The ecological crisis is a crisis of disconnection: we only preserve what we love. To renew an intimate link with our territory, we must learn to know it, to name it and to cook it. Third in a series of five texts on the edible fauna and flora of Quebec.
It was in Grande-Anse, New Brunswick, that you first heard the expression “mouse nipples”. In the bar of this small inn, between a cover from Richard Desjardins and another from Cayouche, you were served this little green plant, crunchy and saline, to accompany your pint of beer. The songwriter, after his first part, came to sit at your table and explained to you that this edible plant came from the flats right next to it and that Quebecers did not call it mouse teats, but glasswort. You grabbed a piece of it and took a good look at it. It’s true that the plant was saline and looked like a horn, but even if you had never noticed the teats of a real mouse, you chose instead to rely on Acadian poetry.
Back in Quebec, you never heard of glasswort or mouse teats again, until a summer visit to the Jean-Talon market. You had been attracted by a huge basket of brightly orange chanterelles and noticed, in the fridge of this wild and unique shop, small sachets filled with glasswort. That day, a whole world opened up to you. In addition to transporting you with joy into a certain Acadian nostalgia, you have discovered, in the heart of Montreal, the gastronomic richness of the flats of the St. Lawrence. Caquillier, sandwort, orach, lovage, mertensie, soda and grass pea flowers would soon be able, under your enthusiastic hands, to be transformed into a delicious maritime salad.
Poetic nomenclature
The territory that we now call Quebec first developed according to the food resources specific to its regions. Quebec’s coastal ecosystems, located mainly on either side of the St. Lawrence River to the Gulf of the same name, then around the large northern bays (James, Hudson, Ungava) and Hudson Strait, were the first homes of families who came to settle in these places in search of food. For nearly 12,000 years, languages and cultures have rubbed shoulders and evolved on Quebec’s shores, and their traces constitute a heritage that we urgently need to rediscover.
In addition to sheltering an extraordinary edible fauna, our river, our seas and their coasts allow a very particular flora — and nomenclature — to exist. Grande-flamme (kelp), Irish moss, main-de-mer (dulse), fatty sea cabbage (orach), sea rocket (caquillier), milk grass (maritime glaze), oyster leaf (mertensie ), casse-pierre (maritime plantain), malitsuagait (sabline), blanchette (soda) and mouse teats (glasswort): these historical and colorful ways of naming things remind us that we have collectively mislaid the territorial and culinary poetry that would make it possible to maintain a strong link with nature, to enhance it and, ultimately, to protect it.
According to Michel Lambert, archivist of Quebec home cooking: “It is by taking an interest in know-how, vocabulary and ancient recipes that we can taste the incredible history of our cuisine and our identity. multiple, then to reclaim our resources, their symbolism and their poetry. In this sense, several companies have followed suit over the past decade. More and more restaurateurs, merchants, gatherers and distributors have undertaken the promotion of edible wild products and make accessible, among other things, the plants and seaweed of the Bas-Saint-Laurent.
Pick on the flats
For Gérard Mathar, owner of Gaspésie sauvage, picking near the sea is a philosophical and meditative activity. The artisan-gatherer explains: “Gathering makes you modest. The more you think you know, the more you realize that you know nothing and that you have everything to learn. Nature is a great teacher. »
But like any natural resource exploitation activity, harvesting has its limits. Whether for commercial or personal purposes, the act of picking must be done in the most reasoned way possible. For the harvester, it is crucial to understand the biology of the species and the ecosystems that accompany them. “It is not up to us to define the varieties and the quantities that we can pick this year. Rather, it is nature that decides what it has to offer us,” says Mathar. “There are beaches on which I do not pick for a whole year. It’s like a rotation of pickings. It allows nature to regenerate, ”he adds.
cooking the river
For restaurateur Simon Cantin, of Taverne Atlantic and the late restaurant Manitoba in Montreal, cooking with sea plants is a huge privilege. “As they are harvested sparingly,” he says, “they are like little treasures that tell the story of a region and translate all its beauty into flavors and textures. What is even more wonderful, according to this former literature teacher, is all the nomenclature (or speaking) that makes up our pantry and the recipes that come from it. Simon Cantin is of the same opinion as Mr. Lambert: “The particular poetry of the nomenclature brings in itself a very local flavor to each of these plants. This quasi-literary aspect of Quebec cuisine could be a key to reclaiming our resources and our culinary culture. »
The maritime regions are definitely very rich in gastronomic poetry. Have you ever tasted the front door soup, the lying soup, the schoolmistress’s potatoes, the codfish, the impossible pie or the headless birds with ground caribou?