On importing poverty...

walking into Dessureault's fromagerie with another family we hear him tell us "Our cheese is not tested on animals." We all wondered, why would cheese be tested on say a pigeon anyway? Then laughter. That is Guy, owner of Domaine Féodal, a mixture of pied a terre, humour like political caricature and a few life lessons.

Cendré des Près-light, creamy butter taste with a maple wood ash in the center lending a slight complexity to this light bloomed cheese.

Noble. Cows milk, cream, lightly herbal, mushrooms, with very little bitter accents due we are told to the low use of rennet in the initial process.

Guillaume Tell. Guy`s unique mark. 15 days maceration in ice cider from Ace du Vignoble De Lavoie for at least fifteen days. Each meule absorbs at least 200ml. Although I was never a fan of these treatments, I have to admit that the end product is something so distinct and powerful that it is impossible to ignore this unique incredible cheese.

As always the conversation veers afar while we are talking about the price of Québec and France cheese. We tell him that at Renard artisan bistro we serve only Québec cheese, even if many French varieties are ofter cheaper. The reason that they are cheaper he tells us is that French cheese have major government subsidies to compete on the international market. Something to ponder. We wondered about this new fact. We tasted more of his cheese, with glee, and he mentions that along with Walmart, all we are really doing, if we really thought about it, is importing poverty, we nod chewing such delicious cheese, thinking, about what it is that we are really doing.....

fresh and fermented-Québec sangria!

It may not be moose hunting but there is something satisfying about picking one's own raspberries (or anything come to think of it). We drove up rang St-Jacques to La Ferme Perron, were given cute little cardboard boxes and then pointed in the berry patch's direction. Roasting in this freaky July weather. Here is the trick. Don't squeal and pick the first little red things you see. Move into the patch, further, resisting the urge, hold off a little more and then....it should feel soft between your fingers and release easily. Any resistance is no good. Leave it, or taste it, still a little sour. Basically don't do what everyone else does. The nicer ones are always further off.

Two years ago I visited La Vallée de la Framboise, in the Matapédien vallée. They make tasty refreshing alcools using raspberries, currants etc...Renard artisan bistro still orders from them for our Québec sangria. We really have no recipe, but it goes something like this

blend fresh raspberries and pass them
le Matapédien raspberry wine
soda
a few shots of Le Brochu (raspberry and cassis liqueur)
fresh raspberries
fresh lemon balm leaves
ice

you see where this is going, dosages according to your whims and will.

vineyards in the North, oddity in the system

Recently I have been witnessing some weird shit. One of the ingredients written on the side of a box of salt was..sugar. Or something like low sodium chicken stock! Every classic text for chicken stock will teach you that there should never be...sodium. Imitation crab? Banks? Just a few things recently that are odd and unnecessary. I found myself at Domaine Les Brome. A québecois winery. Some people say that a québecois winery should not exist, that it is in fact abnormal, an oddity in the system. We stood upon a tiny hill overlooking the vineyard and beyond a vast expanse of lakewater beckoning. Everything looked, well, pretty normal.

Inside we are told about the wide variety of cépages they grow...Vidal, Geisenheim, Seyval Blanc, Seyval noir, Riesling, Chardonnay, St-Pépin, Maréchal Foch, De Chaunac, Pinot noir, Baco noir et Cabernet Franc. Impressive. And the wine?

vidal 2008 with its faint hints of litchee, white flowers and honey, and slightly peppery is fast becoming the Quebec grape varietal.

Cuvée Charlotte, a mix of Geisenheim, Seyval and Chardonnay, lemony, slightly woody, mineral. The freshness of acidic pears, pretty good with raw scallops.

Riesling, half which is aged in oak, 2009, very light, pears on the nose, honey but maybe still a little young. Too light.

Rosé péché...of hybrids of Seyval Noir and Maréchal Foch, saignée with its nose of cassis and strawberry with a dry snap to the taste we saw this perfectly with smoked duck.

Rosé Détente...fruity, easy. Think, a well made wine cooler.

There are so many more that we tasted. Baco. De Chaunac etc...But we agreed that the better ones to serve at Renard artisan bistro were the rosés which had that freshness of the season, short as it is in hand. The industry is still young, searching, creative, crazy...which is what the creative process is about but not necessarily for those who find comfort in a bottle of France or Italy, although having drank in many a bottega.....

I began wondering if it is really strange for Québec to attempt to have vineyards. Ok, let us get over the initial elitist attitude and we accept that there will never be amazing Québec wines. Granted, most of us can perhaps agree on that. Once we also rid ourselves of a sort of 'global' mercantile approach we can maybe witness the birth of something different, more like a great expressive folk song as opposed to a universally acclaimed play, both intense nevertheless. I mean imagine Finland with vineyards.....and yet....some things are really even stranger if you pay attention.

beyond the simple pleasures de la table

The door of the Sainte-Marie-Reine-des Coeurs boutique opens wide and a sister dressed in the white habit grabs my two hands and tells me how happy that we made it. I smiled, overwhelmed by such a greeting. Then she hesitates, telling me that my accent is not so very French. No. Are you not the father of sister .... Everyone looks at me. We laugh. I tell her that we are here to buy pottery. She invites us in with a warm welcome that I am almost envious of.

As we look through the boutique sister Lux Bruna (light + St Bruno) tells us about the order which began in the 1951 in France based on Pope Pius XII the dogma of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, but they only came to Québec in 1993. The story ended there and she wanted to know all about Renard Artisan Bistro. It seemed strange describing this to her, in a place that seemed to be beyond the pleasures of the table. I picked up a plate of pure stoneware and she asked me what I would serve on it. Elk heart. She smiles. Beauty, she tells me, can be translated into objects and are there to remind us of good things. When they make the pottery they are in a constant act of prayer. I have to admit that there is something very powerful about their collection, and do not doubt that in large part it is because they are passionate, dedicated and trying. As for the simple pleasures of the table, I think that such plates and bowls are an amazing addition and is an honour to serve food on them.

all these beautiful warm tiny bodies in my hands

As we were picking our stawberries for Renard Artisan Bistro I began wondering about all this local movement, actually I also wondering about every movement; from the head to ass movement (note to North Americans the Chinese are way ahead of any of us), vegans, molecular, organics etc...With the 30 degree sun beautifully roasting us pickers I also thought of hunters, gatherers, survivalism and the paleolithic diet movement. A simple act of picking my own strawberries was beginning to become challenging.

