simon says french food blog

PASS THE MATÉ

By Joe Ray

PARIS

Le Fumoir is a melting pot for the mid-level hoi-polloi. At any given point, you might bump into the waitress who couldn’t care less, the impeccably-dressed writer who’s actually getting something done, the maître d’ who says ‘I am a snob’ simply in the way he adjusts the blinds, smiling bartenders, tourists who realized they’ve lucked into a good find and a woman who’s got a good 25 years on her lover, both looking happy as clams. (I’ve recently learned that her breed is known as a cougar. Rrrow!)

There are lots of non-client quirks for better and for worse: a Costes-brothers-of-the-1950s style space with big, beautiful lacquered bathrooms, paired with a vaguely Asian menu theme. And maté. Surprisingly good maté, served in a big gourd with a bombilla and a big iron teapot of hot water.

Most places have a clientele you can lump into a group, but here in the middle of town, a stone’s throw from the Louvre’s Cour Carré, it’s what the French would call Le Melting Pot.

It shoudn’t stick.

It sticks.

Pass the maté.

Le Fumoir – MAP www.lefumoir.com 6 Rue de l'Amiral de Coligny Paris +33 (0)1 42 92 00 24‎

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

PIZZA NEUF

 

By Joe Ray

PARIS – Grey day. The kind that makes you wear extravagant clothing in hopes they’ll create a break in the clouds. Parisians, a thin-blooded lot who put on cold-weather clothing at the drop of a hat, use days like this to break out their scarves and winter coats while the rest of us are fine in a long-sleeved shirt.

If you go out on a day like this, you tend not to stray too far. I rode my bike to meet a friend for lunch at pizzeria Maria Luisa behind the Canal Saint Martin, an area larded with good neighborhood restaurants.

It poured once we were inside, but it didn’t matter. The pizza (red sauce, mozz, anchovy) chased clouds and when I took a spin around the restaurant floor, all the different pies looked just as good. A kid at the table next to us got a kid-sized pizza and I’m pretty sure I didn’t see that on the menu. Nice touch.

Nitpicks: my crust could have been done underneath a bit more, my friend’s salad came with a ricotta that, curiously and distractingly, was slightly sweet. Avoid or refuse the table shoehorned into a dead space by the bathroom.

But these are little things. Using my Sicilian scale, this would have been a very respectable Pizza Sette, on a Parisian scale, however, Pizza Neuf.

Maria Luisa – Pizzeria Napoletana - MAP
2 rue Marie et Louise
75010 Paris
+33 1 44 84 04 04

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

 

BROTHERS IN CLAMS

By Joe Ray

ILE DE RE, France

I’d trade a friend in a high place for one who knows where to eat.

Spend a bit of time on this island and you’ll inevitably end up at the Café du Commerce in Ars en Ré. It’s one of the few places open all year, a good place to socialize and renew your love for bric-a-brac, but I don’t remember a thing I’ve eaten there.

Visit a few times, however, and a friend might start bringing you to their favorite places.

Olivier and Moumoune (his ‘Mama’) brought me out to Aux Frères de la Côte which sits on a seawall – la digue – at the end of the road in Ars en Ré. If I’m going to splurge and get a plate full of seafood or a dish of oysters, the edge of the sea is where I want them.

Service is flighty but friendly, wine is chilled in a plastic beach bucket and the fries on the neighboring table look so good, we order a plate for ourselves.

Star of the meal? Tiny, plump clams known as palourdes, served raw in their unopened shell; it’s up to you to liberate them with a knife and their sweet, briny and fresh flavor are worth the trip.

Count on 20-40€.

Aux Frères de la Côte - MAP
Route de La Grange
Ars en Ré
+33 (0)5 46 29 04 54
Warm months only.

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

 

WILL RIDE FOR BRAVAS

By Joe Ray

BARCELONA – While the Tour de France approached Barcelona today, I took a different sort of bike ride – The Tour Gastronomico.

The tour was hosted by a food group called Cassaques – a band of guys who get together, blow loads of money on incredible food, jump around in circles and do a call and answer that goes: “Festiiii….” “….valll!!!!!” Apparently, they once went to El Bulli together dressed as a bunch of toreadors.

