This month starts a new series of articles on French cooking, planned with a different approach to the subject. The title gives you a clue to its aim. You will be the apprentis and I the chef, reversing the role I played many, many years ago when I was serving my apprenticeship under those great French chefs to whom I owe such a very-great debt. At the same time I will be following another role, the one I played when, as chef des cuisines of the old New York Ritz. I trained so many young chefs. As I plan the series I begin to wonder if I will be able to make you feel, as you read the printed words, that you are actually watching me work and hearing me explain how our fine French cuisine is achieved. Well, my heart is in it and I most certainly hope to succeed.
At the outset I must make it clear that the French consider cooking an art. And an artist, as we all know, is one who strives for perfection. Perfection, in turn, revolves around an ideal, a grand effect or perhaps exquisite workmanship. And that, mes apprentis, is the mood for you to establish in these classes in cuisine classique.
I suppose that trying to teach others always tends to make you relive some of your own experiences. Right now there persists in my memory a flashback of those weeks when my parents were deciding if I should be permitted to go into training to be a chef. My farmer grand-père, I recall, kept extolling the advantages of following in his footsteps. But I knew what I wanted. The kitchen was my lure, although it was not until years later that I realized this wasn't purely accidental, but was shaped almost unconsciously by the concern of a parent.
The reason behind my career, at least in part, was the fact that I was born left handed. An unfortunate occurrence in those days when schoolmasters could never think of letting a child write or work with the left hand. The sharp edge of a ruler on your knuckles made that very plain. It was a painful reminder you obeyed—and didn't run home and tattle about, either. But this can do strange things to children. I, for instance, started walking in my sleep, rubbing my knuckles in a sad kind of way as I wandered. This always roused my mother, so my older brother told me years later, and she would lead me back to the bed I shared with him, saying gently,“Vas durmir, mon petit” (“Now go to sleep, my little one”). But my waking hours were even more difficult; I was turning into such a nervous and belligerent small boy that I was always getting into fights, acting like un petit gamin and not a bit like the rest of our family.
Our town boasted no child psychologist. Mais non! Parents had to make up for this lack by having a kind of sixth sense, or perhaps our simple French realism carried us over trying situations. At any rate, the problem of petit Louis was resolved very sensibly. Mon père went to the schoolmaster and asked him not to chastise me for something I really couldn't help, and offered to work with me in encouraging me to use my right hand. For her part, ma mère coaxed me into helping her in the kitchen, which actually gave me things to do with both my hands. And to quiet my nervousness she talked to me about the cooking, about the different dishes grand-mère had taught her, about Emile Malley, the son of her best friend, who had gone to Paris to be a great chef. (The same chef Malley, incidentally, who would one day get me starred in Paris too.) It proved to be a practical solution, and one that worked. And I learned much more than how to use my right hand. I learned to count as I got out the eggs or potatoes or onions for the cooking, and how to spell the words, too—and how to cook, naturel-lement.
By the time I was eight I was quite expert at making our morning meal of leek and potato soup, that being our breakfast dish, corresponding to the oat-meal porridge that was eaten by our cousins across the English Channel. And then one memorable Sunday, the great surprise: While my mother was at church I prepared a dish of pommes au lard to go with our Sunday dinner. A chef, this chef, was in the making.
There weren't many short cuts in the cooking I learned. There aren't too many in any really fine cooking The more you cook, of course, the more you learn about working quickly and avoiding the clumsy, roundabout ways of doing things. But you never sacrifice results to save minutes, not if you want to be a fine cuisinier. And as you progress you will find yourself less and less dependent upon recipes, for you will have at your finger tips the techniques of French cooking acquired by putting into practice what you read in these articles. To know the hows and whys, and to have the “feel” of this famed art of the French, is to become its master.
French cooking, broken down into categories that encompass great areas of related dishes, gives us such groups as soups, sauces, salads, pastries. The soups come first in importance, even admitting that sauces play a greater role in French cuisine. For sauce cookery depends upon soup cookery: A good soup stock is a prime requisite in making so many of the famous sauces. Therefore there could hardly be a better way to start this series than to cover thoroughly the art of soup making, from simple bouillons to rich consommés, from modest vegetable soups to elegant crémes and bisques. I'm afraid that it will take three articles to make good soup cooks out of you, mes apprentis, but when you've worked through the three of them there should be no question about your skills in this department.
