Bastille Day for you and me

Today is a good day to pretend to be French.

Play the part right and say “Oh, it smells like a Bordeaux!”, as if you could tell the difference, when handed a glass of a grand cru classé circa 2008. Today is a good day to pretend to be French and thus indulge in flavorful french cuisine, on behalf of what today can be your fête nationale. Preach the importance of the 14th of July, a day that commemorates both the Storming of the Bastille in 1979 and the Fête de la Fédération on the same date a year later, a celebration of France’s post-revolutionary unity, “une double date”, and award yourself with a glass of rosé to fight the hot weather

While major historical interpretations of the French Revolution differ greatly, nearly all agree that it had an extraordinary influence on the making of the modern world.

Which is great and everything, but so is the food and the wine.

And if you can’t go to France, let France come to your table. It’s enough to keep you busy all day.

Petit-déjeuner à 8h — It’s like Molière wrote in Don Juan: “and all the pleasure of love is in variety.” So, since we’re being French today, we can be picky, too. Why choose one when you can have it all? You see, coffee (café allongé, for me) and croissants will do, ordinarily. I take them plain but I’ll try and spread butter and marmalade over ‘em from time to time. But this is Bastille Day, so we should get croissants and quiche (made to fit the mold of the one they made in Fournil de Capucins in Bordeaux, a place that never closed and would break my heart when they were out of quiche). I’ll eat part of the baguette on my way home from the bakery and I’ll take some of that hot chocolate you suggested and trust you when you tell me that “the best hot chocolate is served in Paris, at Tuileries” because your name is Louise and you’re parisienne, so of course you think everything outside of Paris is crap.

Goûter — Leave nibbling on granola for tomorrow. If we’re pretending to be French, we can pretend it’s Saturday. 11am on a lazy Saturday is perfect for fresh oysters and white wine. It’s July, go find yourself a terrace or a market to sip on some Sauvignon blanc from Saint-Émilion that goes well with no more than half a dozen oysters, why not? The same combination (with mediocre wine) costs you 6 euros in Le Marché des Capucins, 33000, Bordeaux.

I’d avoid glasses of Sauternes, though. It’s too early for sweet wine.

Déjeuner à 13h — Switch from Sauvignon to Chardonnay, if you will, but stick with the seafood for lunch. We’re having Moules Frites (or Moules Marinières, or mussels and french fries, a recipe which originated in Belgium, or so they say). I’ve witnessed how the aforementioned expression Moules Frites has mouthwatering effects on those who hear it, lashing out a “Where can I get some?”

I’ve heard that all you need to season them mussels is butter, herbes de provence which I have never particularly liked, garlic and butter. I’ve read that they’re cooked with white wine broth, shalots and parsely; and I’ve had them with curry seasoned creamy sauce. This goes well with your side of fries. And when I crave them, I crave all of the above, and I travel to an imaginary avenue in Bassin d’Arcachon where I’m almost on the water, getting my mussles and french fries in one of a series of cafés that offer the exact same thing.

Apéro — It’s 6 o’clock in the evening when magnetism kicks in and, suddenly, your ass is being dragged to a wooden chair for you to have an apéritif, pre-dinner fun. Mimic the menu from Le Chabrot, a wine bar in the center of Bordeaux which serves food up until midnight. We’re having red wine from Côte-de-Rhône (but don’t ask me for details) and tartines, which is toasted pain de campagne topped with all sorts of things (leeks and steamed salmon, cream cheese and smoked trout, cured ham, basil and tomato with mozzarella…); and we’re all trying the camembert rôti. Whoever came up with putting a huge peace of Camembert cheese, seasoned with shallots and garlic and pepper and sweetened with balsamic reduction, on the grill, until it melts, is a genius. I love it.

Repas après 20h — Fuck room for desert. We need room for the foie gras appetizer (organic, seasoned only with salt and pepper), the magret de canard (“Magret is French for duck breast”) cooked to perfection and served bloody, the sautéed wild mushrooms (cèpes) with potatoes, and the mix of salad and cheeses (Brie, camembert, goat cheese, manchego that someone brought, roquefort which I don’t eat, a kilo of fromage de brébis…) to top of dinner. Easy on the Saint-Estèphe, because someone is bound to have whiskey with their foie-gras and that espresso at the end of the meal is not a bad idea.