It is fair to say that the Baron Rouge changed the way I think about how a public space can and should be used.  Before discovering Le Baron Rouge, I had never been in a place that spent so little time making guests physically comfortable or paying attention to the rules, but was so perfectly fitted to the life of its neighborhood. But that is getting ahead of myself.

Le Baron Rouge first entered my conscientiousness by chance, on a Sunday afternoon, when we happened past it during a stay in Paris. Back in the 1990’s, our favorite Paris neighborhood was near the Place d’Aligre, on the border between the 11eme and 12eme arrondissement.  We always stayed in the (long vanished) Résidence Trousseau, a hotel named after the nearby Square Trousseau. Heading back to the hotel one fall Sunday afternoon, we were surprised to see a big crowd of people filling the sidewalk of rue Théophile Roussel. The nearby street market at place Aligre had already closed for the day and the rest of the neighborhood was settling into its Sunday afternoon torpor, as people headed home for the traditional Sunday afternoon family supper.  But here was a boisterous, happy mob, spilling out between the parked cars and into the street.  What is this place?

Pushing up through the crowd, we discovered Le Baron Rouge for the first time.  Behind its cheerful red storefront, a tiny space, one wall lined with wine barrels, the other with a tiny zinc bar, and one corner filled with five tightly packed tables.  Behind the bar, the wall is covered with small chalkboards listing the (seemingly vast) selection of wines.  A few wine barrels are scattered around as a place to put your glass of wine. Toward the back, a tiny kitchen space, maybe 6’x6′, from which emerge plates loaded with charcuterie or runny St-Félicien cheeses. And everywhere, elbow to elbow and shoulder to shoulder, neighborhood denizens, happily raising a glass to celebrate the fact that it is Sunday and one doesn’t have other obligations.

Ordering is a bit of a struggle:  there is no neat order for approaching the bar, you just push forward. When you get to the bar, the service team is friendly but in a hurry and, therefore, would appreciate you having a ready idea of what you want to order – if you want to chat about the qualities of the wines they offer, show up during off hours, when time is not at a premium. The Beaujolais is chilled, the charcuterie is excellent (especially the smoked andouille sausage from Normandy), you find a little corner to put your plate down and life is good.

The toilets at Le Baron Rouge are also a bit daunting. Access to them is through a small door on one side of the kitchen, so you almost feel you are intruding to go that way. This door leads to a small courtyard, mostly used for garbage cans and bicycles.  Against one wall, a rustic lean-to contains a classic Parisian hole-in-the-floor toilet, complete with a dangling pull chain for a flush.  It doesn’t get any more authentic.

Sundays, especially, are good at the Baron Rouge, that is, if you are in a month with an “r” in it.  Then, a friend of the house who raises oysters in Normandy sets up his table on the sidewalk in front, and sells his stock at rates that, by Paris standards, are bordering on philanthropic.  When there is no longer any space inside, guests make due by using nearby cars, fire plugs, garbage cans, whatever may serve as a table. I once saw a young woman balancing an enormous plate of oysters between two brightly striped construction barriers.

The line to order oysters can stretch down the street.  When it was finally my turn to order, I selected the size 5, preferring a smaller oyster (in France, oysters are sized from “0”, the largest, to “5”, the smallest, don’t ask me why).  The oyster man sized me up with a wry smile and said “Grand américain, très petites huîtres!”, then laughed as if he had made a very funny, slightly smutty joke.  Over the course of many years, he made the same joke every time we were there.

On a later visit, we arrived on a Sunday morning right at the 11am opening time, in the hopes of grabbing one of the coveted tables.  We were in luck and sat down in a corner table for 2 on the crowded banquette. As we started on our first glass of Petit Chablis, the bar began to fill up with people finishing their Sunday shopping at the nearby covered marché Beauveau , some with bags of groceries, some with wheely carts, some with kids in tow.  The oyster guy was setting up his stand out front.  Soon, the room was completely packed.  The couple at the table next to us got up to leave and an elegantly dressed older woman pressed forward to take their place, balancing a glass of wine and a platter of oysters.  As she turned to settle into the banquette, her oversized purse knocked my glass of wine into my lap.  Horrified, she apologized profusely, as we all sacrificed our paper napkins to the spill.  Crisis over, our older neighbor insisted in offering me one of her oysters by way of apology.  I looked down at her plate, to see immense size zeros, the largest size available, fully four inches long.  I politely refused, assuring her that it wasn’t necessary, but was really terrified at the prospect of trying to slurp down one of these mammoths.    But she continued to insist and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Finally, I agreed and, adding a squeeze of lemon, tipped one into my mouth. Holy mackerel, I felt like a sea lion trying to down a king salmon!  Three gulps later and a little green, I was ready for another glass of Chablis.

