“Mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers, for the observers of his law. The people assembled; Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again and again; and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abashed, but said, If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.”
It was scheduled for the following Sunday. We wanted to go out for a French dinner but La Brasserie, the only really French restaurant in San Miguel de Allende is closed on Sundays.
Don Day’s not sure why La Brasserie is the only French restaurant. But at last count (about two minutes ago), there were 22 Italian restaurants in San Miguel (and I’m sure I’m forgetting at least three) and that one lonely French one. You know what Don Day would do if he was one of those 22 Italians and wasn’t doing much business? Of course you do.
“But what if (yes, here’s the explanation for the haughty taughty Francis Bacon quote at the beginning) we could bring the restaurant to us,” remarked Don Day’s Wife. “What if we could get Le Cochon qui Saute to cook and serve it here?” Though it took a number of tries (a PGA golfer makes only one out of every four putts over 22 feet), one of the things Don Day did do right is to marry a bright woman.
I emailed Yves Vincent, le proprietaire (Mon Dieu! Don Day doesn’t just eat French) of Le Cochon and asked if he was available and to give me a recommendation and price. Toot sweet, Yves Vincent replied and we were on. We were going to have our very own French restaurant for the evening right in Don Day’s home.
Don Day, being a Canadian guy and therefore having been called a maudit cochon on a number of occasions, knows that the name of Yves’ business translates as the pig who fast fries…no, not really, it actually means the pig who jumps. Le Cochon Qui Saute is primarily a delivery business. You email or pick up the phone one day and a fine French meal appears at your door the next day. C’est une bonne idée! But Le Cochon qui Saute is also a small restaurant (or mini-bistro as Yves calls it) and a caterer.
The mini bistro is only open Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday and by reservation only. So it wasn’t a possibility for our dinner. Plus there were 11 of us and the bistro only seats eight comfortably and ten uncomfortably.
Don Day’s Wife emailed everyone, gave them the suggested menu and what their share of the price would be (I told you she was bright) and asked for a thumbs up.
We were on. Everyone would BYOB and Yves would bring the food.
The table was set for a great evening. Yves arrived with his pretty assistant (yes of course I noticed how pretty she was) and a blackboard to make sure he (or we) didn’t go astray.
The first course was a very simple one, asparagus grilled in olive oil spiced only with salt and pepper.
The asparagus had the tiny but perfect amount of charring and was cooked to a still firm but not chewy doneness.
Brought to the table at the same time were baguettes from Cumpanio and Le Cochon’s superb herbed butter. Don Day melted a little of the butter over the spears and doesn’t think he got caught.
Next up was a salad of mixed greens, dried cranberries, sweet sunflower seeds, topped with a little goat cheese and balsamic dressing. And it was quickly followed by vichyssoise au cresson, the classic French soup with a touch of watercress.
“Having the meal catered was such a good idea”, I said to Don Day’s Wife. “I’m glad I thought of it.”
“Eat your soup,” said Don Day’s Wife.
So a little about Yves Vincent. First, think about your prototypical GQ man. Now think about the total opposite. Yves is obviously a jeans and t-shirt guy. The last of the grunge guys. He has a haircut that you usually only see on retro rockabilly singers and a moustache that’s not quite a moustache. And he never stops moving. Ever. I’ll bet that Yves Vincent could even chew gum and skip at the same time.
One side of Yves’ family is Mexican. The other side is, rather obviously, French. His father’s side is from Lyon, France, a city where it’s impossible to have a bad meal and possible to have the best meal of your life.
“I remember always being in the kitchen as a kid. I loved being in the kitchen,” Yves told me as he danced around the stove. “We had one of those stoves with a big space under it and I was under there with my G.I. Joe.”
Before starting his food delivery business, Yves worked in the front and the back of restaurants. He preferred it in the back.
“I’m happy in the kitchen. If I could just work alone and maybe surface once a day, I’d be a very happy man,” Yves said.
“That’s of course impossible. Food is a team sport. It takes a team to create most of it”, he continued. “Maybe the reason I no longer work in a restaurant is that I just don’t play well with others.”
The fourth course was coq a vin, a dish that seemed very apropos from a chef who seemed to be constantly running around the kitchen like a chicken with his head cut off. Chicken thighs, carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, pearl onions and bacon were served in a rich red wine sauce. There were those classic ingredients plus one not so classic ingredient, potatoes.
“We were poor when we were kids. We had to make things go round”, said Yves, never pausing even once to even turn and look at me as he spoke.
The coq a vin had an incredibly rich sauce, but Don Day’s Wife and a couple of others thought it was a little oversalted. Don Day never knew there was such a thing as too much bacon.
Yves Vincent is proud of his recipes and makes it clear that they’re not really his but those of his grandmother and great grandmother that have been passed down in the form of a tattered and dog-eared book.
“I’ve adapted them a little but all the basics are theirs,” he said. “Food is like jazz. You begin with a melody and then carry on with the interpretations.”
The final course was another classic, an almost forgotten classic. Don Day loves fires. And Don Day loves food that’s set on fire. Don Day loves hearing the story, over and over again, of how Don Day’s Wife’s previous husband burnt his upper lip with a flaming sambuca.
The dish was crepes suzette. For a few days (obviously their mistake), Don Day worked at the Cafe de Paris in Monte Carlo where crepes suzette was invented. What’s not to like about something that’s bathed in butter, sugar, orange juice and booze.
We’d done it. Or perhaps I should say Yves Vincent had done it. He’d brought the mountain to Mohammed. For less than what you would pay in almost any restaurant for a five course meal (it was 380 pesos…that’s right, only $30 a person), plus the substantial savings by bringing our own wine (and this group appeared to all have unquenchable thirsts), we had a superb dinner in the comfort of our home with the lighting level we wanted, with the pace we wanted, with the exact cuisine we wanted, with the music we wanted, and at a noise level that probably no one else in a restaurant we’re ever in would want.
We all agreed we should do it again. And have some of the town’s other caterers move some mountains for us.
Le Cochon qui Saute is located at San Elias #5, in Colonia San Antonio, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Telephone 415 121 0395. You can view their full menus at jumpingpig.wix.com/lecochonquisaute. To receive their weekly menu, email Yves Vincent at lecochonquisaute@gmail.com.
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