To French gourmets September is the month of la renaissance culinaire and let no one tell you that connoisseurs don't look forward to this gastronomic awakening. To them, summer's languid days are like Lent, an interim of culinary restrictions endured, however, not because of religion, but became of Nature and the lethargy she imposes on appetites. The summer entracte is a fine way, as all of us well know, to recover from too much, too rich, too robust eating—an excellent way to get in shape to start all over again. And all we need to get us started are a few cool days in September and the sight of the fall delicacies that have returned: game birds and oysters, to name but two.
In those long past years when I was in Moulins, serving my apprenticeship at the Maison Colondre, one of our fall game specialties was lark pâté. We made them in great numbers for the Society people who opened up their chateaux in the neighboring countryside during the hunting season. We bought the birds from a farmer's wife, la mèere Françoise, who came each day with our milk and cream. I can still see her arriving in the morning with her big covered basket, lifting out the bundles of tiny, tiny birds—carefully tied together near the feet—which she sold in lots of a dozen. We apprentices had in pluck them, hundreds and hundreds during the course of the season, and it wasn't easy. But the patience, care, and infinite pains that it took to make those lark pâtés were a kind of discipline for which I am very grateful. It has made many tasks seem simple to me that, to others, were unbearably tedious and arduous.
Partridge were another favorite. They too are small game, smaller than pheasant, for instance, though certainly a lot bigger than lark. These birds 1 knew well. As a child I had learned about them during vacations from school my grandpère's farm. We would see them in the wheat and potato fields. where the mother birds usually laid their eggs. I remember that my uncle would watch for partridge eggs when he was cutting the hay that ripened in June. When he found any the would give them to my aunt, who hatched them under a hen and then raised them in her voliére—a large cage made especially for this purpose. When fall came she sold them along with the ones my uncle shot. And a very worthwhile little project this selling of partridge was. for every restaurant was avid to get them and was willing to pay a premium price—with the result that 1 never tasted partridge until I was in training to be a chef in Moulins.
At Monsieur Calondre's catering establishment in Moulins there were always five to seven of us apprentis in training, and we took turns going with the delivery man to the chateaux with the vol-au-vents, pâtés, frozen desserts, petits fours and so on, the specialties which were seldom prepared in their own kitchens. Unpacking them, unmolding them if necessary, and putting on the final garnishes was our responsibility. Our delivery vehicle with its maroon-colored enclosed body, glass windows and two side doors was really quite elegant. The carefully packed hampers of food were loaded inside and the driver and apprenti rode together on the high front seat perched at about the level of the roof. I rather enjoyed getting out of the hot kitchen at the end of the day and sitting behind two fine horses as they trotted along a country road, lined as they were in that section with evenly spaced trees trimmed to a matching tidiness. Then, when we got to the big kitchen of the chateau where a grand party was in progress, it wasn't unpleasant to wait with the cooks and servants until it was time to serve up our sauce vol-au-vents or elegantly garnished ice creams.
September also brings back oysters, which have been off the market during the “r-less” months. Oysters, of all hors-d'oeuvre, are the never-failing favorite of gourmets. Tor the first oysters of the season, serve them nature, well chilled with just a little lemon to accent their fine fresh flavor, Lobsters, too, are usually very good in September and probably more profuse than in the summer months, when many shed their shells and cannot be eaten. When I first came to New York it was a source of tremendous satisfaction to be able to get such quantities of good lobsters so easily. And as with any Other ambitious Chef, my immediate desire was to serve them in new ways. The recipe in this menu—which blends the flavors of wine, onion, carrot, a—was one way. I called the dish lobster à la Française and it soon became such a favorite that we put it on the menu once a week.
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