Let us start first with the simplest of all the potages, the bouillon. Bouillon is the basic extraction, and has so many uses in making both sauces and other soups that no one could hope to produce the great dishes of cuisine classique without knowing how to make bouillon first. (This is often referred to as a broth also, but the terms are pretty much interchangeable; bouillon and broth are the accepted terminology of the extraction when it is served as a soup. Stock is the proper term when the extraction is used in making sauces, consommés, and so on.)
Bouillon, broth, stock—whatever you call it, depending upon its use—is easily made, but not quickly: It does require long cooking. However, it takes care of itself on the range all day while you do other things. It is made from water and either—
bones and vegetables
meat (usually beef), bones, and vegetables
fowl and vegetables
The amount of water used in proportion to the solid ingredients determines the strength of the bouillon, while the combinations and proportions of the solid ingredients determine the flavor. The ideal for which you strive is a good, tasty extraction whose flavor is noticeably of either beef or chicken—or a combination of the two—which is, in turn, enhanced by a blending of vegetable flavors. The latter, however, must be subtle. There must be no one flavor that overpowers the flavor of the bouillon. Carrots, for example, or onions will sometimes overpower it. Leeks, on the other hand, seldom do. In fact, one of the characteristics of leeks seems to be that they blend with other flavors better than anything else that goes into the soup kettle. No French potager, soup chef, could live without his leeks.
Before proceeding to the recipes which follow, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't emphasize the points that make the difference between making fine soups and just ordinary soups. In soup making remember that slow cooking is the sine qua non. Careful handling of the stock comes next. You must cook it gently, never let it boil vigorously. And watch it while it comes to the boil and during the first half hour or so of cooking, so that you can skim off the scum iliac rises to the surface: Stirring the bouillon once or twice at this stage and adding about half a cup of cold water once or twice will encourage the scum to rise. As soon as the scum stops rising, cover the kettle and let the soup cook so slowly that it just simmers. If you arc making your potage from bones it can cook all day; if you are making it from a piece of beef or a fowl it should be cooked only until the meat is tender.
When the bouillon is done, carefully lift out the meat or fowl, if either is included, and the bones and vegetables. Use a skimmer or perforated spoon for the latter, so that you will disturb the bouillon as little as possible. Let the kettle stand a few minutes without touching it, to allow most of the tiny particles that have cooked out of the solid ingredients to settle at the bottom. Then place a piece of cheesecloth in a strainer and ladle the liquid through it, working from the surface and taking great care not to stir up the sediment. (If you set the strainer on top of a quart measure that has a pouring lip, the strained bouillon can be conveniently transferred into jars for cooling and storing.) As you fill the jars set them in a pan of cold water to cool quickly. As soon as the stock is cold, put it in the refrigerator. Always cool any soups that are to be stored as quickly as possible, and never cover them while cooling. For some reason they take on a strange, rather unpleasant flavor if left covered after the cooking has stopped. Usually there will be a layer of fat that hardens on top of the bouillon, or stock, when it is cold so that a cover is not even necessary during storage in the refrigerator.
And now, mes apprentis, we will start our recipes with the simplest and least expensive of the soups, the bouillon (stock) made with bones, vegetables and water:
Bouillon (Brown Stock from Bones and Vegetables)
Spread 3 to 4 pounds of beef bones and 1 to 2 pounds of veal bones, both cut in rather small pieces, in a roasting pan and strew over the top 1 large carrot and 1 large onion, both peeled and cut into thick slices. Put the pan in a hot oven (400° F.) to roast for 30 to 40 minutes, or until the bones and vegetables are a good brown. Transfer the bones and vegetables to a large soup kettle and add 5 quarts water. (Discard the fat from the pan in which the bones were browned, add some water, and bring it to a boil, thus capturing the juice clinging to the pan. Turn the liquid into the soup kettle.) Add a handful of celery stalks and tops, 1 or 2 leeks, 1 onion, 1 carrot, several sprays of parsley, 1 tablespoon salt, and 5 to 6 peppercorns. Add any trimmings from beef or veal, raw or cooked, that may be on hand and, if possible, the carcass of a roast chicken. Bring the liquid slowly to a boil, skimming until the scum ceases to rise. Then simmer for at least 3 hours. There should be 3 or more quarts of liquid at the end of the cooking.
