I Opened A Cookbook And I Liked It

My love affair with cookbooks started when I was 24. I worked as a waiter all through college. I became addicted to the easy money and short hours of that profession. I was a military brat and at the end raised on a farm, so it was an understandable transition. I tried real jobs after college, but I was living at the beach. I fell back into my addiction without much trouble, squandering my education.

As a waiter, I started tableside cooking as I went more upscale in the restaurants where I chose to work. Also in the small inns and restaurants, I would occasionally help out the kitchen doing prep work. Sometimes I would work a shift if someone failed to show up in the kitchen. A chef saw my eagerness and bought me a professional chef's knife. It was a Sabatier. It was French.

I found that ladies liked it if a guy could cook dinner for them. That provided motivation for me to become more educated in the art of cooking. I got bitten by the bug. I enjoyed cooking. I needed to get better at it. The cooking schools like the CIA and Johnston & Wales were just starting. This was the early 70's. I couldn't afford to go to culinary school so I started buying cookbooks and stealing with my eyes from the chefs where I worked.

The first book I bought was The Joy of Cooking, the original version. It was written and self published by Irma S. Rombauer in 1931. If I could only have one cookbook, this would be the one. After Irma died, they tried a fancy modern update. It almost ruined the book. Older editions are the best. Isn't that always the case. It was my mom's favorite cookbook. I had to buy my own copy. Mom wasn't giving up hers.

It became my first love. It's like Irma and I are sitting around the kitchen table drinking coffee and she is telling me how to cook a dish. I always go back to it, time and time again. You can tell it's my favorite. The paper cover is long gone. The backing is bruised. There are stains on my favorite recipes. There are also handwritten notes. It's a dear old friend. We have developed a relationship. We have trust. There's a comfort in opening those pages. It's funny how we always return to our first love. I did that with wives too, but that is another story.

At this time, French haut cuisine was the major influence in upscale restaurants in the United States. California was just beginning. Alice and Wolfgang were just getting their feet wet. I picked up a book by this fellow named Auguste Escoffier. He's French. It was titled Le Guide Culinaire. This was not like talking with Irma. Auguste was formal. He taught a method of organizing the professional kitchen and organizing cooking. He taught me the "Mother Sauces". Here was the foundation for becoming a professional chef. I also picked up Larousse Gastronomique by Prosper Montagné. Prosper was supposedly the creative force behind both these books. They made a nice set. Larousse has a lot of drawings and pictures. You know what they say about a picture and a thousand words.

I watched cooking shows on television back then so Julia caught my eye. Her cookbooks did too. I bought them all, starting with The Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle . Of course that led me to Jacques Pépin. His La Technique changed the way I felt about cooking. There was art in cooking. There is a craft to cooking. This led me to La Methode and many more of his books. 

Jacques led me to Great Chefs of France by Anthony Blake and Quentin Crewe. It is one of my most worn books. I read it dozens of times. I read cookbooks like other people read John Grisham novels. I don't know if this is really a cookbook. There are recipes in there but it's more like a food voyeur's glimpse into the lives of 13 culinary visionaries. Blake is a talented food photographer. He took over 30,000 proofs for this book. Don't you love food porn? The premise is simple. It describes 13 Michelin 3 star chefs and their restaurants in the late 1970's. The level of detail is extraordinary. It made me want to be a better chef.

I collected Bocuse, Verge, Blanc, Roux, Troisgros and many more French chef's cookbooks. As I scan them on the shelves, I remember the recipes I took from each one. They too are like old friends.

I had opened my own restaurant by now, so technically these books were a tax deduction. I never viewed them that way and never treated them that way. Silly how love makes us stupid.

 I started collecting professional cookbooks too. The first was The Professional Chef by The Culinary Institute of America. It's packed with tips and techniques I needed. I bought books on butchering, sauce making, wine, fish, meats, herbs, spices, vegetables, fruits, edible flowers and anything else I could find that would make me a better cook.

