Category: Paris (Page 1 of 2)

Definitely Much More Than a Canard

When I lived in Paris for the second time, in 2012, I had a small apartment on rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, on the fourth floor of a magnificent building whose main entrance was at the far end of a beautiful courtyard. My windows afforded a view of the Pantheon’s dome, the Seine was a brief stroll away, and fruits, vegetables, seafood, meats, cheese, escargots, oysters, rabbit, fowl and poultry, and so much more, were right outside, waiting for me.

My courtyard in Paris.
My courtyard in Paris.

The courtyard cat greeted me in the morning and at night, and the young woman who lived in one of the ground-floor apartments played her cello often. I’d wave at her as I walked by her windows, strains of Elgar and Bach filling the cobblestoned space. A push of the heavy wooden courtyard door gave me entrée to the narrow sidewalk of rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, and the wonder that is Paris.

I would often shop at the small grocery market on the ground floor of the building next door, for coffee and milk and juice and wine … and confit de canard.

Yes, four duck legs, in a cardboard box, in the grocer’s refrigerated section. Once a week or so, I made duck the main course of a meal, serving them with salad or lentils or pasta. They were not expensive, and my guests loved them.

The kitchen of my apartment was small — two electric burners and a tiny sink, plus a minuscule countertop — but in it I cooked well. I poached chicken and made gnocchi and pasta and soup and bread … and prepared the duck confit I bought in the Monoprix. It was a fine and warm kitchen.

A week or so ago, I came across some duck legs in Houston. They were from Grimaud Farms, and they looked excellent, so I knew what I would do. I would confit them.

It’s not a difficult process, and the results are — as anyone who has ever tasted confit de canard knows — more than delectable. Rich, tender, decadent, comforting, the base for any number of dishes. Give yourself 45 minutes or so to carry out the first step (I let my duck legs “cure” in the refrigerator for two days), and then 3 hours or so for the second part of the confit-ing.

The method I use is based on a recipe in The River Cottage Meat Book, by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall — if you don’t have this magnificent book, buy it today — and involves garlic, salt, shallots, thyme, bay leaves and black pepper … and duck fat.

Duck legs belong here.
The duck legs are ready for the refrigerator.

Gather four large duck legs (I did eight legs on my last outing, so adjusted the amount of ingredients accordingly), 4 tablespoons kosher salt, 2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper, 4 sprigs of fresh thyme, 4 bay leaves (broken), 8 garlic cloves (crushed), 2 shallots (sliced thinly), and 3.5 pounds of duck fat.

Strew 1.5 tablespoons of the salt in the bottom of a deep Dutch oven or casserole, then scatter half of the shallots, garlic, bay leaves, and thyme over the salt. Pat dry the duck legs with a paper towel, then place them, skin-side up, in the casserole. Scatter remaining ingredients on top of the legs, then give them an ample twist of black pepper. Massage the mixture into the legs. Cover and refrigerate for 2 days.

On the second day, we confit. Heat your oven to 225F, and slowly melt the duck fat in a pan. Brush off the duck legs, making sure to remove all of the salt and other ingredients. Arrange the legs snugly in a baking dish — choose one whose sides are high enough to allow ample fat to be poured into it — and pour the melted fat over the whole (make sure that the liquid completely covers the duck). Put in the oven for 2-3 hours, or until the meat is near to falling off of the bone. Remove the dish from the oven and let it cool.

This fat is a treasure.
Duck legs submerged in fat.
The duck is cooked.

Once the legs have cooled, use tongs to remove them from the fat and place them in a large Mason jar (I use the locking type). Pour enough of the fat over them to cover. Seal the jar, and into the refrigerator it goes. You now have legs that will satisfy, and they will keep for months thusly preserved.

