The Chapolard Family of Gascony

Round Two in Gascony was meant to give me a thorough knowledge of traditional French charcuterie and luckily I scored a two-month apprenticeship with one of the best charcutiers in the country - Dominique Chapolard.

The drive into the Chapolard's farm.

Dominique’s family owns a 50-hectare farm just between Nerac and Mézin.  His grandfather originally purchased the farm from a dying winemaker after the Great War. He and his wife began raising dairy cows on the property and added apple, peach, and prune orchards until a large storm in 1968 destroyed much of the fruit trees. By this time, Dominique’s father and uncle had taken on the bulk of the responsibility of the farm. The second generation decided to try their hand growing melons, cucumbers, and tomatoes.

Eventually, Dominique's father gave up on the fruit and vegetables and invested in Blonde Aquitaine cattle known for their delicious beef. Like most French families, he always bought two piglets every year for his family’s personal consumption. When the region’s pig farmer passed away, Dominique’s father seized the chance to move into pork – he bought two sows, built a small farm laboratory and became a pig farmer and charcutier.

As a child, Dominique worked on the farm and watched as his family labored over fruits and vegetables for such a meager living.  So when the time came, Dominique chose to pursue a life in academia instead of agriculture. He didn't stray far from the farm, though.  After he married his wife Christiane, he took a position teaching Forestry at the Université Toulouse. From there he accepted a position as headmaster at another agricultural school before finally returning to the family farm to help his three brothers, Mark, Bruno, and Jacque, with the pork operation.

Today, each brother pitches in around the farm, but each has his own specific role to play. Dominique concentrates on the walk-in cooler and turning half carcasses into various forms of charcuterie. He also mans the family stand at the Lavardac and Nérac farmer’s markets.

Jacque raises the pigs and looks after the crops. Bruno and Mark help with the crops, the butchery, and additional farmer's markets.  And then there is a wide assortment of spouses and children that fill in to help the farm turn a profit. As if grain crops, pigs, and charcuterie weren't enough, two of Jacque’s sons have started a dairy operation.

Flots Blancs is hands down the best milk and yogurt I’ve ever tasted.

The best milk I've ever had.

The Chapolard family was gracious enough to take me in and teach me their family recipes and way of life.  Under Dominique’s careful watch, I have gained a firmer grasp on this component of craft butchery. Hopefully, by the time I leave, I will be able to call myself a charcutier.

Red is His Signature Color

My grandpa, Doug,  use to say,

If it ain't red, it ain't no good.

I think his love of the color red started with his first pair of cowboy boots - Every truck and barn he ever owned were painted red until the day he died.

As I sat with my bulging bags piled next to me at one of the slate tables on the patio of McDario (Dario Cecchini’s burger joint located conveniently next door to his macelleria), the noon Italian sun beat down on the black table where Dante, Zac, and I sat. My companions had joined me for my last meal before I was to head to Florence. We took in the namesake meal of the restaurant – the “McDario” - a very thick, burger patty cooked in beef tallow and served with a side of tallow fries. Even though this was the end of my time in Panzano, I wasn’t ready to head to the bus station. Not quite yet.

I grabbed a permanent marker from my bag and headed next door to the macelleria. When I saw a break in the action behind the counter, I seized the opportunity.

Dario, posso avere una firma?”

I asked as I held out my hat and the marker.

Ovviamente!

He exclaimed as he produced a giant red marker from inside his vest.

Of course Dario had a red marker. It’s his signature color that matches his ubiquitous pants, socks and plastic crocs that he wears every day, seven days a week! I have a feeling Dario and my grandfather would have gotten along quite well.

Dario signing my Stetson with his large red permanent marker.

I showed him the section in my hat designated for his signature and away he went. When he returned it, I realized he had found a new place for his signature. Inside the crown of my hat,

"EAT MEAT Dario Cecchini"

was scrawled in red and ran all the way through “Panzano, Italy”, past “Lima, Peru” and most of Patagonia. I couldn’t have been happier. I even got him to sign my apron before we embraced and parted ways.

