Frenchie and the Corsican Village Food

6:30 am on the dot. Feeling so tired from yesterday’s drive on the Corsican mountain roads. The pale and transparent morning light comes through the shutters and brightens up the bedroom slightly. Surrounded by calmness while laying in bed. The rooster just crowed. The donkey just hee hawed. I open the shutters to discover for the first time a magnificent rugged view of the village rural roofs and discern the wonderful rebellious mountainous landscape in the background. And here’s the sun!—warming land and people. Today will be a slow day. Today will be a lazy day. Yes, today will be a Corsican food day!

There are 10 to 12 houses in this hamlet, which is located on a slope on the side of a mountain. This early in the morning, it looks abandoned if it weren’t for the two cats waiting to warm their backs in the sun, the smiling dog casually strolling on la place du village—the heart of the hamlet—and the twenty or so hens happily frolicking around their rooster. The kitchen is already filled with a strong roasted coffee smell with frappes and canistrellis already on the table ready to be eaten. Frappes are these tiny hollow beignets covered in sugar with hints of vanilla and lemon. My favorites though are the canistrellis—these tasty hard cookies made with anise and in some cases with almonds, lemon zest, white wine or chestnut flour. I don’t worry about eating them all because I know there are plenty more kept secretly away in the vintage metal cookie box located in the arrière-cuisine—the beloved pantry—where my eyes always become bigger than my stomach. The slices of panette—a brioche-like anise bread—look like they want to be drenched in this home-made blackberry jam, which I already dipped my finger in. What a great start for a lazy day!

Lunch had already been scheduled—we were invited at the house up the stairs from us. We are warmly welcomed in a rustic kitchen where smells of garlic and tomato sauce battle those of a fruity olive oil and various herbs. Pullàstru cù pomi d’ori e piveroni rossi—in other words, there is a mouth-watering chicken marinating and simmering with tomatoes and red peppers on the stove. But first, frittata cù u brocciu for the hungry travelers. The omelette with brocciu cheese looks so effortless yet tastes like the recipe was carefully crafted for days. Brocciu is a typical traditional cheese in Corsica. It does not contain lactose and is a whey cheese made from sheep or goat milk. It reminds me of fresh ricotta cheese or cottage cheese—or a mix of the two perhaps. However brocciu has a tangier and more complex flavor, which is hard to imitate. The addition of the mint inside the omelette as well as on top of it makes for a fresh delicious bite. I am told that the Corsican wild mint has a peppery taste to it, which is definitely lingering in the frittata.

Our lunch is suddenly disturbed by the intense honking of a small truck arriving in the village. It’s the butcher, says our wonderful cook. And off we go to meet this tiny truck selling meats and charcuterie like an ice cream truck touring around the region going from villages to villages. The butcher is on Tuesdays I am told. Fruits and veggies are Wednesdays and fish is Fridays. What a schedule! I want to buy the whole truck and try sanglier—wild boar—or cabri—young goat meat, aka kid. The smoked meats and sausages smell of strong pepper, salt and spices. There are figatellu hanging to the left, copas in the back and right in front of me a plump and salivating lonzu. I settle for one of those and a salsiccia—a spicy sausage. Dinner will most likely be a charcuterie plate with bread and wine.

Scents from simmering dinners being prepared in the village start floating in our kitchen. It’s smells delicious. It smells like they’re grilling meat and potatoes. Garlic too. I peek out the door and ask randomly in the empty space What are you making? to which a voice coming from nowhere replies Caprettu arròstu. Roasted kid! Why wasn’t I invited to this dinner? As I am digesting my Corsican lazy food day, 11:00 pm hits. The one and only lamp post in the hamlet has been turned off already since 10:00 pm. Looking far into the dark night where I can barely see the shapes of the mountains, I am getting ready to close the shutters. And then I hear them. Yes, them! The cows coming for the fig tree. Hooves clapping discreetly in the night. A herd? Definitely not. Just 2 or 3 cow friends coming down from the mountain to gobble up some sweet treats. They’ll be happy. Even though we harvested the tree, I left them some figs here and there for their nightly escape. Everyone including cows should experience the essence of Corsican village food and flavors!

Text and pictures by Frenchie and the Yankee. © Frenchie and the Yankee