To serve, remove a leg (or two) from their container and scrape from them most of the fat. Place the legs skin-side down on a baking sheet and cook at 450F for 5 minutes. Drain off the melted fat, then return the pan to the oven with the legs, skin-side up, for 5 to 10 minutes, until they are hot and crisp. Serve any way you desire … whole legs with potatoes and a salad, legs with lentils, or remove the meat and pair with pasta, olive oil, and cheese. Or, create something that moves you.

And all that fat? Render it, filter it, and store it in your refrigerator in an airtight container. Fry potatoes in it, or use it when you next confit.

Here’s a look at some images in and around that kitchen in Paris:

Longing in a Demitasse (un Café, S’il Vous Plait)

BbCnUHmCcAAA-3L

There was a time in Paris during which I bicycled to my office, from the 7th to the 4th, over the river and past tourists and bookshops and beauty. Every morning I would roll my bike into the elevator and squeeze in with it, then descend to the ground floor. (Dean and I were sharing an apartment, and the evenings on which we rode our bikes through the city, dodging cars and buses and people and stopping at a restaurant for a meal before heading home, are magic in my memory.) I’d ride past the Musée Rodin and stop by my patisserie for an almond croissant, then proceed to the small café near the Basilique Sainte-Clotilde et Chapelle de Jesus Enfant. The bike left leaning against the outside wall, I would take my seat at the bar and order un café. Sometimes I had two, and if time permitted would walk my bike across the street and enter the park near the church and sit on a bench and watch the dogs play. The sun warmed my face. I considered my ritual the perfect start to a morning. I consider it perfect still.

For some reason, I am experiencing difficulty when it comes to finding a good espresso in Houston. They are often bitter, often lukewarm. It is especially egregious when I order an after-dinner espresso at an Italian or French restaurant, one that prides itself on its “authentic, excellent food” and “attention to Old World values and tradition.” No self-respecting restaurant would serve such an espresso. (And to those of you out there who order a cappuccino after noon, don’t.)

One morning this past week I ground some French Roast from The Kaffeeklatsch and prepared un café in my Bialetti. I poured the liquid into a warm demitasse and added a touch of sugar. It was hot, it was fresh, it had me back on that bike in Paris, and my day began well.

Au Passage, For Duck, Tongue, and Some Good Wines

To begin a meal.

To begin a meal.

Food memories never fade. Not for me. I can recall almost everything I have eaten, especially since 1994 or so. Seriously. Some plates I remember better than others, and to relive some meals requires a bit of effort, such as the one I had at the house of a friend of a friend. The host was not that good of a cook, and decimated the shrimp. If I want to, I can remember the taste of that poor shrimp. But why would I? I choose to focus on the good.

This was good. One evening in Paris not so long ago I went with a few friends to Au Passage, a small place that I love. It is a simple space, but the food and wines are excellent. We had tongue, we had duck breast, and we drank some great wines. The duck was smoky, and the charred carrots served with it sweet. The tongue, my favorite of the evening: olive oil, some greens, legumes. If I could have anything I wanted for dinner tonight I would choose that tongue.

This speaks to me, with quiet deliciousness.

This speaks to me, with quiet deliciousness.

Duck, done very well.

Duck, done very well.

Au Passage has a great wine list, and we enjoyed it on the that evening. The memories linger.

Vin, a must for every meal.

Vin, a must for every meal.

To Julia Child: I Toast a Grande Dame on Her 102nd Birthday

A giant in the kitchen, in more ways than one.

A giant in the kitchen, in more ways than one. (Photo courtesy estate of Julia Child)

I am celebrating her birthday in her absence. She would have turned 102 today, and she would have done it in style, sitting at a table surrounded by friends and loved ones. Paul would have been there, of course, the love of her life. Their courtship and long relationship should be the envy of us all. James Beard would be at her side, as well.

