Le Franco Phoney

My blog statatistics tell me what some visitors have searched for before they arrived at my site, and they’re mostly on track with the content of this blog. The number one search every day is ‘how to pronounce French words’. I’ve discussed this, but there’s certainly no lessons coming from me, considering I’m still struggling to make the rolling ‘r’ sound!  So, for those visitors, try going to the BBC learn French website or the Indo-European Languages free online tutorials.

Now that I’ve lost half my audience, let me carry on with some other search queries. Someone found my blog by searching for “haloumi cheese in france”. Haloumi cheese is stocked in Paris, apparently, although I don’t know how widely available it is. It is not available at any of the shops in the vicinity of Annecy, Thônes, Moutiers or Bonneville. Yes, I have searched.

Another one: “how is ‘goat’ spelt in French language”. It’s ‘chevre’ and that can also mean goats’ cheese. So, if you order a salade chevre chaud, which translates directly to ‘hot goat salad’, rest assured that it’s actually warmed goats’ cheese salad and not a hot goat.

Another one: “music in Annecy”. The live music scene in Annecy is often limited to Savoyard thigh-slapping bands with big horns and matching outfits, but Annecy does offer some more modern live music too. Head to La Brise Glace (French for ‘ice-breaker’) on almost any night of the week and you’ll get some sort of music act. It varies from death metal to open mic nights and despite its diminutive interior, has often drawn popular international and local acts.

Now, some odder ones. Someone arrived at Le Franco Phoney after searching the net for “guys pee pee”. Mate, off you go to find what you want somewhere else! Other searches include:

• gay snowman
• angry tractor
• monster real life

Is this one person searching on several rather bizarre subjects? I’m afraid I can’t help this person/people or anyone who searches for these topics in the future. You’ve arrived at the wrong site. Is there a right site?

A French reader of my blog sent me these photos of a roundabout where he lives, based on my previous posts about ornate French roundabouts. He said: “April, I thought you’d like to see my local roundabout since you write about French roundabouts on your blog. I’m sure you can find something funny to write about it if you decide to put it on your blog.”

Actually, I’m so impressed with this roundabout that I don’t know if I can find anything funny to write about it! What’s not to love about this roundabout? It’s in Morbier, which is why there’s a giant Morbier cheese (appropriately with a section cut out of it to show the layer of ash that runs through the centre), and although I don’t understand why there’s a grandfather clock in the middle of this roundabout, I do appreciate that it’s made mostly of plants. How can this be? How cool is this clock? It looks like it has a coffin lining of satin which is a little freaky, but this roundabout really illustrates just how well the French do roundabouts. Not only does it have a decorative clock and cheese, but it’s also very informative. It tells you what time it is, and it tells you where you are (Haut Jura, as it says on the right). It’s also a friendly roundabout, as it says “Bienvenue” (”Welcome”) on the left. Does a better roundabout exist? I challenge you to find one.

If you’d like to see a bigger version of the roundabout, click on the photo.

Something else that happened last weekend between the DONGing of church bells was a visit to some cheese caves. My friends who live there are in the cheese business (I love being able to say that), and one of them took us to the cheese caves where he himself matures the cheese. Cheese shops are one thing, but I have never seen so much cheese in one place in my life. The cheeses ranged from 10kg blocks of AOC Emmental to something Italian and going grey (apparently a good thing) in the corner, right through to cheese donuts which I don’t know the name of, and these lovely tiny cheese cones (photo taken by my friend Katie after I forgot to bring my camera). The cones and donuts were actually in a drying room, which smelt less pungent than the other caves. That’s not to say it didn’t smell: it’s just that the more humid caves were almost overpowering — and one of them was newly emptied, but still stunk.

Apparently, finding a good affiner de fromage is a hard task, so if you’re in the know when it comes to maturing cheese and you feel like a change of scenery to a little village in the middle of France, apply now! Anyone who can stand the enormous stink when standing in one of those caves all day has my respect. It reminds me of the time I went to the Savoyarde restaurant down the road that has the cows downstairs, with a glass roof for diners to look at them through. Despite the glass, the smell of the cows was very strong, and I could smell manure for days after . Thankfully, the smell of the cheese was not quite that bad. Still, I think I’ll leave it to the experts and those as passionate about cheese as my two friends are.

I’ve been in the north of France this week and I’ve noticed something about French food. Yes, it’s acclaimed as carefully crafted cuisine, created by chefs who take great pride in their work, but there is at least one exception and I believe I’ve found it. Melted cheese is, in fact, at the heart of French cuisine! Please hear me out before you protest.

