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Here in Angers, I am taking a class called “Experiencing French Life and Culture.” Our homework for today was to bring with us half a baguette for a cheese and charcuterie tasting — not a bad way to start the week if you ask me.

Having been here a month, I have of course seen lots of cheese and lots of the preserved meats they call charcuterie. They both have impossible-to-miss sections in the grocery store and at the Saturday market I have made a habit of going to.

They have such huge selections, in fact, that I have been utterly overwhelmed and have mostly avoided even trying to buy something. While my French language classes have naturally covered basic grocery shopping vocabulary, they have utterly failed me when it comes to coming up against the vast culture that is French cheese and charcuterie.

I had been looking forward to this class for some time.

Before we tried anything, our fearless French guide, Marie, handed out packets of information including a long long list of charcuterie specialities (the realm of salting, smoking, and brining meat is endless) as well as a breakdown of the type of cheese with which we were about to be acquainted.

Though charcuterie can be served in numerous settings (as both a main course and as hors d’oeuvres), apparently it always goes before cheese if there is any.

Trusting Marie and my love of meat, I tried everything and thoroughly enjoyed almost everything. The following is how I now stand on charcuterie:

Andouille is smokey salty deliciousness. I have never thought myself a tripe person (cow stomach guts), but I am also not going to question it.

When I describe a kind of charcuterie as “fatty,” I am merely being honest and mean that rich and delicious taste that you just have to have sometimes. For example, with rillette, when meat (normally pork) is cooked in fat, shredded and pounded into a paste to be packed into a container, or terrine, and preserved with more fat.  

Once you get over whatever it is that may be stopping you from eating minced meat paste, pâté is the perfect meaty spread for one’s baguette.

I imagine a million Frenchmen cringing at the association, but saucisson à l’ail is like pepperoni but times a million and made by garlic gods.

I still maintain that I will eat pretty much everything except for olives, but I will only ever have one bite of boudin noir. The pork blood sausage is a little bit too much for me.

Having been completely blown away by the sheer amount of jambon, or ham, that is found in every single home and restaurant in France, I thought that more of our charcuterie would be ham-based. However Marie varied the selection and only a few pig-products made it to our dégustation.

Because it was my lucky day, after all that charcuterie, there was cheese. Our cheese platter included seven cheeses from different parts of France. There was Trois Cornes, a goat cheese from the Pays-de-la-Loire; a Tomme Fermière and Abondance de prairie from the Alpes; Crottin de Chavignol, a goat cheese from the heart of France; Brin d’Amour aux herbes from Corsica; Chablis from Burgundy; and Roquefort made from Ewe in the Midi-Pyrénées.

I would name one as my favorite, but I have a feeling that I would keep changing it as I continued to recall everything I had.

I will say that I quite enjoyed all the savory and salty herbs found on the the Brin d’Amour aux herbes. I additionally will be thinking about for at least some time to come exactly how it was to have the Chablis (named that way because the cheese is washed once a week with Chablis) melt in my mouth.

Whether I want to or not, I will also be remembering the Roquefort and how quickly it shattered all my preconceived notions of a “strong” cheese.

As I made my way through my cheese plate, I learned a few other things about the world of cheese. For example, there are around 500 variations of cheese produced in France. And the average French person consumes 24.5 kg of cheese a year – almost double that of an American at 12.3 kg.

I also technically have a whole new stock of phrases of words to use at my next cheese tasting: “pungent,” “rich meatiness,” “fruity undertones,” “acidic,” “soft,” “velvety,” “balanced,” “grassy,” “supple,” “smooth,” “pronounced,” “salty,” “crumbly,” “nutty vegetation,” “robust,” “sour,” “complex,” “buttery,” and “aggressive.”

Both Marie and our pre-dégustation packet had more information on the cheese we ate (the history of each, exactly how and with what products it is made, what size it should be etc.) that I want to share with you, but there is simply too much. This blog post would never end and it needs to end because I must go buy some more charcuterie and cheese.

In future posts, however, I hope to return to the conversation of French cheese and charcuterie especially as it reflects regional significance.