I won’t speculate about the menu, but I would not be unhappy for Julia Child if a waiter brought her sole meunière at some point during the meal. I feel a lot of passion for that dish, because it is what awakened Child’s senses and opened her mind to the wonders of good food, and the preparation of it. It was November, 1948, and she and Paul had just arrived in France. They were on their way to Paris, but needed to eat during the drive. It was Julia’s (allow me to refer to her as “Julia”) first meal in France, and she writes of it in “My Life in France” in this manner:

Rouen is famous for its duck dishes, but after consulting the waiter Paul had decided to order the sole meunière. It arrived whole: a large, flat Dover sole that was perfectly browned in a sputtering butter sauce with a sprinkling of chopped parsley on top. The waiter carefully placed the platter in front of us, stepped back, and said: “Bon appétit!”

I closed my eyes and inhaled the rising perfume. Then I lifted a forkful to my mouth, took a bite, and chewed slowly. The flesh of the sole was delicate, with a light but distinct taste of the ocean that blended marvelously with the browned butter. I chewed slowly and swallowed. It was a morsel of perfection. … At La Couronne I experienced fish, and a dining experience, of a higher order than any I’d ever had before.

As a child, I watched Julia on television. I am sure that back then I did not know what to think of her. My mother was born in Savannah, as was I, and I was very familiar with crab and shrimp and clams and pheasant and fried chicken and Cornish hen and even some less familiar sorts of seafood, but this tall woman with the funny voice … well, she had a way with those things that was different. She made me want to learn as much about them as I could. Little did I know that she would become a profound part of my life. I’m grateful she did, and I am certain many of you feel the same.

Julia Child became, and is, an international star.

Julia Child became, and is, an international star.

Every chance I get to “mingle” with Julia I take. In Napa, I visited Copia – the cultural and educational center dedicated to the discovery, understanding, and celebration of wine, food, and the arts in American culture – to see some of the pots and pans and other tools that she used in her Cambridge, Mass., kitchen. Copia, which she helped found, is now closed, but those pots and pans are in the Smithsonian, so when I was in D.C. in 2013 I visited them there.

A kitchen for the ages.

A kitchen for the ages. (Photo courtesy estate of Julia Child)

I’ve spoken with people who met her, and with a few people who cooked with her. In Houston, I ran across a letter she wrote to Robert Del Grande, which now hangs in his restaurant, RDG+Bar Annie. I talk about her with people all of the time, and when I met Mike Lata in 2007 at Blackberry Farm we talked about how she is the reason he cooks. I have many of her books, and never tire of watching her shows: her solo ventures, segments with other chefs, and the beautiful series she made with her great friend, Jacques Pépin. I never met her, but it is not because I did not try. Once, when I was in Cambridge, I went to her house and knocked on the door. No one answered … I assume she was away. I don’t know what I would have done if she had answered.

Unknown

Most profoundly, I cook with her. Not a day goes by that I don’t see her, in my mind’s eye, standing at a stove or counter, chopping an onion or pounding a piece of veal or hoisting a pot. She, in ways that I have yet to fully realize, taught me how to cook, taught me how to see the wisdom and grace that food possesses. And that is much more of a gift than that little boy watching her on television all those years ago could have ever expected.

Thank you, Julia, and Happy Birthday. I love and miss you.

Photo(s) of the Day: Cooking With Absent Friends

From France, with love.

From France, with love.

When I cook, I am often doing so with friends in mind.

When I cook, I cook with friends, even if they are thousands of miles away.

One of the joys of my life is cooking in the kitchens of friends, be it in New Delhi, North Carolina, or Marly le Roi. One day in late autumn Angela and I were staying in the home of my friends Xavier and Charlotte, in a village near Versailles. They were in Spain and we had the place – a sprawling beauty of a house with a wonderful garden – to ourselves. We had visited the market in Versailles that day and picked up some lamb and vegetables and cheeses, and chose to enjoy the peace of the Cassignol home with bottles of wine and a long and luxurious cooking session.

I met Xavier and Charlotte many years ago when they lived next door to me, and we have been close friends ever since. I miss them, and their three children, all the time. But on that evening, they were cooking with us, because I was in Charlotte’s kitchen, using her pots and pans and beautiful earthenware.

