Le Franco Phoney

This is part two of three posts about how to annoy the locals merely by giving them your custom.

As you may recall, my friend, Elodie, celebrated her birthday last week, and she started the evening with an apero in Croix Fry. We then took a cross-country skiing track towards the top of the Beauregard peak of La Clusaz, and walked for 45 minutes in sleet, with the promise of fondue and other Savoyard treats awaiting us.

We were off to a refuge! Visiting a refuge normally involves a lot of cheese and a lot of alcohol, and if you choose to stay overnight, accommodation can vary from one big room with bunk beds and a pot belly stove to keep warm through to more luxurious, private rooms with en suites. Here’s a scene from the famous French movie, Les Bronzés Font Du Ski. Even if you don’t speak French, the actions are pretty obvious:

Les bronzés font du ski les montagnards et la… par Nico7812

I’ve been to refuges just like this, where men dressed as farmers serve home-made booze from a bottle with a dead scaly animal inside. One refuge owner had to start up a generator to provide lighting, and another one told a group of us, when we stayed overnight, not to use the gas heating during the night. I don’t remember what the reason was, but I do remember being very cold. However, the next morning, with snowboards or skis on our feet, the owner fired up his skidoo with a rope attached and towed us all along the flat field so we could easily enjoy the downhill ride, complete with fresh powder.

For Elodie’s birthday, we headed to Les Matins Bleus — a big, fairly modern refuge. The owner had already taken our food orders (including dessert) from Elodie soon after Elodie had made the booking. As I’d had a tasteless fondue there once before , I ordered fondue aux cepes (fondue with local mushrooms added), hoping it would be tastier.

We were the only customers that night, and the lady was friendly enough, but not all that motivated to keep us happy: she was hard to find when we needed more water, wine or bread. She begrudgingly brought out a fourth bowl of salad, which isn’t all that much for 19 people, and promptly disappeared again. The mushrooms added a little flavour to the fondue, but it was still pretty tasteless. As we neared the end of the fondue, it was time to dump an egg, some kirsch and bread into the dish and mix it up. She’d left the eggs on the tables for us to do ourselves (pictured, along with empty bottles of drink), but no kirsch in sight. It was a totally half-hearted effort of ‘serving’ us. Worse still, most of us were still hungry. Poor Elodie went to ask her for more fondue, and after a long discussion (because no French conversation can be short!), the owner agreed to bring more fondue and tartiflette — for an additional price. So, only the hungriest ate, and they got through everything. The owner had told Elodie she had used the usual 200 grams of cheese per person, but our fondue pot for three contained less than what I’d expect for three people. Regardless, I’ve been to restaurants that keep on refilling the fondue until you’re full, free of charge.

Now, dessert. Whether pre-ordered or not, slices of berry crumble and the surprise birthday chocolate pie were thrust upon all of us, with pie demand outstripping berry demand, but not enough to go around. Berry crumble was handed to those who missed out.

At the end of the night, Elodie painstakingly figured out who had ordered what, who had drunk wine and who had not, and then took money from everyone. Regardless of her efforts, she told me afterwards it worked out to at least €35 per person anyway — the price another refuge had offered as a flat rate for the whole evening, which she figured was too expensive.

So far, Elodie’s birthday had consisted of apologising to a bar in Croix Fry for wanting to come for an apero, then spending far too much of her birthday meal negotiating with the owner of the refuge for more food for the hungry guests, then about half an hour accounting how much each person should pay. That’s two businesses who seemed put out to have our business! These were hardly ideal moments during the night, but the descent to was still to come. What could possibly go wrong?

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Last year, the big roundabout between Thônes and Alex that links Annecy to La Clusaz and surrounds was merely a steep mound of grass that locals would sometimes drive over the top of for fun. It’s unusual to find a roundabout in France without decoration. Towards the end of the year, the workmen moved in and flattened the mound, then started placing rocks in a pattern across it. By the end of November, a giant round ring with a green blob appeared in the middle of the roundabout.

Can you guess what it represents?

Could it be a modern artist’s take on a Ferris wheel? Perhaps some sort of animal shelter? An old, rusty mill that someone dumped?