 By the time I moved to Florida in 1983 and opened a restaurant on Captiva, I got turned on to the California revolution and American Regional cooking. As I scan the American section of my shelves, I see some old favorites, Puck, Waters, Tower, Beard, Claiborne, Bourdain, Waxman and a book by Bill Buford titled Heat: An Amateur's Adventures as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany. It's not really a cookbook but I liked the way it sounded. It's a good book and it's about a love of cooking.

I've got regional chef's cookbooks from cities where I have lived and worked. There's books by Ben and Karen Barker, Edna Lewis, Norman Van Aiken, Jasper White, Frank Stitt, Paul Prudhome, Lee Bailey, Cindy Pawlcyn and a few others. I bought some of the Beautiful Cookbook Series, France, Italy and Australia. You know the really huge ones with the fantastic photography. I bought some of the Foods of the World Series by Time-Life. I have a lot of New Orleans cookbooks. I like the way that city's food sizzles.

 I bought from the beginning, Art Culinaire which is technically a hardback magazine not a cookbook. I loved the artwork. The pictures told me a lot about the food. I think it's that way with most serious cooks. We see some things others don't.

Some folks say I'm crazy to have cookbooks. I can find everything I need online. That's not completely true. Cookbooks provide a feeling that key clicks can't. They provide an emotional bond. Here are recipes you can count on. Ones you have tried and they worked. Recipes you trust. That bond can't be broken.

Cookbooks provide a reference to a time or place, as well as recipes and techniques. Sometimes they contain recipes that have gone out of style but with the tweaking of a serious cook can be new again. That is their magic. They can make you love again. You can't put a price on that.

Through the years and restaurants, I have always bought cookbooks. I had to buy several bookcases to house them. I averaged around 10 books a year. You can do the math. I'm an old man. That might sound excessive to you but to me it was barely enough. I still buy them but now I am more demanding.

I've bought some modern big name books, A Day At El Bulli by Ferran Adrià, The French Laundry Cookbook by Thomas Keller and others. I like the artwork. After I look at them, I usually give them to friends who cook and would benefit from them. They don't fit me. The books by all the Food Network people fall in the same category, Rachel Ray, Guy Fieri, Tim Allen, etc. I'm not saying they aren't good cookbooks. They are if they educate people about good food. Too often there is too much celebrity not enough cook in these books.

They just don't fit my style of cooking. I think there reaches a point where a cook messes with the food too much. The word I usually use is much more forceful but I'm being polite. I think food should taste like what it is. There are ways to enhance that without deconstructing and over massaging it. Quality of ingredients is paramount. Maybe I have been influenced too much by France and California. I might be wrong but that's my opinion.

The books I've bought recently lean toward things I want to learn about. My Bread: The Revolutionary No-Work, No-Knead Method by Jim Lahey and Rustic Italian Food by Marc Vetri, are two. No matter how long I live or how much I study, I will never know everything about cooking. I will admit that I have met some people who have forgotten more about cooking than I ever knew.

Some people have told me I should write a cookbook. Most of the recipes I "borrowed", I tweaked and standardized for a restaurant kitchen. I have several hundred written down, in my head or in word files on my computer. I could put together a cookbook. Somehow I can't do it. I feel like I would be cheating. You're thinking, you're having an affair with cookbooks and you're worried about cheating? It's sad but I am. Love makes you stupid.

I think my wife knows about my affair. She suspects I have an obsession with these books. She's right. I do. It should be that way with anything you truly love. I have an obsession with her too.

When Your Favorite Restaurant Tells Lies

When you read a menu these days, there are a lot of descriptive words. There are the words: natural, organic, artisanal, and sustainably grown. You see the names of a lot of farms and ranches, especially if the restaurant is farm to table, another term. What do all these words and terms mean? Most of us think we know what they mean but do we really? Do these words and terms mean anything at all? Are they just a marketing gimmick? Is it really important, if the food taste good? Isn’t it all about the taste?

I started in the restaurant business back in the early 70’s. That was a long time ago. I didn’t have the money or the time to attend culinary school. I learned at the elbows of established chefs and I stole their secrets with my eyes. I read a lot of cookbooks and food magazines. This was before the internet. Today I think you can get a culinary degree via the internet. My path was different. I did everything I could to self-educate. It was a passion for me, not work.

