A fish with the head on

It’s been a year since last eating meat. I was perfectly happy as a veg, feeling healthy and maybe even a bit self righteous and superior. But now I’m in Bordeaux, France and I had to say “au revoir” to my dietary choices. France is not a country that accommodates a vegetarian lifestyle. Their meals tend toward carbs and meats with very few vegetables or fruits. Of course, despite this regime they remain slim and svelte and generally gorgeous. Perhaps they know something we don’t. That secret is learning how to “be” rather than “do” which is terribly difficult for Americans. Hence their prevalent café culture where you can sit for hours over a tiny espresso and people watch.
As for the food, there is a reason that one of the main gastronomic capitals of the world is in France. A meal is not something to rush through, its not fueling or a method of survival. Instead it is a way of life, to be eaten over several hours accompanied with good conversation and slowly sipped glasses of wine.
Yesterday a friend and I chose to slow down and skip the cheap (but tasty) sandwich for dinner and actually go to a brasserie to sit down and eat. We ordered a demi-picher of vin rouge which was brought along with some tasty olives to tide us over until our order was ready. The olives with their tangy oily surface brought out the flavor in our red wine for a very enjoyable flavor experience.
The menu was a challenge, our French skills still in the baby stage, yet we managed to choose and order. My friend chose the “comfit de canard” (duck) and I chose from the list of “poissons” (fish). My taste of the duck was rich and with a well rounded flavor that filled the mouth and felt smooth on the tongue. At first that one taste made my own meal choice seem like it was perhaps a mistake.
The fish (an unknown variety of which I cannot even remember the name) was cooked in the style “Espagnol.” The plate set down was beautifully arranged with a neatly molded pile of rice above a full fish: head, tail, skin, bones and eyes. It looked to be pan fried with garlic, bell peppers and olive oil covering the body. The first tiny bite required delicate removal of translucent fish bones from my mouth and was bursting with fishiness. The best I can say is that I did not gag, nor did I give up. Nor did I covet my dinner partner’s duck, at least not too much or for too long. With each bite the fishy flavor dissipated and was replaced by a taste of white flesh resplendent in olive oil. My palate fared better when taking a bit of bell pepper along with the bit of cream white flesh or padding the flavor with the perfectly cooked white rice. After consuming most of the flesh of the fish I was remarking, “I ate fish and I liked it!” with an overzealous sense of awe. I felt perhaps I should try the cheek or the eye since those are the foodies prized portions but I simply was not ready for that. Maybe next time, though it might require more wine before that is possible. I’m still getting used to taking bites that have been carefully removed of bones before entering the mouth.
For now it is enough that I have gone from a meatless diet to eating a fish, head still attached, when I hadn’t liked seafood or fish even when I was still eating meat before. My palate and my stomach are being taken for quite the ride. Thanks to French waiters they are given plenty of time to rest and recover while waiting for l’addition (the check) and sipping the remaining wine. They are also being rewarded with baguettes and dark chocolate from a gorgeous little chocolatrie on the Rue Sainte Cathrine, the longest pedestrian street in all of France.

Welcome to a vegetarian’s exploration of food in France in all its fleshy varieties.