When my grandmother was a young bride in France, the rules of Lenten fasting were very strict, and the variety of foods that could be served was limited indeed. But the observation of Lent, like other aspects of human behavior, has undergone many changes and modifications in keeping with the rapidly increasing tempo of life. My mother was as devout a woman as Grand-mère, but her Lenten meals included many dishes which Grand-mère would not have approved. Martian's food patterns were those of a small town of the 1880's, rather than of a farming community of the 1860's. and the change was inevitable. Now I, in my turn, follow the more sophisticated ways of the world capitals in which 1 have lived and worked; Paris, London, New York. To me, as it did to my mother and to my grandmother, Lent means fewer rich foods, fewer desserts, less wine, and meatless meals on Wednesday and on Friday. But my Lenten meals could hardly be called sacrificial. I am convinced that planning appetizing, delectable, and satisfying menus during Lent is posse, even required, for the cook who has imagination and skill at his command.
I hesitate to state categorically that the austere Lenten fare of Grand-mère's day was imposed on the devout not so much because of their piety as because of nature's limitations. But it is a fact that the forbidden foods were coincidentally those which were unavailable, or at least not plentiful, at that time of year. By Mardi Gras, there was not much left of the hogs Grand-père had slaughtered in the fall; the salted meat was gone, and the lard barrel was all but empty. There-was no game, of course, and the lambs which had been born in March would not be ready until Easter Sunday. The early spring months are off-season for hens, and eggs were not as plentiful as usual. But there were fish aplenty in the local ponds and streams—and fishermen available to catch them, as well the men of the household were enjoying their annual respite; the fields could not yet be plowed for the spring planting and the repair and maintenance work that farmers save for the winter months was long since done. Grand-père and mon oncle were more than willing to spend their time profitably and pleasantly at the water's edge, and to enjoy the delicious stews and soups that Grand-mère would reward them with when they brought their catch home. If they could produce a mess of eels after a day by the stream, they knew that they could count on one of Grand-mères special matelotes, or fish stews, that evening.
Fortunately the pleasures of the Lenten fast are not restricted to those whose religious convictions require the observation, for the foods of Lent are liked by almost everyone. The simpler dishes are a pleasant change after the rich foods of the holidays and of the winter social season. Fish is always in demand, and during Lent fish is so varied, and offered in so many different ways, that it enjoys even greater popularity than usual. The egg dishes and the cheese specialties that appear during Lent are a welcome novelty. And no gourmet will miss meat if he can have his fill of hearty chowders, creamy bisques and rich shellfish stews.
It is with these Ax-MSN soups that our lesson in classic cuisine concerns itself this month. Some of them require chicken stock to conform with the requirements of haute cuisine, but some of them are absolutely maigre.
Of the two types of soup I wish to discuss, one is French: the bisque. The other is not French at all, but typically American. Like every French chef who ever came to this country, I had to learn how to make chowders. And 1 had many willing teachers. Many of our regular guests at the old Ritz were New Englanders, by birth or by adoption, who would not willingly have let a week go by without enjoying a bowl of clam chowder. Many of these guests were anxious to share their family recipe for clam chowder. The recipe I give you here, for instance, was given to me by Mrs. Edison Lewis, who was the wife of one of our directors. It was she who impressed upon me the importance of absolutely fresh clams and a generous amount of clam broth in a fine authentic chowder.
All the chowder recipes given to me by our New England guests, I noticed, began with diced salt pork and onions, and usually included potatoes and milk and cream. This assumption saved me an embarrassing experience. I was visiting a friend in Maine one summer early in my career, and my host, proud of his excellent crop of sweet corn, asked me if I would take over the kitchen on the cook's night out and make a corn chowder. Could I shamefacedly admit that I had never made a corn chowder in my life—that I didn't even know what it was? Of course not! So I thought fast and reasoned that since this was New England, my friend undoubtedly wanted a New England chowder, and that one chowder was probably very like another. I remembered my often-used recipe for clam chowder and substituted corn for clams. And it was a huge success! I reflected later that there was, after all, very little in a name, because my clam chowder made with corn was what 1 would have called a plain corn soup. In any event, the corn chowder went onto the Ritz menu, and was a perennially popular item thereafter.
There are so many variations of clam chowder, each with its adherents, that I know very well that no matter how many recipes 1 give you, someone is going to say, “But that's not the way I make clam chowder.” So I must ask you to compromise your convictions and try my two basic styles of clam chowder.
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