Remove the bones and vegetables carefully from the kettle and ladle the bouillon through cheesecloth, working carefully to avoid stirring up the stock and clouding it. Pour it into clean jars, cool as quickly as possible, and store in the refrigerator: It will keep for 4 or 5 days. When ready to use, discard the fat from the top. A fine layer of sediment may have settled at the bottom of the jar, and in removing the soup be careful not to disturb this as it will cloud the liquid. If the bouillon is to be used as stock, reduce it to strengthen the flavor.Correct the seasoning with salt.
For a more richly flavored stock, or bouillon, meat is used and the dish is called pot-au-feu, a well-known one which is the traditional Sunday dinner in many French homes. The bouillon from the pot-au-feu is eaten first with crusts of French bread, and then the meat is sliced and eaten with the vegetables. Any leftover meat is used for bacbis (hash) for another day's dinner and the remaining bouillon is on hand to be used as stock for other soups or sauces.
About three-quarters of a pound of meat and bone is needed for each quart of water used. Sometimes extra chicken bones and chicken feet, cleaned, scalded, and skinned, are added to improve the flavor. Or a small fowl can be added. The preferred cut is rump or shin of beef, but the shoulder—called paleron in French—or fresh brisket, is also used. In fact, any parts that are not tender enough to roast or broil are suitable, but those that have some fat layered through are better than the leanest cuts. One word of warning: Never cook cabbage in the pot-au-feu. It gives a strong flavor to the bouillon, the bouillon will not keep as well, and it cannot be used for sauces. If you like cabbage with your pot-au-feu, cook it separately in a small pot with a little of the bouillon.
Pof-au-Feu (Beef Stock from Beef, Bones, and Vegetables)
Put a beef and a veal bone, cut into pieces, in the bottom of large soup kettle or an earthenware marmite. (If using the latter put an asbestos mat under it to prevent it cracking.) Add a 3 ½-pound piece of beef, 4 ½ quarts water, and 1 tablespoon salt. Bring the water to a boil, carefully removing the scum that comes to the surface. Add about ½ cup cold water once or twice to encourage the scum to rise, turn the heat to medium, and boil very gently, merely simmering, for 2 hours. Add 3 carrots, 1 white turnip, 1 parsnip, 4 or 5 leeks tied in a bundle, 1 large onion stuck with a clove, 1 clove of garlic, and a bouquet garni made by tying together 2 stalks of celery, 4 sprays of parsley, ½ bay leaf, and a sprig of thyme. The vegetables should be cleaned and peeled and left whole unless they are very large. Bring the liquid again to a boil and continue to simmer for 1 ½ to 2 hours longer. Remove all the surface fat and correct the seasoning.
This bouillon does not have a dark color; it is traditionally a light-colored bouillon. If a darker color is desired brown an onion in a little butter and add it. However, if the bouillon is to be used as a stock in sauces it is best to keep it very light in color. Strain the bouillon through cheesecloth before serving. Cool the bouillon which is to be stored for future use very quickly, and to not cover while it is cooling. It will seep for 4 to 5 days in the refrigerator.
When a chicken is cooked in the pot in place of the beef the dish is known as poule-au-pot, and the resulting bouillon becomes a fine-flavored chicken stock.
Poule-au-Pot (Chicken Stock from Chicken and Vegetables)
Select a fowl weighing 5 or more pounds, clean, and tie the ends of the legs to the tail. Put the chicken in a large soup kettle and cover it with water. Bring the water to a boil and cook for 3 to 4 minutes. Remove the fowl, discard the water, and clean the kettle. Return the fowl to the kettle, cover it with A ½ quarts water, and add 1 tablespoon salt. Chicken feet, cleaned, scalded, and skinned, may also be added for extra flavor and are necessary if the bouillon is to be used cold and you want it to jell. Bring the liquid to a boil, constantly removing the scum which rises to the surface. When the scum has ceased to rise, cover the kettle and simmer for 1 ½ hours. Add 1 carrot, 2 leeks, 1 onion stuck with a clove, 3 stalks of celery, and 3 sprays of parsley. Bring the liquid again to a boil and simmer for 1 ½ hours lunger. Remove the chicken and strain the bouillon through cheesecloth.