Eugénie and I discuss politics.

Eugénie and I discuss politics.

Manon and Eugénie, two girls in France.

Manon and Eugénie, two girls in France.

Xavier, the gardener of the family, walks to the house.

Xavier, the gardener of the family, walks to the house.

Eugénie knows what she likes.

Eugénie knows what she likes.

Hector bears a bountiful tray.

Hector bears a bountiful tray.

A fine French family they are.

A fine French family they are.

The lamb was seared, the vegetables roasted, and the bottles of wine were ideal. We toasted the Cassignols and planned our trip to Alsace. Xavier and Charlotte, we’ll see you soon.

My Parisian Packaged Duck

A weekly purchase at my market in Paris.

A weekly purchase at my market in Paris.

What I want now.

What I want now.

I often crave something with a suddenness that surprises me. Today it is duck, and the craving was strong, and very specific. It was not a need for just any duck. It was a desire for the packaged duck I bought weekly in the market near my apartment in the 5th. And the scent of that duck came to me today as I was driving, and I wanted nothing more than to walk to that small, narrow store and select a package from the cooler. Here is how I cooked with it one wintry day in Paris.

Food works on us in mysterious and beautiful ways. And that is more than a fine thing.

Beauties from the Loire: The Wines of Saget la Perrière

A man and his wines: Arnaud Saget has taken his place in1 the ninth generation of a family-run winery.

A man and his wines: Arnaud Saget has taken his place in the ninth generation of a family-run wine-making concern. (photos/James Brock)

I have spent some time in the Loire Valley, and love drinking wines from the large region. It is a place full of lively and interesting winemakers, not to mention châteaux, and if you’ve never had the pleasure of driving from Paris and visiting Chambord or Château d’Azay-le-Rideau and drinking wines from Olivier Cousin in a café around the corner from where they were bottled, you should consider booking a flight to France. It is a magical region, the Loire. (And if it was good enough for Leonardo da Vinci, it is certainly good enough for the rest of us.)

The Loire produces some of my favorite daily drinking wines, and yesterday I had the opportunity to meet Arnaud Saget, whose family owns Saget la Perrière and produces wine with 890 acres and six estates. A tasting lunch at The Oceanaire Seafood Room was the setting, and it’s been a long time since I enjoyed, at one seating, so many exemplary, easy-drinking wines that I would serve, without reservation, on a daily basis.

Saget is the director général of his family’s company and is charge of marketing, so he travels a lot; this weekend he will be in New York, and next week Germany. His enthusiasm for winemaking is infectious, and though he understands that wine (and the selling of it) is a business, it is evident that he also understands and respects that his calling is part of a long and hallowed tradition that brings joy to the lives of millions of people around the world.

We began with the Muscadet de Sèvre & Maine sur Lie Les Cilssages d’Or, and it was the ideal way to start a meal focused on seafood. I liked that this wine was not overly sweet, and the hints of peach and pear were refreshing.

Bottles of 2012 selections from Saget la Perrière command one's attention.

Bottles of 2012 selections from Saget la Perrière command one’s attention.

We had more wines than food courses, but that was no problem. All of the selections were from 2012, and, as I wrote, are drinking well right now. My favorite was the Domaine de la Perrière Sancerre. Crisp, it made me think of a Riesling, and when Arnaud Saget told me that the grapes are grown in flinty soil I understood why I thought “Riesling”. This Sancerre would be perfect for an afternoon under a beach umbrella, or with oysters. Or both at the same time.

We tasted two reds at lunch, a Chinon and a Pinot Noir. The latter was unmistakably a pinot. Ruby color, faint, lovely vanilla taste, easy on the tongue. The Chinon, however, would be my preferred of the two reds, with its supple tannins and wonderful spiciness.

