2,454: The Whole Fromage by Kathe Lison

Despite it not being set in Paris, and despite it only just being still July, I’m submitting The Whole Fromage as my final Paris in July (run by Bookbath and Thyme for Tea) offering as, firstly, it’s a fascinating book and, secondly, it positively drips (or, as it’s about cheese, possibly oozes) Frenchness.

The author, Kathe Lison, is a Wisconsin-born cheese lover who decided to travel around France to try and understand its cheese obsession better.  After all, in a country with somewhere between 350-400 recognised types of cheese, this leaves plenty of scope for discovery.  Now, of course, covering even a small proportion of these cheeses would be a practical impossibility and so, sensibly, Lison restricts herself to some of the best-known cheeses, such as Camembert, Roquefort and Comté, and a few other classic types, such as various brebis (sheep’s cheese) and goat’s cheese.

Each chapter revolves around visits she makes to local cheesemakers which form the platform for her to explore the history and culture behind them (and indirectly, much of France itself) and current issues and controversies.  In particular, a constant theme is the tension between traditional artisanal manufacture and modern, technology-aided industrial manufacture.

As well as being an entertaining travelogue and an interesting record of the labour-intensive work involved in artisanal cheesemaking and the hard lives of the makers and their families, The Whole Fromage is jampacked with information about French cheeses, such as their basic classification, the processes of cheesemaking, the economics of the enterprise and the intricacies and misleading nature of the AOC system.

It is also full of interesting tit-bits of information.  For example, I didn’t know that the classic white “fleurie” skin on a Camembert is not made by native Camembert mould (which is an unattractive blue-grey) but by the same mould that creates the equivalent mould on a Brie and was introduced to make a more visually appealing cheese.

Equally, I hadn’t realised that most Camembert is now made with pasteurised milk and not raw milk and so can’t be called Camembert de Normandie.  Or that 97% of Roquefort production is carried out by a single company the Société des Caves de Roquefort which is, in turn, controlled by the largest dairy products group in the world, Lactalis, which also owns the iconic Président brand of Camembert and butter.  Intrigued by this, I carried out my own inspection of some very rustic and traditional looking cheeses in Marks and Spencer the other day and, yes, the “traditional” Camembert in its wooden box was pasteurised and not AOC (and a Lactalis brand) and the Roquefort was made by the Société.  So, if you were in the Hayle branch of M&S in Cornwall last Tuesday and saw a dishevelled and sunburnt man in shorts standing by the cheese shelves smiling and muttering oddly, that was me and this was why!

Lison;s technique is not to spend much time with foodies or chefs but to visit the actual cheesemakers and other locals.  She mixes her discussions of history, politics and culture in with her travels and, although sometimes it can feel a little mixed up, her journalistic writing style keeps the narrative moving along and stops it getting bogged down in fact.  I should also point out that Lison has a real knack for describing food and its taste and odor. 

If you like cheese, want to learn more about it or just like reading about foodie travels, this is a must-read book.  The author is generous in praise for other writers on cheese such as the late Patrick Rance and I suspect that, in course of time, The Whole Fromage will be seen as a worthy addition to the cheesy canon.

On a more general note, The Whole Fromage gives a great deal of insight into the changing face of modern France.  As Charles de Gaulle pointed out, amusingly if inaccurately, “Comment voulez-vous gouverner un pays qui a deux cent quarante-six variétés de fromage?” and the gradual erosion of rural life and the tension between industry and agriculture is never far from sight in the pages of Kathe Lison’s book.  She comments accurately when discussing the EU’s maligned Common Agricultural Policy that, without its subsidies, the prices of many of France’s most artisanal and traditional cheeses would be out of reach even to the relatively wealthy consumer and would, in consequence, die out and be lost to the world.  How long some of these can survive must be in doubt.

I’d like to thank Crown Publishing for sending me a copy of The Whole Fromage for review and, if you’d like a second opinion before buying this (which you should definitely do), please pop over to the following blogs:

• Comfort Bites
• The Literary Omnivore
• Cecelia Bedelia
• Estella's Revenge
• Old Uvai Reads

2,455: Mission to Paris by Alan Furst

Mission to Paris is another classic Alan Furst spy novel.  Furst specialises in the immediate pre-war period in Europe, a world of shadows and threats with dark clouds of war gathering over the continent.  Into this world of moral ambiguities, Furst sends out his heroes, usually non-professional agents, to engage in espionage against the Nazi regime.

His latest hero, Frederick Stahl, is a Hollywood star, sent to Paris at the behest of his studio boss, Jack Warner, to star in a French production.  Although Austrian by birth, Stahl, at the beginning of Mission to Paris is thoroughly naturalised and comes to Paris with the intention of just oding his job, keeping quiet on the political situation and then getting back to the US as soon as he can.#

It is, however, the autumn of 1938 and there is an overriding sense that France is holding its breath in anticipation of war with Germany.  Furst is masterful in capturing the feel of this foreboding and the range of emotions felt by Parisians during this period.  From the moment of his arrival, Stahl finds himself the target of Ribbentrop’s Foreign Service and its strategy to weaken morale in France by encouraging pro-German and anti-war sentiment.