To serve poule-au-pot, the bouillon is served first, then the chicken is carved and served with the vegetables and freshly cooked rice. Generally a cream sauce is served separately. The remaining bouillon, or chicken stock, is reserved for future soups and sauces.
The beef or chicken that is left over from a pot-au-feu or a poule-au-pot should not be put back into the bouillon. It should he covered, to keep it from drying out, and stored in the refrigerator.
There are two simple and very popular ways of serving the beef bouillon from pot-au-fou and the simple brown stock; namely crofites au pot and that soup which is so popular here in this country as well as in France—onion soup gratitiee. Cratiné is the French word for any dish that is covered with either bread-crumbs or grated cheese, or a mixture of both, and cooked for a few minutes in a hot oven or under the broiler flame until the topping is browned.
Croites au Pot
Remove the carrots, turnip, and leeks that were cooked in the pot-au-feu and cut them into pieces about 1 inch long. Skim the fat from the strained bouillon, leaving in it just enough to make a few tiny glistening beads over the surface of the hot soup. Remove the marrow from the bones that were cooked in the pot-au-feu and spread it on pieces of the crust of French bread. Reheat the bouillon, add the vegetables, and pass the marrow-spread crusts separately to be eaten in the soup.
Onion Soup Greitinee
Melt 3 tablespoons butter in a large saucepan and in it sauté very slowly 4 large onions, peeled and thinly sliced, until the onions are soft and golden but not brown. Add 1 teaspoon flour and cook a minute or two longer. Add 2 quarts brown or beef stock. Simmer 10 minutes and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper. Turn the soup into an ovenproof casserole (or individual ones) and arrange slices of crusty bread on top. Sprinkle each slice with grated Parmesan cheese and cook in a hot oven (450° F.) until the cheese is melted and browned. The onions may be strained out before serving if desired.
Two more recipes will show you how the basic bouillons are used as stocks in making other soups. One is oxtail soup made with beef stock; the other is a country-style soup made with chicken stock. These examples merely point the way. Now that you know the technique of making stock you can make endless variations to suit your own taste and use any combination of vegetables that are available to you.
Oxtail Soup (Queue à la Parisienne)
Put 1 ½ pounds each of veal shin bone and beef shin bone in a roasting pan,spread over the bones 1 large onion, peeled and sliced, and cook in a hot oven (400° F.) for 30 to 40 minutes, or until brown. Meanwhile parboil an oxtail, cut into small pieces, for 5 minutes and drain. Put the hones in a large soup kettle, add 4 quarts beef stock, and bring the stock to a boil. Skim well. Tie the oxtail in a cheesecloth bag and add it. Add 1 pound of chopped lean beef, 1 large carrot, 3 leeks, 2 stalks of celery, 2 tomatoes, 1 clove of garlic, 1 bay leaf, ½ teaspoon thyme, 2 tablespoons salt, and 6 peppercorns. Bring the liquid again to a boil and skim until the scum ceases to rise. Cover the kettle and simmer the soup for 4 to 5 hours, Remove the oxtail and discard the cheesecloth bag. Fit a piece of muslin into a large strainer and put in the muslin ½ teaspoon each of rose-mary. summer savor, sage, and basil. Pour the soup through the strainer over the herbs, return it to the heat, and bring to a boil. Correct the seasoning with salt and add the oxtail, small balls of cooked carrots and turnips, and ½ cup dry sherry.
Some like the consistency of this soup when it is slightly thickened. To accomplish this, stir into the hot strained soup ½ cup arrowroot or cornstarch mixed with ¼ cup sherry. Add it to the soup and stir until the soup is clear. Finish as above.
Country-Style Soup (Potage Paysanne)
In a deep saucepan melt 2 tablespoons butter. Add 2 carrots. 1 white turnip, and 2 leeks, all thinly sliced. ¼ Savoy cabbage, shredded, and ½ cup water. Cover the pan and braise the vegetables over a low heat until tender. Add 2 quarts chicken stock, bring the stock to a boil, and skim off all the fat. Add ½ cup each of fresh peas, green beans, cut in small pieces, and celery, and simmer the soup for about 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender. Add ½ cup each of shredded sorrel and shredded lettuce, bring the soup to a boil again, and correct the seasoning with salt. A little cooked rice, barley, or vermicelli may be added to the potage before serving if desired.