Little has changed in the way Acadians have prepared Christmas dinner since the 18th century. The only difference one might discern these days lies in the degree of doneness in the turnips, carrots and perhaps beets that accompany the stuffed turkey and mashed potatoes to the table. While the preference for soft vegetables lasted through a couple of centuries, a taste for a tender-crisp finish has taken hold in the past 25 years or so.
In search of healthier eating, many people today are following the advice of nutritionists who suggest that long boiling destroys valuable nutrients. But change comes hard for those of the old school, and even as an enlightened generation has discovered that vegetables can actually be tasty, many of their parents and grandparents may continue to boil the vegetables to glorious mush. Tradition prevails especially during the festive season, and not even the greatest chef is permitted to tamper with the way "things have always been".
"My mother likes her vegetables done the old way, cooked until very tender, and I like them a little crisp," says Richard Chiasson, executive chef at Village Historique Acadien, in Caraquet, New Brunswick.
It was a warm early fall evening when photographer Perry Jackson and I sat down to the traditional Christmas dinner at La Table des Ancetres (the Ancestors' Table), that Richard had prepared for us. We were joined by his wife Ronda, seven year-old Matt and two year-old Jasmine. (It was Matt's second dinner that evening, but he still managed seconds and dessert.)
The setting was an old Acadian house constructed in 1855, and maintained in its original style. The meal was (if we overlook the preferences in cooking times) one that is as traditional today as it was more than 200 years ago.
Given the level of authenticity associated with every aspect of the Village, it came as no surprise that the bread that accompanies every meal begins with the making of potato yeast.
"We make our own starter from scratch," Richard told me as he peeled the vegetables for cooking. "We start the starter in May with water from the potatoes mixed with a little flour to form a paste. It's left at room temperature for 48 hours and once it starts to ferment, we build it up in a 16-litre container."
This means that every day in May the starter is "fed" by adding one-half pound of flour and one-half pound of water. By June, they have their 16 pounds of yeast (unless there are complications). During the process, the yeast pH level must be carefully controlled. If it's too acidic, some has to be removed and adjustments made. But if the worst happens, and it turns sour, it has to be thrown out and a whole new batch started.
Bread, which in this case is a free-form round loaf, is always served with dessert. But with a dessert table laden with sweet treats, including a molasses cake, doughnuts, cranberry tarts, apple pie, sugar cookies and bonhomme cookies, all of which were prepared by pastry-bakery chef Muriel Chiasson, I cheated a bit and had a slice with dinner.
Growing up in Caraquet, New Brunswick, not far from where The Village stands today, Richard did not experience running water until he was ten years old. Prior to then, water came through a hand pump in the kitchen. The only heat in the house was from a woodstove in the kitchen. Some winter mornings "you could see your breath when you got out of bed."
That wasn't any handicap on Christmas morning though, when, after only a few hours in bed following the Revillion celebration the night before, Richard and his five brothers hastened down the steps to look under the Christmas tree.
As if by magic, the 20 pound-plus turkey was already stuffed and in the oven for the meal that would be served at 5 p.m. Sometime during the day, the vegetables would be peeled and cooked. I watched as Richard prepared them in a way his mother may not have accepted.
The turnips were peeled and cut into large chunks and the water was brought to a rolling boil before salt and turnips were added. After a hard boil, without covering, for four to five minutes, they were drained and a little butter was added.
The carrots were peeled, sliced, and cooked in already boiling salted water for three to four minutes.
For the mashed potatoes, it was much the same. After peeling and quartering, the potatoes were added to boiling salted water and boiled hard until they could be easily pierced with a fork. (I would use the fork test; Chef Richard had only to look at them to know when they were done to perfection.) After draining and mashing, he added a little milk and butter. But, here's the twist: the milk had been heated and the butter warmed. Smart idea. That way, the potatoes didn't cool down.
"Heating the milk has something to do with the starch, too," said Richard.
And, there were cranberries, both in a sauce to accompany the turkey, and in tarts for dessert.
To make the sauce, he combines 2 cups (500 mL) of cranberries with 1 cup (250 mL) of water and boils them for 2 minutes. Then he stirs in 1 cup (250 mL) of sugar and boils the mixture for 10 to 15 minutes.
It was after he had put in a full day's work (starting at 6:30 a.m.) when we sat down to enjoy the Christmas dinner he had prepared for us. But, until close to 10 p.m., Richard proudly shared his extensive knowledge of Acadian traditions, so much of which is reflected in The Village where he works.
It's not an easy task. Since authenticity keeps cars off the premises from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. , he has to visit the Village's five food outlets on foot, often carrying supplies.
"I wear out two pairs of sneakers every summer," he says. "And I gain weight in the winter and lose it in the summer."
But he's not about to give it up. And if he ever did, I can't help wondering who could replace him. This man from Caraquet knows his heritage and proudly cooks it all summer long.