See Paris and die? No, see Paris and eat. That is, or should be, the intention of the thousands of visitors who will go to Paris this anniversary year. The treasures of the Louvre, the grandeur of the Arc de Triomphe, the majesty of Notre-Dame, the swank shops of the rue de la Paix, and the calm serenity of the Bois… all this la Ville Lumière offers, and more, much more. Paris provides today—as it did fifty, one hundred, and several hundred years ago—an inimitable hospitality, expressed practically and pleasantly by the Superb food one can depend on finding in Paris at every turn.
Fine food is the tradition of Paris and has been since … I was about to say since the founding of the city, but the Gauls of Luietia, which was the name of Paris under the Roman Empire, were no gourmets. Those gentry lived on game, fish, and fruit—raw. But for some centuries, at least, Paris has been the source and inspiration and heart of la grande cuisine. Now, in 1951, every menu, whether in one of the luxurious restaurants on the place Vendôme or in a neighborhood bistro, reflects the ancient tradition. If a dish is served with one of the great sauces, it belongs to the era of Louis XIV, le Roi Soleil, whose reign gave France the utmost in gracious living. The mayonnaise on a contemporary menu is the same mayonnaise which Ordinal Richelieu devised early in the seventeenth century. Henry IV's pot-au-feu with a chicken in it, pelite masmte Henri IV, dates back a century more.
In the time of the Louis'—quatorze, quinze, and seize—Paris knew unsurpassed opulence, an endless succession of banquets notable for the quantities of food served and for the exotic and sculptured extravagancies of the kitchen artists. But when I come to Paris as a boy. fifty years ago, reform bad begun. Then, it was fine shades of flavor and texture which spelled perfection; eye appeal had to depend upon natural beauty rather than upon artifice, and the food served at the Ritz, the Bristol, Prunier, Voisin, and such places was the finest in France.
The Paris of 1951 is not too different from the Paris I knew before the First World War. The Bois de Boulogne, the Champs-Elysées, les Halles, the gently flowing Seine. and the bridges over it are all the same. The changes wrought by the years are superficial, not basic. People dress differently, more simply, with fewer furbelows; and they go about their affairs differently, moving from place to place expeditiously in taxis and busses, instead of following the old, leisurely fashions.
Food customs have followed a similar course. Fundamentally, the cuisine of the fine restaurants of Paris has not changed. The well-known hotels and restaurants still live and still Serve the dishes that made their reputations. The perfectly seasoned soups and sauces made famous by great chefs are there—carefully, lovingly mixed and stirred, simmered, and stewed. But now they are less extravagant, have fewer flourishes, and the menus list more simple preparations and fewer elaborate ones than they did in my day.
I am sure, however, that some of the dishes which we laboriously prepared when I was learning to be a chef will never be served again. The cost of the raw materials is loo great; the labor involved, excessive. Take, for example, oeufs Reine Amélie. This dish was created in honor of the Queen of Portugal and became a favorite of royal visitors to the Bristol.
I have never seen the recipe for eggs Queen Amelia in print, so I set it down here as a matter of history. Pieces of butter were cut and shaped to resemble hen's eggs. Each butter egg was rolled in flour, in beaten egg, and in fine while bread crumbs. This process was repeated to obtain two coals à l'anglaise. A sharp culler cut out a small plug at the end of each egg, and the eggs were put away to be chilled thoroughly. They were then fried in deep hot fat. The heat melted the butter, which was then emptied out of the hole in the end of the egg. The simulated shells were filled with eggs scrambled to a delicate creaminess with finely chopped truffles.
In the meantime, the nests for the eggs were being made. Shoestring potatoes were used to line thickly the bottom and sides of a wire frying basket. A smaller frying basket set inside held the potatoes firmly until they were fried. When the baskets were separated, the crisp nest slipped out. The nests were apt to roll on the serving dish, so a supporting bed was made to hold them Steady, This was done by forming a support from noodle dough shaped to look like part of a tree. It had to be baked in the oven right on the platter to give it sufficient rigidity to hold the nest. Then, some cooked noodles, colored green and yellow and cut in fancy shapes, were arranged on the dish.
A tasty dish, this oeufs Reine Amélie. Even a small party could dispose of dozens of eggs; and there was the hazard of breakage, inevitable during the preparation of this finicking dish. to consider. In New York at today's costs for food and labor, a portion could not be served for less than twenty dollars. Needless to say, oeufs Reine Amélies is not a menu staple nowadays.
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.