In the mid 70’s, I started reading about a lady out in California who opened a restaurant in Berkley in 1971. This was about the time I started my culinary career. It was called Chez Panisse. The lady’s name was Alice Waters. There was an awful lot written about her. I figured she had a very good PR person. I didn’t realize until much later she had started a Food Revolution. Her focus was on ingredients over technique. This was a novel concept in America. I was worshiping at the altar of French technique at the time. She was the original farm to table restaurant in the United States. She encouraged Laura Chenel to make natural goat cheese, Bob Cannard to grow organic and sustainable vegetables and fruits and Steven and Suzie Sullivan to bake artisanal bread at The Acme Bread Company. 

Even more, she bought their products. She helped support them in the beginning, when they needed it. She bought the best ingredients she could find, no matter what the cost. Her restaurant struggled financially at first. She also created and nurtured a whole generation of like-minded chefs: Mark Miller, Jeremiah Tower, Paul Bertolli, Judy Rogers, Jonathan Waxman, Deborah Madison and I could go on for at least 30 minutes but you get the idea.

If you read her menu today, no where will you see the term, farm to table. You will see credit given to the producers of individual ingredients that she uses. I am sure that the item she describes on the menu is what’s on my plate. I know this because I have grown to trust her. Since the early 80’s every trip I have taken to Northern California has included at least one visit to Chez Panisse. Some trips it has included several. It is my favorite restaurant in the entire world.

When you visit a restaurant for the first time, you have a transaction. They feed you and you give them money. When you visit a restaurant continually over a period of time, you develop a relationship. They have had the time to learn your likes and dislikes. They know that you like a twist of lemon in your martini, not olives. You like Caymus Cabernet but are willing to try something different. You like your steak very rare. You like yellow-tail snapper but will try fresh king salmon. You have a relationship. You have built a relationship on trust. You trust that they are giving you exactly what you like, what it says on the menu. They trust that if they take care of you, you will support them through good times and bad. Sounds just like a marriage, doesn’t it.

There is another term you see a lot today. It’s “greenwashing”. It sounds innocent enough, like cleaning salad of any residual dirt. There is something dirty going on here but not on the lettuce. This “greenwashing” is an old practice that is utilized in other businesses too. It’s when a company uses association with an environmentally friendly brand to “wash” another not so environmentally friendly brand.

California has hundreds of small family owned farms that raise some of the best produce in the world. It’s organic, chemical free and usually heirloom varieties. Apples that taste like apples. Tomatoes that taste like tomatoes. You won’t find this produce down the street at your local supermarket. A lot of times you won’t find it down the street at your local farmers market. A lot of the time in Florida, the farmer’s market has a lot of folks who have gone up to the Tampa Wholesale Produce market and purchased goods that do not even come from Florida. I know that is hard to believe, but it’s true.

Tom Chino is one of the farmers in California. Alice Waters started raving about his produce back in the 70’s. He is still around today, working his family farm. He is a victim of a type of greenwashing. “Chefs will come, write notes, leave without buying anything, and then say they’re serving our food at their restaurants.” – Tom Chino. Chefs come to his farm, find out his current crops and then say they are using his produce when they haven’t even bought the first case. What’s happened to their moral compass? Did they ever have one?

Numerous other farmers relate similar tales. Tim Connelly had tried selling his produce to a restaurant. They didn’t buy any and then he found out 8 years later that for the 8 years they had been claiming to serve his lettuce. Other farmers have had restaurants claim to use items from their farms that they don’t even grow. Sometimes a restaurant will buy one case of an item of the 10 they use in a week and claim all of it is from a particular farm noted for that product. Is this wrong? Yes, it is. It cheats the customer, the farmer and other restaurants where 100% of the items they list come from that farm or ranch.  

Suppose you find a restaurant you really like and you’ve visited it several times. What if on one visit, you find out they have lied to you. What if the Great Hill Blue Cheese on you prime New York strip steak is Publix brand blue cheese and that the steak is choice grade not prime. Would it be like that antique plate your grandmother had? You remember, the plate that you accidentally broke, the one that you tried to glue back together, and the one that was never going to be the same again. Would your grandmother hold that against you or would she always look at it with two cherished memories. Hemingway said, “The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken places”. Is it that way with trust? I don’t know. There is always going to be that little thing in the back of your mind, a little warning bell. Can you ever really forget it? Will the trust ever come back?

