To believe that French cooking must of necessity be rich—and rich almost to the point of indigestibility—means that somewhere in one's gastronomical adventures the essence of la vraie cuisine française has been missed. Not that French cooking isn't often rich. It frequently is. But the real secret of this world-famous cuisine is not its richness but its skilled preparation. Goodness knows, I would be the last one in the world to condemn the use of plenty of cream and butter in cooking, of foie gras and truffles, of mayonnaise and hollandaise sauces. But it is too easy to pour in cupfuls of cream, to stuff the dish with foie gras and truffles, to have it swim in butter or be suffocated with mayonnaise or hollandaise without ever achieving the gourmet touch. That touch comes from knowing when and how to use these delicacies and from knowing when other foodstuffs and flavorings and the right seasonings will bring a dish to the peak of culinary perfection. Willingness to put an extra minute or two into the preparation of a dish is also part of the picture, like cutting a vegetable into evenly sized pieces so all cook evenly, skimming soup stock religiously, and patiently stirring a sauce as it thickens. Attention to these details involves only a little added time and effort, but anyone can tell when they are neglected.
During Lent, the season when our western world turns away from rich foods, good cooks give their first attention to the tricks of making simple fare delectable. And it is possible to do just that and to satisfy even the most discriminating tastes. There is a kind of balance-wheel quality to leaving for a time the fleshpots pursued—probably with too much zeal—during the winter holidays. Continued overindulgence in rich foods is an easy way to impair one's appreciation of fine flavor—a fact that many people learn too late. Real gourmets, however, make a practice of interspersing their days of lobster thermidor, supreme of chicken Pojarsky, and baby salmon royale with days of pot-au-feu, poule-au-pot, plain omelettes, and poached fish. The food is simple. But simplicity is so well overlaid with savor that each morsel is eaten with le goût agréable.
Nature, too, seems to tell us at this time of the year that we are in the season en faisant caréme—keeping Lent. At least, many of her most delectable spécialités have either finished their season of opulence or have not yet appeared. Of course, we stretch nature's seasons with canning and freezing, but what she actually makes available to us at this season are the foods that will store well, the root vegetables, those of the cabbage family, dried foods like rice and beans, and fruits like apples, although generous supplies of citrus are part of the picture, too.
Scores of people think they don't like these simpler fords. But they are probably missing many of the pleasures of the table merely because childhood food experiences were curtailed by adults who didn't like this and wouldn't think of eating that and talked about these dislikes continually and boastfully. The chances are, of course, that the particular foods were just carelessly prepared. But the pity is that children pick up these idiosyncracies so quickly and carry them through an entire life. I'm thinking of people, for example, who are afraid to serve anything to guests except peas and asparagus, believing other vegetables to be too generally unpopular. Well, I am happy to be able to recall many distinguished patrons of the Ritz who felt quite differently. For example, one woman who did a great deal of entertaining always had us serve vegetables that were in season, although she was most particular about their preparation and insisted, too, that they look attractive. She liked our ways of cooking Brussels sprouts so much that before she moved to another part of the country, she came to my office and wrote down all the details of preparation.
Brussels sprouts, as I explained to her, are strong in flavor but delicate in texture. In cooking them, therefore, we try to make the flavor more delicate and to prevent them from getting too soft and mushy. The trick in subduing their flavor is to use a generous amount of water in cooking. To keep them firm and evenly cooked throughout, prepare them this way. After cleaning and removing the outside yellowed leaves, cut off the bottom stem flush with the bottom leaves and make an incision in the stem with a sharp knife. This allows the boiling water to reach the center more quickly, and the sprout can be cooked evenly without getting too soft. Do not overcook. After they are done, drain and sauté them in a pan with a little melted butter for a minute or two, seasoning them with salt and pepper.
Brussels Sprouts au Gratin
Clean 1 quart of sprouts, remove the outside yellowed leaves, and trim the stems. Make an incision in the bottom. Drop into 2 quarts boiling water with 2 teaspoons salt and cook gently for 20 to 25 minutes, or until they are just tender. Drain thoroughly. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in another pan. add the sprouts, and sauté for a minute or two. Season with salt and pepper. While the sprouts are cooking, prepare a ring of potatoes duchesse [see June, 1950] on a heatproof serving platter and put in the oven until the top just begins to turn golden. Remove from the oven and spread a little mornay sauce [see April, 1950] inside the ring. Fill the center with the cooked Brussels sprouts and cover with more mornay sauce to which has been added a tablespoon of whipped cream. (One-half to 3/4 cup of sauce will be needed.) Cover the sauce with a little grated cheese and melted butter. Place in a hot oven or under the broiler flame until the cheese has softened and the top is golden-brown.
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