Umm… ¡Olé!

Today’s buckets of rain ride stopped at a host of Barcelona foodie hotspots; most worth noting was a sneak peek at chef Carles Abellan’s new digs – the appropriately-named Velódromo – which is supposed to officially open today.

Chef should make a lot of money here as it’s well decked out and the papas bravas – these shaped like fat French fries with a tasty, sweet aioli and an addictive saltiness – are very tasty. I’m guessing a high turnover of beautiful people.

Other Tour highlights included bacalao bunyoles at Fonda Gaig – which is saying a lot, as I’m still on the fence about bacalao, but not about these.

Favorite part of the day? Hoisting Joanito Bayen of Pinotxo at La Boqueria on our shoulders. The guy’s in his mid seventies and should UNESCO classified.
…
Two separate BCN notes I discovered today on a run – restaurant Xemei in Poble Sec bumped out into an adjoining bar-like space where they’re specializing in drinks and tapas while still offering a full menu.

Further up, at the top of Montjuic – the city’s monster green space and home of the ‘92 summer Olympics - I found La Caseta del Migdia, a world away from the city and a great spot to grab a drink or enjoy cheap – 10 euro – barbecue. I’m heading back this weekend to have a drink and watch the world go by.

Velódromo - MAP
Muntaner 213
+34 93 430 6022

La Caseta del Migdia - MAP
Passeig del Migdia
+34 617 956 572
NOTE: open Thursday through Sunday – call ahead for hours

Fonda Gaig - MAP
C/ Còrsega 200
934 532 020
www.fondagaig.com

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

SEX FOOD 3: TAPAS OF THE STARS

By Joe Ray

BARCELONA – Go to Inopia on any given night and despite the bright lights and bustle typical of many tapas bars, there’s also something a bit bizarre: a bouncer.

It’s a little weird, but though I’m sure there’s a bit of favoritism, the bouncer is mostly there to keep the inside full without drowning the chefs and waitstaff.

Then night we’re there, Tapas 24 and Comerc 24 chef Carles Abellan, along with a chunk of the local 7 Canibales food writers are all waiting in line with the rest of us.

Inside, the lights glare and four of us sit on stools facing some sort of hen/bachelorette party, yet the Cava arrives and tickles our palates and a plate or two of food lands in front of us and is gobbled up – we take on our own momentum.

A cutting board of thin-sliced cooked ham appears and disappears, fried artichoke hearts cradle a quail’s egg and raw fish eggs.

This is before they bring out the big guns.

Lomo de atún a la parrilla con mojo should just be called ‘Kobe tuna.’ The mojo sauce is lost in the shuffle, but the fish, wonderfully fatty, marbled and full of flavor has been grilled, making it smoky, meaty, carnal and crisp.

At dessert, the waiter sprays an anise liquor over a bowl of cherries. There’s a sweet and almost vegetable flavor of the spray, followed by the explosion of the taut cherry skin. The fruit’s sweet and acidic flavors compete for your attention as they fill your mouth and dribble down your chin.

RRRRRowwwww!!! No mas! No mas!!!!

Count on 10-15 euros if you're feeling peckish and upwards of 40 if you're hungry and thirsty.

Inopia - MAP
www.barinopia.com
C/Tamarit 104
08015 Barcelona
+34 934 245 231

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

PALERMO STREET THEATER

By Joe Ray

PALERMO – Mom and Dad are gone and I have Palermo to myself for the morning. I walk behind the Teatro Massimo in the city center, find a bakery  where fresh, hot, ricotta-laden pastries come out of the back room just as I enter.

Sold.

Outside, a helicopter whoops mysteriously. I down my coffee and head outside with breakfast to see what the fuss is about.

The theater has moved outdoors.

“You can’t stand there,” says someone who I’ll later realize is a plainclothes policeman.

Twenty-odd mobsters have been rounded up and, one by one, under cover of the helicopter and an impressive line of carabinieri cars, they are escorted out of a special police station, down a set of stairs and into a waiting car.

Wives and grandmothers dissolve into tears and collapse to the sidewalk. News crews and families are pushed around. Tragedy! Comedy! Italians have a particular capacity for making the serious look ridiculous.