What if it wasn’t their fault? What if they were duped too? I remember a few years back, the big grouper scandal. State investigators took samples of grouper from 20 local restaurants. They sent them to a lab to test the DNA. It turned out that 17 of the samples were something other than grouper. It also turned out that 14 of the 17 came from the same seafood supplier, Sysco. 

Minor fines and slaps on the wrist were handed out to the supplier and the guilty restaurants. 14 out of the 17 restaurants were told by Sysco that the fish they were serving was grouper, so were they responsible? I have too many faults to be judgmental. Should they have known better? Probably, real gulf grouper is never cheap even when frozen. It could have been an honest mistake and they were too busy running a business to check. Were they wrong? Did their moral compass get hijacked on the way to profit? It did if they are still doing it.

On my menus, if I used a precise descriptor on a product, I did so for two reasons. One to give credit to the producer in hopes of increasing his business, they were mostly small business people too. Second and more self serving, I was presenting a case for why my menu was more expensive than my competitors, hoping to increase my business. Some consumers get this and others do not. In my zeal, I was caught up in the great Kobe Beef scandal.

From 2001-2012, Kobe Beef was all the rage in upscale restaurants and surprisingly mid-priced eateries. It was everywhere, especially in its slider and burger form. This is quite surprising since until recently it was illegal to import it into the United States. Even now there are only 9 restaurants in the entire country where you can get true Kobe Beef, none of which are in Florida. If you Google Kobe Beef Scandal, you will get all the information you could possible need on this subject. Larry Olmsted of Forbes Magazine was one of the first to expose this deception and has covered it in depth. I would recommend his articles as they give a broad history and analysis of the problem.

If you look at my 2009 menu, you will see a menu item labeled 8 Oz. Kobe Style Wagyu Beef Burger. What in the world is that? According to Mr. Olmsted, “Wagyu” translates to “Japanese Cattle” not a specific breed but simply cows that come from Japan. I had briefly researched Kobe when it first started getting exposure and found that a number of U.S. ranchers had imported “Kobe” cattle and were raising them out West. They were also cross-breeding them with Angus and other breeds to produce “American Wagyu”. I also found out, by checking the price per pound that I would have to charge upwards of $125 per steak if I put the expensive cuts on my menu, like filet or strip. I was running a neighborhood place and that was more than my traffic would bear. Wagyu ground beef was offered as an alternative at a reasonable price. Most of my research was influenced by the brochures supplied by my meat purveyor. Snake River Ranch was listed as a quality producer and this was the name on the boxes that came in my back door. I felt I had done due diligence. I had not.

When the beef hit the fan in 2010, I was caught with my hand in the cookie jar. There was no way the beef I was using was even close to Kobe or even a Wagyu hybrid, not if I was able to sell it for $16. I read Mr. Olmsted’s articles and figured I had been scammed. I took the product off my menu and went to a “USDA Choice” Angus ground beef for my burger. Did I acknowledge my failing? No. Did I ever mention it? No. Where was my moral compass? Not where it should have been because I should have known better. Shame on me.

In my travels, I once went to a seafood restaurant outside of Chicago called Bob Chinn's Crab House. It was a large seafood restaurant. As you walk in, on the wall, they had a bulletin board. On this board, they posted copies of all the bills of lading for the seafood they had received that day. They had salmon and king crab from Alaska, scallops, lobster and cod from New Bedford, stone crab and grouper from Florida and other seafood from all over the world. They were proud of their seafood and wanted you to know it was fresh.

It would be nice if restaurants did something like this. Instead of bills of lading, they would put up copies of invoices of all the food items they have purchased that week. The invoice would list the supplier, the item, the quantity and the price. That way we would have a clear picture of exactly what we were eating. Of course the requisite word is all, as in all their food invoices, not just the ones they want you to see.