I live in Haute Savoie, and prior to that, Savoie. Fondue Savoyarde is on most, if not all, local menus in both regions. Although the Swiss and the Savoyardes still dispute who has the best fondue and where it originated, I think everyone would agree that Savoie and Haute Savoie are the leading departments for cheese in France.

But wait: what about Nord-Pas-de-Calais? It’s nowhere near any mountains and it’s by the sea. You’d think restaurateurs would scoff at cheese in favour of delicious and abundant seafood. Seafood is indeed always on the menu, but so is cheese — melted. It’s a bowl of warm cheese with some bread swimming in it. You can choose whether or not a slice of ham and an egg is added. This dish is in competition with fondue for several reasons. First of all, it’s melted cheese with bread and meat, except everything has already been dunked into the cheese for you. Secondly, although the French have made it theirs (as the Swiss would also argue about fondue), it was originally a British dish. Which dish? Welsh rarebit!

If you’re not familiar with Welsh rarebit, it’s basically cheese on toast with a few things added to the cheese, like Worcestershire sauce and beer. The French dish, Welsh, is served with Worcestershire sauce, and from what I can tell, the cheese they use (something called ‘Chester’, which tastes a lot like Cheddar to me), beer is also added to the cheese before it’s ladeled onto a lonely slice of baguette sitting at the bottom of a big bowl.

Known by my friends as the Queen of Fondue, I was somewhat surprised when the Welsh beat me. The one pictured was my lunch, and I felt sick for most of the afternoon despite not finishing it off. This is by far the most stodgy meal I’ve eaten. It beats fry-ups and it beats the Austrian kaiserschmarren (huge steamed dumpling covered in custard). After my meal of melted cheese, dinner was a salad, and even that was a struggle. And there I was thinking that French cuisine was renouned for its refined chefs’ attention to detail. No problem for me though: stodge is great!

For anyone considering a move to La Clusaz, please note that these foods are not available when dining out:

• Chinese
• Mexican
• Greek
• Indian
• Japanese
• British fat chips (from a fish’n'chips shop)
• basically, anything else that doesn’t revolve around cheese, potatoes and meat

Thankfully, England is well-stocked, and I took full advantage. The food was great, and so was the shopping. However, the queueing was not. When buying a bikini and a sun dress — both of which, ironically, I’d rarely wear (if ever!) in England, I spent more time waiting in queues to try things on than I spent looking for them. I queued for tables at restaurants, toilets, changing rooms, to speak with literary agents and even when picking up a pizza (it went cold). Normally, at least two toilets are vacant. Nobody notices. Similarly, the changing room attendant will watch the people line up, wait for someone finished to exit a changing room, count the rejected clothes, hang them up to be returned to the shop, and — oh, wait a minute: another person has come out so there are now two vacant changing rooms but nobody is allowed in yet because the attendant is still checking the exiting people’s clothes and hanging them up, and has not thought about giving those waiting the correct token for the number of items they’re taking in so that the queue can move without these hold-ups. I guess I’ve lived away from England for long enough now for this to bother me once more. It’s needless queueing, but the English have grown up with it, so they seem far more tolerant than me. And don’t even get me started on the restaurant that couldn’t seat us, nor take a booking for an hour’s time, nor call us when a table became available since they couldn’t reserve it an hour in advance.

So, my suitcase is stacked with new clothes and lots of Haloumi cheese (unavailable in my region of France). I will not miss the queueing in England, but I’m already missing the food.

Here is a menu from a restaurant in La Clusaz (you can click on it for a much larger version). It’s possibly the only restaurant in town that offers a separate English menu, so I probably shouldn’t pick on it, but when the translation goes this wrong, I honestly can’t help myself. If you can shed any light on some of these dishes, I’d be grateful.

I started off looking at the “Salad and Starters” section. “Salad of goat” takes the number one spot on the menu. I’m picturing a goat’s head with those funny square eyes sitting on a bed of lettuce, or maybe some goat’s legs sticking up between some tomatoes. Further down, a “Salad tomatos mozarella with the pest and Parmesan” is available. Can someone please get the pest out of my salad tomatos?

The “Spéciality of wood burning stove” options are a little better. “Crozet” is actually a Savoyard pasta, which might help you interpret this: “Roasted of crozet (svoyard pastes) with boletus and green salad”. Err, what is it?