Some of the cons come out of the door and pause at the top of the stairs with a look of dread. Newbies. Others grin and give a handcuffed wave with a look that says, ‘Don’t worry honey, I’ll be outta the clink in a couple of days.’

One guy has a plastic bag that looks like it’s stuffed with a three-day supply of pasta and cannoli.

I pop the last bite of pastry, take a nervous picture of the chaos and wander toward my gelato.

Da Carlo is as fantastic as ever. I have scoops of yogurt and cantaloupe gelato in a brioche capped by a beautifully not-too-sweet whipped cream.

Later, I wash it down with a standup coffee at Caffé del Moro where the barista blurs the line between man and machine.

Without looking, he flips a clean espresso cup from the top of machine to his other hand, waiting for it next to the portafilter. Steam rises from the used grounds in the knockbox.

I ask if I can make a photo and while his machine gurgles, he sizes me up with a look that says, ‘Why bother?’ combined with ‘I don’t care.’

“Fa,” comes the response. Do it.

I’ll miss this city.

Caffé del Moro - MAP
Via Giovanni Da Procida, 3
Palermo

Gelateria Da Carlo - MAP
Corso dei Mille, 72
Palermo

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

THE DEATH OF PIZZA OTTO

By Joe Ray

Ragusa, Sicily

Whenever I’m in the Motherland, Francesco, my good pal and stalwart guide, humors my quest to find the best pizza in Sicily.

There’s some good stuff in the south where he’s from, strong examples in Palermo and more unique, thicker pies in Trapani. We ignore the question of ‘what is real Sicilian pizza?’ and just go with our taste buds.

In the end, we got to the point where, instead of calling places by their names, we’d just call them by their score on a ten-point scale. The place in the hotel down the hill with Speedy Gonzales on the takeout box? Pizza Sette. The seaside place? Sette Punto Cinque. Reigning southern champion? La Contea in Modica, where a pie with rocket, cured wild boar and parmesan (a combination that tends to send me over the moon with glee no mater in which state I find it) which earned it the Pizza Otto title.

Before I came back to the Motherland, Francesco started hinting at a new find: a place he was calling ‘Pizza Nove Plus.’ The ‘plus’ being for the food at Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio (which we’ll get to in another post) hidden in the outskirts of Ragusa.

As a group appetizer, we order a tomato, mozzarella and basil pie. The sauce is sweet and acidic, the crust crisp and soft with wood-fired flavor. Plus, there’s milky sensuality from the mozzarella and a crisp, fresh bite from the basil.

Pizza Otto was dethroned in one bite.

Later, after a full non-pizza meal, I get edgy, thinking that I might not be back here for a while.

After the cheese course, I find chef Francesco Caravanserraglio wandering the floor and ask for another pizza.

Full to the gills, everyone at the table stares at me funny until it shows up, but Francesco dutifully has a slice.

The pie has a sort of flight path: “This won’t change my life,” I think over my first bites, but then the Parmesan and cured meat sweeten and begin working together.

I look over and Francesco has broken his fork-and-knife protocol and eats his pie with his hands. He pops the last bite of crust into his mouth with an ‘I-told-you-so’ smile.

Then he asks for another slice.

Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio MAP
via P.Nenni 78
Ragusa
http://www.caravanserraglioragusa.com/

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

LET MOM EAT CAKE

  

NOTO, SICILY

I’m back in The Motherland.

It’s a work/play trip that includes bringing my parents to the land of our Sicilian ancestors for the first time. My sister and I are English, Irish, French, Italian, Dutch and German mutts, but it’s always been the Sicilian side – via our paternal grandmother – that we identify with most as a family.

I’m playing tour guide so the induction is based on food and Day One includes a visit to pastry chef Corrado Assenza’s appropriately named Caffè Sicilia.

While Assenza’s ideas and creations can be otherworldly, he’s a product-sourcing freak. If he can’t do it perfectly, he won’t do it.

His almond gelato not only tastes like an almond in another state, but even has the slight tannic tang from the almond skin along with a mix of minerals and salt in the skin that makes Sicilian almonds unique.

