough to keep us from day two of the biggest party of the year - in Chusclan. Again, our landlords insisted that we arrive in town early to see all the dancing and singing and Provencal merry-making. To our surprise, Chusclan was even busier than the day before. And even more people were wearing their old-time costumes. We had elected to go as typical tourists... in case we were stranded somewhere again.

Our first stop was at the accueil (welcome) table to buy our wine tasting glasses. For just 3.50€ we could enjoy unlimited degustation (tasting). The best, and classiest, part of the tradition is that the glasses are mounted on strings so you can wear it around your neck all day. That way you never lose any time between rounds searching for your glass.

Madame Bérard again showed us around town, making a point of directing us to the very best wine tasting stands. I think we visited the Champaign stand three times. In all there were about a half dozen different wine cooperatives represented around town. Of course we had to try them all. Now with three months of wine tasting experience, we really felt like pros swirling, slurping and making funny faces. As expected, the local wine was the best - I mean, why would you invite someone with better goods to your wine party?

All day, local residents played the part of peasants from the 1800s. I was most impressed by the guys shoeing the horses. I was a little surprised that the horses were so accommodating, allowing the smith to manhandle is massive hooves. Nearby, a faux-nun pretended to scold school children, women washed the same white linens for hours and an accordion player flipped through this collection of classic tunes.

Meanwhile a drum and whistle band was supplying the music for a troupe of dancers. Professional might have been too strong a word to describe both groups, but they certainly held the tourists' attention. The most impressive dance was performed around a pole with colored streamers flowing from the top. Each dancer grabbed a streamer and followed joined in dancing around the pole. The choreographed movements resulted in a colorful braiding - pole dancing a la 1830.

Around 3:00 the mayor announced the grape harvest. The costumed residents look their places in a parade of donkeys and dancers and processed out of town and to the nearest vineyard. The mob of tourists followed. Reaching the end of the field, the mob disbursed among the vines and began collecting grapes. Large wooden barrels were filled and mounted on the mules. The procession then returned to town to celebrate the pressing of the grapes.

Unfortunately, this local celebration did not include an grape stomping. However, the freshly squeezed grape juice was collected in a large cask and served to the brave. It actually tasted pretty good - very sweet, not much different than your highly processed supermarket variety.

See more photos of the Chusclan Vendanges de L'Histoire on my Flickr page.

Melon Politics

Image via Wikipedia

Today, André took me into town to pick up some melons. The tasty fruit is pretty much the same as a cantaloupe, although the outer rind is slightly different than what I'm used to back home.

Apparently, the mayor is the chief supplier of melons for the village. He sells the fruit from the back garage of his home. It takes a local's inside knowledge to find this stand. The simple "Vente" sign a block away, adjacent to the school, is hardly going to draw in the tourists. Besides, the mayor's melon stand is only open for one hour, between 11:00 and noon.

We arrived just before close. The melons had been picked through pretty thoroughly, although we could see that some of the best specimens had been reserved for regular customers. The mayor seemed disappointed by his latest crop. They were ripening too small. I'm not sure, but I think there was some discussion about the drought. Since the mayor couldn't offer André a quality melon, he instead picked out about a dozen small ones and said we could take them for free.

I think this is what you call keeping the constituents happy in a small town.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Cool Down With A Cantaloupe Granita (thekitchn.com)
• How to Make a Kick Ass Fruit Platter | Chew On That (stacyknows.blogspot.com)
• Snack Attack: Cantaloupe Boat (fitsugar.com)

Apéro

Dinner time in France is typically well after 7:00. Lunch is still taken around noon. How do they make it that long? Although snacking is generally discouraged, having an apértif with some small dishes is ingrained in the culture.

Image via Wikipedia

Apértif drinks are listed separately on the menu, so you don't make the mistake of ordering a digestif (after dinner drink). Mary Ann prefers a kir made with white wine and crème de cassis. Pastis, an anis flavored drink served with equal part water, is really growing on me. You should have your apértif with sliced baguette topped with tapenade (olive paste, yuck), paté (the best use I've seen for liver) or cured sausage (just beware of the organic farmers and their real intestine casing).

Apéro with the Bérards usually turns into a two hour event. Madame periodically retreats into the house to produce another extravagant dish or homemade liqoure. By the time we've finished the Apéro, we're stuffed with food and stumbling to the apartment. The ritual is quintessentially French and one that we've begun to adopt into our daily routine (sans the drunken stupor... usually).