Qui s'y frotte s'y pique.
Upon our arrival in Nancy, Joe & I went to grab postcards for family members. We were sifting through the turning displays of them at a small gift shop when we noticed this adage. We were intrigued, and we started researching.
The translation is something like, "If you mess with it, it will sting you." The French version & the less literal meaning behind it make the phrase much cooler. The phrase was used by Duc d'Orléans and Louis XII (very attractive, joyous-seeming man) before taking up residence in the Lorraine region.
In 1477, Duke Charles of Burgundy was still terrorizing France (and surrounding countries). Duke René II of Lorraine, along with a portion of the Swiss army, decided to take on Burgundy & "Charles the Bold." They had to defend Nancy, capital of Lorraine. The battle is explained, quite efficiently, here.
It was this battle that brought the phrase to the region, though it was altered slightly:
Ne me touche pas, je pique.
The meaning remains similar: Attack knowing that we'll fight back. And they fought back hard, saving their own lives & their French nationality. They also now have this great device honoring the battle and the Lorraine chardon that make it perfect for the region. This sticky flower remains a symbol of the Lorraine.
René II went on to do pretty well for himself. To briefly summarize from Wikipedia (making the briefer, brieferer), he claimed the kingdom of Naples and the county of Provence before becoming King of Naples and Jerusalem. I could go on.
While I'm no historian, I am a sucker for the culture of a town–the nuances that make generations feel connected to each other. Lorraine is teeming with centuries upon centuries of this changing Northern culture (though it official settled in its current shape only a half century before the States became their own country*). This is all to say that come Christmas, Megan is buying herself a Lorraine history book & cookbook. It will be the first history book I've willingly read–and important step if I want to be a well-rounded writer of nonfiction.
One thing that I will not be messing with in any cookbook: andouillette. Not to be confused with the equally frightening andouille. I won't say that I hated it, but as a long time skeptic of the safety of the meat industry and as a massive advocate of sustainable farming I can say it's honestly something I never imagined I would consume. This is how it ended up in my stomach:
Joe & I had been out running around town, & we were hungry. There were plans coming up soon; we didn't have time to mess with dinner. We stopped into Made in France, an almost Subway of sorts where the choices are definitely "classic" French. We weren't sure what a few of the things were. We just knew we wanted sauce blanche on it. I saw the word "artisinal" & went with it. It turned out to be artisinal andouillette all chopped up and covered with vegetables.
Andouillettes are small andouille sausages–a pork dish made with the ENTIRE gastrointestinal system of the pig. It's, needless to say, an acquired taste. While I'd never let an aspic in the same room with me, here's a picture (from their Wikipedia page) to give you an idea of what they looked like when we walked into the grocery store & passed a jar of andouilles floating in their juices. This is how I realized what I'd eaten.
The andouillette was all chopped up, but I definitely had the feeling I was eating something with a sharp, earthy flavor. I don't want to think about that now. I'm certain my parents will find this to be some sort of cosmic justice for all the smoked sausage, brauts & hot dogs I refused to eat for fear of what they were made of or wrapped in. I have an adventurous palate, but I don't know if I can handle something occasionally translated as "French pig-colon sausage."
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