My French connection to food

I was barely 16 years old and it was a fine summer of adventure. I had gone off to live with a French family in a small town just outside the city of Toulouse. It was a summer program of immersion not only to learn French but also to understand what it meant to truly be French.

I was living about an hour away from the city center, smack in the middle of the French countryside where nobody — and I mean nobody — spoke English. The only other language lingering about was the old forgotten dialect of Occitan, spoken by my host family’s grandmother. It was here that I learned to drink my morning café au lait out of a bowl, that every meal should end with some cheese before dessert and what a tequila pam pam was. (Their 17-year-old daughter and her friends introduced me to this deadly concoction of tequila and soda water in a double shot glass that you had to smack hard twice on the table before drinking — hence the name pam pam — which in reality was the reverberating sound in my head the following day.)

Lunch was always in the city, usually an easy sandwich au jambon fromage or a bit of taboulé from a corner boulangerie. Dinner was always en famille and as I often do when I’m a little lost in translation, I would spend my days helping out in the kitchen. There was always une entrée, un plat, du fromage et un dessert —an appetizer, a main course, some cheese and a dessert. Plus on the table, there were three constants: a bottle of wine, a bottle of water and some bread. As posh and complicated as it sounds, the meals were always simple but absolutely delicious. A bit of gazpacho (sometimes homemade, sometimes store-bought), a goat cheese and tomato tart with a green salad, a little piece of Cantal cheese and some yogurt with fruits. Other days it could be a shredded carrot salad, a steak haché (a sort of thick burger steak, pan-seared and served with mustard) and mashed potatoes from a box, a bit of Camembert and some grocery-packaged chocolate mousse. Sometimes it would be something a little bit richer, like tagliatelle with a smoked-salmon cream sauce and chives followed by a green salad, no more cheese and maybe if you were feeling a little gluttonous you’d nibble on some chocolate. The food was always balanced, easy, quick to prepare and you never felt too full. You never had something trop riche without complementing it with un peu de fraîcheur  â€” something fresh. 

On Sundays or days of celebration, they would have a more elaborate appetizer, maybe some avocado with crab, roast a chicken (maybe purchase one from the butcher) or a stew, serve it with some roasted veggies, have at least a selection of three or four cheeses served with a green salad and make a homemade fruit tart.  Everything was incredible, made with love and as much as possible whatever was in season.

There is, however, a very common misconception about French food. When you say “French restaurant,” people automatically think “fancy French food.” Dreams of foie gras, escargots and truffled tournedos rossinis float about in their minds, and often rightly so. France is, in any case, the irrefutable birthplace of classic gastronomy. However, no Frenchman eats an Escoffier-worthy meal every single day. In fact, it is so rare and often reserved for very special occasions, plus many a bon Français prefer discovering new flavors and ethnic cuisines when they dine out. Even in Paris, the notion of fancy French food is being replaced with hearty, brasserie/ bistro type establishments, rustic and satisfying. Case in point, the animated film Ratatouille, where the feared restaurant critic Anton Ego is enthralled by this simple, provincial vegetable dish. I’ve found that sadly, because of the extremely high expectations of what a French restaurant should be, some diners are immediately disappointed by establishments offering a window into what true French eating is all about. A la bonne franquette¸en famille, simple, bon, frais et fait avec amour. Casual, relaxed, with your family, simple, good, fresh and made with love.

Brasserie Ciçou is exactly that. It’s food that chef Cyrille Soenen wants to eat when he gets home, food that he looks forward to when he’s done turning potatoes, making quenelles and searing foie gras. And believe me when I say that I feel that he is one of the best chefs in town, especially when he does special degustation menus. But, as with all chefs, there is food they like to make and the food that they love to eat, and eat every day. Last week I was reminded how yummy simple, hearty French cooking can be. A really great goat cheese and leek quiche, crisp pastry crust and a fluffy filling with that creamy, tangy goat cheese served with a simple green salad. A rich beef bourguignon served atop a creamy pasta, perfect for those who really need to indulge. A gorgeously messy cassoulet — that was in my opinion a stellar dish representative of what rustic French cooking is all about: slowly stewed beans, bits of sausage and duck meat, a taste of comfort with every spoonful.  And of course the beautiful, buttery Kouing Aman with salted caramel ice cream. The place itself is family-friendly, with relaxed aged-wood furnishings and a playroom for little kids. Some dishes can be ordered in family portions, perfect for those long Sunday lunches after church. It is a window into what true French eating is like, homey and hearty. Leave behind for a little bit â€œfancy French food” and embrace “French family food.” Anna, the beautiful wife of chef Cyrille, shares her own home version of the cassoulet, of which her chef hubby claims with a smile, “I love your cassoulet! Even if I add some ingredients when your back is turned!”

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Brasserie Ciçou is located on 57 Annapolis Street, Greenhills, San Juan, tel. no. 662-9200.