Willi a very sharp knife cut down both sides of the center bone of the saddle of veal, leaving ½ inch of meat uncut at each end. Remove the filets from both sides, leaving intact the meat at the ends, and cut the filets into slices ¼ inch thick. Spread a little purée Soubise on the uncut ends of the saddle and lay on the purée a piece of truffle and foie gras and a slice of the filet. Continue to reconstruct the saddle in this manner, using about 15 to 20 slices each of truffle and foie gras on each side. Spread the reformed saddle with purée Soubise, then with alternate slices of the goose liver and truffles, and finally with another coating of the purée. Cover with Mornay sauce (see April, 1951) and sprinkle with grated Parmesan.
Set the platter on a pan that contains a little warm water and reheat the veal in a moderate oven (350° F) until the sauce is golden-brown. Garnish with small glazed carrots, artichoke bottoms stuffed with tiny peas, hearts of braised celery, small potatoes rissolées, asparagus tips, green beans, or with oilier vegetables in season and serve the dish with the veal gravy.
Caneton en Chemise (Duck witb Rouennaise)
Bone a 5- to 6-pound duck and stuff it with rouennaise (see below) to which I egg has been added. Roll up the duck securely in a napkin, lying both ends with soft string, (In France we lied them in a vessie, made from the bladder of a hog.) Add the duck to a kettle of boiling stock, return the stock to the boil, and simmer for about 1 hour, or until tender.
Remove the duck from the kettle, discarding the napkin, and put it on a heat proof platter with a little of the stock. Brush with butler and brown in a hot oven or under the broiler flame. Arrange the duck over a clean napkin on a serving platter and garnish with slices of orange on top and with slices of lemon around the platter. Present the platter to the guests, slice through the duck and stuffing, and serve the slices with sauce rouennaise (see below).
Rouennaise (Liver Paste)
Heat thoroughly 4 tablespoons salt pork fat. Add 2 cups duck or chicken livers, a little thyme, 1 bay leaf, 1 tea spoon salt, and a little freshly ground pepper. Cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes over a hot fire and stir in 4 tablespoons cognac or sherry. Pound the mixture in a mortar and rub it through a fine sieve.
Sauce Rouennaise (Duck Liver Sauce)
Put 1 cup red wine, 10 peppercorns, 1 bay leaf, ½ teaspoon thyme, and A shallots, chopped, in a saucepan. Bring to a boil and cook until the liquid is reduced to 1/3 its original quantity. Add 4 tablespoons brown sauce and 5 or 6 duck or chicken livers, finely chopped. Bring again to a boil, correct the seasoning, and rub the sauce through a fine sieve. Finish by stirring in 4 tablespoons cognac.
Sole Soufflée Tante Marie (Sole Stuffed with Fish Mousse)
Clean and skin 2 soles each weighing about 2 pounds. Make a pocket in each fish as follows:
Cut off the fins with slurp scissors. Starting from the head, slip a very sharp, thin knife closely along each side of the backbone, cutting down to detach the flesh but leaving uncut the underedge and the part near the tail. Sever the backbone at the head and tail with the scissors and lift the bones out.
Stuff the pocket with fish mousse (see below) and close it so that the sides meet along the back. Wrap each fish in cheesecloth and tie the ends with string. Put 4 tablespoons butter and 2 teaspoons chopped shallots in a shallow saucepan, lay the fish on this bed. and sprinkle with 1 cup white wine. Put the bones on top of the fish to give the sauce a better flavor. Bring the wine to a boil, cover the pan, and simmer on top of the range or in a moderate oven (350° F) for 18 to 20 minutes, or until the stuffing is set and the fish is cooked. Remove the soles to a serving dish, discarding the cloth.
Reduce the liquor in the pan to about 6 tablespoons and add 1 cup cream sauce (see February, 1951). Thicken the sauce with 5 or 6 tablespoons hollandaise or with 2 egg yolks mixed with a little cream and swirl in 2 tablespoons butter, taking the pan from the fire as soon as the butter is melted. Fold in 4 tablespoons whipped cream, pour the same over the fish, and glaze in a very hot oven or under the broiler flame.
Fish Mousse
Put 1 pound of honed sole, cod, or other white fish in a mortar and pound it to a fine paste, adding ½ teaspoon salt, a little pepper, and 2 egg whites. Rub the purée through a fine sieve into a saucepan. Set the saucepan in a bowl containing cracked ice and continue to work the mixture with a wooden spoon, adding gradually about 2 cups heavy cream. The mixture has the right consistency when a rounded spoonful of it can be slipped off the spoon into a pan of hot water and will hold its shape when poached. When the mousse reaches this consistency, add ¼ cup sauce américaine and ½ cup mushroom duxelles (see below).