Being local food wise in Quebec in a way is easy, but I started recognizing the restrictions, like wine, like olive oil, quinoa....many things I love, but not so 'pure' to a locavore. like a pork chop to a vegan. Or, for instance, another question came to me, do I buy something from BC or New York? Or yet, is it absolute quality or giving credence and support to an emerging artisan? I do remember one thing though; last year I was in a market and someone bought the Cali strawberries over the Quebec ones because they were 50 cents cheaper. Someone told me that the prices are deliberately dropped in order to compete with the local varieties. Encouraging the local spirit or are we getting ripped off, every person's thought precisely. Everyone in the world is trying to justify their 50 cents worth, but I think at least the choice should be obvious, with so many good strawberries available in Quebec, the choice of quality wins hands down. If anything, have you ever known the variety of strawberry that you are eating? Likely not, because we are never told. But for the first time I found out that I was making dessert with Chambly and Jewel strawberries, and somewhat satisfied, I suppose that was my 50 cents worth.

exit the monopole....

Through the misty farmland of Bois Franc I arrive again at Le Presbytere fromagerie, and each time it feels like returning home.

It has been almost a year since the last time I visited Jean Morin and now with the UPA finally in the process of dissolving its monopoly over Quebec farmers, I feel more at ease to write this.

He had put out a cheese not so long ago with the name la Brie du Monopole. This was a direct attack on the obligatory membership farmers had to pay the UPA (not really a union because no one joins, more like a tax or a mafia.). When he was ready to market his Brie du Monopole cheese he was immediately visited by 'some' member of the UPA who reminded him in low undertones that he should think of his children's future. Obviously a very covert threat which saw the early death of the Monopole name into Brie du Paysan (a direct reference to Union Paysanne a fervent opponent of the UPA). The UPA monopoly is now fianlly disolving, but Jean Morin told me that nonetheless not so long ago some UPA members were threatening him physically complaining that he has no respect for the hand that feeds. I could not help thinking of Stalin.....and as Morin gave me a roll of the original stickers "Brie du Monopole" stashed away in a cupboard I was convinced that this was certain to go down in Quebec history!

Fiddleheads...tasty furled fronds of the young fern

8am. Raining. Not exactly the weather one wants when planning to pick fiddleheads, but then in such a situation as nature dictates there is little room to wait since the season is approximately 3 weeks. This makes the fiddlehead the one true wild, seasonal vegetable. In the morning's damp dripping powerful silence I realized that it is something that I have never saw being imported in January, unlike asparagus. Picking, eating or bathing with them makes the experience a privileged one even with the stinging nettles against the skin. And who can deny the incredible beauty and elegant unfurling of the fern itself?

Local wisdom one should follow : do not pick everything you see. They grow in tightly packed bunches, and it is best to pick only half of them. All this will ensure that the following year there will be more. I am told that a properly respected area of edible fern will last a hundred years.

And where does one find them? Like certain people with their fishing spots, I suddenly felt the same about this beautiful fiddlehead patch I was standing in. I love sharing artisans, promoting very small farms, but now and again we all have a secret, and this tiny land with its unfurling fern is one of them. Remember, part of the search is part of the acute pleasure....

Many varieties of fern exist, but the ostrich fern is the only edible one in Canada. It differs from the cinnamon fern or royal fern by its rib which looks a lot like young celery. 'Under no circumstances should fiddleheads be eaten raw' a health Canada site warns....Personally I am still alive, but they are pretty bitter raw, so it is best to cook them anyway.

the good sheppard, the cheesemaker and the farmer

Morning. Driving through Bois Franc region's serene countryside from the river's edge to the church at the top of a steep hill a sort of longing takes hold for some vague moment of simplicity, purity and tranquil harmony. I do not think it was particularly due of my lingering hang over.


Pulling into La Moutonniere's parking lot across from the village St-Helene de Chester's church I was greeted by a family already waiting with another couple to partake in being a Sheppard for a day at one of the first sheep cheese makers of Québec.

10am greetings from owners Lucille and Alastair. Introduction of the farm, their history, their philosophy. Slip on hair nets, wrap ourselves in plastic aprons, and awkwardly fit funny blue plastic slippers over our shoes; not unlike going to the dentist in the winter.

10.20am visit the fromagerie. Explains the process the equipment. Here the equipment is not silent. We use a smaller metal container which is already full of the morning's pasteurized milk. She adds the rennet mixture, heating the mixture to 38 degrees C approximately, and we wait 20 minutes for the magical effects to take form. Pressing a finger in the mix gives the impression of a sort of huge panna cotta. The next step is to cut this initial mass which splits it into petit lait or what people know as whey which will go into making ricotta, the moist solids which will eventually become one of their aged cheese. We are a witness in the process but not removed, as we each take turns stirring the mass which is being slowly transformed, slowly `building` something we are more familiar with. Our hands are oily, as if by some incredible moisturizer. We each taste this initial mix and are surprised at how sweet it is.

10.45 am drain the whey into buckets. We each, in an impressive spontaneous team work, press the remaining solids in plastic molds with filters and fit them horizontally on a press. This cheese, our cheese, will be ready in 2 months.

12.45 am wash the metal container. Strain the whey (petit lait) into it and heat to approximately 82%. Only 8% of this liquid will become ricotta, the rest will be fed to the pigs, the chickens, the animals.

1.15pm lunch. a copious intermission of homemade dishes, a lot of conviviality, a little vino and generous amounts of their own cheeses.

2.00pm check ricotta, strain it. Drive out to their farm to shear, feed the sheep and lambs. Clear the hay, fill the feed troughs, step in sheep shit, listen to the loud plaintive cries of the new born. Hold a baby lamb which was born at 5 in the morning. Get pissed on. And yet, I have never seen so many constant smiles, and have rarely felt so happy doing something, learning something.

