Showing posts with label Entre les Bras. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Entre les Bras. Show all posts

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Entre les Bras update

An article written by Adam Nossiter for the New York Times partially republished in this morning’s Durham Herald-Sun immediately caught my attention. It is about French chef Jérôme Brochot, owner of Le France in Montceau-les-Mines, giving up his Michelin star.
This is practically unheard of. Those stars, however, drive up prices and bring a lot of pressure. It is very difficult and very expensive to maintain the stars and add more. Halfway through the article, Sébastien Bras’ name jumped out at me. My Sébastien Bras? I thought. Yes, indeed. Last fall, Sébastien, with his father Michel’s blessing, asked Michelin to remove his three stars. I googled and found this from the New York Times.


In 2013, I was asked to review a documentary film Entre les Bras (Step Up to the Plate is the English title), for The French Review, a publication of the American Association of Teachers of French. It is an excellent film. I actually know someone, a parent of one of my former students, who has eaten at Bras’ restaurant. That’s as close as I get in the grand scheme of degrees of separation to Michel and Sébastien. I did eventually send them a copy of the article and I received a very nice thank you note.
While googling Sébastien and Michel, I also found these videos of them preparing their signature dish Gargouillou.
After watching the film several times and reading all I could find about them in order to write my review, I felt as if I knew Michel and Sébastien. I got rather attached to them actually. I hope that Sébastien is happy and has found joy in cooking again. I still hope to visit Laguiole someday and meet les Bras. It’s on my to-do list.
Here’s my review of Entre les Bras. If you enjoy documentaries and food, this film is a great way to spend an hour and a half.
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Last year, I was asked to write about Entre les Bras for the French Review, the official publication of the American Association of Teachers of French (AATF).  The editor of the film section of the Review, Dr. Michèle Bissière, lives and teaches in North Carolina and is active in our chapter of the AATF.   She attended a presentation I made about my sabbatical or about cooking with my students.  Not sure which.  Anyway, she sent me a copy of the documentary, asked me to watch it, and write a review.  Wow.   Documentaries about French food and chefs are right up my alley after falling in love with Jacquy Pfeiffer in Kings of Pastry.  Durham, NC hosted the North American preview of the film as part of the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival  and I wrote a review about it for our local newspaper.  Jacquy and his wife were in the audience, no less.
I watched Entre les Bras (Step Up To The Plate is its English title) several times and set about writing and daydreaming about actually eating there.  I am not sure that dream will ever come true, but I started thinking about it again after recently reading Ann Mah’s book Mastering the Art of French Eating.  Journalist Ann actually went to the Aveyron départment of France and interviewed Sébastien Bras.  And Papa Michel came in while she was talking to his son.
I realized that I haven’t posted my review.  I had grand plans to send it to Michel and Sébastien after it was published last spring, but either common sense got the better of me or I’ve been too shy to do so.  Silly me.  I need to mail it off with a fan letter.  Pourquoi pas?
Read the review and if you are in the mood for beautiful views of la France profonde, cows, and a glimpse into the life of a Michelin star chef, rent the film.
The parents of one of my 8th grade students have actually been to the restaurant in Laguiole…  Sigh.
Lacoste, Paul, réal.  Entre les Bras (Step Up To The Plate).  Michel Bras, Sébastien Bras. Cinéma Guild, 2012.
I recently read the story of Bernard Loiseau, a chef who committed suicide in 2003 at the age of 52, after rumors that his restaurant might lose one of its three Michelin stars.  Remembering that tragic story and considering that we have elevated chefs to rock star status in the United States, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a documentary about a three-star Michelin chef.  Would Michel Bras be a temperamental egomaniac?  Would he spend his time berating the wait staff in his restaurant or slamming pots and pans?   Or would he be riddled with self-doubt?  Or worse yet, would he have no confidence whatsoever in his son and heir-apparent, Sébastien, and belittle him?
Bras, père et fils, have a restaurant and hotel in Laguiole, in the Aveyron department in southern France, built on a hill with a breathtaking view of the valley below. Michel Bras is undoubtedly a perfectionist, as the viewer quickly finds out by watching him choose vegetables, herbs, and flowers for the restaurant.  His ties to the land where he has spent his entire life seem to be as deep as his family ties.  Michel is a slight, serious man, a runner, with round wire-rimmed glasses who looks more like a university professor than a chef.  He is, however, quite an entrepreneur and has built an empire based upon his expertise in the kitchen.
Food is the Bras family business.  Michel’s mother ran a restaurant and he followed her, taking over and earning Michelin stars.  He decided to build his current showpiece several years ago, secure in the knowledge that Sébastien would stay with him in the endeavor.  The premise of the movie is that Michel is ready to retire and hand over the reins to Séba, as he calls his son. I expected the movie to be mostly about Michel, but I found myself just as engrossed in the emotions of Sébastien and the idea of family duty.  There never seemed to be a question of what his life’s work would be. The photos of him at a very young age in a chef’s coat and toque made for him by his grandmother foreshadow his destiny. But is it easier to start from scratch as Michel did or to inherit an empire and try to stay on top?
Entre les Bras is divided into seasons, a fitting and logical setting for a movie about food and life.  The story comes full circle, in the course of a year, from spring to spring, watching four generations of family interact with one another around food.  Sébastien works on his own signature dishes, telling his own story, built on the time spent with his grandparents on their farm.  One touching scene shows Sébastien alone in the kitchen creating a dessert that he later calls his own chemin, or pathway, using elements from his childhood: bread (his dad), milk skin and chocolate (his mom), and blackberry jam and Laguiole cheese (his grandmother).  He seems truly at peace with the completion of this dish.  He must find his own way.  He knows this and his dad knows this.
The changing of the guard occurs as the viewer watches Michel take down his photos and mementos from the office bulletin board and put away his notebooks filled with recipes and drawings. Sébastien’s notebooks and a final scene of Alban, Sébastien’s son, cooking in the kitchen with his grandfather, wearing a miniature chef’s coat and toque, replace them.  Michel’s work isn’t finished yet.
From one of the first scenes, showing the plating of Michel Bras’ signature dish, Gargouillou, to the beauty of the Aubrac sunrises and sunsets, this is a stunningly beautiful and poignant story of the humans behind the creation of legendary food.
Resource:
Teresa Engebretsen
Durham Academy
Bon appétit, les Bras!
Searching for a recipe, I found Michel’s Coulant au chocolat. Have you ever eaten a molten lava cake aka fondant au chocolat aka moelleux au chocolat? Well, mon dieu bon dieu, I just discovered that Michel INVENTED it. I have attempted it several times, but mine never seems to coule… to flow. I even found a video produced by FR2, a French TV station, about French desserts that features Michel and his dessert. It’s in French and the photos are amazing. If you don’t like chocolate, don’t bother!

