The mind of a chef starting out on his day's work is about as far from any thoughts of culinary secrets as that of a race horse leaving the stable for the course at Long champ. But as soon as his haute toque is in place, the serviette arranged at his waist in its traditionally precise folds, and he turns his hand to a sauce, a dish of rice, or a garniture, his so-called secrets or tricks spring into action. His response to the knife picked up, the spoon grasped, is so trigger-quick, so automatic, that he is quite unconscious of how dexterous he is. If asked for a recipe, it seldom occurs to him that few of his questioners are not just as aware as he is of the long-acquired techniques he puts into practice. Add up the long days and many years the chef puts in at the preparation table and in front of the range, and you arrive at his tricks.
To put it another way, preparing dishes over and over again, perhaps almost every day for ten or twenty years, makes one very skillful while facing the demands of an exacting clientele when food is short and labor scarce. What's more, to make a reputation for an establishment a chef must add something to the lore of fine cooking, perhaps a new way to prepare fish or a different soup to capture the fancy of the public.
But when it comes to passing along culinary know-how to amateur chefs who are eager to learn the ways of professionals, it is not a matter of reluctance. Unfortunately, it is simply a question of time. Picture a head chef with the kitchens of a large establishment under his charge. Hundreds of meals, thousands of dishes every noon and every evening must get from his noisy, fragrant confines to the diners just beyond. Hot dishes really hot, cold dishes well chilled, and mon Dieu, never a curdled sauce or a fallen soufllé! Watch that tireless robot, the tele-autograph, that links the dining rooms to the kitchens, scribble and scribble the never-ending commands of impatient waiters. Any head chef directing this complicated mealtime production with less than two heads, half a dozen hands. and the legs of a centipede is badly handicapped. If, at the high point of the mealtime rush, the suave headwaiter makes his appearance, the chef is certain something has gone wrong, some important guest is displeased, and drops whatever he is doing to rush over with a quick “What has happened?”
A casual reply such as, “Mais rien, Madame Blanc simply wants your recipe for chicken hash.” releases the Gallic temperament already tensed by too many split-second demands.
Who wouldn't yell above the clatter. “Sacré bleu, can't you see how busy I am? Come back at two o'clock.” Or something more vivid. And turn to a range to vent his annoyance on the sauce poivrade.
As for the headwaiter, he merely shrugs his well-groomed shoulders and usually Madame Blanc explains to her husband that evening how the chef wouldn't give her his recipe for chicken hash.
“Must have a secret trick,” she says, “and he's afraid someone will find out how he does it.” Which they both believe.
Now chefs, as a rule, don't hold on to any particular secret tricks. There are a few famous dishes which their originators have kept secret lest other restaurateurs take away the monopoly of hardwon laurels. Unfortunately, a recipe that is bringing fame—and cash in the till—can't be patented. And occasionally what appears to be secretiveness is actually the inability of a Frenchman to write down a complicated recipe in any but his own tongue, in any language but the one he thinks and works in. Mettez-vous à sa place—put yourself in his shoes.
Oddly enough, the secrets—or tricks—that I am asked about most frequently are not those for making elaborate dishes but rather the hows and whys of simple basic cookery. How do we cook rice, I am asked, so that it is always flaky and tender? What gives our soups such a good flavor? And why are the kidneys we serve never unpleasantly strong? Apparently, aspiring gourmet cooks soon realize that, unless they learn basic rules, their elaborate flourishes, no matter how expensive, will never make a master-piece.
I could never count the number of requests that come to me for recipes and cooking help. But for this article I've selected three that recur frequently. Rice cookery is one. Gourmets recognize well-cooked rice and judge the cook accordingly. They are like one of our frequent guests who always ordered rice à la grecque, saying he could never find rice so good any place else. One day he asked the waiter if he might have the recipe for it the next time he came in. This was arranged, and after profuse thanks he asked for an envelope. It was a busy day, and the waiter thought how fussy some people are. But it wasn't the recipe that went in it. He took the envelope and spooned in some of the rice from his plate ... “So my cuisinière can taste it. I want what she makes to be exactly the same.”
Pinterest