4pm milking the sheep. The sheep walk up a ramp onto a platform, and we below, the naive, the novices have to attach the plastic suction tubes to their teats. Intensive, intimate labour which solidifies the group, as we all realize that at the end of our day as farmer cheese makers, we are really at the beginning again. Full circle with appreciation and a better understanding of what we are eating.


Although La Moutonniere have this sort of 100% moutons heureux certification which is not related to any organism, their openness to have their customers explore every inch and crook of their routine on their farm I think is an interesting way to gain 'certification'. If the engaged client is convinced, and questions and engaging we were, there has to be some foundation to their claim. But, as most of us know, theirs is one of the rare exceptions, but one in which is precious because of its realism. One thing is for certain; having passed a day on La Moutonnière's farm I can attest that there are a dozen people every month who are 100% happy when they leave, and that is the ease in which the owners share their day. As for the simplicity, purity and tranquil harmony felt earlier in the day, it does in fact exist, alongside a lot of hard work, patience, giving and understanding...and a little pot of freshly made sheep's milk ricotta cheese.

Sur le highway avec mes oreilles de crisse

spring. grey and soggy lands. dead leaves and last years roadkill appear. Food for the underground. Spring in Quebec means a lot of things, but the smell of wood fires, maple and pork fat are some of the most defining. Paying the full tank at a gas station I noticed all these baggies of oreilles de crisse next to the cheese curds. The curds are present all year, but the pork crispies are not. When they appear, you know it is spring, but not yet Easter.

Eating through my bag of Christ's ears I wondered how maniacal it is how these terms come about. I really could imagine sitting at a big wooden table and the King of kings saying "Take these and eat them, for these are my ears." Crunch, crunch....

And then there is Francois and Pascale Pirson of Porcherie Ardennes. Both from Belgium...both from agricultural families. Pascale is from the heart of Bouillon. Born on a farm, one of eleven kids. She saw her future differently, rather as a nurse (for those who have not read other blogs there is a long deep trend here). Her brother owned a butcher shop in Liege, 150km away, and at the age of fifteen Pascale went to help him with washing dishes. One day, one of the counter girls was sick and Pascale was told to put on an apron and serve customers, meaning she suddenly found herself slicing slabs of meat for clients a la minute. She loved it. After that, every congé scholaire, summer, Toussaint, Christmas, Easter she spent helping her brother, serving clients, learning the trade. So instead of becoming a nurse she became a butcher, with the Patronet degree. She met Francois, and they wanted land of their own. They spent 5 years looking. At first they were considering dairy, but with the price of the quota and how closed banks were to lending they decided in 1990 to buy a small place in Quebec near Mont St-Grégoire with 95 maternal pigs. It was part of the dream but Francois had to keep working for someone else, namely Robitaille. In 1997 they took control of the engraisement, pouponnière, élevage au complet. In 1999, meunière. 2000, they cultivate their own cereals. 2001 saw an incredible thing, they became Pied de Cochon's pig of choice. Picard helped them beyond what they ever dreamed of, and are extremely grateful.

With 2500-2800 heads a year, 4 kids, Pascale on the committee of Slow Food and hard working in Marcel's butcher shop Saucisson Vaudois and PR, certified NaturPorc, Francois hard working in the field, and together a powerful presence in their community, Porcherie Ardennes is not only a place I source from, but a place I like to visit for inspiration, for common sense, and for the love of good conversation and food.

As for the deep fried pork rind, they don't sell any, I did not even bother asking. It seemed that it was a good thing that oreilles de Christ were available en masse a short period of the year, but good quality pork all year round.

Saputo and Kraft vs. cheese: respect for Justice Robert Mainville

Cheese, it seems to me is something simple. Take a lait cru from Au Gré des Champs Le Péningouin, a very young delicious cheese. Ingredients? Lait Cru entier bio, présure, sel, cultures bactériennes. Ok, let us go a little further, say, Germany, Bergader, a Bavarian blue cheese. Ingredients? Solide de lait, présure, pennecilium roqueforti, culture bacterienne, sel. Simple, no? After that it is technique, temperature, time. Kraft singles? Well...

Cheese has standards and government regulations are there to protect them in a corporeal and legal sense. Business seems to work a little differently. Saputo recently is in the process of acquiring Fairmont Cheese Holdings for 270.5 million dollars. Big. For those out of the loop, Saputo is Canada's largest dairy processor and ranks 12th globally. No comment on Kraft aka is it edible?

Recently we have seen an attempt by Kraft Canada and Saputo to overturn Canadian government standards on the composition of cheese. It has been dismissed by Justice Robert Mainville of the Federal Court of Appeal. Kraft and Saputo objected to the standards, arguing that they really aim to penalize dairy processors. Court documents state that the companies assert that the “essential or dominant purpose” of the regulation is “to effect an economic transfer in favour of dairy producers to the detriment of dairy processors by requiring the use of additional liquid milk in the production of cheese.”

Mainville said that new technologies which reduce the use of liquid milk in cheese may affect taste, texture and smell. He agreed with the initial judgment that the new standards intend to protect consumers by ensuring that cheese, is well, just that, cheese. In this we must recognize what Justice Robert Mainville has done, with much respect. And as for greed, let us not forget that it too fights and threatens and thrives to overthrow the very things we cherish, and in this case the love of good honest cheese.

Agriculture minister Gerry Ritz said: “Canadians expect cheese to be made of real milk and this decision will ensure it is. We are proud of our record standing up for consumers.”

amen.

there is no Evil ghost behind the horns of these goats

There is a strange moment in the Eastern Townships when the highway you are driving on, the surrounding land, the points of reference alter, becoming more wild, savage, clean and uncertain. Not everything feels exploited, the unexpected exists suddenly as if it were tangible, what is natural is more easily grasped.

