The Chapolard Family of Gascony

Dominique Chapolard working his stand at one of the various farmers' markets in 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.

The Cowboy, the Expat, and the Englishman

I poked my head into the production room at the Chapolard’s farm.

Bonjour! Dominique?

One of the women making paupiettes at the metal table turned and yelled to Dominique, informing him a cowboy was here to see him. From out of the rear kitchen, he appeared, with a smile the size of his mustache. After catching up for a bit, he asked me if it was possible to start next Monday. A week to kill in the Gascony countryside?

C’est Bon. (it’s good) I replied.

“Also, is it possible for you to stay throughout August as well?” he asked.

Even better.

I knew Kate Hill, of the Kitchen-at-Camont, would need an extra hand that week – Tim Clinch, a well-traveled British photographer was at Camont to photograph some dishes for their upcoming book Food Stories from Gascony. Yearning to learn more about traditional French cuisine, I decided to spend the majority of my week there.

Every meal at Camont is so… French. The table is always set beforehand. More often than not, the table is laden with an array of cheeses, bread, water, wine, and charcuterie. Meals flow in the French manner:

• the starter (l’entrée),
• the main course (le plat principal),
• cheese (le fromage),
• dessert (le dessert),
• some sort of digestive, usually coffee (digestif/café),
• and of course, wine - usually Rosé

Walnut wine 

Time is taken to actually enjoy a meal and your company – you will be hard-pressed to find French people in the Gascony countryside that rush lunch.

When I arrived, Kate was putting the finishing touches on lunch. To be of use, I tried to set the table. The keyword is tried. I had yet to learn the proper French way to set a table. Luckily, Catherine was close by to teach me.

As lunch came out of the kitchen, Tim went to work with his camera and iPhone, carefully setting up his shots and paying great attention to his angles and lighting. Naturally, we started up what would be a week-long conversation about his many travels, shoots, and photography. He has some great tales and the guy has really done it all in the photography world.

Tim Clinch getting the right position.

Tim never misses a moment to take a picture.

After an exceptional lunch, we sprang into action. The three of us worked quite well together. Kate commanded the island counter slicing vegetables, simmering sauces, and producing the most enthralling aromas I have ever taken in. I took my place near the sink and dishwasher.

A great spot.

Here, I could knock out the dishes and peek over my shoulder every now and then to witness the magic taking place. Tim took his place at the small table in front of the island, editing photos and preparing for the next dish. When Kate would finish a dish, we all would converge on the predetermined propped, location to nail down a breathtaking photo – Tim wielding his two cameras, Kate styling the plate, and yours truly providing props and light via the massive reflector.

When it was time to shoot the côte de boeuf (ribeye), Kate put me in charge.

She trusts me with this?

Yes, she assured me, if I wanted to work with Francis Mallman, I would need to master the fire first.  Then she showed me how to construct an upside down fire in a metal wheel barrow.  Only then did she give me  instruction on how to best cook the steak. Once the wood had burned down to coals, I transferred the coals over to a small grille and plopped the côte de boeuf straight on the coals. It turned out marvelous!

My kind of grilling./

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Now everytime I stop by Camont for a meal, I assume my position next to the metal wheelbarrow, the adobe oven, and the grille. With Kate's guidance, I have learned to cook some really amazing dishes with fire.

Duck pâté serves with large capers and toast points.

Bacon, Kate's loyal companion, remained in the kitchen throughout the day in case any morsels fell to the ground.

Tim and Kate racked up some incredible food shots over the week. I was thrilled to lend a hand and be a part of it - even if in a small way.

Note: One part of Food Stories From Gascony will document the wide variety of people that pass through Kate's Kitchen at Camont. Tim thought a cowboy from Texas was interesting so he shot this:

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NOTE: Looking to experience France in a similar fashion? Kate hosts a variety of culinary courses at Camont from cooking to charcuterie. Check out her website and mosey on over to France for an unparalleled  gastronomic experience.

France - Right Where I Need to Be

With vacation over and the family back across the Atlantic, I began to make my way back to France.  I wanted to dig deeper and really get a good grasp on charcuterie. Dominique Chapolard had agreed to take me on as an apprentice at his family’s organic pig farm and charcuterie production facility for a month. It was tough parting with my family.

There is nothing in Texas for you right now, my mother reminded me.

And she was right. Deep down, I think I was really just hankering for one of Lola’s breakfast tacos and a big, sweet iced-tea.

I rented a car in Toulouse with a standard transmission since automatics are twice as expensive to rent. In all my time in Austin selling cars, I never learned how to operate a vehicle with standard transmission. Now I had to learn while driving in France! Let's just say it took me 20 minutes to get out of the parking garage because I didn't know how to shift into reverse. Next,  I stalled out at two traffic lights…

Well, you get the picture.

My Volkswagen Polo that I rented in Toulouse.

Somehow I made it back to the Kitchen-at-Camont, the culinary retreat and home of Kate Kill. I didn’t dare pull into her driveway because I was still overcome with fear of putting the Volkswagon Polo into reverse.

