Draguignan, France: Robert, the butcher with the bedside manner, was uncharacteristically customerless on a Saturday market morning. The aging ladies who once jammed his shop were now pushing carts at Carrefour. In his meat locker, Robert delivered a loving pat to the plump withers of a clover-fed Sisteron lamb that should have been sharing a plate with tender green beans as someone's gigot. "In a few years," he told me, "these will be a fond memory."
Maybe not. But over decades, I've found Robert's little butchery to be a better economic indicator than reams of government statistics. You could chart his mood on a graph that looked like shark's teeth. These days he is seeing something grim and permanent.
"Small producers just can't make it anymore," he said. "Old guys are retiring, and no one wants to work so many hours taking care of animals for top quality meat that is getting too expensive to sell."
Taken to its grand dimensions, this is grim news for anyone who loves what the French do best. Culinary skills are crucial to memorable meals, yet at the heart of it are the ingredients.
Yves the goat cheese guy, not far from Robert's place, is in a black funk. He used to be a Parker pen executive, and he knows about cash flow. Feed, fuel, and all the other essentials of running a small farm are totally out of whack. It is the same with artisan chicken pluckers, pork people, and the rest.
Up in Paris, prices for quality are getting seriously nuts, especially if you translate euros to dollars. At the Alma market, for instance, French-caught fish is expensive enough. Alaskan king crab legs approach $50 a pound.
This is no surprise to anyone who balances a checkbook anywhere these days. If history is any guide, a lot of outrageously skewed balances will correct themselves. But once farm families with skills going back generations give way to mass production, an era is over.
Next to his lamb, Robert showed me a side of Limoges beef, lovely enough to be a centerfold in Playcow. Before leaving, I asked for a kilo of ground meat for a Mexican meal that night. "I'll give you the good stuff," Robert said, and he did.
It was beyond good, in fact, but it came out to $30 a pound. As much
as I love fine food, taking out a bank loan for tacos is pushing the
limit.
--Mort Rosenblum is a former Associated Press reporter now based in Paris and Provence. He is the author of several books including A Goose in Toulouse, Chocolate, and the recent Escaping Plato's Cave, as well as a frequent contributor to Bon Appétit. Here, he shares memorable meals from his recent travels around the globe.
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