Over the years, Le Baron Rouge became a sort of milestone for me; on any visit to Paris, I never really felt like I had arrived until I pushed up to its bar and ordered a glass of wine.  With a deep sign, I could feel the worries of the world falling off.  Once again, Paris!

The transhumance is the practice of moving livestock to high mountain pastures as the weather warms in early summer.  As I learned when I visited the Fromagerie Écologique Agour Irati, this ancient practice has economic and culinary roots. Moving the flock to communal mountain pastures in the summer allows the farmer to use his land to produce hay to feed the flock during the winter. And the untouched fields of mountain wildflowers, clovers and grasses are ideal for producing the most flavorful milk for cheese making. In the Valley of the Aspe, these mountain pastures are vertiginous patches of green perched on the sides of the rugged Pyrenean hills.  There, watched over by the lonely “berger”or shepherd, along with his herding and guard dogs, the flocks pass the warm summer wandering higher and higher into the mountain passes as the summer warming causes new pastures to bloom.

Each year, the beginning of the transhumance is celebrated with community fetes throughout the mountain regions of France.  We attended the fête in Loudios-Ichere, population 155 souls and a great number of sheep, cows and horses.  The day started with the gathering, marking and belling of the flocks.  Each shepherd marks his animals with a distinctive colored dye and mark shape.  After that, the local priest gave a benediction for the safety of shepherds and flock, then the mayor  offered an aperitif for all the people come to witness the evant. Then, urged on by shepherd and herding dogs, and followed by spectators, the flocks begins to movebtoward the hills.

The days events continued long after the flocks had departed, with a communal lunch in the square in front of the Mairie, or town hall, and a market of local producers near the church. It was really a wonderful look into a practice as old as domesticated animals and a unique way of life in the isolated farms of the Pyrenees.

New salad for fall at Le Pichet:
Roasted heirloom carrots, herbed creme fraiche, parsley and mushrooms marinated “a la grecque” with spices and lemon juice

Time for breakfast! How about oeufs plats and a mimosa?

Currently on the cheese board at Café Presse. Perfectly ripe and ready to eat.

From the menu at Café Presse: Salade of curly endive, green beans, garlic croutons, bacon lardons and creamy Bleu d’Auvergne dressing. Miam Miam!

Good looking cheese plate at Café Presse…featuring Bleu d’Auvergne, Pont l’Évêque, Bûche de chèvre, Port Salut and Mimolette, served with sourdough country bread.

In case you missed this daily special last week, here is a reminder:

A beautiful hunk of Ste-Maure, aged goat’s milk cheese from the Loire Valley, served with grilled bread and and preserved apricots. Miam Miam!

Appetizer special at Café Presse this weekend:
House-made farmer’s cheese served with grilled Treviso, pine nuts and sauce ravigote made with soft herbs, lemon, olive oil, capers and anchovies.

Name: Sagging Fence goat tomme
From: Port Orchard, Washington State
Made By:  Sagging Fence Farm
Milk: Raw goat’s milk
Curdling type: rennet
Size/ weigh: Round tomme about 4# in weight
Rind: Natural rind that is washed weekly during aging
Interior: semi firm, very pale ivory color
Aged: 3-5 months (maybe longer due to recent closures!)

This goat’s milk cheese is made by Bob and Juli Fisher on their farm near Port Orchard on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, where they also pasture raise Aracana chickens for eggs. Although they have made cheeses together for years, Sagging Fence Farm (Juli says the name comes from the farm’s wire fences when hungry goats climb on them trying to get better stuff on the other side) came into being in 2014 as a retirement “job”.

Their goat milk tomme is made from the milk of their herd of 24 Nubian goats, although only 6-8 of these are producing milk at any one time. Each 4# wheel takes 4-5 gallons of milk to make, so the total production is only 4-5 cheeses per week. It is a firm, finely textured cheese with a rich, full flavor that reminds me of the cheeses of the French Basque Countries, where sheep milk predominates but goat’s milk versions also exist. Weekly washing of the rind (“to prevent unwanted growth” during aging, says Juli) adds to complexity and full-flavor to the fresh lactic flavor of the interior.

It is a rare treat to be able to sample a raw milk cheese of this quality made by dedicated artisans right in our own back yard. Although Le Pichet and Cafe Presse are both still closed due to the Governor’s mandate, each restaurant has one of these goat tommes quietly aging in our cheese caves. We can’t wait to see how good it will taste when we reopen! In the meantime, you can generally find Sagging Fence cheese at Quality Cheese in the Pike Place Market.