As usual, Kate had a full house – the two guests of note on this occasion were Camas Davis and Tim Clinch. Camas originally took a course with Kate back in 2009 then went back to the Northeast and started the Portland Meat Collective, a hands-on meat school and community dedicated to whole animal butchery and the slow food movement. Tim is a well-traveled British photographer who now resides in Bulgaria – He and Kate were in the middle of a week-long food photo shoot for their upcoming book Food Stories from Gascony.

Kate Hill's lovely home, Camont, in the Gascon region of France.

Other new faces included Dylan Joyce-Ahearne, an Irish writer who has been remodeling Kate’s barge, and Catherine Manterola, Kate’s social media wiz, foodie, and fellow Texan.

Kate's barge, which is situated on the canal just behind her house.

And would you believe it, the menu that day was pulled-pork tacos on fresh, homemade tortillas by Catherine? My Tex-Mex craving was filled!

Later that day, I made my way to Nerac, where I would be staying for the next two months. After inspecting my new digs, I strolled out onto my private balcony and peered out at my incredible view. I realized this is exactly where I needed to be.

Mom was right. Texas can wait - I have the rest of my life to spend in the Lone Star State.

The view from my window in Nerac.

A shot of the local church during one of my evening stroll through Nerac.

Fambam in Italy

The Italy Plan was formed a few years ago: take Nana Marge (my grandmother) to see the country of her ancestors. It would require lots of walking and many flights of stairs – bad news for a woman with bad knees, but a couple of years and a couple of knee replacements later, Nana Marge was kicking and ready to roll. The itinerary was for a three-week tour throughout Italy, all fourteen of us. That’s right, one – four.

We roll hella’ deep.

Before their arrival, I had been in Florence for a week, cramming in every bit of Italian cuisine knowledge I could get my hands on:

• an all-day wine tour through the Chianti region,
• 4 cooking classes,
• and countless balsamic and wine tastings.

My family joined me in Florence and we trained down to the Amalfi coast for the first leg of our trip.  We stayed at a small, lemon villa right on the coast and visited the charming coastal towns of Maiori, Positano, Ravello, Sorrento and of course the Island of Capri. I got to practice some of my new pasta skills there in the villa’s kitchen.

My brother, Sam, and I on the Amalfi Coast.

Not a shabby view from our villa.

The family was buried in Italian food.

After a few days of relaxation in the Italian sun, we visited the ancient city of Pompeii and then dropped in for lunch at  L' Antica Pizzeria da Michele, in Naples.  Many consider it to be the best pizza in the world. Julia Roberts thought so in the movie, Eat, Pray, Love.

Views from the ancient city of Pompeii.

The ancient people of Pompeii even knew beef was king.

L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele, a landmark from the movie, Eat, Pray, Love.

Damn good pizza.

Then up the peninsula to the capital city, Rome. We took in the Coliseum and the Vatican along with every other tourist in the world.

Warning for those headed to Rome – be ready to fight your way through densely packed crowds in tight and enclosed spaces.

Rome requires a lot of walking! We found a seat whenever and wherever we could.

Sam and I at the Coliseum.

In Rome, we did the obligatory dinner at Alfredo’s, home of “the king of noodles” and Fettuccini Alfredo. The restaurant has long been a celebrity hotspot, indicated by the numerous photographs of stars hanging on the walls. It was my cousin Mitchell’s birthday and he was honored to dine with the original gold fork and spoon gifted to Alfredo by Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks.

The birthplace of Fettuccini Alfredo

JFK even liked the spot.

Next to Venice where we dined at Harry’s Bar, home of the Bellini and Carpaccio – thinly sliced raw beef dressed in a tangy mayo sauce. It was formerly a hangout for expats and celebs including Ernest Hemingway, Orson Wells, and Charlie Chaplin. One night, Mitchell and I veered away from the family to visit the Casino on the Grand Canal – we didn’t stay very long, but we did feel like we were in a James Bond movie.

The cousins taking on Venice!

Beef carpaccio at Harry's Bar.

The last leg of our trip was a week in Tuscany at a villa near Montalcino. We did little day excursions throughout the countryside, but the best was definitely our time in Panzanno visiting the Le Fonti vineyard and dining with Dario Cecchini at Officina Della Bistecca.

The family at Dario's.

We were given the seats of honor, right in the middle of the table next to all the meat.

Sam and I visiting A winery in Panzano.

We couldn't leave without a small tasting!

As our time in Italy came to a close, we made our way to Milan, but not without a surprise departure to Sumirago. (the village where my nana's family came from)  As luck would have it, our bus broke down right as we entered the village.  All fourteen of us spilled out of the bus and onto the cobbled street - nearly doubling the town's population, but the best thing of all, as we were waiting for a rescue bus, we became acquainted with an old man on the street who, as you guessed it, was Nana Marge's kinfolk!  It was a wonderful surprise.

Our Italian Fambam was an epic vacation - a trip of a lifetime.  It was good to see my family after traveling alone for two months. As they made their way back across the Atlantic, I grabbed my pack and rucked-up for my journey back to the land of wine and cheese for some more in-depth training in charcuterie.

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.