There are a lot of recipes out there for this amazing treat. Here’s the one I will try next. Maybe this afternoon? When I need a break from grading exams? Should La Table de Claire be on my Paris to-do list?  Well, malheureusement, that won’t be possible. It is fermé– permanently closed- now.
Fondant au chocolat recipe from La Table de Claire
With black-and-white floor tiles, a Formica bar, modern light fixtures and a sunny terrace, this is the little bistro everyone dreams of having around the corner. La Table de Claire in the 11th arrondissement made its name thanks to the ‘chef d’un soir’ nights, in which amateur chefs would take over the restaurant. Chef Claire Seban has moved on to other projects, but the current chef/owner, Lofti Sioud, continues to serve a spontaneous cuisine inspired 
by his travels and by seasonal produce. Because so many customers had a soft spot for Claire’s fondant au chocolat, it often appears on the menu.
Serves 8.
• 220g dark chocolate, the best you can afford
• 200g butter
• 100g white sugar
• 5 eggs
• 1 level tbsp flour
• A little butter for the mould
1. Preheat the oven to 180°C.
2. In a heavy saucepan, melt the dark chocolate and butter together over a low heat. Add the sugar and stir to dissolve. Let the mixture cool to lukewarm and add the eggs one by one. Finally, fold in the flour.
3. Pour the batter into eight buttered ring moulds placed on 
a baking sheet, or eight buttered shallow dishes (crème brûlée dishes would work well). Bake for eight minutes.
4. Serve warm or at room temperature with a scoop of vanilla or caramel ice cream.
Bon appétit, mes amis, near and far. As 2017 comes to a close, I wish you all happiness and good eatin’, surrounded by loved ones. I will be with my in-laws, celebrating my belle-mère’s birthday.

Monday, January 25, 2016

Anonymity in Paris


I found this photo on Shakespeare and Company's website.  What's remarkable about it to me is not that I was there last Monday night.  I already knew that.  I had planned to go before I left for Paris. What's remarkable about it is that I am in the picture and other people can look at it.  Now, I am still anonymous because my name is no where on that website.  I have added the red arrow for you so that you can find me in my cozy little corner of the bookshop.  I staked out that spot a good 30 minutes before Luc Sante started reading from his book, The Other Paris.  I admit that I do idolize Paris and France, but I also know that Paris is a big city and with the big city-ness comes the good, the bad and the ugly.  And Paris is no longer affordable for most Parisians.  I slipped euros into the bag one man was carrying on the métro one night simply because he looked as if he needed some extra money and he wasn't begging.  As the Amazon reviewer says about the book:

A lively survey of labor conditions, prostitution, drinking, crime, and popular entertainment, and of the reporters, réaliste singers, pamphleteers, and poets who chronicled their evolution, The Other Paris is a book meant to upend the story of the French capital, to reclaim the city from the bons vivants and the speculators, and to hold a light to the works and lives of those expunged from its center by the forces of profit.