A little on the outskirts of Sawyerville is the home of MariePascal Beauregard and Francis Landry and their artisanal goat farm Caitya du Caprice Caprin. Caitya means Temple in Sanskrit. I found myself not only in this temple of goats, but the temple of something humble. Marie Pascals was destined towards a career in mental health and then....that great change came. That great change some call a revelation, others call a mid life crisis or une prise de conscience. Their products are a simple selection of fresh cheese, and later this year will be adding some aged cheese to their product list. They used to sell meat, but as she explained, she is not a butcher, and there is only a select few people who eat it, as well as the milk. The clients will be loyal for a few weeks and then disappear, or only buy cheese. While there is not a large selection, what there is pleases. Ethics make up for a lot more though. As she took us to see their animals I noticed that all of them had horns. I have witnessed horn burning on the young leaving two burnt craters, and other methods. Almost all the goats I have seen in Quebec are hornless. Most say that their reasons are that they harm each other, pierce their bellies etc...it is for their own good. Is this not the same logic behind tail docking in pigs, debeaking in chickens? The issue is space. In the ten plus years that they have had their animals Marie Pascal tells me there has rarely ever been an incident. Two goats strike each other with their horns, another is busy rubbing their horns on a metal plate screwed to the wall. Doing what goats do....

There is no evil ghost behind goat horns. They are natural and healthy. The only evil specter is born of a certain human 'tendence' ,what we hate seeing in the more popular chickens and pigs...over crowded conditions.

what's in the butter... motherfuckers?

Homemade butter. Easy. 1 liter of cream. Beat it like any whipped cream, but continue, steady and agitatingly, until it splits. Remove the liquid, the buttermilk, put the solids in a passoire and let it drip. Chill the solids and add a bit of fleur de sel to it (if you like salted butter) et voila. Gripped in the early morning with the desire to make butter I went sleepy eyed to the local store in my area. There are only a few brands there, Québon, Lanctatia....Without thinking I grabbed a few 500ml of Québon cream and rushed home. I leave it out for a couple of hours to reach room temperature, have a few coffees, and then start beating, and beating and beating and then started wondering about what was written on the carton; 'country style cream'. What is that supposed to mean? Obviously, I thought, this is not normal cream. I kept on beating the cream and the texture while stiff was bizarre. The fucking thing would not break! I pick up the carton and read the ingredients: cream, milk, carboxymethyl cellulose, guar gum, carob bean gum, mono and diglycerides, carrageenan. Cream for dummies.

I was...a little pissed off. It seemed ridiculous that something called country cream was not doing what cream should do-make butter and buttermilk! All these ingredients were obviously stabilizers and emulsifiers, some that are found in K-Y jelly to boot. And milk as an ingredient! It was all too much for something as basic and simple as making butter. I stood in front of my bowl of K-Y cream, thick and bound, but tainted, not exactly natural, determined to get something real. Now I could have went to some specialty organic store in Montréal, but opted for a quiet drive through the January country side up to Compton to visit La Ferme Groleau, 100% certified organic. If there is a place for butter sanity, and life in general, it is there.

Diane Beaulieu, co-owner with her husband Jean Noel Groleau, is one of the most outspoken people I know. There is no metaphysics or fla fla surrounding their organic farm. Here is a product of common sense, arms deep in the shit of hard work. Not only a farm of 70 heads of Jersey, Canadienne, Suisse Brune, Holstein cows and 250 or so Toggenburg, LaMancha and Saanen goats, but also a strong voice within a group of 30 plus artisans called Saveurs des Cantons (produitsdelaferme.com), whom she more than happily helps distribute in no less than 160 establishments around Québec...and the time she takes to school you in her boutique on the ABC's of milk, of butter and probably the tastiest cottage cheese known to mankind, can only be described as something akin to passion.

Back home, making butter was suddenly a pleasure, real, pleasant. tak, tak, tak. Of course there is something magical about the process, but there is something extremely physical about the act also that we often forget about.

I have heard people call Patrimoine's milk unstable. I can only say that this is the voice of the global market which has lost the capacity to modify and understand. I would prefer to call their milk very fresh and as close to raw milk as one can legally get. Real milk is not a can of peas that bounces around the planet or sits in your fridge for a month. It lives, is volatile and fragile. Their milk is not homogenized, there is a layer of cream stuck to the lid, do not boil it, and is pasteurized at very low temperatures to preserve the taste. Ingredients? Milk. And their cream? 45%. Ingredients? Cream. Labeled as Crème à l'ancienne, with no milk added, no K-Y substances, no additives. Now, who is one to believe? The choice is often simple...when we have one.

the cold hard facts of eating locally

Fog, snow, ice. A recipe for a weekend inside of baking, oysters and wine...and reading. Although the flour from my pizza dough was Québecois, the olive oil is from Palestine, the wine, Chablis, and the anchovies, Morocco, oysters... PEI. So although eating locally in Québec is possible, when not an absolute purist, an imported wine is not a sin. La Via Campesina by Annette Aurélie Desmarais, a teacher at the University of Regina, has written a book about a peasant movement which now has 148 member organizations from 69 countries, including Québec's Union Paysanne, addresses in fact what local really means.

'La Via Campesina promotes a model of peasant or family-farm agriculture based on sustainable production with local resources and in harmony with local culture and traditions. Peasants and farmers rely on a long experience with their locallyavailable resources. We are capable of producing the optimal quantity and quality of food with few external inputs. Our production is mainly for family consumption and domestic markets.' Via Campesina website.

Anyone interested in eating from local farms is eventually going to realize how close Monsanto or Dupont really are, how restraining and sometimes corrupt government regulations really are, and how fragile the diversity of what we eat still is and probably will continue to be as long as these corporations continue to exploit local laws, ruin local peasants, as they forcefully create systems of dependency. Desmarais' book is a great read for the end the year, uplifting and dedicated, as we all should be. Happy New Year.

the world of the great storytelling miller Sylvain Lafortune

Snow everywhere. 4.30 pm and the sun has already disappeared. We stood in front of a huge square silo, a sole lonely light illuminating a part of its belly and part of a sign, Le Moulin Bleu. To the right the boutique is as dark as Jonah must have experienced a long time ago. We walk up to the door; Saturdays they close at noon. Next time. Turning around I see a man walking towards us, in overalls, a torn comfy looking sweater, wild salt and pepper hair and a big bushy mustache. Holy shit, it is George Brassens! Without hesitation he opens the shop telling us that exceptions are what keeps us young.

