Ptipois

En français : a beau mentir qui vient de loin.

The thing is a bit more complicated than it sounds. "Tartine" has in fact always meant "open sandwich" in France, but it generally involved spreading some butter at first, and perhaps putting something more solid on top, like pâté, saucisson or ham, or squares of dark chocolate (une tartine de chocolat, old style). Hence the word "tartiner", which sort of stands on its own and acts here as a faux-ami. You may use the word "tartiner" in other situations, i.e. not on bread. A slice of bread may be a tartine without having been tartinéed. There have always been tartines de saucisson, tartines de pâté (unspread), tartines de confiture, tartines de rillettes (spread). In the former case, though, a light spreading of butter is expected. But not mandatory.

All open-faced poilâne sandwiches are called "tartine de poilâne", whatever there is on top.

I'm afraid it can. A "tartine" is a slice of bread with something on it, spreadable of not, as opposed to a "sandwich" (French meaning), with two slices or pieces of bread around a filling. Therefore a tartine is really an open sandwich (with slabs of pâté, ham, slices of cheese, or more sophisticated toppings). Even if the original meaning of the word involved some kind of spreading, this is not essential to a tartine.

Le Pain Quotidien is a Belgian chain, not French. It didn't take off in France until the late 90's. And tartines are a small part of what they serve. I'd never describe it as a "tartinerie".

There's a couple of Dame Tartine restaurants in Paris, specializing in... tartines. I forgot the addresses, one is near the Pompidou center. That's the only kind of address that's likely to serve "nothing but tartines" and you see that's not much. Most "bars à vins" serve tartines but you don't see them everywhere. And they don't serve only that. In the morning, your average troquet may present you with a quarter of a baguette sliced in two and covered with a half-a-micron layer of butter. With a small dose of vaguely colored pectin jelly posing as jam and some hot pure robusta sock juice, this is baptized "petit déjeuner". That's about it for the tartine culture in France. So much for the cutesy little Mom and Pop restaurants all over the place. I too believe that the lady has seen too many Tartine et Chocolat shops. Or she had a dream. A tartine dream.

An Indian remedy: one onion, coarsely cut; some slices ginger, a few peppercorns, a couple cinnamon sticks, a few cloves, perhaps one cardamom pod or two. Boil until liquid becomes muddy. Drink warm, three or four times a day. A personal remedy: just slice one organic lemon and boil it, skin and all, in 1 quart water for about 30 minutes on low heat, covered. Drink the tea, perhaps with a little honey. Very potent and absolutely delicious. Also prevents you from catching a cold when other people near you have one. A miracle soup of my own creation: chunks of chicken, leg meat, marinated in lime juice, lots of crushed garlic, sesame oil, soy sauce, salt, pepper and cornflour. Plenty of chicken stock. A few leeks, white part only, thickly sliced. Some udon or somen noodles, parboiled and drained. Bring chicken stock to boil. Add leek slices, boil for 2 minutes. Add chicken (with all marinade) and noodles, bring back to boil, simmer for a few moments until slightly thickened and chicken is just cooked through. Add more lime juice, sesame oil and soy sauce at table. Garnish with coriander. No cold seems to survive this. Incredibly good. When too lazy to cook any of these: pho wakes up the dead.

Who may that be?

This is a remarkable and, I believe, very accurate description. (Yes, French cuisine not hitting an aporia — I agree. As long as it remains French cuisine, which as you say is not a matter of ingredients but of spirit.)

Some time ago it used to be château-chirac (sounds really good, could be a real wine). Then it became château-tiberi (still makes it, soundwise) and now it's château-delanoë, quite poetical but somewhat lacking in oenologic likelihood. Anyone regnante, it may also be château-la-pompe.

It's because they're human. Most people who eat meat love steak and amongst them, the harder-working ones do need it. I don't think there's anything remarkable about this. Like "Wow, living gods do eat steak after all! They don't dine on haute cuisine all the time!" Well, of course they don't. It's not even possible. As you say, there is too much of even the good things. And in this particular case, elaborate restaurant food is okay as long as you don't eat it every day. Also, the more cerebrality there is in it, the less "livelihood" it contains. It doesn't really feed you, that is not its purpose. When I've had it for a few days in a row, returning home I crave for very, very simple food that I cook alone. I understand what it must be for someone who has to produce that kind of elaborate food everyday. And indeed I've never seen a chef eat his "professional" cooking ; every time a starred chef has told me about what he likes to eat, or eaten it with me, it was indeed steak, tomate-mozzarella, grilled pork chops, lentil soup, plain Ibérico ham, simple risotto or baked pig's head. And one of them hardly drinks anything but Coke (no names )

Oh yes I know, they love to say that. Actually I don't think I've ever seen one eat the food he serves.

