Montaigne and Bolognese

Distingo est le plus universel membre de ma logique.
– Michel de Montaigne

I don’t know whether it’s the sign of a true blogger or a true lit. geek, but whichever the case may be, when I came across this sentence by Michel de Montaigne in philosophy class today, the first thing I thought of was, “Wow, that’s really true.” The second was, “How can I turn this into a blog entry?”

Loosely translated, it means, “‘I distinguish’ is the most universal part of my logic.” Montaigne was the first true French philosopher, in the sense that he was the first French thinker to publish his thoughts in French. Whereas Latin was the language of theology, during the Renaissance and Reformation, theology and philosophy were no longer intrinsically linked. It was in his book, Les Essais, that Montaigne published thoughts on anything and everything, from friendship, to death to how to educate children.

This sentence appears in the opening of his book; he walks the reader through his thinking and writing process, warning us that he reserves the right to change his mind as many times as he likes. Because his book was published twice–once before his travels to Africa and his work as a diplomat–and once after, his points of view on many topics change from edition to edition… but he leaves everything he originally wrote as it was, instead following it up with his new opinion, sometimes referencing his old opinion as well. What we end up with are essays by one man with sometimes two or three completely differing opinions on the same topic… thus this quote: the only thing he can promise and be sure of when it comes to his own philosophy is the fact that he will change his mind.

I am someone who changes my mind extremely frequently. In high school, I was dead set on coloring my hair for the rest of my life. I don’t know why, but it was extremely important to me. Now? Not so much. It seems trite to even say it, and I wouldn’t mention it at all, except for the fact that I know how important it was to the seventeen-year-old version of myself.

Perhaps slightly more important, although no more relevant, the fact that just a year ago, I was looking forward to moving to Argentina. I don’t even remember where that dream came from, but for the moment it’s cast to the wayside. It may come back again, like my desire to live in New York or my ennui in Paris, but the only thing that I can say for sure is what is true right now, and right now, I love being in Paris: my “job,” which sometimes feels more like a 24-hour party, school, where I’m learning so much in the course of just a few hours that it makes my head spin, my friends, my apartment, the way that Paris and I seem to have fallen into step together like an old married couple. Our rhythms match now–I’m the first to look at a ridiculous line or a manif or a grève or even a well-timed apéro invitation and abandon my plans, “Well, that’s not for today…” The Roommate, on the other hand, while he’s adopted several French traditions, is all about “today” and “now” which is how he ends up coming home with stories to tell about the nine million bureaucrats he dealt with today, to smiles and chuckles from me and the Country Boy.

Tomorrow, these sorts of things may not matter. Tomorrow, I reserve the right to change my mind entirely. If I do, you’ll be the first to hear about it… which brings me to my second point. Montaigne, as a revolutionary writer in a medium (the French language) that was unprecedented before, brought about a sort of casual philosophy: in the introduction to his book, he made it quite clear that his thoughts and autobiographical reflections mixed with the thoughts of other philosophers and thinkers were destined for those who knew him. Other people could take it all with a grain of salt.

Does that remind anyone else of anything? A certain community we’ve all grown to be a part of? Is it possible that Montaigne, in his 16th-century world, was, in essence, the first blogger?

I’ll leave that one to you.

Montaigne says very little about food, aside from the cannibalistic rituals he witnesses, and the following:

L’art de diner bien n’est aucun léger art, le plaisir pas un léger plaisir.
Michel de Montaigne

The art of dining well is no light art, the pleasure no light pleasure. Couldn’t agree more, Michel. As for me, something heavier to stand up to the cold days that seem to have swept Paris.

Bolognese Sauce (riff off of FX Cuisine)

2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp oil
50g. lardons or bacon
250 g. stew beef
250 g. ground beef chuck
1 medium onion
1 medium carrot
1 celery stick
1 glass white wine
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp oil
50g. lardons or bacon
250 g. stew beef
250 g. ground beef chuck
1 medium onion, finely diced
1 medium carrot, finely diced
1 celery stick, finely diced
1 glass white wine
500g. tomato coulis
1 cup milk
Salt, pepper
Pinch of nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees F.

Heat the oil and butter in a heavy bottomed pot with a lid that can go in the oven. Cook the lardons until browned and set aside.

Brown the beef in batches, just covering the bottom of the pan with each batch. Set aside.

Sauté the vegetables until tender. Deglaze the pan with the wine, then add the beef back to the pot as well as the tomato coulis and the milk. Cover and put in the oven.

Cook 2-4 hours, stirring occasionally.

Return to the stovetop and season with nutmeg, salt and pepper. In batches using a food processor or with an immersion blender, break apart the larger cuts of beef. Serve over pasta with a few fresh basil leaves, if available.