Yes, there was food. We were served an Alaska Red King Crab Salad as a first course, followed by Pan-Broiled Alaska Weathervane Scallops – overcooked to my palate – Seared Wild Alaska Halbut, and, as a closer before the dessert, Grilled Bering Sea Wild Coho Salmon, which we paired with the Pinot Noir, and which was the best dish of the day. Its tarragon butter sauce was perfect, creamy, slightly acidic.

Wild Halibut from Alaska was firm, slightly briny, but overwhelmed  by the potatoes served with it.

Wild Halibut from Alaska was firm, slightly briny, but overwhelmed by the potatoes served with it.

Wild Coho Salmon, with a great tarragon butter sauce

Wild Coho Salmon, with a great tarragon butter sauce, was the best dish of the day.

If you are looking for wines to drink every day, bottles with great price points – the most expensive wine we tasted (the Le Domaine Saget Pouilly-Fumé) carries a suggested retail price of $29 – buying these Saget selections by the case would not disappoint.

WINES TASTED (suggested retail price US$):

Muscadet de Sèvre & Maine sur Lie Les Cilssages d’Or ($14)
Marie de Beauregard AOC Vouvray ($18)
Guy Saget La Petite Perrière Sauvignon Blanc ($12)
Guy Saget La Petite Perrière Sancerre ($22) *A Brockhaus Selection
Le Domaine Saget Pouilly-Fumé ($29)
Guy Saget La Petite Perrière Pinot Noir ($13.50)
Marie de Beauregard Chinon ($17.99) *A Brockhaus Selection

On My Mind Today, or, Remembrance of Things Past

Batman, and Yves and Michele. And the bistro that will be forever etched in my mind. It’s called Le Temps des Cerises, and it’s in the 4th in Paris, on Rue du Petit Musc. Batman is a Jack Russell terrier, and he belongs to Yves and Michele, who for many years operated this wonderful place, across from which I once worked. Mornings it would be un café at the bar, then back for lunch — and some of the best food to be had in Paris. The cook was an ex-Navy man, a sailor, and the wines were diverse and priced fairly. After work we’d meet for beers and conversation. Michele would call out to “James Dean,” which is how she referred to Dean and me. Her smile and laughter I see and hear still. Batman would patrol the narrow sidewalk out front. It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever spent time in. I felt at home there.

A few years ago Yves and Michele gave up Le Temps des Cerises. In the summer of 2013 Angela and I visited Batman’s place. It was not the same, and never again will be.

Au revoir, my dear place.

Au revoir, my dear place.

Duck and cheese, for a brisk day in Paris

Paris is … well, Paris is a great place for food, which is one of the reasons I love this city. Every day I wander into another little shop, looking for cheese, meats, vegetables, wines, coffees, or teas. Or conversation with people who love food and love to cook.

Teas of the world, in the 5th.

Teas of the world, in the 5th.

Today was brisk and sunny, I was out early, enjoying the holiday feeling, the lights and smiling people, the frowning people. Christmas trees are selling now, and the man who sits on the corner near my apartment depending on the kindness of strangers for his income added a new puppy to his entourage. He now has three.

I have been cooking a lot lately, saving my dining-out money for when Angela arrives. The kitchen in my apartment is small, two burners and a toaster oven. That limits my choices, but so far I’ve not had any problems satisfying my palate. This afternoon I picked up some sliced duck and a few shallots, and when I returned home I surveyed the kitchen and noticed some pasta and chèvre, and macaroni and cheese came to mind.

I love duck.

I love duck.

From a goat and a garden

From a goat and a garden

I cooked the pasta until it was just under al dente, then rinsed it in cold water and drained. I returned it to the pan and cooked it for a minute longer, to chase away any excess moisture. I then sliced the chèvre into it, added some salt and butter and mixed that well.

Cheese, pasta and butter

Cheese, pasta and butter; stir well.

duck bacon?

Duck bacon? Yes.