I was feeling a little saddened by Bux's first post, but this made me warm and cozy again. Thank you! ← whadidisay? ← Oh, it's all right now. It was all about international, lingua franca, my being french, etc. Nevermind.

I was feeling a little saddened by Bux's first post, but this made me warm and cozy again. Thank you!

The "baguette de tradition française" is a standard defined by the French law. It was established by the Décret Balladur in 1993. Before this date, so-called "traditional" breads could be anything and everything. This is why the expatica.com article is a bit inaccurate: names like Banette are brand names issued by flour companies and have nothing to do with traditional baking. They existed before the Décret Balladur. The quality of bread had become very poor in most places before 1993, and since the Décret was published it has improved dramatically. Of course there are still the ill-famed "terminaux de cuisson" and there is plenty of bad baguette to be found, but the situation is not so serious as it used to be. A pain "de tradition française", whatever its shape is, has to be entirely kneaded, shaped and cooked at the place where it is finally sold. It should not have been frozen at any stage, should contain no chemical additives and be composed exclusively of wheat flour, water, salt and natural yeasts (Saccharomyces cerevisiae). There may be a minute proportion of soy flour, bean flour or wheat malt flour.

Many Parisians have a Taride in their pocket, handbag or at least at home. There's nothing touristy about a Taride. It is absolutely Parisian. Indeed it is.

That's probably because they're not used being asked. There are good maps of the Métro network all over the place A very useful buy is the small map & direction book "Paris par arrondissements" published by Taride. At most booksellers and newsstands. But with the wide boulevards radiating from large squares in the 10e and 11e, you probably won't need much help and all the places described by touaregsand may be reached easily on a half-day's walk with all the necessary stopping and enjoying. Walking is really the very best way to do it, especially with kids.

What will be your location in the 10e arrondissement ? More like gare du Nord, canal Saint-Martin, porte Saint-Denis ? The interesting thing to check is the street markets held several mornings a week in some locations. Try this link for the list of Paris markets, the "mobile" ones (mostly in the morning) and the covered markets (with more regular shopping hours and open every day, except Mondays and sometimes Sundays). Note that the market streets are not mentioned, for there are not, strictly speaking, markets but highly commerçant streets that look like markets. There is, roughly, at least one in every arrondissement, like rue Mouffetard, rues de Lévis-Poncelet, rue de Buci, rue Daguerre, rue Cler, etc. There are not many street markets in the 10th arrondissement. But Parisians do move to shop and, on weekends, are known to go to relatively faraway, successful markets like the organic Raspail market (6e) or the huge markets at Bastille (11th) or Cours de Vincennes (12th).`` Paris is a small, compact city and you won't have to go very far if you want to try a market outside of your arrondissement. I know of people from the 17th who come to my small neighborhood market or rue Monge on Sundays, and it is a long way. There are also ethnic markets streets or area. There are wonderful finds to make there. North African foods are to be found at the Belleville market or around Barbès and La Goutte-d'Or (18th), subsaharian African stuff around Château-Rouge (rues Dejean, Doudeauville, Myrha, etc.), Indian/Srilankan stuff along rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis going north from the gare du Nord to La Chapelle and rue Louis Blanc, Turkish stuff on rue du Faubourg-saint-denis and around South of the gare du Nord and North of porte Saint-Denis. Of course the Asian shopping areas are respectively the 13th arrondissement in the South, within the triangle avenue de Choisy - avenue d'Ivry - boulevard Massena; and rue de Belleville north of métro Belleville. There is an interesting French Carribbean shop on boulevard de Belleville West of this place and a nice Jewish-North African neighborhood around the rue Richer (10th). Aside from the street markets and market streets, you have the usual supermarkets, Monoprix, Champion, Franprix, etc.

I agree, Pim. This is very probably what it is meant to be, but I remain pessimistic about the possible effets pervers it may breed. When you know what kind of pressure the Michelin award system puts on all restaurateurs that lend themselves to it (theoretically they don't have to. But recently I heard that some who had requested not to be in the Guide found themselves there anyway, and were very upset by that), I'm afraid this new semi-classification will include more nice restaurants into a dangerous zone of anxiety (which personally I find pointless and perhaps harmful to the diversity of French gastronomy). And there, for once, I will agree with François Simon: when your name is Michelin, and you claim to have 80 enquêteurs roaming through France, then you should know what the place is worth or not. He points out, quite rightly, that the criteria for an extra macaron are not necessarily food-related: he gives Régis Marcon's new ultramodern dining room and Guy Savoy's refurbishings as examples. I'm only concerned that this way of putting some restaurateurs on a waiting list will not do any good to their spontaneity and creative freedom.

