Christmas stuffings

If there was a period over the Christmas holidays when I fell behind with my blogging it was simply because I was too full to write. The holidays with my French family-in-law almost entirely involved eating and sleeping. The only other activities engaged in revolved, in one way or another, around getting food or going to where the food was.

On the sunnier days this meant picking winter vegetables from the garden or going mushroom hunting in the forest. On the colder days and evenings going outdoors meant going to the shops to get a few missing ingredients or simply driving to somebody else’s house for dinner. I can now safely say that eating can be considered a national pastime.

I ate salmon and fois gras for 6 days straight. We baked German Christmas cookies, a lamb shank bigger than the household dog, and transformed our kilos of freshly picked chanterelle mushrooms into canned preserves, creamy sides and also dried them for future use in everything from soups to omelets.

In France, much like in the Anglo-Saxon world, the Christmas meal main course will involve a large bird, potatoes and veg. Only I have still never eaten a Christmas turkey over here. To be fair, there’s probably a reason we only eat a whole turkey once a year – it’s pretty dry meat, a big bird to fit into the oven and lots of work involved to get it right. So instead, in France you’re more likely to be served goose, guinea fowl or chapon, which is a castrated rooster and unsurprisingly tastes a lot like chicken. It seems they castrate the poor beast to increase its size and tenderness rather than to make it sing soprano.

Far less importance is placed on dessert. Here you won’t find traditional Christmas pudding or my longed-for minced pies. Instead, much like at every big family meal, the main course will be followed by a cheese course, and then a standard, often store-bought dessert or fruit.

It’s the starters that really stand out at Christmas, all the stops are pulled and the delicacies brought out. Champagne and nibbles for the apéritif are followed by sumptuous servings of fois gras and thinly-cut salmon, served, as always, with fresh French bread.

There is little debate in France as to the merits of fois gras; anyone opposing the forced stuffing of ducks and geese to fatten their livers is largely regarded as a tree-hugging nutter. You will often be reminded that in the wild these birds will naturally stuff themselves before winter, but in captivity they get lazy since food is abundant so man has to take over.

In any case, there is no denying that the results are quite delicious, and the only debate around the table is whose fois gras is better and whether using porto or plum liqueur gives the best results. Some prefer it more cooked than others, and there can also be lengthy discussions about which herbs to use. I picked up a recipe from my mother-in-law for her tried and tested fois gras, but I’m frankly still feeling as stuffed as a duck so it may have to wait until next Christmas.