Searching for Family and Traditions at the French Table, Book One (Champagne, Alsace, Lorraine, and Paris regions) by Carole Bumpus

Author:Carole Bumpus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2019-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

The Alsace Region

CHAPTER TEN

The Famille Klotz

From outside The Lard & Crème, we heard plates clattering onto tables and silverware clinking into place. Music blared, people laughed, and shouts of bonjour echoed through the door of the restaurant. We pushed through the outer doors and into the crowd, where the cacophony gave way to a wave of aromas—sweet grilled onions, savory bacon, the heady smell of baking bread . . . and beer, of course. We were expected, and it felt like we were being bustled into the waiting arms of our favorite full-breasted grandmother—welcoming, inviting, warm.

As we were escorted past the waiting throngs in the foyer of this busy Alsatian restaurant, I attempted to capture the environment in my mind. But we moved too quickly, and it became a blur of reds, deep ocher, as the crisscross of blackened half-timbered joists careened across the ceiling and walls. Turning into a large room, I saw a table set for ten . . . no, eleven of us.

I had looked forward to this evening for weeks. Henri, Christine, and Josiane had worked hard to arrange for my husband and me to meet the Klotz family. They included Henri Lochert’s sister, Carmen; her husband, Christian; their precocious thirteen-year-old daughter, Elodie; and her close friend, whose name I can’t remember, but who was also cute as a button. Plus, there were Christian’s parents, Alice and Lucien Klotz. So, there we were—three generations of one family at one table, plus the rest of us. The Klotzes had chosen their favorite restaurant in Strasbourg to talk with us and introduce us to some of their favorite Alsatian dishes.

The specialty of the house was the famous tartes flambée. This Alsatian version of pizza had an extremely thin crust rolled flat and baked in a wood-burning oven with a variety of toppings. This most traditional tarte was topped with grilled onions, bacon, fresh cream, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, and was oh so delicious. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Through the noise and chaos of the restaurant, we leaned in to hear the Klotz family introductions and huddled close to catch snippets of conversation. Thankfully, Henri had positioned himself across from my husband and me, where he remained busy translating the sometimes wild and exuberant conversation for us. There was nothing formal and closed-off with this family. They were enjoying each other’s company and looked happy to be there. I wondered what Josiane had told the Klotzes about me and about what I might ask. I always felt relieved to have her set the stage, but I was never certain what she’d said or what role I would be expected to play. But everyone enjoys Josiane’s company, and this evening was no exception. We settled back into our seats. No amount of time in her presence lessened our affection for—as my husband calls her—St. Josiane.

With a wave of Lucien Klotz’s hand, tartes flambée were ordered for the table, along with glasses of beer and the family’s favorite addition, amer picon.

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