Paris_ The Collected Traveler - Barrie Kerper [102]
The Leblancs are far from being the only nut oil producers in France—indeed, there are too many to count, given that nearly every region that grows nuts has small mills that produce oil for local consumption. But Leblanc oils are considered the pinnacle of this culinary art.
Jean-Charles follows in the footsteps of his great-grandfather, who started the mill in 1878. Back then, local farmers brought their walnuts and rapeseed to the mill, which sits in the family barn located on the D982. Jean-Charles’s sister Anne—who grew up in the house next to the barn and now runs the family shop in Paris—describes Iguerande as paumé, or lost, in the middle of nowhere. But nowhere has become somewhere because of the family oil mill.
The minute you turn onto the D982, you know you’ve arrived—the air is redolent of toasted nuts. Jean-Charles’s mother minds the boutique, which was recently expanded, while his brother handles accounting and communications. The business has grown, but once inside the mill, you realize that the heart of this operation has changed little since great-grandfather Leblanc’s day. The only significant difference is that the huge stone that slowly grinds nuts beneath its bulk is no longer powered by a horse; a system of pulleys and belts suspended from the ceiling now keeps it turning. These many years later, that old stone wheel is still the best way to crush nuts without compacting them.
Daniel Demours, one of the company’s two employees who aren’t family members, scoops the coarsely ground nuts into a blackened kettle that sits over a gas flame. “We cook them to add flavor and allow the oil to separate,” he explains.
Demours checks the cooking nuts every few minutes—timing is everything. “These are pine nuts, and they cook fast,” he says, opening the lid and deftly stirring the mash, which has already turned from solid to almost liquid in the heat. “Most nuts should be cooked for about twenty minutes, but you’ve got to watch these carefully—they’re ready in about five.”
He walks over to the presses and checks the flow of oil coming from them. It has slowed to a mere trickle, signaling that it is time to add more nuts. He runs back to the kettle, takes off the lid, and inhales, tipping the runny mass into a container. He opens a press and removes the flat disks of compressed, nearly dry nut paste left after the oil is extracted. Each is separated by a woven mat used to filter the oil. “Mats used to be made of human hair,” notes Demours. “Now they are woven from synthetic fibers.”
He pours more pine nuts into the press, covers them with a filter, and repeats the process until the press is nearly full. He then cinches it closed, puts a barrel under the spigot, and waits for the golden liquid to flow. “We press in small batches—no more than twenty-five kilos,” says Jean-Charles. “That is the only way to get the highest quality.”
Once a barrel is full, it sits in the cool barn long enough for the oil to decant, a period of several days. It is then bottled, labeled, and stocked in a warehouse behind the mill. At least in theory. “We don’t really have any stock because we sell everything as quickly as we make it,” laughs Jean-Charles.
As if on cue, a farmer and his wife walk into the barn with a sack of walnuts. Jean-Charles weighs it on an old scale. “This is the last of this year’s harvest,” the farmer says. “I bring them in when I need more oil.” The couple leaves with a gallon jug.
The Leblancs now get only one-third of their walnuts locally; the rest come from the Périgord region. As for the other nuts that go into the dozen or so varieties of oils they produce, their provenance reads like a map of the world. Hazelnuts are from Italy and Turkey, pine nuts from China (the ones from Italy don’t yield as much oil), almonds and pecans from California,