Bye Bye, Black(faced) Sheep

Maintaining the natural environment can mean sacrifice.

Mont Saint Michel -- St. Michael's Mount in anglais -- is one of the coolest places in the world, a medieval abbey that to the eye seems to grow from a rock that juts out of the sand on the coast of France.

In the old days the Mount would be cut off from the mainland at high tide, the water even covering the road. It was a major destination for Christian pilgrims, who would take the road or a risky walk across the sand from the east at low tide. In the modern era a causeway was built, allowing tourist-bearing cars and buses to drive to the base of the Mount.

But the causeway hampers the tidal action, so over the years the Bay of Saint Michel (it's the mouth of the Couesnon River) has silted-in. This has created areas within the tidelands that are now rarely covered by the tide. These areas have become meadows.

Because the Mount is a UNESCO World Heritage site, as well as the #1 tourist attraction in France, a project is being planned to restore the bay and tidelands. The causeway will be replaced with a bridge that will allow water to flow underneath and get the natural flushing action going again.

Unfortunately this means we are going to say goodbye to a particular delicacy: the Bay of Saint Michel sheep.

The silt-meadows grow grass that is naturally salty due to the seawater. Shepherds graze sheep on it, and as a result the resulting lamb tastes naturally salty. This lamb -- agneau de pré salé -- has become a highly prized dining experience, and it's one we got to try recently.


Junk food has given salt a bad name. Fritos are salty. The flavor of Saint Michel lamb is saline.

The dining room of our hotel, the Montgomery (right), is said to be the best in Pontorson, the last town before the Mount. Nothing about our lamb rib chops gave cause to doubt the rep.

For starters, the saline flavor was more like the essence of sea air rather than saltwater -- closer to an herb than a mineral.

Second was the mild, delicate taste. It barely tasted like lamb, just enough to be able to tell what it was. Again, essence.

We ordered it medium, but agneau de pré salé is becoming rare. Because of the causeway replacement project the sheep farmers see the handwriting on the wall, and are getting out of the business. Supplies are shrinking, and prices are going up. One day, Mont Saint Michel's ecosystem will be restored, but the sheep, a happy accident of man's interference, will be elsewhere. Just regular-tasting sheep.

Where's the boeuf?

Charolais (shar-o-lay) -- a big, docile sweetheart of a white French cow -- is a slice (sorry) of heaven.

They are raised all over the world now, but the ones I saw recently were concentrated in Burgundy, and in the Loire bread basket -- hey, that's a pain panier!

The way they do charolais at La Ciboulette (Beaune) is, I am assured by a Francophile, in the traditional French country style

Ordered medium-rare, the unmarbled cut cooked up firm yet not even remotely tough. The texture was not unlike a high quality buffalo steak.

The flavor of charolais is earthy, remarkably like lamb. I would use the term gamey, but a lot of unadventurous eaters (yeah lamb-haters, I mean you) confuse that with liver-y, and I don't want to scare anyone off.

Market day in Beaune (video below)

Best of all is a thin sauce of lemon and cheese (possibly Epoisses, the signature Burgundian cheese) poured over the charolais. These are not overpowering flavors, even though Epoisses is known for a stinky aroma.* I suspect the heat of cooking moderates the lemon and cheesiness. If I were making it, I would use the sequence melted butter - cheese - lemon juice - skillet drippings. Maybe a little white wine.

Bon apetit.

Of course, you have to finish the meal with a Calvados. Purely to aid the digestion, of course.

Cute and yummy.

24 seconds at Beaune market day

* We later had a chance to sample some Epoisses, and its stinky reputation is undeserved. It has an aroma, but it is in no way unpleasant or overpowering. And it may be the most complexly flavored cheese you'll every try -- nutty, buttery, with a distinct undertone of lamb.

Tourists on the halfshell

Elliott's (Waterfront) is on Seattle's Pier 57, so I was expecting tourists. Which was fine. It was a nice day, so the tourists sat outside, while we locals sat in the distractions-free dining room.

Normally I don't order seafood in local restaurants, because I know what we discharge into nearby waters. But Elliott's menu didn't specify the origin of the Pan Fried Oysters, so I ordered them on the calculation that there were decent odds they wouldn't poison me.

They may have been pan-fried, but they were also breaded -- something the menu failed to mention. The result was a crunchy coating like a McNugget, totally unwelcome and covering up the flavor of the tender oyster. The accompanying two dipping sauces were average -- one a risky mix of Jack Daniels and hoisin with too much of the former, the other a bland tartar.

I forgot to bring my CSI kit, so I'll trust the chef on there being garlic in the garlic mashed potatoes. This unfortunate mass of starch arrived lukewarm, and looked like it had been plopped out of the plastic wrap in which it had no doubt been wrapped prior to being reheated. If Elliott's is going to do formed mashed potatoes, the least they can do is use a Jell-o mold. That would be cute, at least.

All I can say is: thank gawd for the fresh sourdough rolls with whipped butter.