He excuses himself for his dusty, ragged appearance. The miller, owner Sylvain Lafortune asks us if we have ever visited a mill before. Nope. He turns and off we walk into something more complex than I expected from flour.

Sylvain is one of those very few animated, talkative individuals you meet who are a pleasure to listen to, like Brassens. Only here in the cold humid belly of the mill, which is built above the Saint Esprit river, we were given a history of milling in the world, a history of Lanaudière region, his genealogy and the complex process of making stone ground artisanal buckwheat, not to mention the history of near extinction of some South American wood (Guayacan?) and Hydro Québec. The mill was built around 1860. The mill is not blue but in fact red (there are 4 or 5 theories for that one). The process of séchage, dépoussiérage, cribblage, épièrage, the trillage of size, machine after machine in something as simple as flour, the storing and the series of tubes going just about everywhere makes for something wonderful. This huge complex processing tonnes of buckwheat to be ground by two stones more ancient than any of us or our memories. The mill has been indirectly in the family (St-André, Henri, Lafortune) passed on from the woman`s side since it's inception except for a brief problem with the Seigneur de St-Roch in what was then the Fief of Bailleul, but one has to relive it through the great storytelling miller.

Proud of his craft, deeply rooted in the region of Lanaudière along this tiny river, Sylvain tells us that buckwheat came as a response of massive industry takeovers of the flour industry, and with this love and respect of a more traditional approach and perseverance we are given the gift of buckwheat, which is neither grass nor a cereal but a plant first cultivated around 6000 years ago.....


BUCKWHEAT PANCAKES!
185g buckwheat flour
185g whole wheat flour
1/2 teaspoon of salt
3 tbs brown sugar
2 tea baking soda
1 1/3 cup milk approx.
2 eggs
4 tbs of clarified butter for cooking the pancakes

mix all ingredients except for the butter. Let rise for 5 minutes. Cook in the clarified butter like any other pancake. Serve with maple syrup and butter.

a pleasure of something honest in this culture of crisis and obssesive trends

End of November. Patches of snow everywhere. I do not know about most people, but I begin to panic, my body begins to make reserves, I check my cupboards often. There is a sadness in watching this Québec land slowly being buried with the snow, the intense maniacal cold taking over. As most I am sure, I cannot help thinking about our ancestors who decided to make this place home. In 1985, Fabienne (Suisse) and Frédéric Guitel (Normand) did exactly that. There was practically no land available in Switzerland and land in France was beyond cost unless you had abundant riches stashed away. Québec had land and reasonably priced.

They bought a farm. Pigs. 4 years of injections and the strange business surrounding it and they quickly realized it was not them, it was not what they wanted, they were not happy. Land they had, but there was suddenly the internal dilemma about what direction to take. They met some people who wanted to make a fromagerie of goat cheese and needed milk. Fantastic. 180 goats later and the project never came to fruition. They struggled. For a while they dealt with Damafro but the demand for their milk was not consistent. Delivery of fresh milk was also expensive. Then the loss of of a huge batch of fresh milk from not being able to sell it. Enter the cheese. Frédéric took a course in Joliette in 1992 for cheese making, raved about it, and Fabienne followed. Cows also followed and in 1995 the fromagerie was born.

I listen to a few customers coming in. They each have different stories, but I realize that they are saying something very similar. They don't want to be lied to, they do not want to be cheated. And this space, this fromagerie in a sense, what it felt like was a space to be able to discuss what that meant. It felt like a space to criticize society while doing something about it.

Two of their cheeses, Grand Manitou and Funambule were recipes purchased from the now non existent fromagerie La Voie Lactée, which was in Assomption, shortly after the whole listeria fiasco in Québec. There are a few such who disappear, but Fabienne and Frédéric bought these two recipes from La Voie Lactée in a sort of solidarity.


Funambule-goat cheese. nice runny insides. strong smell of goat, roasted butter, floral. taste a little acidity, butter, hazelnuts....really amazing with a 2002 Tannat wine from Uruguay (go figure the odds of that one).

Freddo-pale yellow to orange crust. smell of fresh paris mushrooms, cheddar, fresh milk, taste smoothe, butter, fatty. 60 days washed rind, semi ferme presée.

Le Sabot de Blanchette-fresh goat cheese in pyramid form, taste of hay, chives, floral, very creamy, amazing mouthfeel. Great with 2008 vin de glace Riesling from Cote d`Ardoise.

Grand Manitou-goat, cow, ewe cheese. smell of hay, goat, fresh mushrooms and nuts. Soft taste, toasted cereal, mushrooms.

Le Petit Poitou-lobster, umami, mushroom soup, wet hay. taste of mushrooms, good length, almost leaning of truffles, duxelles. type of camembert.

In 1985, when they arrived farmers were seen as, well, uneducated and...as shit. Thirty years later a different mood has settled. There is more respect for them as artisans contrasted with the wealthy multinational farmer non farmer.

North America. Welcome to the land of endless diets, fads, endless new foods, endless identity crisis' where tradition has always been pierced, beaten, violated and killed. Talking with Fabienne I realize they are descendants of a long line of agriculturalists who have been there longer than the obsessive, demented trends America is capable of, and I am happy for it, because here are people who have something more to share than artisanal cheese, and that is the pleasure of something honest.

for those about to revolt, we salute you.

It was between making a film or becoming a terrorist" Hugo Latulippe explains in his documentary: Bacon Le Film. Although the theme is that greed begets greed and the big only get bigger there was another message, more heartening and assuring; that by creating coalitions of the smaller, something much stronger is founded than the big multinational standing alone. In short, it is also a documentary of hope.

The issue? Mega pork farms which have been popping up everywhere in Québec. With the mirage of having to compete in a global market, but in the end, as so often, making a very few individuals very wealthy whose byproduct of pollution is out of control. And again who is paying to clean up the mess of these mega mono pork farms? Us. The citizen's taxes who pay. We subsidize the profits they pocket. Old hat. This by now is standard policy in North America. But not everyone accepts this with a shrug and defeatist libertarian's approach.

