This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to food; read the introductory Edible Idiom post, and browse the list of French idioms featured so far.

This week’s expression is, “Casser du sucre sur le dos de quelqu’un.”

It means, literally, “breaking sugar on someone’s back,” or engaging in malicious gossip about someone. In other words: backbiting, which, come to think of it, is slightly food-related too, in a cannibalistic sort of way.

For example: “Dès qu’il sortait, ses collègues se mettaient à casser du sucre sur son dos.” (“The minute he was out the door, his coworkers would start breaking sugar on his back.”)

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

According to these sources, this idiom appeared in the late 19th century, and may derive from the older expressions “sucrer quelqu’un”, which meant mistreating someone, and “se sucrer de quelqu’un,” which meant taking someone for a fool. Sugar was then a symbol of wealth; why it was linked to such negative notions, however, is unclear.

A few months ago, I received an unusual email from an American reader of Chocolate & Zucchini, David E. Price, a former geologist and now computer programmer who goes to graduate school in Salt Lake City, and is an enthusiastic cook.

David explained that he had purchased copies of my books but that — and here comes the unusual part — because he was blind, he was wondering if there was a computer-readable version he could have access to: he was otherwise going to scan the pages and run them through a character recognition program, but he worried that the mix of French and English terms, as well as the fractions in the measurements, might make the resulting recipes inaccurate.

An arrangement was found with my publisher, and once that was taken care of, David and I continued our email conversation. In particular, I asked him about the accessibility of C&Z, and whether there was anything I could change to make it easier for the blind to read; there was, and I altered the code accordingly*.

And then, although I was a little hesitant to raise the topic, I had to admit I was curious to learn about the practicalities of cooking without vision. I had never really stopped to wonder if and how it was possible, and I was admirative, to say the least: it certainly took skill, perseverance, and a great love of food to cook and bake without relying on your eyes.

It was a thought-provoking exchange and I was sure other cooks would feel the same way, so I asked David if he would submit himself to a Q&A about the challenges he faces in the kitchen every day. His answers are below; thank you, David, for inviting us into your kitchen.

* If you’d like to learn more about this, read the page David put together about web accessibility.

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Two weeks ago, I had dinner at a French restaurant called La Table d’Eugène, on the other side of the Montmartre hill from me. As my friends and I were handed the menus, we all stopped to comment on their fetching design: on the front and back were dozens of French idiomatic expressions, all relating to food, each of them printed in a different, retro font.

Once we’d ordered our food and asked to keep one copy of the menu, I, as the only native French speaker in our party, went over each of the locutions, trying to shed light on their meaning. It was so much fun — you’ve perhaps noticed how dearly I love words, etymology, and linguistics — that I thought I would start a series on C&Z.

The French language, like all Latin languages, is particularly rife with culinary-inspired idioms, and I will offer one every week or so.

The opening, seasonal expression is, “Couper la poire en deux.”

It means, literally, “cutting the pear in two,” or reaching a compromise: if two people want the same pear, halving it is the most equitable way to settle the dispute.

For example: “Nos deux familles voulaient nous avoir à Noël, donc on a coupé la poire en deux : on va chez ses parents le 24, et chez les miens le 25.” (“Both our families wanted us to come over for Christmas, so we cut the pear in two: we’ll spend Christmas Eve at his parents’, and Christmas Day at mine.”)

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

Why is it that no one ever told me about the pork tenderloin?

Has everyone been cooking pork tenderloin all this time, licking their lips and giggling covertly as I fought to make other cuts palatable, trying my best to prevent them from turning out dry, and grey?

Oh, it’s not that I haven’t been happy with my pork experiments, not at all. Looking through the C&Z archives, I’ve found five recipes involving our pink friend — a cured pork shoulder with lentils, a loin blade roast stewed in cider, a roast with spiced red cabbage, and two terrines — that were all, if I remember correctly, consumed with unequivocal pleasure.

Pork does well with sweet and tangy flavors, so I opted for a simple marinade of orange juice, honey, and rosemary.

It’s just that, now that I’ve had a taste of filet mignon de porc — for such is the French name for it* — I wonder what took me so long: it is truly the most succulent, the most flavorsome cut of pork I’ve ever dealt with.

If you’re at all excited about the butcher’s craft, you may be interested to learn that the pork filet mignon (tenderloin) is a long muscle located on either side of the lower end of the animal’s spine (so each pork yields two), underneath the filet (sirloin) and the pointe de filet (the tail end of the sirloin). (And lest you assume I’ve become an overnight expert in butchery, let me note that my life changed when I acquired a Larousse gastronomique and laid eyes on its crystal-clear meat diagrams.)

The tenderloin is lean, and remarkably tender, so it is a choice cut that comes at a higher price than most: my organic butcher charges 19.50€/kg ($12/pound) for it, but it is net weight with no waste, i.e. no fat, bone, or gristle to remove.

Pork does well with sweet and tangy flavors, so I opted for a simple marinade of orange juice, honey, and rosemary, which, reduced and creamed up while the tenderloin was roasting in the oven, made for the perfect sauce to ladle over the butter-tender slices of meat.

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* In French butchery, the term filet mignon is used not only for beef, but also for veal, venison, and pork. It refers to the same muscle in all cases, insofar as muscular similarities can be found in these different animals.

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