On reading an e-mail from a longtime friend in Japan, I felt myself turning green with envy.

"To escape the sweltering Tokyo summer," the mail read, "we toured around Shimokita Peninsula, Aomori Prefecture, where we gobbled down fresh uni and magnificent maguro sashimi to our heart's content."

Living near the mountains in southwestern France, eating fresh sea-urchin roe or sashimi is beyond my wildest dreams.

Although some French regions, such as Bretagne in the northwest, seem to offer excellent seafood, the chances of coming across fresh marine products in a village about four hours by car from the sea are close to zero. On very rare occasions, I jump with joy upon finding fresh seafood at the Friday village market -- but a second later, I have to withdraw timidly when I see how expensive it is.

Just once for an upcoming New Year, though, I splurged on famous Bretagne scallops, with a "40 euro per kg" price tag. But when I got home and realized that I had received only six tiny pieces of scallop meat in return for nearly 20 euro -- I didn't know that even their shell was included in the price -- I felt like crying.

Being an average Japanese loving squid, prawn and all other seafood, the situation here was extremely difficult for me -- until I told myself that I was in a meat-eaters' territory.

It's been several years since I started living in France, yet when I go shopping I'm always impressed by the rich variety of meat products available. To name just a few: veau (veal), coq (rooster), cerf (deer), sanglier (wild boar), faisan (pheasant), caille (quail) and their offal as well as various charcuteries (processed meats) like saucisson (dried sausage).

Here, meat has an excellent quality, partly helped by a quality control program called Label Rouge, in which excellent products such as pasture-raised poulet (chicken) are awarded a red label.

As for boeuf (beef), although its consumption decreased for a time due to the BSE outbreak, it seems to have been welcomed back at French tables, with many meat shops specifying where the beef they sell was produced.

I enjoy eating most meat, even that of grenouille (frog). To me, grenouille tastes rather like insipid chicken, but many French people say that it's much more delicate.

The finest to my mind, though, is agneau de pre-sale (lamb from salt meadows) from Mont-Saint-Michel, fed on iodine-rich salt marshes by the sea near the famous abbey in the Normandy region. I once tasted it just grilled and it had an unforgettable flavor.

I have learned to cook meat, albeit just a few kinds.

Coming from a fish-eaters' country, I still hesitate when confronted by some of them. Take lapin (rabbit), for example. Because most of the time lapin are sold just flayed and hung at stores, I can't bear to even look them in the eye (indeed, they still have their eyes and everything), much less cook them for lapin au citron (rabbit cooked with lemons, a traditional French dish). I wonder if Brigitte Bardot, the famous actress-turned-animal rights activist, ever complained about how rabbits are treated in her country.

Such meat and seafood matters sometimes cause arguments between my French companion and me. He sneers at me for freaking out at the sight of bloody rabbits or headless chickens, and I mock him for being too scared to decapitate fish. He says that eating whale meat is cruel, and I point out that eating agneaux de lait (4- to 6-week-old milk lambs) is heartless.

But isn't this all just a cultural thing, after all?

P.S. I made a serious mistake in previous columns by placing the village where I live in the southeast instead of the southwest of France. Sorry, I must have been feeling pretty lost around here.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: Sept. 3, 2005
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