Enter Roméo Bouchard. Québec's José Bové, ex-farmer, writer, militant against the UPA monopoly, founder of Sauver les Campagne and co-founder of Union Paysanne. This is someone who understands the ridiculous nature of efficiency and profit driven business. "The world cannot support infinite growth." But this is exactly the image we are presented with by most leaders, multinational CEO's and rationalists. Absurd. This documentary is about that meeting point of the absurd logic behind mega farms and monocultures, and the real family farms and citizens of the countryside. We are taken through the strange world of pigs in cages no bigger than themselves so that they do not get too much exercise (food costs money), injections, no sex, no natural expression, live castrations, tail cuttings, under water pollution, abuse, government turned mafia (read Fast Food Nation). We are taken to the frontier where the mind of man thinks that it can turn the whole of nature into a laboratory, where the farm simply becomes another meat shop with no link to life, hostile to nature...the balance heavily upset.

Another issue is that the UPA, Union des Producteurs Agricoles, without forcing farmers to sign on as a member, nonetheless forces on each a payment annually varying between 300 and 600 dollars. Even if you refuse to pay on principle they dock it off your milk production, your meat, your land. More than 5000 farmers have been legally pursued by UPA for refusing to pay on the basis of principal. Québec is the only place in the western world to still maintain this sort of monopoly. Autonomy? This issue is so deep that I have yet to meet a farmer who has had anything good to say about the UPA. Stories I have heard included some subtle tactics and threats towards certain people concerning their future and the future of their kids. Shit, if that is not a mafia....

Under the counter meat. friends of the people and well being, Mont St-Hilaire

On the summit of Mont St-Hilaire with my good friend Marie Josée we looked out over a strange landscape. There was farm land; some of it industrial, some small scale, probably not much artisanal. There was the Richelieu river swerving through it all, probably a little polluted. And then Beloeil. Not much to say, except surreal. Mid november at 15 degrees we could not be happier. Our bellies were full of fresh apple juice, goat cheese and a local bread. Before climbing the mountain we had just witnessed the short zany copulation of a billygoat and his mate. After strange tongue movements reminiscent of 80`s rock band members and a shuffle and a dance, BAM! One swift shot which took, 2 seconds. We were stunned. No pleasure there. I can see how being called a buck could perhaps be insulting. I asked what they did with the meat. They don`t advertise their meat, and keep it for those who....well, all I can say is that the trunk of my car began quickly filling up. One thing I could not help noticing was that most of the goats had their horns. Delicate, since they do fight quite a bit, and regularily impale one another. They find it a tough moral decision. Instead of burning off the horns though he is experimenting with a pretty innovative trick. A tight rubber band around the base of the horn. Blood is cut off, the horn falls. That is it. And they respect the natural cycle of their animals, no artificial lighting, no artificial nothing. How simple is that. No compromise. A lot less cheese in the winter but a little time of rest. That is that. It does not get more normal than that.

Coming down the mountain we were ready to visit the ice cider Cryo.

Although Hugo, the owner of Cryo, was not there we were nonetheless given the grand tour. She explains the two different types of ice cider: Cryo concentration which represents about 90 percent of the production which is essentially apples picked in autumn, frozen out doors and then slowly pressed for the concentrated juice. The second method is cryo extraction which is when the apple is frozen on the tree itself, picked weather and wind beaten on a crazy minus too many degrees Québec winter day and then pressed frozen. Courtland is usually the apple for this. For both of these methods the essential characteristic is that the process of freezing is completely natural. We talked about how the Chinese have understood this method and are trying to do the same but by using freezers. Enter industrialization. This led once again to the talk of AOC`s in Québec to protect products which are pure in their approach and definite in the character of the terroir. Put this way, winter looks a little different.


mi Cryo-Spartan, Mcintosh and Empire. 8.7% nice balance between sugar and acidity giving way to apple. Fresh.

Cryo cidre de glace-11% soft, spices, honey. Not too sweat leading to apricots, with subtle oxidation, buttery with a nice apple finish.

Prestige-2008 10%-apples picked in mid-january. Crazy irony that the immediate fruit on the nose is litchi with a little pineapple with toasted nuts. Excellent big taste of compoted Courtland.


The trunk full again with meat, drink, apples, blue squash....I could only be thankful for my friends and the artisans who are holding on to values which hopefully will multiply in their intensity and respect not only for the nature but for each of us.

picnic of raw milk cheese on the summit of the mini mountain St-Grégoire (a reprieve from douche bags)

Upon waking I wanted to climb a mountain. A nice steep hike to work off last nights oyster's and wine, and 5 course meal and beer....I also needed cheese for the restaurant. I looked at a map and without hesitation I knew it was going to be the Mont St-Grégoire area. I have always drove past it, always admiring its bulk among the flat farm lands.

I can see the mountain as I drive down rang Saint Édouard, a powerful presence, an unmistakable point of reference. The plan was to buy some cheese at Au Gré des Champs and then picnic on the peak of that powerful bulk. Some cattle are indoors an open barn where the chew and wait, some are outside just standing around, almost as if scheming, occasionally taking a dump. Behind them about 5 km away I can see Mont St Grégoire's lonely presence rising out of the flat land. A dog starts barking, a protetive natural warning. Daniel Gosselin sticks his head out of the door, says hi, asking if I needed anything. Just watching the cows. He understands, waves and I continue. How ingenious that the sun should burst into plants and grass, these enormous beasts should eat them, we milk them and with the magic of a little salt, cheese. A way to preserve the otherwise quickly spoiling milk (unless pasteurized). Here no. This is straight up organic raw milk. Fromage fermier. Auto-sufficient farmer's cheese, meaning that they control all levels of production. Inside, the boutique is represented a dozen or so other artisans, mostly organic, and even a dozen or so cheeses from other fromageries around Québec, a good reminder of solidarity. Also one can observe through a window into the production room where there is about 20 plastic rounds slowly dripping. I am told that this is a mix of last night and this morning's milking and will end up becoming three months from now their famous Gré des Champs cheese. One meule per cow. The farm was taken over by Daniel from his father who also operated a dairy farm, and with his wife Suzanne Dufresne decided who used to work for the commission scholaire they slowly replaced the Holsteins with the Suisse Brunes, replanted the land with many varieties of flowers, studied, learnt and pushed towards their first two cheeses, Gré des Champs and Iberville in 2000. Monnoir followed and now two fresh raw milk cheeses unheard of before. Most raw milk cheese by law has to be aged for a minimum of 60 days. Not these. With another permit they are able to produce a 5 day fresh cheese and a 15 day one. Each with incredible intensity. Au Gré de Champs work on this level is to be admired.

