| Sunday, November 16, 2020

Dear Friend, 
 

“A chaque cochon, sa Saint Martin,” stated Monsieur Roblin, raising his shoulders, and with a sigh that expressed resignation before the inevitable.
 
“To each pig, his Saint-Martin” is one of those pithy expressions that sums up an entire philosophy of life. The feast of Saint Martin took place this Wednesday, on November 11. Traditionally, it marks the time of year in France when the farmyard pig meets the butcher’s knife. Le cochon has been carefully fattened over the summer months on cabbages and potatoes from the garden and slops from the kitchen. Autumn acorns give it a finishing touch. And then a family turns it into ham, poitrine, petit salé, sausage, boudin, pâté de tête, rilletes, lard, oreilles, pieds and coign, because “dans le cochon, tout est bon,” as Monsieur Roblin likes to say. 
 
As for the pig, he has met his maker…And thus, signifies the above dicton, for all men and for all things, there too comes an end. So it is for that master of pork cookery, Courtomer’s charcutier extraordinaire, Monsieur Roblin. He has announced his retirement.

“But what about our foie gras?” I asked him, repressing a sense of indignation. Les fêtes will soon be here. Un drinks or a meal without foie gras in this season would be like not serving pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving or leaving out the Christmas pudding on Boxing Day. And to serve a foie gras that is tasteless, overly salted, too fatty, rubbery, or even, ô Ciel! soggy, exposes a maîtresse de maison to (usually) silent censure.

Foie gras, of course, is not made with pork. It is made with duck or goose liver. Since the fifteenth century, when the charcutiers or cookers of pork, won a legal battle and triumphed over the oyers or goose-sellers, foie gras has been an accepted part of the charcutier’s repertoire.

Monsieur Roblin looked away. He sold his fonds de commerce, his business, to a newcomer, a young traiteur. Tout Courtomer has been assured that he will continue to make and sell his highly appreciated sausages at the shop. But the foie gras? The mignon de porc? The smoked salmon he makes himself?

“I’ll give you my recipe for the salmon,” he said after a moment. "Et voyez...maybe I’ll make a few terrines de foie gras for special customers.”

Quel soulagement! I'’ve made foie gras myself, and know well that this delicacy is beyond the reach of a mere recipe. One must grow up in a French kitchen.

Monsieur Roblin not only grew up in a French kitchen, but his father was a charcutier before him. In this, Monsieur Roblin is typical of the French artisan. Although today’s lycées techniques offer certificates in the various trades, being né dedans, or born into it, and apprenticeship play a predominant role in forming the future artisan. Partly this reflects the vital role of seeing and doing, partly it reflects practices deeply imbedded in French culture. French artisans look upon their crafts as forms of personal property, jealously guarding knowledge, methods, and tools, training their own helpers and successors, seeking legal redress against competitors. From architects to waiters, all follow a formation. Madame Francine, for example, holds a certificat de repassage -- a diploma in ironing, as she informed me when she first came to the Chateau. Indeed, she irons Monsieur’s shirts impeccably, and manages the lingerie, with its neatly folded and fragrant stacks of linens, as jealously as a librarian guards his books.

The métier of charcutier, Monsieur Roblin recounts, is a noble profession with a glorious past. A charcutier, from the medieval “chair cuitier," literally, flesh cooker, is an artisan of pork, a specialist in butchering, cooking and preserving this versatile meat. The charcutier, then known as a lardarius, as highly regarded in ancient times – until, continued Monsieur Roblin, the unfortunate collapse of the Roman Empire, civilized life, and the Roman system of corpus, or trade associations. For a thousand years, the charcutier travailed in obscurity…and then, in the 15th century, charcuterie in France became a corps de métier, a guild recognized by royal decree. Conferrebrotherhoods, of charcutiers sponsored chapels and public charities. They marched at the head of processions. The powerful corporation was so resistant to change, and considered of such value to society, that even when guilds were abolished during the French Revolution, the métier of charcutier was revived shortly afterwards.

Pork was, and still is, an inexpensive alternative to beef, lamb or poultry – thus its social utility for the reform-minded architects of the French Revolution. Pigs fatten quickly and are cheap to feed, being very fond of leftovers. In medieval times, pigs foraged in town streets – until 1123, when the son and heir of Louis le Gros was knocked off his horse in a collision with a roving porconneau. The prince was killed.

The grieving Louis le Gros allowed one exception to his new prohibition against pigs running loose…the pigs belonging to the order of Saint Antoine-le-grand. Wearing warning bells, these pigs still had the right to snuffle through urban refuse. It seems that the monks used pork lard in their treatment of lesions due to "le Feu Saint Antoine," or Saint Anthony’s dance, a type of food poisoning that causes painful muscle spasms and hallucinations, followed by dementia and usually death. It was rampant in parts of France in the latter 11th century.

As Monsieur Roblin went on to explain, Saint Anthony, protector of free-roving pigs, came to be considered the pig’s particular patron saint -- and thus that of the charcutier.

Today’s Confrererie of the Chevaliers de Saint Antoine was founded in 1963, at a time when France was fast becoming industrialized. Its goal was to preserve the charcutier’s gastronomical heritage. One of the founders of the order was Pierre Taittinger, creator of the Champagne house, who had a self-professed “faiblesse pour la charcuterie et les abbats” – a weakness for charcuterie and innards.

In our corner of Normandy, says Monsieur Roblin, you need look no further than the neighboring town of Essay and its award-winning boudin blanc, Mortagne au Perche with its Chevaliers du goûte boudin, the Confrerie épicurienne normande, and the Tripe-lovers of Ferté-Macé -- the Confrerie de la Tripière fertoise -- to know that our local charcutiers take their metier au serieux.

Monsieur Roblin polished his spectacles proudly, with a misty eye for his impending retirement. Indeed, as every pig must meet his Saint-Martin, so every charcutier must eventually retire from the laboratoire. But happily, some pigs will go on to meet their Saint-Martin under Monsieur Roblin’s discerning eye…and we at Chateau de Courtomer will continue to savor his delectable delicacies.

A la semaine prochaine,

P.S. Like many charcutiers today, Monsieur Roblin’s repertoire expands beyond the porcine. Here is his locally famed Recipe for Smoked Salmon.

Pour faire un saumon fumé. Un filet de saumon ''écossais label rouge'', le recouvrir de gros sel entièrement pendant 5 heures. Le déssaler en enlevant le sel et en l’immergeant dans de l’eau froide pendant 15 minutes. Ensuite le faire fumé 4 heures à froid. Le mieux est de décaler le foyer de sorte que la fumée arrive FROIDE sur le produit ; c’est très important ! Et pour finir, affiner le saumon en le laissant 5 jours au réfrigérateur.

To make a smoked salmon à la Roblin: Pick out a good Scottish salmon and remove the bones and skin. Cover it entirely with large grains of salt for 5 hours. Remove the salt and submerge the salmon in cold water for 15 minutes. Then, smoke it for 4 hours, making sure the smoke is cold when it reaches the fish. Finally, leave the salmon for 5 days in the refrigerator.