When I write of hors-d'oeuvre, it is not only my years at the old Ritz that I recall I think even more nostalgically of the châteaux country of France, where I served my early apprenticeship. As an apprentice for Maison Calondre in Monlins. I used to jog over these roads to the great châteaux, carrying huge hampers of hors-d'oeuvre and other delicacies which I had helped prepare. Upon arrival I had to unpack the baskets and garnish the food for serving. We five apprentis in training soon found out how important this petite entrée course was to the local haut monde, We worked every day. of course —there were no eight-hour days or five- day weeks, then—but on Sundays and holidays we worked hardest of all.
We worked hard and, as you say in America, we worked for love, as we received no pay. On the contrary, we all knew that our fathers were paying good round sums for us to learn our trade and that we had to prove ourselves worthy of the expense by learning our lessons well.
And it is true that preparing this delicious food was really a labor of love. The people we served all had a fine, almost exquisite, feeling for food, an appreciation which was not limited to the gourmets but was shared by all who prepared and supplied the food: chefs and cuisiniers and charcutiers.
I remember, too, how l'Hôtel de Paris and I'Hôtel Dauphin used to purchase from our Maison Calondre all the pastry shells for their petites entrées. However. they prepared the fillings for these pastries in their own kitchens, using the day's leftovers and sauces based on the stock which was regularly made from bones and pieces of meat not suitable for serving in the dining room and was always on hand. At Maison Calondre we also cooked for the buffet restaurant at the railroad station. The Paris-Lyon-Méditerranée Express stopped too briefly at Moulins to give the passengers time to eat anything in the station restaurant, so they used to buy warm little pâtés— deep, two-crust pies—of chicken or turkey or game, when it was in season, to eat on the train with a bottle of wine.
The French often serve hot hors 'doeuvre as the main course of light luncheons. These petites entrées are then sometimes preceded by cold hors d'oeuvre and are usually followed by fresh fruit served au naturel or in a macédoine or compote. Most restaurants in France, even the small table d'hôte restaurants, serve this kind of luncheon. Many Americans also enjoy a light meal in the middle of the day. and hors-d'oeuvre luncheons were a favorite at the old Ritz-Carlton.
The English, instead of eating their hot hors-d'oeuvre before dinner, often serve a savory at the end of the meal, after the sweet or dessert. It usually consists of a tartelette or croustade with a very highly seasoned filling. In this case, what suits the English does not suit the French; the English savory is nor their goût—the Frenchman docs not care for such sharp, biting flavors at the end of dinner. Rabelais expressed the French point of view when he said of these sharp savories, “Ce sont des hors-d'oeuvre endiablés”—they arc hors-d'oeuvre full of the devil.
Hot hors-d'oeuvre consumed with cocktails must be minuscule, so small that they may be readily eaten with the fingers or speared with a toothpick, and so thick in consistency that they are easy to hold. At the table, the hors-d'oeuvre are eaten with a fork, so the pieces may be larger and the fillings may be softer and more fluid.
It is encouraging to know that though the fillings for hot hors-d'oeuvre have a wide variation in flavor, the pattern for preparing them is basically the same. Cooked meat, poultry, fish, or shellfish is combined with mushrooms, truffles, and other vegetables in a rich sauce. selected according to the method of cooking. For example, with coquilles, which are browned in the oven or broiler before serving, the sauce is often of the Mornay type. If you learn how to make some of these fillings, you will easily be able to vary them for use in all types of pastry shells. The trick is to have the fillings for the tiny cocktail choux and brioches not quite so soft and thin as those in the larger bouchbées, croustades, and timbales eaten at the table.
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