At first, wealthy and aristocratic German sympathisers in Parisian society try to inveigle and charm him into acquiescence, followed by the sudden appearance in Paris of one of Stahl’s old Austrian acquaintances.  Stahl unwisely agrees to an interview with a newspaper whose editorial policy favours appeasement and gets fooled into making some unwise statements.  It then turns nasty with Ribbentrop’s minions threatening Stahl unless he agrees to their demands.

However, the Germans had not counted on Stahl’s inherent decency and his dislike both for the Nazis and for their attempts to manipulate him.  He offers himself up to the American embassy and becomes an unofficial agent, couriering money into Berlin for an agent in place and bringing back important information on Hitler’s intentions in Poland.

For me, the joy of Furst’s writing lies in his incredible ability to evoke the atmosphere of the immediate pre-war years.  He seems to be especially at home in the Paris of this time, introducing the reader to a rich society of Eastern European emigrés, indolent parasites, corrupt businessmen and near traitorous journalists.  Indeed, by comparison, the scenes in Berlin, Hungary and North Africa seem just a touch lightweight.

Furst’s other great talent is for the creation of tension and fear as Stahl undertakes his dangerous missions and is threatened by the Nazis.  I’d caveat this slightly by making it clear that an Alan Furst novel is not a rip-roaring action-fest but a more sedate exercise with tension coming from the fear of the knock on the door or the tap on the shoulder.  One particular scene, in which one character takes surreptitious photos of top secret papers whilst the wife of a top Nazi bathes in the next room, has stuck in my mind for this reason.

Stahl himself is almost a caricature hero, being handsome and seemingly sexually irresistible (and an implausibly skilful lover) as well as morally upright and brave.  He even ends up preferring the more intellectual and more mature attractions of the emigré who acts as the film’s costume maker to the more obvious appeals of the young aristocratic Parisian, Kiki.  His status as Hollywood star also enables him to escape situations in an almost deus ex machina fashion and it is tribute to Furst that he manages to retain a sense of danger in spite of this.

Mission to Paris is not only a first rate historical espionage novel but is also a lovely period novel with 1938 Paris at its centre.  The parts of the story that describe the making of the film in which Stahl is starring is fascinating and entertaining in its own right and adds extra levels of colour to the overall piece.

I’d like to thank Random House for allowing me to read Mission to Paris via Netgalley and, as this is my third post for Paris in July, would point you towards the hosts, Bookbath and Thyme for Tea, if you’d like to find all things Parisian and French this month.

2,456: The Ways of the World by Robert Goddard

I have a longstanding fascination with the Paris peace conference that took place during 1919 following the end of the First World War, a conflict that claimed the lives of 20 million people, destroyed three empires and formed the opening chapter of the series of conflicts and struggles that were to define the 20^th Century.  Delegations from both victorious and vanquished (but not Germany) set up camp in Paris as did representatives of nations and peoples all seeking land, recognition or restitution.  32 countries were present and, it’s fair to say, for a six month period, Paris became the centre of a world government as the Big Four – the leaders of the USA, Great Britain, France and Italy, essentially redrew the world map, parcelling out colonial territories and creating new nation states.  The high politics, the intrigue and the exercise of global power must have made for a heady atmosphere in one of Europe’s great cities.

Of course, it was all to end in tears with the Treaty of Versailles and its infamous war guilt clause, assigning blame for the war to Germany (and do read Sean McMeekin’s excellent July 1914 for an alternative view of events) and forcing it to pay huge reparations, thus setting up huge resentment within Germany that would prove meat and drink to Adolf Hitler in the 1930s.  There’s a wonderful description in Margaret Macmillan’s superb account of the Conference, Peacemakers, where the British and Americans try to persuade Clemenceau to soften France’s demands for reparations, fearing exactly that, but Clemenceau refusing, knowing the impact a softening would have on French public opinion.

In any event, Paris and the Peace Conference forms the backdrop to Robert Goddard’s new novel, The Ways of the World, which also forms my second entry for Paris in July, hosted by Bookbath and Thyme for Tea.

Sir Henry Maxted, a senior but fading British diplomat, is part of the British delegation, advising his political masters on issues of concern to the Brazilian government.  One day, he is found dead, seemingly having fallen from the roof of a Paris apartment.  His two sons, Ashley and James “Max” Maxted, are sent to Paris by their mother to bring back Sir Henry’s body and try to find out the cause of his death.

It soon becomes apparent that Sir Henry’s death may not show him in his best light and Ashley is happy to go along with the French and British authorities’ desire to sweep the death under the carpet so as not to disrupt the Conference.  Not so Max.  A former RFC pilot and war veteran, he is convinced that there is more to Henry’s death than meets the eye and he returns to Paris to discover the truth, risking family disfavour, official disapproval and, possibly life and limb.

