In Paris fifty years ago, we served many dishes which similarly did not lend themselves to short cuts. Some of them are gone. Modern kitchen equipment has made others easier. No one pounds raw meat by hand to make the fine, smooth paste required for godi veau, quenelles, and mousses. Good grinders have replaced strong muscles. No one blanches and dries almonds and then pounds and pounds them with sugar, when almond paste can be purchased so easily. No one whips a batch of forty or fifty egg whites with a hand whip for the biscuits à la cuiller to make spongecakes and ladyfingers. And for a bisque no one crushes lobsters and crawfish—shells and all—with rice to an unbelievable fineness in a huge marble mortar with the great wooden pestle swinging from the ceiling.
Yet, the line eating places of Paris still serve many dishes that give evidence of the painstaking cookery for which the French are famous. And there arc other customs which differ from our American ways. The relaxed atmosphere is noticeable. Kitchens will not be hurried, and it will do no good to be impatient. Guests are expected to show their appreciation by eating slowly, savoring each mouthful well. In many restaurants, one ought to take the spé-cialté du jour or, at least, follow the suggestion of the waiter. The Spécialité is usually made from the best the market offers, and consequently the chef considers that it is worth preparing properly, no matter how much time it takes.
Try soup in a Paris restaurant. Even the most reluctant soup-eater will soon be converted to soups which never disappoint. There are, too, certain niceties of serving—the tiny daintiness of pastries, for instance, which permits the diner to enjoy three, all different sorts, instead of the single pastry he would cat at home. I remember how infuriated Madame Ritz became when our pastry chef made any even a fraction larger than they should have been. Back the went to the kitchen, and a chef who thought his day's work behind him had to begin all over again.
Exacting employers like Madame Ritz were the secret of the success of the Ritz and other hotels which catered to the haul monde. As an apprentice chef in the kitchens of such hotels, I knew my survival—not to mention my advancement—depended upon my skill in satisfying the demands of those most sophisticated of kitchens.
Much water has gone under the bridge since I first came to Paris at the turn of the century, a wide-eyed country lad with little in my pocket but the address of a pension and a few francs to live on until I should find a job, I recall eating my breakfast of brioche and café an lait at the sidewalk stall on the rue de Lille, near the Pont-Neuf where the statue of Henry IV stands. It was cheaper than in a cafe and was no detriment to my dreams of someday becoming a great cheF My first job was in a pâtisserie on the place de la Bastille —not what I wanted, but a start. Then, M. Malley—sous-chef at the newly opened Ritz and, fortunately for me, from monays— found me a place at the Hôtel du Rhin, the Bristol, and. finally, in his own kitchen at the Ritz. Over the years, I have watched the changes time makes in the fashions of cuisine as in other fashions, and I am happy to be able to say that one can still see Paris and cat!
The recipes that follow arc the classic dishes that may be found in the Paris restaurants. They may be modified, this year, to conform with the limitations of the times, but they show how Paris cooks when the veal is white and delicate, the cream heavy and rich, the truffles fresh and fragrant, and the foie gras succulent.
Selle de Vean Mainsenon (Saddle of Veal witb Onion Parte)
Tie up a saddle of veal securely with string and put it in a roasting pan on a bed of sliced onions and carrots. Season it with salt and spread with 2 tablespoons butter. Add some veal bones and a bouquet garni of 4 sprigs of parsley, 3 stalks of celery, a little thyme, and a piece of bay leaF Put the pan, uncovered, in a moderately hot oven (400° P.) and roast the veal, lusting frequently, until the onions and carrots are brown. Add 2 cups water, cover the meat with buttered paper cut to fit the inside of the pan, and cover the pan. Reduce the oven temperature to 375° F and continue to cook the veal for 3 to 3 ½ hours, or until the meat detaches easily from the bones, adding more water or veal slock if needed. Remove the meat, add enough water or veal stock to the drippings in the pan to make 3 or 4 cups light veal gravy, thickening it with a little arrowroot or cornstarch, and set aside.
Meanwhile, prepare a thick purée Soubise, or onion purée (see April, 1951). Cut 30 to 40 slices each of truffles and canned natural foie gras, cutting each slice about 1/8 inch thick. and mix the leftover trimmings from the truffles and foie gras with the purée Soubise.
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