Along the way on chemin de la Montagne I see a little kiosk selling apples and other things. Last chance. I am greeted by a guy with a big hunting gun. Hello. I oddly felt like I was back in Lebanon for a second. He goes and gets a woman who is responsible for the kiosk. He disappears. I buy some apples and a jar of apple jelly she makes which I think will go great with the younger floral cheeses.

Not far from there is the entrence to the mini moutain. I pay the three dollars to the Non profit organization CIME who protects the place and its wildlife. I walk up the steep flank of the mountain, ok, 251 meters. This is not Everest at 8848 meters, but nonetheless this mini mountain delivers an impressive view and a solid donkey kick to the heart. Along with Mont Yamaska, Shefford, Mont Rougemont, Saint Hillaire and Saint Bruno they all represent the same event when the North American Plate moved westward 124 million years ago. I sat down on something millions of years old, looking at what was once an immense wild forest below. All this dense forest in such a short time has become the clean cut ownership lines of farm land spreading out as far as the naked eye can see. Grey rectangles, rust coloured orchards, beige rectangles, off green rectangles. The mini mountain was once named Mount Johnson after John Johnson owner of the monnoir and Seigneurie in 1795. The named changed in 1923 after Grégoire le Grand (540-604). I can only imagine why. I watch the movement of the passing clouds' shadows over the fields below and pull out the cheese, the apple jelly and the bread.

Pont Blanc. 15 days, raw milk organic. Along with the Peningouin it is the first raw milk cheese under sixty days in Canada. Pungent, very floral, creamy. Excellent with the apple jelly I bought from that little kiosk.

Gré des Champs. 3 months and up. Rotten oatmeal looking crust, smell of a damp cave, orangish tint. Soft taste of mushrooms, hazelnuts, flowers, cooked butter.

Iberville-2 month old. semi firm, light orange crust, very floral, herbal, creamy, toasted notes with a slight bite.

Le Monnoir-good hard rotten crust, damp forest floor speckled with penicilium candium. This one from a winter milk, slightly drying, not as fatty. Light tasting, hazelnuts, butter, herbal. 6 months.

I was happy to be able to appreciate all this beauty, great cheese, good health. I thought of all the farms below that I do business with, all part of this fragile fabric in the face of multinationals, yet still persevering. I wanted everyone to be here with me suddenly, including my late father, brother, grandfather, grandmother and uncle. I was grateful to my mom's efforts, my stepfather's love and patience, and somewhere the God we all refer to even if divided. I was happy, and yet knew that in about 30 minutes driving back to Montréal I would be angrily cursing humanity and stupidity again.

the strange world of the elk, turtle blood and deer penis

I was invited by a friend to visit an elk farm in southern Québec. Fantastic I thought. It was my birthday and that seemed perfect. Turning off the 202 (note previous blogs), we head down the old Dutch. A beautiful winding country road threading through wild and cultivated landscapes. Arriving at Wapitis Val-Grand-Bois the first thing we see are those wild turkeys. Out of the car we quietly follow them for a short distance, observing their nervy little hyper walk maneuvers. All I could think was I wish I had a sling shot or a gun. (I was later informed that it takes not only one permit but two, and that you are allowed one day and one bird.). We return back to the house, which is pretty secluded. Across the country road is the huge area for the elks, and from where we stand we can count 8. We are greeted by a tiny woman Francine, with, something I would call, curious, kind energy. Inside the boutique which is tiny room off the living and dinning room, the first thing I see is a bottle of Wapifor pills. I was in backwoods Québec, but also suddenly confronted with the intense and barely understood world of Chinese medicine. Before coming I was reading about Elk antler velvet which is said to relieve symptoms of arthritis, increase's blood flood and also said to have good results for men who lack the confidence of a firm sex drive. In traditional Chinese medicine it is only second to ginseng in importance. This naturally led to reading about even Hippocrates having recommended deer penis. Then deer penis wine. Then turtle blood. Then a ban of these products in the 2008 Summer Olympics. I thought, there must be some truth to this if they are being banned! Already, deer penis wine sounds a lot better than Coca Cola (let us think origins). And given the Chinese the benefit of the doubt with 2000 years of experience.....

But here I was in Québec. We went through the usual introductions and then instead of getting to `business' we sat down in a sort of sun room and began to talk. She and her husband Raymond bought this property 23 years ago, which in its origin was a little run down and abandoned. They took another couple of years to try to decide what it was that they would do. 16 years ago Elk came into the picture. They began with two females (with the aid of ever present Mark Hebert who was the model for all subsequent elk farmers). They built the area all the while taking their needs into consideration. Even the large forest area at the back was planned for the winter months when the elk like to huddle in the thick of the wild. The goal, she admitted was obviously less the meat than for the antlers which fetched extremely high prices from China and Korea. They slowly built their troop, cautiously because all the while they were learning what it meant to live with elks. They learnt slowly through observation, and the occasional help of veterinarians, and other members of the Association des Éleveurs de Wapiti du Québec. Raymond kept working at what is referred to as Le Shoppe but I did ask any specifics. Then came the infamous 2001, mad cow disaster. This changed everything. The borders closed. The market became difficult. There was a commercial 'antler dryer' in Gaspésie that was supposed to pan out but took a lot of time, and there is some non payment gossip surround this too. I am sure given also the lucrative nature of this kind of enterprise there is another story behind all this. So now they concentrate their energies on all the foires, marchés and artisanal markets. But at 60 years of age, they are finding this difficult. In 23 years they have never taken a vacation and were now thinking of Italy. We then moved to the products, and while describing the rillettes and terrines and elk meat I realized that I was more than famished. I really had something like an urge to run out in the field and grab one of those wild turkeys and take a bite out of one. I told her what I was going to do, and instead, telling me that she was also hungry that she had soup, some cheese (Fritz Kaiser), elk charcuterie (Saucisson Vaudois) and some raw sliced garden peppers. Ten minutes later inside of her house we are eating, talking about the pleasures of Italy, her son, Olivier who took photos for a book on beer which was to be out the next day. Then the talk of regrets. They wonder if they have failed doing what they did because nothing really seems to some of it. They had a plan and it never really materialized. This final note affected me. And at 60, they wondered was it worth continuing. I could not answer, rather thinking that it seemed that this was the essential question at all periods of our lives. We talked. (I will edit that part). There was something more profound here than what I came for. I found something more than elk meat and pills.... No marketing, no bullshit. But questions, yes. A desire to do things correctly, yes. Conscience, yes. Living correctly. Without hesitation I bought huge quantities of elk meat for the restaurant and will be back for as long as they are there. I asked about the pills but she laughed saying that I was still young and instead offered me a jar of her home made fir extract jelly (amazing with elk rillettes!) And if they really decide to go to Italy, I am more than happy for them and will definitely expect a postcard. And as a birthday it will be one of the more memorable.