No, it’s cheese, silly. Of course it’s cheese! It’s a round of Reblochon — the AOC cheese made in the heart of Le Grand Bornand, La Clusaz and a handful of other villages here. The green blob represents the green stamp that farmers can place on each Reblochon to show it’s been made on their own farm. It gets a higher price than Reblochon with a red stamp, which indicates cheese made by co-ops, who buy milk from more than one local farm. Hopefully, the cheese isn’t quite as airy as the centre of this interpretation of Reblochon.

Within weeks of the artwork being installed, the metal had formed a layer of rust. Hardly an appetising representation of creamy, smelly Reblochon cheese, but it seems to have the approval of my French friends. They say it’s indicative of the trade of the area, but with a nice, modern take on cheese. I’m less convinced. The Aravis is far from modern when it comes to anything: the locals cash in on their traditions, so it makes sense that most restaurants continue to serve tartiflette and new buildings look old before they’re even finished. I’m all for that, and that’s why I’d prefer a big, yellow representation of cheese that has all sides attached.

So, should it be traditional, or is this modern take on cheese better?

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Continuing on from other great French terms and business names that don’t translate well in English, such as Milk et Bousse (manure) dairy farm, Shag Café and Lad’s (sic) Services of La Clusaz, pictured is Le Farto fromagerie in Thônes.

Okay, now that you’ve stopped sniggering about a food producer being called ‘Le Farto‘…no, you haven’t stopped yet, have you. I’ll wait patiently: you’re not the first. Visiting friends have insisted I stop so they have proof that this place exists, yet I only got around to taking this photo at the end of summer this year.

Of all the cheese-making establishments in this area, Le Farto stands above the rest — and I’m no longer referring to its name. First of all, outside is a milk vending machine (just like to this one) where you can fill your own bottles with fresh milk (buy them from the machine if you don’t have any). This is as good as 24-hour shopping gets in Haute Savoie.

Le Farto also has a viewing area, where you can watch the cheese makers do their thing. Pictured is the process for making Raclette cheese up to the point of getting the cheese into moulds. The next day, the cheese is left in salty water for 12 hours, then placed in a cave to ripen for twelve weeks, turned three times per week for the first three weeks, then less after that.

None of these steps can be viewed from the viewing area, but I learnt all these facts while there. How? Beneath the viewing windows are a series of plaques with information about the cheese-making process (in French).

The cheese making begins at 9am most days, and only takes around half an hour. If you go on a day when a busload of tourists arrive, you can also enjoy free cheese samples left on the tables for them (hey, I thought they were for everyone until the staff glared at me, guilting me into buying more cheese than I needed).

In case you’re wondering what the red paper stamp on the cheese means, it indicates that the cheese was made at a co-op, where the milk from different farms is mixed together. Cheese with a green label indicates it’s made on the farm, using just the milk from that particular farm’s cows. Green is supposed to be best, but I challenge anyone who doesn’t taste cheese for a living to really tell the difference.

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You might be wondering why I have taken a photo of some graffiti. Let me explain.

Months ago, the white graffiti, ‘SAVOIE LIBRE‘ appeared near the road between Annecy and Thônes, with a white cross on a red background — the Savoie flag — next to it. The graffiti was written by someone who wants the Savoie region of France to be separated from France (a common theme in France). It means ‘Freedom for Savoie’, and as a non-local, I can’t help but feel a bit unwelcome when I see these signs dotted around the region. There’s a second flag in the bottom right corner of the flag, partly hidden by the wall. You can see by the writing and the signpost next to the graffiti that the writer must have spent some time painting these big letters without the modern technology of a spray can. It’s probably because spray cans weren’t invented by a Savoyarde. They probably don’t use electricity for the same reason.

Someone else came along and added ‘TOME DE’ to the start of the graffiti. Apart from the misspelling, which makes it even funnier, Tomme de Savoie is a local cheese. The writer has really turned around this poltical statement! Now, it basically calls for freedom for cheese.

Yes, free that cheese! I’m all for freedom for cheese.

I’m not sure the added graffiti was done by a local Savoyarde, since none of them would misspell such a staple in their diet. But even so, I feel a bit more welcome because this graffiti has been here for longer than a month. So to the local council who has left it there, thank you. Please let it stay.

