French-Canadian soul food?

By Jeff Rapsis
HippoPress.com

Here's my theory: My mixed ethnic heritage predisposes me to find certain foods satisfying.

I'm part Polish, so kielbasa has always gone down well. I'm also part Irish, hence the taste for stewed meat and beer.

But my French-Canadian side was always odd man out because I never liked salmon pie. My mother served this tried-and-true Quebec staple to us every Friday night for years, and somehow I was never conquered by its charms.

Much later, when I first lived in Manchester, I discovered the missing link-the French-Canadian dish that I should have been eating all along. It was (drum roll, please) poutine, the down-home north-of-the-border favorite dish of lumberjacks, truckers and others who wear plaid.

Here was food I could relate to. It's a heart-stopping QuebeÁois concoction of French fries topped with curd cheese, doused in gravy and always served in immense portions. The piping hot French fries provide heft; the slightly sour cheese curds add texture while they melt; the gravy gives the whole affair a spicy kick.

There are many variations, but even in basic form, poutine satisfies in ways no other food can, especially for breakfast on a cold morning.

More than comfort

Poutine, served throughout Quebec, is more than a comfort food. It's more like a "smother" food-while eating a plate of it, other concerns seem less weighty by comparison. In New Hampshire, the Queen City seems to be poutine's southern outpost-beyond here, it's a vast poutine-less wasteland, which is why I never encountered it growing up in Nashua.

One reason I think poutine has taken root in "Live Free or Die" Manchester is that it's in sync with a certain part of the Queen City's character. It's informal and unpretentious. There's no really "proper" poutine. Add-ins run the gamut from grilled vegetables to sliced hot dogs. You're free to do your own thing, giving the dish a certain rebel appeal.

But before you set out to find your own true poutine, it helps to pronounce the name properly. Tip: It does not rhyme with "Mr. Clean." The best instruction I've heard is from Paul Normand, owner of the Chez Vachon restaurant on the West Side, who asks poutine neophytes to say two words: "Puts out."

"Now just say the opposite," intones Normand, leaning against the counter of his Kelley Street eatery, which specializes in French-Canadian dishes. It's a primary local source for poutine-which, remember, is pronounced "puts IN." Say it together with me. Good!
Chopping wood in a snowstorm

Poutine has proved a big seller for Normand since he took over the landmark neighborhood restaurant several years ago. By his estimate, Chez Vachon serves an astounding 800 plates of poutine each week, a figure that goes up by about 30 percent in cold weather months.

At Chez Vachon and elsewhere, poutine portions are huge-a "regular" serving is a nine-inch oval plate piled high with French fries and four ounces of cheese curds, while the mountainous "large" uses an 11-inch plate as the launching pad and is topped with six ounces of cheese. Both are doused liberally with a spicy brown chicken gravy, which is an essential part of the authentic poutine experience.

The cheese curds form a major difference between typical American "cheese fries" and authentic Canadian poutine. Curds (of "curds of whey," remember?) are a dairy product halfway between milk and mature cheese. Real Canadian curds have a mild, smooth flavor and a texture that makes them stringy as they melt, like mozzarella.

Though poutine can be a lot of food, it goes down easily. The textures combine for a unique experience-hot fried potato, gooey cheese and spicy gravy, which contains hints of pepper and vinegar. It's like eating a pre-mixed breakfast of hash browns and a cheese omelet made with Worcestershire sauce. Somehow it works-there's always just enough cheese and gravy to cover the fries on your fork.

Calories? You've got to be kidding. Put it this way-the best description I've heard of what poutine does to your system was provided by a friend a few years ago. After her first plate of poutine, she said it was OK, but somehow felt she should be spending the afternoon chopping wood in a snowstorm.

Some Chez Vachon regulars split a poutine among several people, a sensible strategy. But others not only order a large poutine for themselves, but also a sandwich to go with it.