the buried lambs head that was not to be

I was watching workers in the Kawa Ijen region of east Java in Indonesia ceremoniously carry a lamb head to bury in the accumulated sulfur deposits on the side of the volcano. Once a year they performed this ritual to avoid unwanted accidents. I was impressed by the act. I understood it as something like a physical prayer. The ritual began because a friend of one of the workers had a dream which scared him, with many omens and demanded of him somewhere in the waking hours the need to bury the head. There was a meeting. They decided. One day, before the incredibly difficult labour of carrying kilos of sulfur stones in baskets balanced on their shoulders down the side of the volcano, they buried the head of a lamb and the rest they ate.

Driving up the Saint Joseph du Lac mountain I was wondering if I would bury my own lamb`s head. I received a call from Brigitte, one of the owners of Fromages Du Verger telling me that this years animals were ready. Last year I had put my name down in a waiting list for the yearly slaughter. The orchards are all empty and closed. A sure sign that winter is coming. I turn onto rue de la Pommeraie, a quite, rural road with a few bungalows and much bigger homes, and after a minutes drive pulled into their driveway. The one thing I note is that there already a 6 degree difference between here and the town of St Joseph du Lac. Instead of going into the boutique I decide to walk around their land first. The orchard is quiet. The whole land is surround by woods which has cut the strong wind to a whisper. The sun is intense and hot here. Beside the orchard there is the barn where the sheep are divided by age with an exit which gives onto a large pasture. A few apples are half eaten here and there. Their myriad faces stare at me with those curious eyes, ears punching out like wings. Here are a cross breed of East Friesian and Lacaune sheep. The first from Northern Germany with an extremely high yield of milk and the second from the south of France which is predominately used for the famous Roquefort cheese. The crossbreed favoured in these parts of North America. The collective murmur of burping, bleating, grunting, snorting, scratching against the wooden fences, farting and pissing takes on its momentum again. I watch them feeling somewhat intense about the fact that I was going to eat on of them. And one of them really was staring at me so intensely that I almost told him 'sorry'. Following a group of them to open pasture I notice that most of the trees have lost their leaves but there still remain a few lone apples clinging to the bare branches.

I found it incredible that when Brigitte told me that she and her husband Michel worked in the pharmaceutical industry...this was something happening more and more. Like most, they wanted to start off on their own. But the idea of continuing in their own trade exhausted them. They thought of making pret a manger meals but neither of them were cooks, they also considered wild mushrooms, but that was too much for them. Cheese on the other hand seemed to be a natural transition. They took a cheese making course at the Institut de Technologie Agroalimentaire in Saint Hyacinthe. What kind of cheese they hand to decide. They found goats too nervous and enervating, but sheep were calm and quiet, essential with very little maintenance. After having searched for 9 months for a location they had found this orchard which at that time was called Le Verger de la Tentation. They purchased it in 2007. They bought 60 head from M. Goyette in Cantons de l'Est and built a barn next to the orchard, which for two ex-pharma heads was as one can imagine quite the undertaking. Then they had to build the fromagerie. In the meantime they were able to rent a space at the ITA in order to develop their style of cheese. I listened, amazed at the sudden and so recent transition that these two have went through. The conversation veered into all the strange ingredients one finds in food. Milk powder especially. A lot of cheeses out there use it, she tells me. At 1/3 the price. More profit. Instead they took the ethical stance many are taking. She shows me the ingredient label of her yogurt-Pasteurized sheep's milk and bacterial culture. That is it. No ultra filtered milk or milk powder with how many vitamins and pro-biotic additions or whatever the trends are now. This is a solid 6% fat content yogurt. More or less the real thing.


le Pommé-firm cheese with a wax rind to remind one of the apple used in the recipe. Taste of toasted butter, subtle in taste with hints of apples and pears.

Le Bohème-firm cheese with herbal and good acid accents reminding one of a good aged cheddar. Subtle hints of pear, hazelnuts.

Le Louché-like a faisel, thicker than yogurt, less salty than labne, less acid. Perfect with some fresh fruit.

Brebichon-winner of 2010 Caseus award. Soft apple washed rind, strong mushroom and toasted nuts on the nose, creamy floral almost roasted chestnut tart shell taste-pretty tasty with a Saint André de Figuière Cote de Provence Rosé 2009.


There were more and more clients coming in wanting to taste their cheeses. I could feel a bit of stress. It is only the two of them running the show. Time to go. I quickly paid for my 62lbs of lamb as they quickly described all the cuts that were already prepared for me...neck, rack, belly, testicles, but no tongue, meaning no head. Maybe it was processed somewhere into cat food or something. Walking to the car I thought how stupid it was to bury the head anyway, one could make a wonderful roast with it or stock. We all have our priorities, and I suppose mine was that I felt safer eating their cheese and meat knowing it was virtually free of anything than what it was. As for the world of the spirit, I suppose it was enough to know that they cared that much to have chosen their new profession with less greed and avarice than many other do.