We also try a “Traversata del Deserto” – a cake that includes mint, black tea, lemon rind, sea salt and “lyophilized” (freeze-dried) algae. It’s the kind of thing that Mom would try but stop after one bite. 

Instead, she makes a funny grunting noise, almost like she’s disappointed.

“I’m sorry for all the cakes that will come after this in my life.”

...

Full disclosure: Assenza, who I’ve interviewed and written about in the past, came out to say hello while we were there, but we paid our bill and you can’t bake a cake or make gelato on the fly.

Caffè Sicilia MAP
Corso Vittorio Emanuele, 125
Noto, Sicily

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

Brussels : Westvleteren

Brussels

By Joe Ray

After a good round of gueuze, barman Sebastien starts talking about Westvleteren 12, a Trappist brew that’s rare as hen’s teeth and a whole lot better tasting. It’s often raked as the best beer in the world and is the crown jewel of Café la Brocante.

 “Super rare,” says Sebastian, delicately teasing out the bait. “First you have to call them 400 times and they never pick up the phone. And they’re monks, so they don’t have answering machines.”

Later, he explains, if you get through, you schedule a pickup at the abbey of Saint Sixtus of Westvleteren where the monks will give you a case (“Two if you’re lucky”) and write down your license plate number so you can’t come back for more.

Sold.

He pours a chalice-type glass, leaving the last bit of sediment in the bottom of the bottle. The beer’s so deep colored that the thick foam takes on a coffee-with-cream color that gives off a toffee and licorice nose so strong it almost makes you want to cut it with a bit of water to get the full bouquet. At 10.5% alcohol – more than twice of what’s in a bottle of Bud - the idea’s not that far-fetched.

Sip.

A wall of flavor pushes through my mouth and out the sides of my tongue. There are the toffee and licorice flavors, but a concentrated, sweet and malty earthiness, too. It’s the perfect way to end a beer trip to Brussels and cheaper than a bad pint in Paris. I buy one for the road. The abbey of Saint Sixtus of Westvleteren

Brussels, Stoemp & Suds

Brussels,

By Joe Ray

   

My Brussels beer luck holds true at Café La Brocante, found by asking two friendly-looking locals (with all the groceries they were carrying, they couldn’t have been going far) where to go. The café/bar/restaurant is on the square that hosts Brussels’ sprawling and kitschy flea market and all the signs were good – better said, the sign on the front door announces a beer list that included 3 Fonteinen, Oud Beersel and Cantillon – whose brewers I’ve been interviewing in the last few days.

Inside, old regulars play backgammon, there’s a stag’s head on the wall with a pipe in its mouth and a sign that says ‘Please don’t feed the dog’ in three languages. There’s a local dish called stoemp made with mashed potatoes and theirs comes topped with slices of homemade meatloaf; my father would be in heaven.

The barman, Sebastien, coaches us through a couple of beer selections and his knowledge extends not only to what’s on the menu, but what’s not, including a rare kriek lambic (in short, a barrel-aged beer flavored with sour cherries) from 3 Fonteinen.

We order two drinks and when they arrive, he’s got a bit of a doubt so he opens the first, gets both of our opinions on it and, assured, opens the other.

“I love this place and I’ve got plans,” he says, alluding to an idea of taking over the bar when the owners retire. Perfect.

Café La Brocante Blaesstraat 170 Brussels +32 (0) 2 512 13 43 Map

Krug Champagne tasting

Barcelona

By Joe Ray

I wheedled my way into a Krug Champagne tasting in Barcelona the other day – my birthday no less! - getting a chance to sip on some pretty fancy stuff. I can’t say buying a bottle of their bubbly is the first thing I’d do with a few extra c-notes, but I liked LVMH (Krug’s parent company) enologist Xavier Montclús’ back-to-basics, grapes-to-glass approach to the tasting, even in a room full of food-industry pros that included sommeliers and Michelin-starred chefs.

A few highlights:

THE GRAPES: Montclús’ metaphors to understand part of each grape’s role in Champagne…

Pinot Noir – “The backbone and the muscles that hold up the wine” – anti-flab, if you will.

Pinot Meunier – “The bones which give fruit flavors like pear, peach and quince…remember that the best taste in meat is closest to the bone.”