Duck fat and vegetables

Duck fat and vegetables

The duck I heated gently, then removed it from the pan and sautéed an onion and a shallot in the duck fat, which imparts a great taste to the vegetables. The duck I tore into smaller pieces, then added it, along with the onion and shallot, to the pasta and cheese mixture. Stirred it well and seasoned with more salt and pepper, then added a bit of cream.

The oven was hot, so I buttered a baking dish and put the pasta mixture into it. Into the oven went the dish, and I cooked it for an hour or so.

One can do a lot, or a little, with a toaster over

One can do a lot, or a little, with a toaster oven.

About five or 10 minutes before the dish was done I put a few more pieces of chèvre on top of the pasta and broiled it until the cheese melted.

It was excellent, with a baguette and a pinot noir. If you can’t find duck I have also tasted this dish with pork bacon, or lardons, or salmon. I prefer duck.

Everyone loved macaroni and cheese, no?

Everyone loves macaroni and cheese, no?

A healthy obsession with Escoffier

Jeremiah Tower's work on Escoffier is the perfect introduction to the work and life of the famous chef.

Jeremiah Tower’s work on Escoffier is the perfect introduction to the work and life of the famous chef.

Escoffier. Anyone who loves food, who loves to dine in good restaurants, should know his name. And most definitely, anyone who cooks in a restaurant has a responsibility to be fully aware of his name, and, more importantly, of his profound presence that is all around you as you cook and serve guests. He is one of the luminaries in the chef pantheon.

Now comes an eBook on Escoffier by another famous chef, Jeremiah Tower. Its title is “A Dash of Genius,” and it is a welcome addition to the Escoffier library, especially for readers who don’t know much about the French demigod (whose full name is Georges Auguste Escoffier).

One of the most enjoyable aspects of “A Dash of Genius” is the way Tower tells the reader how Escoffier entered his life, and how the Frenchman’s legacy and lessons have affected his creativity and career. (In addition, Tower’s use of recipes is marvelous, and will make you want to cook.) He begins:

“I have been obsessed with Auguste Escoffier since I was sixteen at King’s College School in London. My drama teacher gave me ‘Ma Cuisine’ for having played Algernon Moncrieff in Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’ I thought it was a curious choice, but I read it every night under the bed covers with a flashlight after lights out. And was entranced. Later, in Harvard College and cooking for friends, I graduated from ‘Ma Cuisine’ to ‘Le Guide Culinaire.’ I worked through it enough so that when I moved to a little house in Cambridge in my senior year, the first dinner I gave was pure Escoffier.”

Tower goes on to list the menu for that dinner, which took place in 1965, but, as someone who never tires of reading menus, I’ll not spoil your enjoyment. Get this book.

Escoffier, a man of sublime taste and great vision. (Photo courtesy of Ecole Ritz Escoffier)

Escoffier, a man of sublime taste and great vision. (Photo courtesy of Ecole Ritz Escoffier)

“A Dash of Genius” begins at the beginning, and tells the story of Escoffier’s birth (1846, near Nice) and early development, establishing the fact that the young man from the south of France had an “iron will” even at an early age. He was working for his uncle, and, according to Tower, this is where Escoffier’s ideas on reforming professional kitchens and, indeed, all aspects of running a restaurant, were born. The formation of kitchen brigades, bringing all the functions of cooking into one unified space (as opposed to cooks working in separate, unconnected rooms), and the improvement of hygienic conditions in kitchens: we owe Escoffier much gratitude for these and many other innovations.

Tower spends a lot of time on Escoffier’s charitable work and other benevolent activities, which were many. For example, Tower recounts the story of two nuns who would daily visit the Savoy, at which Escoffier was chef, on a horse-drawn wagon. The women would go through the restaurant’s garbage looking for used coffee ground, tea leaves, and other items, which they used to feed residents of a rest home. When Escoffier noticed their activities he ordered that all the food thrown away by the restaurant be clean and in good condition, including, writes Tower, quail carcasses, legs and thighs still intact – the restaurant generally used only the breasts of the small birds.

