Choosing a bohemian life, I must say, didn’t come without its challenges. Like La Fontaine’s Fables, full of wit, wisdom, “I told you so” and other Jiminy Cricket malarkey, the moral of one of his stories started to sink in. Shortly after finishing the academic machine, I had decided to dedicate my recently free life to pure troubadourism, shared between traditional music one day to rock’n’roll the other. My friend, somewhat wiser, entered bravely the hard working world of restaurants kitchens to become a “Master Crepier” which is basically the black belt of pan cake making in Brittany… Seriously.
The story depicted in Mr De La Fontaine’s bestiary was the one of an Ant and a Cigale (or cicada, cricket like), that incredible insect that colours the musical landscape of Provence and Southern regions of France. The tale depicts the life of a hard working ant and a bohemian “Cigale”. One is prepared for the winter, making good provisions of the summer’s generosity, the other spent it singing and gallivanting… With a monthly income of £200 then, I had to be clever when it came to feed myself; in case you haven’t come to the punch line yet, I was the Cigale in that twisted yarn…
As the summer was coming to an end, I hitch hiked the 700kms to visit my friend who had found his first gig in Ardèche, the southern middle part of France. The place was picturesque, very pretty and quaint, so far away from our Atlantic shores, too far away from the sea for my liking. Also, there seemed to be more “ambiance” in the evening rather than craíc, too much Joie de vivre for little Breton me… The food was good though, really good!
After my friend had finished his last shift in the geographical anachronism that, to me, was his Cêperie, we headed to the local café to speak about entomology or rather listen to another “Talk of Shame” lecture. Whatever! The local rosé, even if reluctantly given to us despite giving proof of our age and our “professional Breton” I.D, was beautiful and your man, the owner, was right. It was a bit stronger than it seemed (damn you Gamay!). Hunger set in, in one of its sneakiest ways, the “post drinking” munchies. We climbed the huge wooden staircase of this 1920 apartment that my childhood comrade had rented for a pittance. He opened the kitchen press, I stared for a while in the fridge, like a hypnotised rabbit at the night’s traffic lights. Not only Ardèche had great rosé wines, they also produced some savage goat’s cheese and wonderful cured meats. We gathered our loot on the table and started cooking…
How to make a feast with just four ingredients was the secret of our frugal youth, the essence of a good hearty meal that the French have mastered, through the rainbow variety of each of its regions terroir. My friend grabbed an old pan; I chopped the onion, threw in some Puy lentils, locally produced chorizo-like dried sausage and let the lot sweat for a bit before topping it up with water…
Before serving, we crumbled some of the amazing Picodon’s goat’s cheese; I remember its taste to be so strong! Last Monday I recreated this feast (like I often do), with Peter Whelan’s chorizo from Slane and Breton compatriot Anna Lesveque Tiskell goat’s cheese from Co. Waterford. I was thinking about all the students making their way back to universities and colleges next month, how tricky it can sometimes be to eat on a small budget and keep cooking good wholesome food. This is a perfect example of an easy, satisfying and good value meal… Believe me; Hungry Breton knows what it’s like to be a starving bohemian “cigale” or a hard working ant. But the moral of the story I guess is, may you be living a life of leisure or being a sensible workaholic, we all have to eat sometimes!
Hungry Breton 