Sauce Américaine
Cook 4 cups stewed tomatoes until most of the liquid has cooked away and strain through a fine sieve.
Heat 1 tablespoon “live oil and 2 tablespoons butler in a saucepan and add 2 shallots, finely chopped, 1 clove of garlic, and 1 tablespoon each chopped parsley and chervil. Add the tomato purée and simmer until the shallots are soft. Remove the clove of garlic, add 2 tablespoons brandy, and cook for a few minutes without letting the sauce boil.
Mushroom Duxelles
Heat 1 tablespoon butter in a saucepan, add ¼ pound mushrooms, finely chopped, and 1 shallot, chopped, and cook until the moisture is evaporated. Stir in 1 teaspoon chopped parsley and salt to taste.
Faisan Souvarov (Pheasant Souvaroff)
Sauté in butter large pieces of fresh goose liver or canned natural fore gras. Add an equal quantity of whole small truffles or larger ones cut into pieces and combine with 2 tablespoons beef extract mixed with 4 tablespoons Madeira or sherry.
Clean a pheasant and stuff it with the above mixture. Truss the legs and wings close to the body and sew up the opening. Lard the breast with thin strips of fat salt pork and cover with more salt pork, securing the slices with string. Put the pheasant in a roasting pan, season with salt, and spread with good fat. Roast it in a moderately hot oven (425° F) for 15 minutes, turn, and roast it for 15 minutes on the other side, basting frequently. Remove the pheasant and put it on its back in a casserole.
Remove the excess fat from the roasting pan and to the drippings in the pan add 3 ounces Madeira or sherry, 2 or 3 tablespoons trufile juice, 2 truffies, diced, and ½ cup good gravy or brown sauce (sec January, 1951). Cook the sauce for a few minutes and pour it around the pheasant in the casserole. Put 1 tablespoon of butler on the breast, cover the casserole, and seal with a roll of dough made of Hour, water, and a little fat. Bake in a moderately hot oven (425° F) for about 30 minutes, unseal, and serve.
This recipe may be used also for partridge or for any poultry.
Vol-au-Vent Eugénie
Prepare a puff-paste shell as follows: Roll out puff paste (see December, 1950) about 3/8 inch thick and from it cut a circle about 7 inches in diameter. Moisten a pastry sheet with water and on it lay the circle, turning this over so that the lop side is underneath. Cut another 7-inch circle from puff paste rolled to the same thickness and cut out and reserve the center to leave a rim 1 inch wide. Moisten a 1-inch border around the first circle and on this lay the cut-out rim, reversing it so that the top side is underneath. Press the two borders firmly together and cut small scallops about ½ inch apart to make a decorative edging. Lay the reserved circle lightly inside the rim and chill the shell in the refrigerator for about 15 minutes.
Brush the top with 1 egg beaten with a little milk and bake in a hot oven (450° F) for about 10 minutes, or until the pastry is puffed and golden brown. Reduce the oven temperature to 375° F and bake for 25 to 30 minutes longer. Remove the vol-au-vent from the oven and with a sharp knife gently lift out and reserve the center circle.
Prepare the filling as follows: Cut into large pieces the white meat and the second-joint meal from a poached chicken. Cut into pieces 3 sweetbreads poached until tender in salted water acidulated with lemon juice. Flute the edges of 1 dozen mushrooms and cook them for a few minutes over a hot fire in 3 to 4 tablespoons water mixed with 1 teaspoon each lemon juke and butter. Drain the mushrooms, reserving the liquor, and combine them with the chicken and sweetbreads. Add 12 small quenelles of chicken (see below) and ½ cup Madeira or sherry and heat all together.
Prepare 3 cups chicken velouté (see May, 1951) and add to it the reserved mushroom liquor. Stir in 2 egg yolks mixed with 1 cup heavy cream and bring the sauce to the boiling point. Add all but about 1 cup of this sauce to the chicken mixture and fill the vol-au-vent. Pour the reserved sauce on just before serving, garnish with a border of sliced truffles, and top with the baked pastry cover.
Chicken Quenelles
Grind finely 1 pound raw chicken flesh, place it in a mortar with 1 teaspoon salt, ½ teaspoon pepper, and ¼ teaspoon nutmeg, and pound it to a paste. Add gradually the whiles of 2 eggs, working the paste vigorously with a wooden spoon. Rub the forcemeat through a fine sieve, place it in a saucepan over cracked ice, and gradually work in about 2 cups heavy cream.
Form the forcemeat into small balls and poach them in chicken broth or salted water. Do not let the liquid boil or the quenelles will split.