Tower continues: “The day came when there was no horse. No nuns. Escoffier leapt into action and visited the rest home to see the Reverend Mother. All she needed for the horse was five pounds. Escoffier supplied the money and the next day the same two nuns with a new horse pulled up to the Savoy.”

Escoffier continued to help the nuns for more than 20 years. In addition, he was the recipient of, among many other awards and honors, the Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur and the Officier de la Légion d’Honneur. He raised 75,000 francs for the benefit of women and children during World War One, and took on the task of rehiring every cook of his who had gone to war, eventually “implanting over 2,000 French chefs around the world.”

Escoffier founded a magazine, “Le Carnet d’Epicure,” in 1911, and wrote books, the most famous being “Le Guide Culinaire,” which is found in restaurants and home libraries around the world. If you do not own it, please get a copy. It alone would have lit Escoffier’s star in the firmament forever, and its more than 5,000 recipes, not to mention its practical and groundbreaking approach to cooking and producing food for a modern clientele, will be with us until the final pot of stock grows cold.

Jeremiah Tower, whose study of Escoffier is food for the mind and senses. (Photo courtesy of Jeremiah Tower)

Jeremiah Tower, whose study of Escoffier is food for the mind and senses. (Photo courtesy of Jeremiah Tower)

Another interesting encounter with Escoffier that Tower tells readers about deals with Chez Panisse, the pioneering restaurant in Berkeley, California, founded by Alice Waters, at which Tower was an instrumental presence. In 1976, Tower was creating menus for a “Week of Escoffier” festival at Chez Panisse, and on this particular night 60 guests were waiting in the dining room for their dinner. Foie gras was on the menu, there because Tower wanted to serve Tournedos Rossini, which he said was a childhood favorite of his. From beyond the grave, Escoffier guided Tower to transform his approach to food and the serving of it to paying guests:

“It was the foie gras that made me rethink what I was doing. In the United States in the early 1970’s it came in cans … After one taste of canned goose liver, I knew I was eating more pig wurst than goose liver, and the canned truffles might as well have been old turnips. Facing a demand to do one more night of Escoffier, I thought, why not his famous Caneton Rouennais en Dodine au Chambertin? Of course, this was as long as I could get the Chambertin. I looked to the local ducks. Reichhardt Duck Farm Sonoma pekins were fine, but trying to convince myself that they could substitute for French canards de Rouen that arrive in the kitchen undressed and still full of blood for the pressed sauces with which they are served was a losing battle. In those days, international ingredients weren’t flown in every day, and frozen foods were a personal anathema. I was faced with using whatever had been produced in the region – and that realization was my “eureka” moment. I looked up from France and saw California.”

Tower goes on to describe how he took Escoffier’s dishes and made them “local,” and anyone who has dined at Chez Panisse (or, by now, most other good restaurants whose chefs and cooks focus as much as possible on seasonal and local ingredients), has benefitted from that “eureka” moment. I recall one lunch at Chez Panisse during which my three dining companions and I were invited into the kitchen upon arrival and given a tour; I was put to work shelling peas, and loved being around the fresh produce grown on farms around the region. (I’ll leave it to others to discuss Tower’s working relationship with Alice Waters.)

Escoffier survived captivity as a prisoner of war in a German camp, opened excellent hotels and restaurants, traveled to the United States on four occasions, and was instrumental in the development and success of countless cooks and chefs. His work pleased royals and commoners alike, and many of his dishes and their offspring are served around the world daily, to the delight of millions. He died in 1935, two weeks after the death of his wife, in Monte Carlo. His guidance, however, is fully with us. Tower’s study deserves a place on shelves devoted to Escoffier, and will, I think, introduce more readers to the work and legacy of the great man.

« Older posts

© 2024 Mise en Place

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