I’ve not read any of Robert Goddard’s books before but The Ways of the World is an excellent read.  Goddard draws out the febrile atmosphere surrounding the Conference in full measure and uses it to create a tale where politics, espionage, love, deceit and family dynamics are all mixed to great effect.  The story moves along at a cracking pace and Goddard gives us a rich cast of American private eyes, British spies, Russian emigrés, beautiful women, French policemen and venal aristocrats.

At the centre of it all, however, is Max.  As a courageous aristocratic hero who is determined to seek the truth no matter the cost, there was a risk that Max could have come across as a bit of an anachronistic and unrealistic Richard Hannay type character.  Fortunately, Goddard is much more skilful than that and injects sufficient cynicism, hardness and sexual appetite into Max to make him both credible and interesting.  The dynamic between Max and his former batman, Sam, works, on the whole, well, although sometimes the treatment of the difference in rank jars a little, veering slightly from an old-fashioned master-servant relationship to a more modern partnership of equals.

  That is a very minor criticism, however, of a great read.  Towards the end, I found myself feeling that I didn’t want the book to finish and that I hoped Goddard would use Max as a recurring hero.  I was, therefore, delighted when the book ended without the loose ends having been tied up and being set up for a sequel.  I was even more delighted when I discovered that The Ways of the World is the first in a planned trilogy.  Now, of course, I have the frustration of having to wait for the second instalment.

I’d like to thank Random House UK for allowing me to read The Ways of the World via Netgalley and, as we are, finally, in summer, would heartily recommend this as a cracking holiday read.

2,457: Mastering the Art of French Eating by Ann Mah

It’s Paris in July month, jointly hosted by Bookbath and Thyme for Tea and, although I’m late to the party as usual, I’m glad to be here, posting about a wonderful book which I suspect should best be read just before making a visit to France as otherwise it is likely to cause intense pangs of longing to the non-French reader.

The phrase “When good Americans die, they go to Paris” has been ascribed to many authors including Oscar Wilde, Oliver Wendell Holmes and Thomas Appleton but, regardless of who first came up with this aphorism, Ann Mah, the author of Mastering the Art of French Eating and a self-confessed lifelong Francophile, must have felt like she’d died and gone to heaven when her diplomat husband is given a three year posting to Paris.  Shortly after arriving, however, their dreams of living in one the world’s most romantic cities are shattered as he is summoned to Iraq for a year.  Lonely and worried for his safety, she is suddenly required to create a new life for herself in a new home.

As well as reaching out both to the expat community, to friends of friends and to the colleagues she meets while volunteering as the programs manager at the American Library, Mah, an avid foodie, encouraged mainly via Skype by her other half, launches herself into an investigation of the history and culture of some of France’s most iconic dishes.  Along the way, she takes trips to their regions of origin, meets chefs and aficionados and partakes fully of some of France’s most renowned fare.

Most of the items she chooses to focus on are brasserie and bistro such as Paris’ steak-frites, the choucroute garni of Alsace and the cassoulet of the South West.  Reading her descriptions of the meals she ate and her encounters with local champions of the dishes is enough to make one’s tummy rumble, something which, in my opinion, is a good indicator of the quality of a book about food.  As well as these staples, she touches on a couple of more unusual regional classics, the Provençal soupe au pistou and the crêpes de sarrasin of Brittany and learns of the real passion with which the locals treat their culinary heritage.  Of course, it’s not all plain sailing - Mah admits defeat at the, how shall I put this, intestinal odour of true AAAAA approved andouillette from Troyes which, to be fair, although I have acquired the taste, I can understand - Mrs F wasn’t overly impressed when I ordered it at the excellent Brasserie Zedel here in London as its odour is truly of the farmyard.  About the only grumble I really had was her contention that aligot, the cheese and mashed potato concoction of the Aveyron region is not very well-known outside the area.  I can’t speak for the US, of course, but here in the UK, it has featured in a Delia Smith cookbook (the bestselling cookbook author of them all here) as well as the late Mireille Johnston’s A Cook’s Tour of France, albeit masquerading under another name - so it’s not exactly a secret.

Mastering the Art of French Eating is part travelogue, part memoir, part foodie investigation but it is, as much as anything, a love letter to France and Paris in particular and a bittersweet tale of involuntary separation.  Mah’s exploratory trips into the French regions are nicely interspersed with the story of her life in Paris, which, although difficult as life can be for the trailing spouse of a diplomat (something even the title alludes with its nudge towards another lonely diplomatic wife in Paris - Julia Child who also found purpose and solace in French cooking), is also full of new experiences.

Mah, the daughter of Adeline Yen Mah, the author of Falling Leaves, is a gifted writer who conveys a real sense of place and of feeling as well as being a dab hand at foodie description.  I thoroughly enjoyed Mastering the Art of French Eating and would recommend it to anyone who likes France, food or travel-writing.  Thank you very much to Penguin for allowing me to read this via Netgalley.