On a sidenote, I can’t begin to describe the incredible generosity and hospitality Dario Cecchini showed me throughout my stay. This man is the reason I became a butcher – a landmark in the butchery industry and a true inspiration to me. Working for him has been surreal. I am deeply honored to call him a mentor and a friend.

Doin' It Like Dario

This wasn’t my first gig in the restaurant industry so I acclimated rather quickly at Officina Della Bistecca, Dario Cecchini’s famed steakhouse. By the end of the second week, I had the system down.  My days were filled with serving patrons, flippin’ burgers, or washing what seemed to be an endless pit of plates, wine glasses, and silverware. On a good day, I would make money in tips. Most of the time, that meant two or three Euros, but sometimes we would have gracious patrons and I would stroll home with fifteen Euros in my pocket and be happier than a blind squirrel who had just found an acorn. With a room and meals provided by Dario, I was living pretty cheap in Italy.  Life was good.

One morning as I made my way through the macelleria to the restaurant, Riccardo stopped me. That day, he was top dog and manning the butcher counter since Dario was in Chicago for a culinary television gig.

My friend, today, you do the presentation at Officina like Dario.

Then he added,

In Italian.

This was an extraordinary honor. During every service at Officina Della Bistecca, Dario announces his presence with a series of blasts from his brass, Italian horn. This is the cue for all the employees to parade out of the kitchen and assume their place behind the main presentation table. With two huge porterhouses elevated above his head, Dario welcomes his guests and introduces his staff. Then, in his booming voice, he presents the bisteccas to his patrons.

Vi presento LA COSTATA ALLA FIORENTINA!

I had first seen this presentation on YouTube, back in college when I was working on my butcher shop business proposal for my entrepreneurial class.  Each time Dario picks up those steaks for the presentation, his passion for his trade radiates and fills the room. Even after seeing it countless times, I still find myself getting goosebumps. It’s always one hell of a show.

As soon as Riccardo uttered the words, “in Italian”, I went into a state of panic. My Italian was still atrocious. I’m not going to lie – I tried to get my debut pushed back to the dinner service so I would have a little extra time to practice. Then Riccardo handed me a sheet of paper where he had hand written the spiel and reassured me that I would do fine.

Go practice – You have one hour.

I hate being unprepared.

Practicing behind Officina Della Bistecca

I ran upstairs and grabbed Zac, my roommate and fellow stagista, and headed for the parking lot. I needed space to practice. Zac, who is half American, proved useful in helping me memorize the Italian verbiage. After what seemed like a split second, they called for me.

As I made my way through the parking lot towards the restaurant, Samu and Orlando drove up. I gave them the spiel, hoping the last rehearsal would do me good. Orlando rolled his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

Not very reassuring.

Word must have spread that the Texan was doing the presentation because almost as many employees as patrons were in attendance. I walked up to the butcher’s block, grabbed the two huge steaks, and began….

Trouble in Paradise

For a week, I was Dario’s lone stagista, living in a meat cutting paradise and absolutely loving it. I cut, I cleaned, and I helped in any way possible. I assumed Dario was pleased with my work because he invited me to stay for another three weeks.

An entire month with the greatest butcher in the world?

Life doesn’t get much better.

But then trouble in paradise began with a flood of new stagistas.

The first additional stagista arrived unannounced. Dario, genuinely one of the most generous people in this world, offered him an apprenticeship thinking he had plenty of openings. However, on the first morning of his staging, I could tell something was up. Even though my Italian was still in its infancy, I detected something was amiss by the way Dario was talking with his head butcher. He seemed a bit flummoxed. We were told not to follow when Dario and his right-hand man excused themselves to the dining room.

Strange, but I thought little of it at the time.

When Jadava appeared in the doorway and asked us to follow him, I still thought nothing of it. However when we walked into the dining room and saw everyone seated around a table, I knew something was up. Dario began in Italian and Riccardo, translated after each line.