Chardonnay – “The skin.” The skin? Eww. “Like on a peach. It contributes smell (honey, for one) and golden color.” Mmm.

PRESENTATION:

- The Cork - “Loosen the cage that holds the cork, but keep it on top of the bottle, with your hand on it at all times,” he says, reminding me of a moment when I was a waiter on a San Francisco Bay dinner cruise (dressed like Gopher from “The Love Boat,” no less) and put a quarter-inch dent in a ceiling tile with a cork before beaning a woman on the top of her head. Hoo, dear, I couldn’t stop laughing. “Hold the cage & cork in one hand and turn the bottle with the other.”

- The Bucket – “Fill it three-quarters of the way with ice, then halfway up with water.” A bottle that hasn’t been cooled should be kept on ice ½ hour, but not more. “Minimum temperature should be five degrees Celsius (41 F) – lower than that just brings out the defects.”

- The Pour – “Never serve more than half a flute.” Bottoms up!

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting

FAIR VINS AND FOLLOWING SEAS

Paris,

By Joe Ray

Even in Barcelona, word got to me that after decades of running one of my favorite spots for a Paris apéro, Elyette Planchon has hung up her high heels and sold Au Reve, her 18th arrondissement landmark bar, and retired.

For the returning traveler, Elyette and Au Reve were the perfect way to feel back at home in the City of Light. Not for lack of trying, but one of my biggest food regrets in Paris is never having had one of her semi-secret Wednesday lunches.

Sniff!

Instead of crying in my beer, let's raise a glass of wine to Elyette, wish her well, and do as it said on her apron – le geste qui sauve les vignerons* – take a sip. * “The gesture that saves winemakers”

Click here to see my Boston Globe Travel article, “Paris dreams of things to come – after an apéro” which features Elyette and Au Reve

CARLO CRACCO – PLAYING WITH EGGS

By Joe Ray 

Carlo Cracco is onstage at Girona's Forum Gastronomic (www.forumgirona.com) holding a deep orangish-red egg yolk in his plastic-gloved hand. He squeezes it, pokes it, talks about it and instead of turning into a gooey mess that drizzles unflatteringly down his arm, it holds firm.

The yolk is part of his 'marinated egg yolk with light Parmesan cream' – a deconstructed egg yolk that is one of the Italian's signature dishes at his eponymous restaurant in Milan. It's a play on textures and preconceptions, a chef having thought-out fun.

Marinated?

Yes. For four or five hours, each yolk in a tin cupcake cup with a mixture of salt, sugar and bean flour that sucks much of the moisture from the yolk, leaving it like putty in his hands.

"Up to now, everyone pushed limits," he tells me later, referring to the long burst of creativity and science that's been coming out of high-end kitchens. "Now, we need to slow down and look at what's worth it and what's not."

I can't help but wonder what the controversial  chef does with all of the extra egg yolks at the end of the day and curiously, he devotes much of the rest of the demonstration to just that.

With most of the liquid pulled from the yolk, he mashes a few of them together creating a thick, bright paste that looks like it's been pimped from his pastry chef. This he spreads between two sheets of oiled wax paper and rolls flat into a translucent pasta that practically glows orange. He runs half the sheet through a pasta machine that turns it into thin noodles which he suggests heating for a minute and serving with a tomato sauce. The other half becomes meat ravioli that look as delicate as a Pierre Herme macaron. This, he serves raw – a mini steak tartare encased in its yolk.

This is worth it.

 
Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting

 

Manna in the Sand

By Joe Ray

Under the stars in the Algerian Sahara, our guides make bread in the sand.

One kneads dough in a mixing bowl while another prepares the fire. When the cinders are ready, Salah moves them to the side, and creates a saucer-shaped crater in the sand into which goes the flat round of dough. The whole thing is covered with the cinders and left to cook.

Half an hour later, they again move the cinders and lo, the bread.

Curiously, the sand doesn’t really stick – there’s a thickness to the crust that doesn’t allow it to grab and any little bits disappear with a quick rinse of water.

We’re so far from the rest of the world that at night, there’s no light pollution. Warm bread under the stars.