I confess to being a people watcher. If people-watching were an Olympic sport, I could win a medal. My students have accused me of being a stalker, but that only proves that they do not know what a stalker really is.  It's a word that is thrown around a lot these days.  Stalking would involve only one person that I am following around everywhere and all that.  However, I cannot lie.  I would stalk this guy if given the chance...


But I digress.  I walked into the men's department of BHV for some unknown reason on a Saturday during the January sales, saw this Dior ad for Sauvage, snapped a photo and walked right back out.  I hate shopping and I hate crowds.

Want to digress again with me for a couple of minutes?  If you aren't a Depp fan, feel free not to click on the link.  However, this ad was playing while I was waiting in line at security at Charles de Gaulle airport and it made the whole experience one heck of a lot more enjoyable.  I started to compliment the woman working security who frisked me so thoroughly and then tell her that I wished she were Johnny Depp, but I didn't think she would find me very funny.  Go figure.




Okay, back to my original reason for writing this post.

I started to feel a bit lonely during the last two days of my trip to Paris and then I realized that it is okay to be alone and even lonely sometimes, not part of a group, and anonymous.  If I have counted correctly, I only know 5 actual Parisians who would see me roaming around and recognize me (My Favorite Parisien, Yohann, Lou, Claire, and Isabelle).  Anonymity affords me a luxury that I don't usually have after living and working in the same city for 36 years and teaching thousands of kids.  It also allows me to snap random photos of people I do not know.  And I can make up stories in my head about them, if I want to.  I am really good at talking to myself and holding complete conversations either out loud or totally in my head.  Is that weird?  I really don't care.  Unless I get caught talking to myself out loud outside of my own home. Then I am kind of embarrassed.  At least I try to do it in French when I am France.  So here we go. Follow along.

On my last night in Paris, I took myself to dinner at Le Select.  I decided to do this based on the kir apéritif that I had there earlier in the trip.  I was given a great table, great service, and then left alone to observe (as opposed to the service I had across the street at La Coupole, not to mention the snooty ambiance). Le Select was also mentioned in Hemingway In Love, a book I bought at Shakespeare and Company and practically devoured in just a few hours.  Hemingway hung out in this café back in the day.  I have a new favorite café.


At dinner, I heard no English at all.  The handsome man who seated me and the handsome waiter who took my order did not automatically speak English to me. (I will never pass for French-- I've come to terms with that, I think.)  I was given a great little table to watch the comings and goings of the staff and clientele.  I am glad that I showed up around 8:15 pm because it didn't take long for the place to completely fill up.  Instead of writing from memory, I will share what I wrote on my iPhone Notes.  With a few photos sprinkled in, of course.

I wish it weren't weird to take photos of random people in public places. I would have a field day tonight at dinner. Le Select. One couple with their critter in a carrier under the table. 
Some must be regulars- they don't wait to be seated- they just walk in and seat themselves. 
One older long haired guy just came in in a fringed jacket, the likes of which I have not seen since the 70's, with a velvet jacket underneath and cowboy boots. An aging rock star, perhaps?




An older guy across from me was reading the news on an iPad, then he worked crossword puzzles and now he's reading a book. He's had an espresso and a glass of water. (He looks kind of like Don Rickles--wearing white tennis shoes- American dead give-away usually).  



I might sneak some photos when my cheese course arrives...  Last night in Paris. This time tomorrow EST Paris will already be over 3000 miles away and a memory. 

The wait staff (there is actually a woman) is busting their derrières. Busy night and it's a Tuesday. Glad I got here about 8:15. It's now 9:30 and the place is packed. Haven't heard a single word of English. 



Pavé de boeuf with frites. Laguiole cheese. Have wanted to try this since watching Entre les Bras movie. Beef from Aubrac, too. Merde-- just caught myself eating my French fries with my fingers.  So not cool.  Another man writing or editing away.  I will think of him as an editor, editing the next great novel.




Where I am sitting is on the way to the toilettes so I have seen some interesting people pass by. 

Some excitement at La Coupole across the street. An ambulance SAMU. Fire truck - those gorgeous first responding pompiers and a policeman just ran across the street. 