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La Clusaz has all sorts of festivals in summer and winter, but now that school holidays are over, today’s fair was all about the locals. The Foire de la Croix is a chance for the local farmers to catch up and socialise (err, drink lots of beer) with one another, and their smiling faces show that they enjoy every minute of it. One Sunday every year, the farmers celebrate the cows’ return to town from the higher pastures (while the cows no doubt despair just as soon as they realise that they’re back in sheds for winter). They display their best Abondance cows and hold a competition for the best Reblochon cheese. The cows are plentiful, and each one is paraded while the MC talks about her special qualities. This is the La Clusaz equivalent of the Grammy awards.

Just last week, those mountains in the background — the Aravis chain — were covered with fresh snow. Recent warm weather has melted it away and provided a hot, sunny day for the farmers to enjoy.

But it’s not all social. Farmers can also buy new bells for their cows, as pictured, along with farming equipment between talking shop with other farmers.

The fair is still running as I type this, with the awards from the day’s events running into the evening. Some farmers will no doubt be milking their cows with very sore heads tomorrow. Let’s just hope none of them wake up with a giant bell around their neck.

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What you’re looking at here is a Mini Jesus de Lyon (also available on a larger scale as Jesus de Lyon). How did Jesus get some pork sausages named after him? I asked a variety of French friends but none of them knew. So I turned to Google. Nobody there seems sure either. But here are two of the most common reasonings:

• The presentation of sausage, wrapped in string, is similar to Jesus-era baby swaddling (one comment said: “When you’re hungry you must be hallucinating”).
• “The sausage was made ​​in the late winter and traditionally eaten at Christmas.”

Either way, Jesus, who was known for turning water into wine and stuff, has clearly inspired the Lyonnaise: the French have turned a Jew into a pork sausage.

Now, to get entirely off track. Seeing the Mini Jesus reminds me of the Baby Jesus (or cheeses) scene of Kath and Kim – an Australian comedy show about a mother and adult daughter from the less affluent suburbs of Melbourne. Kath, the mum, wants a statue of baby Jesus at her second wedding, and Kym takes care of it:

Cheesy in more than one way, huh? Back to the Mini Jesus saucisson. If nothing else, at least I can honestly say: “Jesus is everywhere” when I walk into a sausage shop in France. In fact, Jesus is on sandwiches, in lunch boxes, and being served with cheese all over France.

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You know that saying: “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”? Well, that was me with cottage cheese here in France. That weird, lumpy stuff that I shunned as a kid and grew to enjoy as an adult was something I’d pick up on a whim at the supermarket in Australia or England.

The first time I felt that whim in a supermarket in France, I was surprised that it wasn’t on the shelves. I figured it must be out of stock, and I remembered to look for it on my following visit. The search for cottage cheese soon became an obsession, with me checking not just my regular supermarket, but supermarkets in all of Haute Savoie if I happened to be driving by. I was sure that the giant Auchan in Annecy would stock it, but I was wrong. After more than a year, I had given up checking random supermarkets. But I still kept checking on each visit to my local supermarket just in case.

Almost five years later, when I was picking up a few treats on the way through to a BBQ, my eyes were drawn to some green and white packaging, as if it were a glowing holy grail. In a moment that resembled the Tim Tam discovery (a huge gasp and hugging the Tim Tams), I shrieked “Cottage cheese!” in a thankfully empty aisle of Carrefour in Thônes. Yes, the supermarket that brings you Cathedral City Mature now brings you cottage cheese – Recette Anglaise (English recipe) style. I bought it and the next day I wallowed at home in the goodness of the lumpy, squeaky stuff. I ate an entire tub. The second tub was gone within a few more days. That was a few weeks ago. Have I bought it since? Nope. Why? Meh, I don’t miss it now that I know I can get it, of course.

My favourite French friend, who introduces herself as Lilly to non-French people to save them from trying to pronounce Aurélie, visited recently. She arrived in a blue and white-striped long-sleeved top — her current favourite. She brought a box of chocolates from Alençon in Normandy, where she grew up. She would have brought Camembert cheese, but I always rib her about it tasting the same as Brie. She goes all Normandy-proud every time I give her the bait. She knows I’m fishing for her to bite, but she can’t resist.