"People who eat it like that tend to be big eaters," Normand says.
No kidding. Varieties offered at Chez Vachon include tomato and mushroom, hamburger, Italian sausage, turkey, bacon, imported ham, sirloin steak tips, and others. The menu includes strange options: "SPAGHETTI SAUCE OR BEEF GRAVY MAY BE SUBSTITUTED FOR CHICKEN GRAVY ON POUTINE." Prices range from $4.95 to $9.95-not a bad deal for a meal that could feed a family of four for a week.

Moment in poutine history: Chez Vachon's cheeseburger poutine (made with crumbled hamburger meat and extra cheese) achieved a notoriety of sorts when candidate Bill Clinton took a liking to it while campaigning during the long winter months leading to the 1992 presidential primary. Despite high expectations following the election, no invitations were extended to bring poutine to the White House.
Poutine lore

Poutine's origins aren't so much shrouded in mystery as they are mired in confusion. I thought it was an old-time traditional Quebec food brought here by our hard-working ancestors. At Chez Vachon, Normand agrees-folks in the mill needed something that would last them all day, he said.

But a little Internet research produces the surprising revelation that poutine, as served today throughout Quebec, is actually less than 50 years old. More than one restaurateur claims to have invented the dish, making the circumstances of its creation too contentious and muddled to get into here. One consistent thread, however, is that the name comes from a French-Canadian term that loosely translates as "pudding," a word used to describe a messy dish made with whatever was left over in the kitchen.

Beyond the questions of origin, you'll find poutine partisans ready to dispute nearly every other aspect of it. Some say the gravy must be made with a turkey base, while others prefer chicken. (Manchester seems firmly ensconced in the chicken gravy camp.) Some say the potatoes must be hand-cut thick and fried in pure lard or the taste won't work, while others (including many in Manchester) prefer thinner fries prepared in vegetable oil. Some prefer a plate, while others insist that poutine must be served in a Styrofoam bowl because it helps keep the cheese curds slightly melted.

Despite this bickering (or perhaps because of it), poutine has spread all over French-speaking Canada. One measure of its acceptance: it's now available at most McDonalds and Burger King restaurants in Quebec.

Other sources

At Tony's Grinders, on Elm Street across from the Verizon Wireless Arena, owner Maurice Boyer took a cue from his own Canadian heritage and proudly put poutine on the menu last year. The varieties are similar to those offered at the Chez Vachon, but there are two differences in the poutine at Tony's-it's available in a special "bambino" portions (about the size of a bowl of cereal, priced at $4.50) and also the chicken gravy is somewhat thinner.

That could be a good or bad thing, depending on your preference-to each his own poutine. Tony's also offers "small" and "large" sizes, which in true poutine style means "huge" and "gargantuan." Also, you can add your own ingredients (including the authentic-sounding "smoked meats" for $2) in a la carte fashion to customize your poutine. Tony's is an economical poutine source: a basic small is $5.50, while a large costs just $6.50.

At Susie Q's, at 280 North Main St. on the West Side, owner Al Milliard lists poutine as a "house specialty" on the menu. It certainly is. His heaping poutines are piled high with fries and curds, and covered with the thickest gravy in town. That should please the partisans up north who claim that a poutine gravy isn't proper unless you can stand a fork up in it.

Milliard's early opening time (5 a.m. on weekdays) gives him a head start with the poutine-eating construction crews. More than 50 pounds of potatoes go into his poutines each week; the best seller is the "loaded" version, which includes hamburger, peppers, onions, and mushrooms. ($7.75 small, $8.75 large).

All three places can create special poutines for customers with special cravings. At Suzie Q's, Milliard celebrates St. Patrick's Day with a corned beef hash poutine. At Chez Vachon, Normand says the kitchen staff fields all kinds of unusual requests, including poutine omelets. Milliard also offers this variety, which is pretty much what you'd expect-an omelet made with a plate of poutine mixed in.

What about a truly unusual request-say, tuna poutine?

"If somebody wanted it, we wouldn't refuse to make it," Normand responds good-naturedly.

And then there's the kielbasa poutine at Chez Vachon. With its Polish and French-Canadian influence, it ranks as a double-threat in satisfying my mixed ethnic food cravings.

And if the potatoes don't take care of the Irish side, there's always beer.

Jeff Rapsis can be reached at hippo@hippopress.com