For the most part an older crowd so I don't feel out of place. 😀

I asked for the check, l'addition, s'il vous plaît, some time around 10:00 pm, I think, and the handsome waiter brought it, along with a refill of Côtes du Rhône and a saucer of chocolate.  Merci, monsieur!  No idea why, but who am I to question la politesse and a little cadeau?




A very nice last evening in Paris, n'est-ce pas?

I observed something I have never seen before at CDG while waiting to go to my gate.  Actually, the trip to the airport deserves a story.  I usually take the métro-RER B to Charles de Gaulle when I am by myself or with friends.  But I just happened to be reading a sign in the RER and saw that line B would be shut down between Aulnay sur Bois and CDG.  So, I needed another plan for 5:30 am on a Wednesday morning.  I talked to My Favorite Parisien over a charcuterie and cheese board from Corsica


and he suggested going to Gare Montparnasse train station and taking the Air France shuttle to the airport.  That seemed to make sense.  I went to Montparnasse the day before I left and found the place to get the shuttle.  I decided to take a taxi to Montparnasse (not far, but didn't want to schlep heavy suitcase filled with new books) and be dropped off where I was to meet the shuttle.  The taxi driver helped me put the suitcase in the back and drove me to the train station.  When we got there, there was no bus waiting yet, it was still pitch dark and no one was around.  It was about 5:45 am (the sun doesn't rise in Paris until around 8:30 am in January).  The driver asked me why I didn't arrange for a taxi to the airport.  He said that the clients at that hotel always take a taxi.  I assured him (in my best French, of course) that I am not their typical client- I am a French teacher and the weekend was paid for by someone else.  Merci, ACIS.) He asked if I am Canadian (standard question) and said that he would not leave me in the dark at a train station by myself at 5:45 am.  He is too professional for that and he wanted me to have a high opinion of Parisian taxi drivers.  He told me that he would take me to the airport and named a price.  I negotiated a bit, got him down 10 euros, and the price was not much more than the taxi + shuttle was going to cost me, so off we went to the airport.  He promised to get me there in plenty of time and we had a very nice conversation on the way there.  About Uber, Paris, the traffic cameras that are installed along the interstate and how much the fines cost, the weather, etc. He delivered me and the 20 kg suitcase right in front of the door I needed for my check in.  I tipped him and thanked him.  I have a very high opinion of Parisian taxi drivers now.  Merci, monsieur, for thinking of me and my safety.  Train stations in the dark aren't my idea of fun either. Neither is dragging a suitcase up and down steps.

So, I checked that bag and decided to get a last croissant and cup of coffee at Paul, the café in the departure area.  I was sitting at my little table, minding my own business, when a French trio sat down next to me.  Older than me, two women and a man.  I glanced over and one woman was pulling the cork out of a bottle and taking a long swig of something.  I have never seen a French woman (or rarely a man, for that matter) do this.  I tried not to stare.  They chatted away, ate their croissants, she finished the bottle, and they were on their way.  Here is what I wrote on my iPhone--



Once again, I am sneaking photos, this time at CDG. A trio of 3e âges, a man and two women, are next to me at Paul. Me- café au lait and a croissant. One of the women has a pain au chocolat and a bottle of Pineau des Charentes. She is slugging it down. Straight from the bottle, thank you very much. It is good stuff-- for an apéro. But at 7:15 am? All gone. Maybe she hates flying? I've moved on to Badoit myself. 



Madame Pineau is wearing the light colored coat.  And she didn't stagger a single time.

Those are my best stories.  I have a few other random photos.

A man smoking and observing the group of tourists at Bateau Lavoir in Montmartre on Sunday morning--



A fellow delivering milk to homes (I didn't know anyone still did this!  We had a milkman back in the day in my little hometown.  Mr. Polecchio and Biltmore Dairy Farms milk and ice cream)



A little girl running home after getting the family's bread for the day--



A couple strolling along--


Musicians in the Quartier latin on Sunday afternoon--


What a wonderful trip.  Enough for now.  More to follow.  I still have more food photos to share and carry on about!

One more?  My hands snapping a photo of the display featuring my favorite perfume, La Vie est Belle de Lancôme.  I rarely take selfies.  Feels really silly and I always look horrible.