Meanwhile, the “Sea food” options sound far more interesting. You can order a stove! Yes, the “Stove of st jaques in vegetable julienne”. Now, I’m not sure if st jaques is related to St Jacques, and whether he really wants you covering his stove in sliced vegies and attempting to eat it. I imagine the waiters would have a hard time bringing it out to the table too. No problem — you can order “Coco - curry of St Jacques to zucchinis”. Again, what?

Obviously, a restaurant modern enough to have a separate English(?) menu offers more than the regional specialties. Wok dishes are available too. What delights await us? Who can resist “Noodles jumped to the gambas and crunching vegetables”? Are the noodles crunching the vegetables after jumping to the gambas? I have an image of noodles in karate outfits bouncing all over the place, with thinly sliced vegetables breaking under their weight.

Meahwhile, the “Specailities” section offers something extra special: although orders are for a minimum of two people, the menu also announces: “price by anybody”! Great! I’ll just order my favourite dish, even though I’m not sharing it with anyone, and charge myself a Euro twice. Bargain for two! I might avoid the dodgy-sounding “jumped spotted potatoes” and the “Molten with the farm reblechon”: a stove is hard enough, but an entire farm named after a misspelt cheese is too much for anyone.

I’m a little concerned for the butchers of La Clusaz, as the “Meats” section offers “Rib steack of the butcher”. Ouch! And “Paving of beef”. What’s that all about?

LIke any great meal, the highlight is the dessert. This menu lives up to my expectations. I could have “Greedy coffee”, which comes with a description: “coffee and his preciousness”. Not convinced his preciousness was for me, I found another option: “Ministrone of vanilla fresh fruits, jelly of barley water”. Now, if I could just figure out what vanilla fresh fruits are. Someone “spilt” the almonds on the “Strawberry melba” (double points if you can guess what’s wrong with this dessert name). Alternatively, you can buy “2 balls” in a variety of flavours. I think I might give the balls a miss.

August in La Clusaz means one thing: cheese. The Fete du Reblochon is held annually, and this year, it celebrated 50 years of enjoying AOC status, which means any cheese sold under the name of Reblochon must be made locally. The fete starts at midday with crazy people attempting to ski down a white, plastic sheet with ancient wooden skis in temperatures hovering around the mid-thirties. Once they’re done, this turns into a giant slide for kids, who spend the rest of the day — and the evening — rolling down it. With cows, goats and donkeys dotted around, traditional bands play traditional music while traditional dancers wear traditional costume and bounce around on the traditional stage.

Meanwhile, the locals start drinking.

A parade consisting of various farmyard animals and local floats makes its way through town in the afternoon, while displays of cheese-making, wool-spinning and ancient bread-making are going on beside the stage and bar.

Meanwhile, the locals keep drinking.

Plates of cheese and tartiflette are served to the masses, who spend their time eating, drinking and wandering around the displays, farmyard animals, wood-chopping exhibitions and entertainment they can participate in. It’s all good fun for kids, adults, farmers and city-dwellers alike.

Meanwhile, the locals are drunk…and probably serving behind the bar.

Before the sun went down this year, a donkey race was held with various high-standing members of the community participating as jockeys (a fireman, a policeman, a farmer, a ski instructor…and a few others of similarly respected jobs). Everyone was invited to bet on a jockey, but the real fun was watching the stubborn donkeys find new ways of refusing to move.

Meanwhile, the locals took the opportunity to drink some more while the bar wasn’t busy.

As night fell, the band played on and the bar was the place to be. Alas, La Clusaz is in the mountains and by midnight, most people had departed to find somewhere warmer indoors.

The locals, however, probably kept drinking after the rest of us left. The Fete du Reblochon is an absolute treat.

July in France is the main summer holiday month: La Clusaz has been getting busier day-by-day to the point of small traffic jams in town. The giant tartiflette pan was getting fired up in town last night for the first of many soirées for the tourist season. The mini-golf course has put its mini-Mont Blanc back on hole six and the kids love it. The paragliders and the mountain bikers have arrived to take the chairlifts up for their respective rides down. Today, however, the mountain bikers faced snow on top of their dirt tracks: in some freak cold spell during the night, snow fell on the peaks of La Clusaz and beyond. Seeing the white bright, white snow against the green grass really makes me wish I was skiing on the Tignes glacier today, but all is not lost: today is the Fete Nationale — France’s national day off, like Australia Day in Australia, but without the BBQs. So, tonight, there will be fireworks, dancing and probably another giant tartiflette. What more could a girl want (apart from more snow)?