I didn’t need any translation. I realized what was happening.

Dario had just been informed of two additional French stagistas scheduled to be arriving the next day. He said they had been in contact for over a year and had their places reserved for some time. His butchers were only able to teach a maximum of two apprentices at a time. Basically, we were out.

Being the gracious man he is, Dario offered to let us remain in the stagista apartment for a week until we could make travel arrangements.

My heart sank. I mean really, I wanted to cry.

I spent the rest of the day working with Riccardo. I tried to shake it off, but Riccardo could see my pain. He knew I had been in contact with Dario for over a year in an attempt to learn from the master. He knew Dario was my idol so he went to battle for me.

That afternoon, Riccardo brought me the news: I could stay the full time and work at the restaurant. The “Frenchies” would only be staging for two weeks and after that, I could get back to cutting meat at the celle. The other apprentice wasn’t as fortunate – within a few days, he left for Florence in search of work.

And so I landed in the kitchen at Officina Della Bistecca – cooking, serving, and washing a shit-ton of dishes, but ever determined to prove my worth to Dario. As I slaved in the dish pit or over a grease-filled burger pan, I was constantly reminded a quote I learned from my Phi Gam brothers back at Texas Christian:

“Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not: nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not: unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not: the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.”

-Calvin Coolidge

I know all about persistence. It took me twelve emails over the course of twelve months to get to Panzano, Italy. Now that I was here, I wasn’t going down easy.

I am forever grateful to my good friend, Riccardo. Not only did he go to bat for me, he took me in and made me feel welcome.

Tex-Mex Night in Italy

I’d like to think all the guys down at the celle liked me - either that or their interest was piqued by the Texan with knee-high cowboy boots and a ragged-out topper. By day two of my staging with Dario Cecchini, I was becoming accustomed to being referred to as either, “Chuck Norris” or “Walker Texas Ranger.”

Apparently, Italians are a bit behind on American television and pop culture. Walker Texas Ranger is the hot show in Panzano.

My hat was often used as a prop for the Italians enjoyment.

Riccardo (Dario’s number two man) went as far as playing the "Walker Texas Ranger" theme song at the celle while we worked – even those who couldn’t speak English sang along. He talked many times about cooking Tex-Mex food for me and so on my first off day, Riccardo threw a Tex-Mex party at his house.

When I arrived, we all joined in preparing the food for the evening: guacamole, pico de gallo, roasted pork, and chicken wings.

I know what all you Texans are thinking right now – THAT AIN’T TEX-MEX!

But in our defense, it’s pretty difficult to find the necessary ingredients for an authentic Tex-Mex meal over here. Cilantro is non-existent and tortillas the same.   However, after being away from home and missing Lola’s tacos for almost a month, I was ready to kill a bowl of guacamole.

The rest of our friends from Dario’s celle began to pile in and we had one hell of a time. My buddy Daniele even dressed up for the occasion. He donned a dinner-plate sized Harley Davidson belt buckle, roach-killer boots, and a Toby Keith cowboy hat. However, I could tell he had his eye on mine and was looking for a trade.

Eventually, it would come down to a poker game, but that is for another post.

Two killer pair of boots!

The finished fare included chicken wings, a variety of grilled vegetables, and pulled pork tacos - yes, Riccardo miraculously scrounged up some flour tortillas in the middle of the Italian countryside. Topped with a dollop of guacamole, those pulled pork tacos made me reminisce of home and authentic Tex-Mex food.

I will admit I had a momentary pang of  homesickness from it all.

I was amazed at the enormous amount of hospitality shown to me by my new Italian friends. They had only known me for a short time, but I found myself in their homes, eating, drinking, and laughing like one of them. For this, I am grateful and will always cherish their hospitality and friendship.

Daniele and Riccardo are already planning a trip to Texas if and when I open my own butcher shop. I promised them that if they came, I would make sure they got a true Texas topper on their head and some boots on their feet.