Yes, but some people would share this thought, some not. Personally I do not. That the Pourcels may not be worth three stars is a possibility, not a universal agreement. All I mean is that "tout le monde savait...", "everybody knew", is not the kind of judgement I expect from a journalist. I only wish he had taken personal responsibility for it.

Er, please read again, John. He's actually writing that (according to him) Régis Marcon does not deserve three stars either. ("Tout le monde savait (sauf le Michelin) que les frères Pourcel ne valaient pas les trois étoiles, pas plus que Régis Marcon, à Saint-Bonnet-le-Froid (désolé, c'est néanmoins une très bonne table)") That is unfortunately one of Simon's weak points, atttributing to common knowledge ("everybody knew") what is nothing more than his opinion or personal dislikes. His line about the Pourcels is, IMO, catty. About Régis Marcon I cannot tell, having never been there.

Which must be a new variation on Chinese torture, putting some restaurants in anxious limbo at different levels. This really looks like Michelin searching for new and subtle ways to strenghthen its power through new and subtle kinds of blackmail, as a "we'll show you who's boss" reaction to recent attacks on its credibility (and big mistakes like the latest Belgian joke).

This doesn't look too bad in terms of inevitable market street cutification. The quartier you live in must be fairly "populaire". See what rue Montorgueil has become. I spent most of my younger days near Rue Mouffetard, arguably the most emblematic market street in Paris, and although it got its fair share of cute chain shops and lingerie during the last twenty years, it has more or less managed to retain its shape. However I had to mourn several losses: an excellent Norman butcher, a few vegetable stands and particularly the "bougnat", i.e. the firewood and charcoal depot that used to serve wine. Mr. bougnat and his wife always offered the produce of their garden (somewhere near Chantilly), including some fantastic chestnuts from a tree that was planted in the days of Henri IV (early 17th c.).

It is my turn to thank you. This discussion has been a real pleasure. If food had to be divorced from language, thinking and other aspects of culture, all food writing - based on recipes and ingredients alone - would be either inexistent or at least very boring.

Well, I don't think either of the Pourcel twins studied under Ducasse. Also, I forgot to mention Marc Meneau as one of their early influences, to add to the others I mentioned. But no Ducasse. Their styles of cooking don't really compare, though both Ducasse and Pourcel make use of "interesting" ingredients. These days, who doesn't ? Actually I was curious about her impressions too. Gender in the French language is absolutely illogical. I mean, the gender of a noun is absolutely unrelated to the "gender" of the thing it represents. Nobody expects any logical relationship between the two. This is why nobody in France even thinks of the masculine gender of the word for vagina, and if you knew some of our common slang words in the same category, you'd shiver: the words for male genitals are mostly feminine, and some words (not all) for female genitals are masculine. But if you point this out to a French person, he or she will ponder dreamily over this for a few seconds, and then shrug and smile. I didn't know you were from India. I find your description fascinating. My experience (and interactions with some people from India, China, etc.) has sometimes led me to believe that there are mysterious philosophical affinities between some Asian cultures and the French culture. Strangely, I believe the French are the most "Asian" people in Europe. This will probably sound daring or strange to you, but when you compare Indian cuisines and French cuisine, it is obvious that they have very little in common. But if you compare the French obsession with harmony (in subdued tones) and the Indian search for harmony through the perfect, fastidious, highly precise use of the spice palette, I do find that French and Indian cooking are very much standing on a common ground. The similarities are not in the ingredients but in the intensity of the "savoir faire" applied to them. I am certainly not going to say that French was not the ideal language for Descartes to expose his philosophy. I do believe it needed the French language to exist. Latin would not have made it. Likewise, I believe that some of the French "spirit" is most perfectly conveyed by our language, I particularly mean the French language at its finest period of its history: the 17th century, when it reached a point of perfection and perfect accuracy between each word and its meaning. It it still possible to give the French language its full power through writing — many writers, poets and philosophers have achieved this since the classical era —, but it does require a certain skill. French is like a very sensitive musical instrument that one has to learn to play right. I think, too, that technique cannot be overlooked. When dealing with classical French ingredients — let us say, for instance, poularde, truffles and leeks —, technique should be as strong, precise and skillful as it is discrete, so that the genuine purity of the produce shows through. This is, as I mentioned it earlier, the basic dynamic of french cooking. When dealing with "interesting" ingredients, I believe that the same technique should be there, however strange the ingredients are. Again, I fail to see this technique in the Ducasse recipe. I see where the ingredients came from, they looked like they were picked up last week during a trip. It is all too much, too soon to include them in a way that could make them part of a "french" recipe. It would require years of studying, adaptation, harmonization with other ingredients. Briefly: French cuisine does absorb new ingredients, but it does it slowly. Its tradition is slow to digest, much slower than it takes to make a chutney from seaweed and Dijon mustard because it looks good. I couldn't agree more.