Corinne Trang

Jeanne, "Mamie," about to celebrate her 100th birthday

Growing up in France meant spending time in the kitchen with Grandma…

I grew up in France’s Loire Valley in a little town called Blois. My parents owned a bar and worked all day and late into the evenings, and as a result I was often with my French grandmother, Jeanne (pronounced ZHAAN). On June 11th, 2009 she will be celebrating her 100th birthday. And while I will not be returning to France for her special day, she is on my mind. Growing up, I spent a lot of time in her kitchen, by her side, watching her cook. She no longer cooks today but the delicious scents that have permeated her kitchen over the years, I recall vividly.

I found great comfort in watching her cook anything and her food always tasted of love…she had that special touch, and I couldn’t wait to get out of school and run home to her everyday because of it. Her greeting was always the same…“que veux-tu manger au goûter?” And as she asked what I wanted for my afternoon snack, the butter was already melting to a hazelnut brown in her old blackened aluminum skillet. And with that she’d hand me a piece of fresh baguette that was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. “Allez, manges ma cherie!” and I would scoop up that delicious browned butter with gusto.

A short, plump woman, always in a dress or skirt but never pants, with short light brown hair, Mamie (pronounced MAH-MEE), as I called her, had a wonderful go-by-feel approach to cooking.  Probably something she shares with many in her generation. She didn’t know it, but an important lesson I learned from her was to trust my instincts using all of my senses as she did when putting together her meals. These meals, though simple in preparation always included an appetizer, entree, salad, cheeses, and dessert with coffee, tea, or digestif…in that order. And while breakfast was served when ever I woke up, lunch was at exactly noon, and dinner at 7pm sharp by habit and not because we were hungry, necessarily. I used to watch her look at the clock to make sure she was on schedule. Slowly she’d turn away from what ever she happened to be doing at the moment (she loved bidding on horse races, for example, a favorite pass time in France) and put on one of her dainty colorful aprons, then off she’d be in perpetual motion until the table was set and the food was served.

boudin noir before crisping!

Mamie would always start by spreading the food she was about to prep on the kitchen table. As she opened each package, she would look at me and smile. The excitement on her face when she unwrapped boudin noir (black pudding, or blood sausage made with pork blood and fat) fresh from the local charcutier was such that she’d chuckle. Soon she’d reach under her kitchen sink to grab an onion from her basket. If it was nice out, Mamie would walk out onto her balcony overlooking her beautiful garden she’d taken years to plant. Her utensils were not fancy at all. They were the bare minimum…“ce qu’il faut!” In fact I remember her using a pairing knife to prep just about anything from chicken to carrots to herbs, and any number of ingredients. And so she stood over her table, either in the kitchen or on the balcony, peeling onions, cutting them in half, and slicing each half into thin, equal wedges, never using a cutting board, but holding on to the bulb with one hand while sliding the short blade through the layers with the other. Sweet or tart apples, depending on the kind she happened to have, would make it into the dish, peeled, cored, and unevenly cut.

That same skillet she would use to melt the butter for my goûter, Mamie would use to sautee the onions until caramelized. Transfering the onions to a plate, the apples would be next. Adding a little butter and a touch of sugar, especially if the apples were tart, the cut up apples were cooked down until soft and golden. I liked that the apple pieces were different sizes. As a result some were soft, and some less so for a nice contrast in texture. Like the onions, she would transfer the apples to the same plate. The boudin noir would make it into the skillet next, but only after Mamie would slice a piece off and taste it fresh, meaning precooked in simmering water. When the casing of the boudin noir was finally crispy and cracked open a bit, she would take it off the heat and serve it with the sweet golden onions and apples, seasoned with fleur de sel and freshly cracked black pepper. And like every kid growing up in France, I got to have wine with my meal…or water stained with Chinon!

If you asked her what the recipe was, Mamie would say “boudin noir, onion, pommes, sel et poivre…c’est tout!” So read carefully, the recipe is included here.