Bon appétit and thanks for following along with me.  And thanks to Jonas, the storm that dumped 4 inches of snow and ice on Durham and gave me two snow days to recover from jet lag.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Entre les Bras

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2141717/

Last year, I was asked to write about Entre les Bras for the French Review, the official publication of the American Association of Teachers of French (AATF).  The editor of the film section of the Review, Dr. Michèle Bissière, lives and teaches in North Carolina and is active in our chapter of the AATF.   She attended a presentation I made about my sabbatical or about cooking with my students.  Not sure which.  Anyway, she sent me a copy of the documentary, asked me to watch it, and write a review.  Wow.   Documentaries about French food and chefs are right up my alley after falling in love with Jacquy Pfeiffer in Kings of Pastry.  Durham, NC hosted the North American preview of the film as part of the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival  and I wrote a review about it for our local newspaper.  Jacquy and his wife were in the audience, no less.
I watched Entre les Bras (Step Up To The Plate is its English title) several times and set about writing and daydreaming about actually eating there.  I am not sure that dream will ever come true, but I started thinking about it again after recently reading Ann Mah's book Mastering the Art of French Eating.  Journalist Ann actually went to the Aveyron départment of France and interviewed Sébastien Bras.  And Papa Michel came in while she was talking to his son.  


I realized that I haven't posted my review.  I had grand plans to send it to Michel and Sébastien after it was published last spring, but either common sense got the better of me or I've been too shy to do so.  Silly me.  I need to mail it off with a fan letter.  Pourquoi pas?  
Read the review and if you are in the mood for beautiful views of la France profonde, cows, and a glimpse into the life of a Michelin star chef, rent the film.
The parents of one of my 8th grade students have actually been to the restaurant in Laguiole...  Sigh.


Lacoste, Paul, réal.  Entre les Bras (Step Up To The Plate).  Michel Bras, Sébastien Bras.  Cinéma Guild, 2012.


I recently read the story of Bernard Loiseau, a chef who committed suicide in 2003 at the age of 52, after rumors that his restaurant might lose one of its three Michelin stars.  Remembering that tragic story and considering that we have elevated chefs to rock star status in the United States, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a documentary about a three-star Michelin chef.  Would Michel Bras be a temperamental egomaniac?  Would he spend his time berating the wait staff in his restaurant or slamming pots and pans?   Or would he be riddled with self-doubt?  Or worse yet, would he have no confidence whatsoever in his son and heir-apparent, Sébastien, and belittle him? 

Bras, père et fils, have a restaurant and hotel in Laguiole, in the Aveyron department in southern France, built on a hill with a breathtaking view of the valley below. Michel Bras is undoubtedly a perfectionist, as the viewer quickly finds out by watching him choose vegetables, herbs, and flowers for the restaurant.  His ties to the land where he has spent his entire life seem to be as deep as his family ties.  Michel is a slight, serious man, a runner, with round wire-rimmed glasses who looks more like a university professor than a chef.  He is, however, quite an entrepreneur and has built an empire based upon his expertise in the kitchen.

Food is the Bras family business.  Michel’s mother ran a restaurant and he followed her, taking over and earning Michelin stars.  He decided to build his current showpiece several years ago, secure in the knowledge that Sébastien would stay with him in the endeavor.  The premise of the movie is that Michel is ready to retire and hand over the reins to Séba, as he calls his son. I expected the movie to be mostly about Michel, but I found myself just as engrossed in the emotions of Sébastien and the idea of family duty.  There never seemed to be a question of what his life’s work would be.  The photos of him at a very young age in a chef’s coat and toque made for him by his grandmother foreshadow his destiny. But is it easier to start from scratch as Michel did or to inherit an empire and try to stay on top?

Entre les Bras is divided into seasons, a fitting and logical setting for a movie about food and life.  The story comes full circle, in the course of a year, from spring to spring, watching four generations of family interact with one another around food.  Sébastien works on his own signature dishes, telling his own story, built on the time spent with his grandparents on their farm.  One touching scene shows Sébastien alone in the kitchen creating a dessert that he later calls his own chemin, or pathway, using elements from his childhood: bread (his dad), milk skin and chocolate (his mom), and blackberry jam and Laguiole cheese (his grandmother).  He seems truly at peace with the completion of this dish.  He must find his own way.  He knows this and his dad knows this.

The changing of the guard occurs as the viewer watches Michel take down his photos and mementos from the office bulletin board and put away his notebooks filled with recipes and drawings.  Sébastien’s notebooks and a final scene of Alban, Sébastien’s son, cooking in the kitchen with his grandfather, wearing a miniature chef’s coat and toque, replace them.  Michel’s work isn’t finished yet.

From one of the first scenes, showing the plating of Michel Bras’ signature dish, Gargouillou, to the beauty of the Aubrac sunrises and sunsets, this is a stunningly beautiful and poignant story of the humans behind the creation of legendary food.

Resource:

Teresa Engebretsen
Durham Academy

Bon appétit, les Bras!