Food message boards: a hobby

This weekend, I am making a simple aubergine and tomato stew from Béziers. I’d love it if you gave it a try. Just don’t mention the “R” word.

I’ve been thinking about Béziers, a city about 20 minutes to the west of us, the place we visit for the Friday flower market and the Chinese supermarket, to buy cheese at the wonderful shop by the halles or lipstick at Galeries Lafayette, for lunch with friends at Pica Pica or dinner at the Indian restaurant, or – most thrillingly – to visit the eccentric antique shop where the charming owner never wants to sell you anything. You express interest in a set of chairs or an old bergère and, desolé madame, but a couple of years ago, five years ago, last week, a customer left a substantial deposit, a thousand euros, two thousand, on this piece you’ve set your heart on, but they never came back, but who knows? One day they may, desolé, desolé.

But this is a distraction, If I don’t get a move on, the mystery shopper will have come back for the bergère by the time I get to the recipe. I’ve been thinking about Béziers because of chichoumeille, or is it chichoumé or chichoumée? This is a slowly cooked dish of aubergines and tomatoes particularly close to the hearts of the Biterrois and Bitterroises. Just for godssake don’t call it ratatouille.

It is one of those very simple dishes with few ingredients you can’t quite believe has such a seductive depth of flavour. I want to eat it all summer long. With everything.

Béziers flower market.

I was also intrigued by the name. My efforts to discover where the word chichoumeille came from ended in an extensive, eyeball-drying trip through culinary message boards of the internet, which is genuinely one of my favourite things in life. There ain’t no aggro like recipe aggro – it’s just as fiery as people arguing about parking and bins, but more fun and hopefully you get dinner at the end.

When we first moved here, I found a local Facebook group where one innocent, guileless man stumbled into the posts with a picture of a macaronade his fourteen-year-old son had made. Macaronade is the rich beef and pork stew that the good people of Sète make when they want to show you a good time. They have opinions. I KNOW with everything in my being that if a proud papa had shared such a picture in a British or an American group, the comments would have been along the lines of “Isn’t that lovely!” (GB) or “Good job!” (US). But no. That kid needs to go back and simmer that stew for another hour, maybe more, the tomato-based sauces of Sète must not be red, but a deep shade of rust. Try harder, be better, more correct.

Imagine my delight when I found a local message board where people were discussing chichoumeille, how they made it, how their mothers and grandmothers made it, often announcing their village to give their opinion greater credibility. I’m from Montblanc, I’m from Poujols, from Causses, Cessenon-sur -Orb, Cazouls. Do you add smoked lardons? Herbes de Provence? Someone’s mother always added a pinch of sugar, another swore he would never give up his recipe, and then went on to discuss it in great detail.

A man shared memories of his grandfather working in the vines with some cold chichoumeille, a slice of Cantal cheese and some grapes for lunch. Another described being served chichoumeille with an egg on top in a spa town in the Hauts Cantons where it was described on the menu as an Oeil de Moscou (eye of Moscow). Another said that serving it cold with grilled sausages was like paradise.

And then it began. The original poster had added courgettes and peppers to his chichoumeille. This was, apparently, far, far worse than an undercooked macaronade. He was accused of allowing the holy dish to fall into a vulgar ratatouille, a crime de lèse-biterrois, offending the dignity of the residents of Béziers. “Ce n'est pas du tout la recette de la CHICHOUMÉE BITERROISE... mais une simple ratatouille!” This isn’t a recipe for a CHICHOUMÉE BITERROISE, but a simple ratatouille! The you fool was silent but we all heard it.

My favourite commenter wrote: “Listen, mistaking a chichoumée for a ratatouille is irrefutable proof of your total incompetence in the field of gastronomy (and Occitan as well)” And then, just to drive home the point he finished with a bit of blistering Occitan, the ancient language of this part of southern France. “Una chichomea se fa ambe amb una padena e i cal de Ventresca” (A chichomea is made with a pan and requires a belly). Ok, dad.

Then, peace descended in a special kumbaya moment. Another commentator, possibly a saint, added. “Grandson of a poor farm labourer, son of a railroad worker a little less poor, a little less poor myself, but rich in all those happy memories, those recipes prepared with love for us to enjoy.”

And I was glad because I wanted to make this thing without the entire weight of Biterrois pride pressing hard on my head. I gave it what I think was a decent stab and I love it. I keep making it. It’s good warm or cold, great to have in the fridge if you’re vegetarian or vegan, or if you have v&v guests over the summer. Make it. Enjoy it. Just never call it ratatouille.

What to do with your chichoumeille

• Serve it with sausages, basque sausages or chorizo are particularly good

• Add some eggs – poach eggs in the mixture, in the manner of shakshuka, serve with fried eggs as in today’s recipe, use it to fill an omelette

• Stir it through pasta. Fusilli, penne and rigatoni work well. Cook the pasta in lots of boiling, salted water for a couple of minutes less than the time suggested on the packet, drain and then finish cooking in the chichoumeille so it absorbs all the flavour from the sauce.

• Create a sort of pan bagnat, the glorious Provençal sandwich which places what’s essentially a salade niçoise between two slices of bread and presses it. Use crusty white bread, baguette or even ciabatta rolls and fill generously with chichoumeille. If you like, add some pitted olives, anchovies, good tinned or jarred tuna, and/or some sliced boiled eggs, then wrap the sandwich tightly in cling film, place between two plates and put some sort of weight – a couple of food tins should do it – then refrigerate it for at least an hour.

• It makes a great side dish to serve at or take to a barbecue and it packs very well for a picnic.

Chichoumeille

This is such a wonderful thing to have in your fridge for creating quick lunches and snacks, or to serve with eggs for brunch (see menu below). I added the cherry tomatoes towards the end of, which isn’t traditional, for an extra hit of tomato and because I like the texture and cheerfulness they add. If your tomatoes really are poor, you can definitely use tinned tomatoes – perhaps add two pinches of sugar rather than one if you do.