Cinq jours en Bretagne

Brittany is one of six Celtic nations. The other such nations (Cornwall, Ireland, Isle of Mann, Scotland and Wales) lie within the United Kingdom. Brittany stands isolated in mainland Europe, a north-west arm of France that projects out towards Cornwall like a drowning man reaching for help. It is a country unto itself, and the French would have you believe that it is a land of eternally dark skies and endless rain. I’ve also heard it said many times that of those Bretons who live beyond its borders, all wish to return one day to Brittany.

I am in no position to confirm or deny this statement. I know of only one Breton. And while Julien may have returned from Paris to the country of his ancestors, any statistician will tell you that one data point is insufficient. Statistical insignificance notwithstanding, Ardis and I recently took the opportunity to visit Julien and his wife Karen, both of whom live in the Breton capital of Rennes. To our good fortune, Brittany reveled in five days of gloriously warm and sunny weather whilst the rest of France was wretched with violent storms.

If I had to summarise our entire stay in Brittany in a single word, “dessert” would be my word of choice. The French word “terroir” also merits consideration, as it refers to the culinary characteristics that are inherent to a particular region. Rich desserts were certainly a consistent theme during our stay, from the Breton speciality of kouign amann (Breton for “butter cake”) to the French moelleux au chocolat (a hot and gooey chocolate pudding) and even the Kenyan tafach mooz (a decadent cream cheese and banana concoction).

Despite the diminutive size of the kouign amann, these pastries are so unbelievably rich that they must be pre-heated in an oven to cook off some of the butter. This renders them safe enough that an individual in good health may consume them at the rate of one per year. Such is the respect in which these pastries are held, that this degree of moderation is adhered to in a region where butter is only considered to truly be butter when it contains salt crystals that are clearly visible to the naked eye.

Brittany trivia #1: the ermine, a royal emblem that features on both the Breton flag and coat of arms, depicts the winter coat of the stoat. Somehow, I’d never considered the stoat to be a regal animal.

Beyond the extravagances of dessert, we sampled a range of cheeses, breads and smoked sausages. This was generally conducted on the balcony of Julien and Karen’s apartment, which they had not used for entertaining until our visit. The warm weather led to us spending most evenings seated outdoors, long after the sun had crept below the horizon. It was here that I developed a taste for a chewy blueberry-infused sausage and also for andouillette (tripe sausage).

And it was here that I became acquainted with Fourme d’Ambert, one of the oldest of French cheeses (dating back to Roman times). Thankfully the sliver that I placed atop a chunk of baguette did not date back to Roman times—the French react to a mouldy cheese as small children react to a bread crust: they cut it off and keep eating—but it was the first blue cheese whose flavour I’ve truly enjoyed. I’ve since hunted it down in fromageries here in Paris.

We availed ourselves of other regional cuisine: fresh seafood (courtesy of gate-crashing a birthday party at a very nice seafood restaurant), local rabbit (Julien and Karen were adventurous enough to try cooking a whole rabbit for the first time) and perhaps Brittany’s most famous contribution to French cuisine: crêpes. As was unknown to me before I met Julien, there are two types of crêpes: the savoury galettes that are made with buckwheat flour (“blé noir” in French, literally “black flour”) and have a darkish-brown colour, and the sweet crêpes that are often accompanied with chocolate, cream, berries and/or liquors.

Brittany trivia #2: in response to those who complain about frequent rain, Bretons are known to say “en Bretagne, il ne pleut que sur les cons”, which means “in Brittany, it only rains on the idiots” (mind you, type “con” into Google Translate and see what other delightful English words it suggests).

The Bretons are also known for making lots of cider, whose traditional role is to accompany any meal of galettes and crêpes. And to my complete surprise, they also make a diverse range of beers. From a small stall at the local street market (a lively affair that spanned block after block of central Rennes), I returned home with delicious oatmeal stouts, buckwheat ales and a fantastically rich barley wine that is only brewed on the night of the Celtic New Year. Oh, what blessed tidings for those who are heartily sick of the generic blonde beers that have a monopoly on the rest of France!

I apologise if I’ve given the impression that we did nothing but eat and drink for five days straight. We spent many hours walking along the narrow and ancient streets of Rennes. Julien and Karen took us to the ancient fortified town of Dinan, the 19th century beach resort town of Dinard, and the walled port of Saint-Malo. Indeed, we managed to spend sufficient time exploring on foot that we returned to Paris not even the slightest bit heavier (but perhaps the calories burnt off by the endless dish-washing also played a part).

Let me conclude by saying that if I were to settle in France, I’d be very happy to do so in Brittany. I haven’t seen enough of France to be able to say that it’s my favourite part of France (heck, I’ve seen nothing of southern and western France), and I’m well aware that the weather in Brittany is not its biggest draw-card. But the atmosphere was lovely, the Celtic flavour was a refreshing change, and the relaxed pace of life only reduced my desire to return to Paris (a city more than twice as dense as New York and five times as dense as London).