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

TEA IN THE SAHARA WITH ABDOU

By Joe Ray 

 

How to make tea in the Sahara.

Brewing tips and desert wisdom shared by Abdoudaim Zounga, Touareg nomad.

• The guy who does the tea does the tea. That’s it. He tends to the fire and the tea. Everyone sits in a circle around him.
• The tea is kept in a leather bag on his left.
• Put one teacup of tea per person in the pot, plus a little more.
• Use a little water to rinse off the leaves, fill the pot and set it on the embers. No sugar yet! It’ll caramelize!
• Once it bubbles over twice, take it off the heat.
• Pour the foam (not the liquid) into the teacups. The foam is good - imagine you’re under a tree and a wind comes up – the sand stays on the foam!
• Tea without foam is like a Touareg without a cheche (headscarf).
• Pour the tea into an empty pot and from there, into a larger glass with lots of sugar, going back and forth between the two to completely mix the sugar into the tea.
• Pour the tea into teacups from a great height.
• The best things are done by masters.
• Refill the original pot (the one with the leaves) with water and put on the embers. Repeat for two more rounds of tea.
• Everybody runs around all the time. Mom here, dad there, but when you drink tea, you stop. You’re together.

Bonus: Abdou’s Camel Wisdom Never have more than one male in a group. Otherwise, it’s a battle to the death. When you make camel jerky, sometimes it’s so good, you bite your fingers.

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

The Butter Thief

By Joe Ray

Normally, I’m a salted butter man. The other night, however, I made an exception at a birthday party held at Nono in Belleville. I arrived when dinner was about to be cleared away, but immediately noticed bowls of little wax paper-wrapped butter packets marked with the word ‘cru’ – literally, ‘raw’ or, in this case, unpasteurized.

Without even checking to see if the coast was clear, I grabbed a handful and plunged them into my large coat pocket normally reserved for recently-downed game birds. All in the name of science, of course.

Curiously, I’d been making my way through a set of articles about butter in an old copy Saveur magazine, secure in the idea that though it all sounded good, I’d forever be a devotee to beurre demi-sel – tasty butter with big flecks of salt that go ‘bing!’ in your mouth like Pop Rocks.

At the end of my third piece of toast this morning, the coffee kicked in and the butter – sans sel – let me know what I had been missing. For you, gentle reader, I made more toast.

The butter, still unmelted, starts as cool comfort, curious as it’s exactly freezing in Paris this morning. I feel it melt and coat my tongue and the toast’s heat releases its creamy flavors and promotes a gentle sweetness that lingers so long, a wine would blush with embarrassment.

Note: the picture above is the last butter packet that I haven’t devoured – I just noticed this one is both raw and salted. I might explode.

Nono : 43, rue de Tourtille  75020 PARIS +33 1 43 49 37 79 Map

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

SIR JOE?

By Joe Ray

Blame it on sloth or modesty, but I haven’t done much in the self-promo department lately.

Credit a bump in motivation or a lack of scruples for rectifying that problem posthaste.

First and most exciting, I’m a knight! Technically, I’m a young knight of the Confraria del Cava – the brotherhood of Cava, Catalonia’s sparkling wine – thanks to a series of articles that I wrote about the bubbly a few years back.

On October 11, in Sant Sadurní d'Anoia, Spain, I donned a heavy green cape, made an oath in Catalan(!) pledging my allegiance to Cava, chugged a glass, was tapped with a sword on each shoulder and officially became a knight. I was one of six knights of merit (the Spanish Olympic men’s field hockey team was sworn in as knights of honor), and as far as I could tell, the only foreigner in the room and one of the first non-Catalans in the Confraria’s history to be inducted. Quite flattering.

Earlier this month, I was ask to host a round table discussion at the American Library in Paris around the theme ‘Is French Cuisine Worthy of UNESCO Heritage Status.’ We had fantastic panelists - Clotilde Dusoulier, author of 'Chocolate & Zucchini,' and 'Clotilde's Edible Adventures in Paris,' (and former interviewee of mine!), Charlotte Puckette and Olivia Kiang-Snaije, co-authors of 'The Ethnic Paris Cookbook,' and, to spice things up a little, Catalan journalist and sommelier and author of the blog Wines and The City, Meritxell Falgueras. Great subject, perfect panelists and a full house!