Anyway, this blog entry isn’t about Normandy. It’s about Frenchness. Or fashion. Or patriotism. Or maybe all three of those things. Because Lilly’s pride of all things from Normandy is what most of us typically feel about our home towns and countries. Is this why her white towel also has blue stripes? Like her top? Is it patriotism? She protested when I asked her, saying blue and white stripes are in fashion.

And Lilly might be right. We went shopping in Annecy. At H&M, I counted 27 varieties of blue and white-striped tops in the women’s section alone. Ten would be a lot, but almost triple that figure is surely overkill! Other clothes shops stocked similar tops, but on a much smaller scale.Is this merely a fashionable trend this year, or do the French truly wear blue and white stripes as naturally as they say ‘oh la la‘?

I think it’s a patriotic statement, but maybe I’m wrong. What do you think?

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Ahh, France. Did they start the Slow Food revolution? What a great idea Slow Food is: enjoy your food, cooked lovingly for taste rather than speed. The concept seems to have oozed partially into France’s fast food. Pictured is the only vegetarian burger option at Quick, which is France’s answer to McDonald’s. Given that many restaurants have no vegetarian option, I praise Quick for their non-meat alternative, albeit the usual goats cheese deal. This burger is meant to have tomato in it too. Can you see any? There’s one slice hidden at the back that my bites have yet to reach, but I digress.

Back to the Slow Food revolution. Quick seems to have chosen just the elements of the Slow Food revolution that work for it — namely slowness.

I was unfortunate enough to have to eat at Quick after a friend said he was craving a burger. We had to wait for both burgers, fat fries, and condiments. I’m not sure how packages of salt and sauce can be held up, or why mayo turned up when we didn’t request it, then had to wait again while our trusty server went on a mission to find the correct condiments. The wrong fries turned up but we were so hungry by the time the rest of our food came that we thanked the server and walked away.

Pictured is the burger I bothered waiting for. What a waste huh? Burnt on top with one tiny bit of tomato inside, no cheese flavour, but some sort of oil-based mayo making up for that loss, I didn’t get a bit further before giving up. At least if I splurge on dessert, I enjoy it. Here was the equivalent in fat and sugar without the enjoyment factor. And it was slow. And they burnt it and still served it. Fine, it’s fast food, but that’s my point: it’s not even fast. If I’m going to buy fast food, I want it fast because I’m going for the food hit rather than the taste. Just gimme my food!

So, I ate a few skinny fries, watched my friend down all his food — along with the burnt ‘tomato and cheese’ burger (talking marks because  those ingredients are alleged, and I’m still not convinced it should be called anything but the cardboard burger).

I went and bought a crepe instead.

It’s been a few years since I mentioned the Fete du Reblochon, but watching the parade here in La Clusaz the other day made me realise it’s time to bring it up again. Where else in the world would you be ‘chased’ by a stuffed wild boar on wheels, led by a man dressed as a country bumkpin?

The boar was projected towards the crowd that had gathered for the Fete du Reblochon parade and the French man directing it seemed pretty happy with his job. Other highlights of the parade were the kids throwing hay and some sort of seeds that stung as they hit bare skin, and the men carrying an enormous amount of hay on their heads (like massive grass affros), the deafening bell ringers and best of all, the free samples of Reblochon cheese — the local cheese of the Aravis valley, which covers La Clusaz, Le Grand Bornand, Thônes and the villages dotted around them. The Fete du Reblochon is a really enjoyable day offering all sorts of rural entertainment. It swaps the Ferris wheel for a donkey race, the target shooting for wood chopping, hot dogs for local diot sausages, the man selling that amazing kitchen chopping device that peels, grates, chops, dices and more for the woman explaining how cheese is made, and the showbags of sweets for bags of cheese. It’s a great day out.

Now, back to the boar. Spain might have the running of the bulls and Rio might have Carnival, but La Clusaz is possibly the only place in the world that has the stuffed boar on wheels. And at least one person (the guy pulling the boar) thinks that’s a win.