I am from the Pacific Northwest; I love coffee. I love its bold flavors and its warmth never fails to make me happy. In Austin and Portland, I always can be found with a thermos full of the stuff, mainly drip coffee, which I like to slowly sip throughout the day. If I do not have my thermos, I am most likely physically in a coffee shop with my laptop and a latté.

Here in France, it is all about straight espresso. It is all about small ceramic cups. No Starbucks’ ventis or frappuchinos or even Americanos, no sir. There are cappuchinos, but still, they are tiny.

At first, I was hesitant, sure that the tiny portions and lack of to-go options meant that coffee was consumed here more for its caffeine and not to be enjoyed like I prefer.

Yet I have not found that to be the case and even if so, the espresso here is too darn tasty to complain. Those tiny little cups may not hold much or last quite as long, but each one is more full and flavorful than the last. Each packs a punch both in flavor and caffeine that seems to demand the attention of my palate like few drip coffees can.

I also adore the custom of ordering coffee to finish off a meal. It is the best way to linger at a lunch you do not quite want to end. And though I have always liked making coffee shops my workplace, for now I am trying out the local way when I stop at cafés…

Bonjour! Je voudrais un caffe s’il vous plait.

Many older Frenchmen stay at the bar at which they ordered and continue talking to the café owner. I sit down and wait for my order, which arrives on a ceramic plate, complete with a spoon, packet of sugar, and often a small chocolate. Most times the espresso is pulled so well that there will be a bit of crema or foam floating on top.

Merci!

And now, not to go anywhere. Now, to sip and take a moment. The busiest one should be is maybe chatting with the people you came with or maybe reading a newspaper. Especially in the mornings, more often than not I observe solitary drinkers, quiet and unmoving, as they indulge the espresso’s full flavors.

I do the same and once I am done, I feel like I have just taken a deep breath. Now to continue my day.

Au revoir!

It’s probably about time that I explain where I am. Angers, France, is a mid-sized college town (about 150,000 living within the city itself) in the northwest of France in a region historically known as Anjou. About an hour and a half by train from Paris, the city is also considered the gateway to the Loire valley, the famed region of France known for its châteaux and wineries.

Though shopping and nightlife hold prominent spots on tourist guides, the city is incredibly old and ultimately also rich in history – some of its locally found artifacts date back to the Romans. This history can be felt before stepping into any museums by the sheer number of ancient buildings and cobbled streets.

Château d’Angers, from its sheer size and position in the center of town overlooking the River Maine, is the most prominent and seems to be the poster child for the city.

Built in the 13th century, the huge stone castle is not actually a château at all, but rather a fortress designed to protect against invasion. The view from atop one of its seventeen battlements is perhaps the best in Angers as one can see out over all the cathedrals’ spires piercing the sky as well as the roofs of mashed-together 100-year old apartments.

If that experience in and of itself doesn’t inspire a Dorothy-esque “I’m not in Oregon anymore” moment, the more than 600-hundred year old tapestry housed inside the Château d’Angers will. The “Apocalypse Tapestry” tells in 90 different scenes and over a 100 meters the story of the apocalypse from the Book of Revelation by Saint John. Rich in color and fascinating in its many portrayals of fire, many-headed dragons, and war, the piece is absolutely terrifying. I can only imagine how illiterate peasants of the Middle Ages went about fathoming such a piece or taking it up as part of their faith. I also struggle to understand why someone would want to have one of these sinister scenes on a miniature rug in their home, but the gift shop offers just that.

Despite the chill it left me – both from standing in frigid temperatures and wind atop the castle and in beholding the apocalypse – I was glad to have come to Château d’Angers when I did, on my first full day here. Our tour guide was a delight and of those whose love and knowledge of her subject was wholly visible. Her eyes would light up as she revealed secret political messages against the British hidden in the tapestry and her disappointment was hardly conspicuous when our schedule cut our tour short.

I can only imagine what more she had to say and what more this city holds. It’s true that much of the old city has fallen away and given way to bank buildings and H&M, but one has only to wander a little before stumbling upon medieval gargoyles or ancient alleyways. It makes me think that no matter how many of its museums or tours I go on, Angers will forever hold secrets and a history I’ll never truly be able to grasp.