Finally, I’ve made a huge update to my Web site, adding published stories and photos from South America, Sicily, Scotland and Paris – feel free to check them out at www.joe-ray.com. Please send me an email HERE if you’d like to be placed on the mailing list that goes out when a group of new stories go online.

More to come…

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting

Doing it for the right reasons

Belle Ile, France

By Joe Ray

I recently interviewed American food icon Alice Waters for a story I’m working on – Alice is down on France – particularly on the way the farming industry is run – now preferring to go to Italy where they still “get it.”

She should meet Baptiste Vasseur, an organic farmer in Belle Ile’s tiny town of Kerzo. I met Vasseur, 26, while wandering the cliffs of Belle-Ile. He was out there with his friends, 100 feet above the ocean, fishing for the sea bass known as bar and “whatever else will bite” using shore casting rods to cast their bait a country mile out into the water. How they got the fish up to the top of the cliff remained a mystery.

Vasseur is in his second year of production on his farm with no name, now harvesting late-season tomatoes along with eggplant, cabbage, leeks, turnips, pumpkins and spuds.

It seems a lonely existence for a young guy (Kerzo is a tiny town on an island with a total population of only about 5,000 and mainland France is alternately known as “The Continent” or just “The Other Side”), so why here?

“I’ve got some family here, but mostly I just like it,” he explained. “I found a farm, I studied to make sure it was going to work and got a farmer’s loan. We’ve got a lot of debt, but the loan helped us get going.”

I ask the same question everyone eventually asks me as a freelance journalist: “You can make a living doing this?”

“I sell in the market in Le Palais, to restaurants, at the farm itself, and once a week a group of island farmers sells at the aerodrome. That’s it – that’s all I can grow.

What he doesn’t say (I’ll later learn this from chef Epron, who buys Vasseur’s tomatoes for his restaurant, La Table de la Desirade) is that some jerk once came by and poured pesticide in the cistern Vasseur uses to water his plants. This could strip a farmer of his organic certification in a heartbeat, but Vasseur rapidly realized the problem with a minimum of damage.

“It can get political,” he adds, “but in the end, it’s working. We work hard and believe in what we do.”

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

"eating out" (2)

Le Palais – Belle Ile, France

By Joe Ray

I spoke too soon. Belle-Ile chef Pacôme Epron has brought me back in from the seawall with one dish.

Though the man has mastered roasting turbot at La Desirade, it was his dish based around cockles (cockles!) that brought me in. His recent millefeuille de coques, rosace de pomme de terre et courgettes au thym, jus viande au foie gras might be a little long in name, but what’s most important is the mix of cockles and meat jus. Some here will cry heresy at the idea of mixing of meat and fish, but theirs is a waste of hot air.

Pouring what tastes like the delicious fond from the bottom of a roast beef pan over the dish turns it from a dainty seafood course to something almost carnal – I wish I was eating this on a date.

Francois Mitterand might have preferred the frou-frou of the nearby Castel Clara (think: thalassotherapy, buffet tables and crisp white jackets), but I like Epron’s and La Table’s simplicity.

La Table de La Desirade – “Le Petit Cosquet – 56360 Belle-Ile-En-Mer - +33 (0)2 97 31 70 70

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Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

“EATING OUT”

Le Palais – Belle Ile, France

By Joe Ray

Maybe it’s all the clean air, but I’m getting into this ‘lunch on the seawall’ idea. Perhaps it’s because everyone in Le Palais, Belle-Ile’s biggest town, shrugs when I ask for a good place to eat (there are a few), but I’m learning that while the towns are picturesque, people don’t leave “Le Continent” for the island’s social scene. It’s more about taking a long walk or watching the waves crash.

I realize this while leaning against one of the two mini-lighthouses (the red one) that mark the entrance to Le Palais’ tiny port. I’ve brought a baguette, a half-dozen plates (flat oysters) from Quiberon, a tomato from a little farm one side of the island and a pepper-coated dome of fresh goat cheese from a cheese maker the other. Here, this may be the version of "eating out" I like the most.

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Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.