Who knows what came over us, we decided to bake our own cake. First of all, it is less time-consuming than the Compostela exercise. And for a fraction of the price, it's like a dive into the origins.
Published at 2:17 am. Updated at 5:00 am.
They said the gut is the second brain. If so, the stomach comes first.
Anyway, what could be more traditional, festive and relevant than a cake for Christmas?
I'm not one of those snobs who turns up my nose at a good Putin. But I disagree when people claim it is the “national dish” of Quebec. A little seriousness, a little pride, let's see. This thing didn't even exist in 1950.
The true national dish is Tourtière. A dish that has its roots in Europe, survived several crossings, was reinvented in New France and has been reinterpreted ever since.
It is the dish that cheers up the family, brings friends together and rewards good work, in the camp, in the field or in the city. It fights winter depression and seasonal depression better than any light therapy: it shines from within.
It is the court that can be adapted to the circumstances without appearing; We celebrate with what we have on hand, a little leaner one year, a little fatter another, it depends if the hunting is better…
It is our national Madeleine: the immediate memory of our mothers, our aunts, our fathers, our uncles, coming back through our noses.
I said cake. Tourtière “du Lac”, that goes without saying. There is no longer any debate. She has established herself as the queen of tourtières above all “meat pies”, cipailles, cipâtes. Deep as the fjord, a confusing mix of local and wild meat, boiled potatoes, onions… all united under a protective crust that alone can justify the dish.
That's what we wanted to do.
“We” are my friend Michel, who talks about a vague childhood in Jonquière and, caught up in seasonal nostalgia, plays “Saguenéen” at the end of November and beginning of December. Having a lot of cousins in Chicoutimi myself, I might as well tell you that it doesn't impress me too much. “We” are also Antoine, known as “the Toine”, born in 450, raised in 514, who has no regional prejudices and knows how to settle culinary controversies. After all, “we” are my sister Monique, who came a little “to help chop the potatoes,” but above all to look after me, because without rigor, culinary enjoyment is in vain.
His other quality is that he has a hunting friend in Toine who always has a piece of elk or deer to give away. We had a respectable game rate of 25% for another friend's brother-in-law's elk.
I realize that many “gift” hunted animals spend more time in refrigerators than in our forests.
But back to the cake, as my sister would say.
Beneath the sweet blonde of the pie crust lie vicious ancestral disputes and irreconcilable theories.
It's not always pretty, pretty, I have to say.
Far from being a “region,” Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean is actually more fragmented than 19th-century Italy when it comes to cakes.
By gathering the ingredients from five (confidential) sources, I saw that Jonquière himself is divided between Arvida-Nord and Arvida, who are of course united in opposition to Chicoutimi, who in turn completely disagrees with Alma, who herself rejects the approach of Saint- Félicien or Roberval (where I also recommend La Bonne Cuisine, a family restaurant).
Minced or diced meat? Two thirds potatoes or half and half? Are we talking about volume or weight? Dough underneath or just on top?
There is no moderate opinion on these questions, which are usually answered with “Are you crazy?” Minced meat?? » or “Do whatever you want, but my grandmother wasn't like that!” »
Even making cubes with a round vegetable like potatoes is a rare opportunity to square the circle. Mixing half-and-half recipes to unite the region is a downright – sorry – impossible mission. But what we still noticed, sometimes by adding duck fat instead of pork fat, sometimes by secretly replacing the pate with veal broth…
The arguments at school obviously don't stop at the confectionery.
“You put the whole thing in the oven at 225 degrees for 12 hours,” Pierre Lavoie, a proud Saguenéan, told me. After consulting with his aunt, he texted me: “One hour at 350, reduce the heat to 250 for 5-6 hours, remove the aluminum foil (Alcan) in the last half hour.” »
He calls another one of his aunts.
“One hour at 350, 6-7 hours at 250 with the paper. »
This is in ONE family…
As you know, the Tourtière has its origins in ancient times. Recipes for crusted meat pies have been found on Mesopotamian clay tablets. Really. All over the world there is our version of a dish in which dough envelops meat.
The French have been making “pies,” the same type as meat pies, for centuries. The English imported Sea Pie to America, which is also an ancestor of “Cipaille” and what I here call “real tourtière,” but which represents the synthesis of all our origins. Without First Nations hunters who showed Europeans how to hunt moose and other animals they didn't know, the cake wouldn't be the cake.
What is “original” and “authentic” is, as everywhere, the fruit of an interculturalism that Gérard Bouchard would not deny. It is never timed, never final, even when we think we have “the” recipe that never was.
The main thing, of course, is not in the details of the ingredients, but in the transmission from the oldest to the next, from the old to the new Quebecers, in that thread that connects us to the origins that we call “tradition”. , but that always brings us forward.
Because without love there is no tradition.