June 22, 2015
France in 2015 remains a country of small farmers, cherished by their compatriots for bringing to French tables food that is largely made according to traditional, trusted methods. Not surprisingly as a result, any effort to industrialize the raising of animals for human consumption is met with a blistering hue and cry and determined opposition.
The French are well-aware that the methods their devoted farmers use are inefficient and costly. However, the possibility that cheaper, but inferior food may flood the market, driving out the small producers, remains a real fear in the minds of the French. That this is a national concern is demonstrated by a recent news program which featured a long segment on what went into developing "bio" chickens, comparing non-bio chickens to those bio chickens made for a supermarket, to those carried by a local butcher.
The arbiter of the quality of poulet bio au grands surfaces, poulet bio au boucher and poulets non-bio was, appropriately, a well-known chef. The verdict: "bio" supermarket chickens were far better than "non-bio", but the "bio" chickens from small producers were even better. Why? Because the small farmer gave his chickens a combination of grains he prepared himself for their feed. There is a definite rapport qualite-prix --a connection between quality and price.
Yesterday, an opportunity to visit some of the farms of the neighboring region, the Val de Dagne, presented itself, so I and a neighbor went trawling the offerings. With our dogs, we visited three farms and one vintner. The first farm bred goats for cheese, offering ten varieties: goat cheeses marinated in olive oil and herbs, goat cheeses encrusted with red pepper or black pepper and others of varying sizes and moistness.
Female goats are friendly little creatures, not so billy goats, the kings of the herd. Watching one of them mount a female and seeing the many young goats around, I reflected on the prodigious result of his rather clumsy approach The more the merrier in farmland, though.
The farm offered lunch, grilled goat meat, or merguez, Moroccan-style sausages made with goat, instead of the traditional beef or lamb. My friend and I opted for the merguez, which was uncooked. We were pointed to the two grills on site and realized we had to cook the sausage ourselves. I managed to neither under, nor overcook the meat, which we ate with a salad dressed with --of course, goat cheese.
Our next stop was a vintners in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Notwithstanding that the vintner was not one of the major producers the wine was superb, particularly the red they called Delicatesse: round, tannic and complex, I bought a half case, a price readers would only wish was available where they are reading this.
We next visited a large farm on a hill even more remote than our previous stops. This farm was devoted to sheep farming. Over 400 sheep slept (standing up, of course) as we made our approach. At 6:00 p.m. that evening they would be led up to their summer pastures by their shepherds, a caravan called a transhumance in France.
We were not able to visit every farm open that day, but finished our tour in another small village where syrups made of medicinal herbs, honey and products made of lavender were made. A demonstration of how the essence of lavender was distilled was in progress when we arrived; among the crowd, two Augustinian monks from the nearby abbey of Largesse watched, dressed in their ivory linen robes. I bought a tapenade spread of wild garlic, olives and olive oil. (Wild garlic is individually culled and tastes milder than that grown commercially.)
The farmer's life in France is relentless, but people who work as farmers or shepherds love the freedom of being their own boss, whatever the difficulties. While many prefer to work at a desk, for those who either inherit a farm or those who leave the city to run a farm (known as neo-ruraliens), the opportunity to be close to nature and to live far from the madding crowd makes it all worth it.
It can be difficult for young farmers to find wives, though. Such that there is actually a website and a television program which function as dating sites for farmers too busy to pick up girls at bars. A farmer's wife has to have no interest in a trendy lifestyle or vacations, because she'll have neither. She and her husband may, however, have the regard of their neighbors and the gratitude of their compatriots for perpetuating, for so long as it remains possible, the production on a small scale, of delicious foods envied the world-over.
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