Next to this board maybe they would also have a copy of their current profit and loss statement. That way you could see the cost they pay to serve you quality ingredients. Unless they are charging you $100 or $200 a head for dinner, you will see after all their expenses and overhead, they work on a small profit to serve you food fit to eat. You know what I’m talking about, food that won’t eventually kill you.

In addition to this, it would be nice to see the giant food companies, like McDonalds, Adecoagro and Agria Corporation, grow a conscience and start promoting food produced without chemicals and offer heirloom varieties of vegetables and fruits that taste good and are good for you. Will any of this ever happen? No. Why? Economies of scale and greed. But…”Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

What we need to do is start building relationships. Find a small restaurant and get to know them. Start asking questions. Let them get to know you. Start building trust. Let them serve you food that taste like it should and food that is actually good for you. Support that restaurant in good times and bad. You know, build a marriage. Trust is good. It’s not perfect but it’s all we’ve got.

Does A 1969 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti La Tache Go With A Corned Beef Sandwich? How About A 1966 Chateau Haut Brion?

Corned beef on rye with spicy mustard is a classic example of simple goodness. A 1969 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti La Tache is a classic example of complex goodness. Do they belong together? Does it really matter? If you happen to be eating a corned beef sandwich and you are offered the opportunity to taste a 1969 La Tache, are you going to turn it down because the spicy mustard might overwhelm the elegant nuances of the wine? If you say yes, that's fine. This is America. You are entitled to your opinion. I, on the other hand, am entitled to mine as well and I didn't turn it down. I didn't turn down the 1966 Chateau Haut Brion or any of the other bottles that day.

In the late 70's and early 80's I knew a man by the name of Eddie Ausch. Eddie and his wife Erica owned a local business named Reisner's Delicatessen. They had two stores, the original location opened by Erica's family in 1943 at Janaf Shopping Center in Norfolk and another location at Hilltop in Virginia Beach. They had the best wine selection in the Tidewater area. Eddie loves wine. Eddie knows a lot about wine. Eddie loves to talk about wine. Eddie has the same affliction as I. He has never had a problem pulling a cork.

In fact, it was Eddie who infected me with this malady. Back then I had just opened my first restaurant with my first wife, Sherrill. I was like a sponge when it came to food and wine. I was absorbing everything I could. There was no Internet back then so I spent time at the Hilltop location walking the aisles looking at the different wines from all over the world. Eddie worked those aisles too, but his focus was sales not free education. He is a fountainhead of knowledge and it's not in his nature not to share, even with a non-buyer like me. He could see that I had an interest in wine and so we struck up a friendship. I have always thought that a cook should have an understanding of wine. Food and wine are both parts of the equation of the table. They are linked together and therefore a cook needs to know about wine. The fact that I like to drink wine made this education easy to swallow, pun intended.

Eddie was one of those guys that Malcom Forbes was talking about when he said: “You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats those who can do nothing for him." Here I was, this young arrogant food punk who thought he knew a thing or two about wine. After talking with Eddie for about two minutes I realized I knew nothing at all about wine. My new friend didn't accept my current position and went about teaching me the ins and outs of wine. There is only one way to do that. You have to taste wine, all different kinds from all over the world. He believed that included tasting the good stuff, the really good stuff. He was like that really good tennis player you want to play against because it will improve your game. You have to realize that it does absolutely nothing for his game. So, why should he do it? He does it for the love of the game.

We started eating in each others restaurants and those excursions always included a bottle of wine or two. (or three or four or five or six) Educating one's palate and mind takes time and bottles, lots of bottles. I know that sounds crazy but it's true.

On a Monday in 1979, I wandered over to the Janaf location knowing that was "wine buying day" and Eddie would be there and not at Hilltop. When I say "wine buying day" I mean that is the day the wine reps from all the different distributors would meet with Eddie and get their orders for the week. It was my day off and a good day to taste wine, as Eddie would always pull a cork. Whenever he came to my restaurant I would do the same. I had been infected. These reps occasionally had sample bottles of new vintages or new wines they had picked up, so sometimes there were other new things to taste too.

When I came in I saw that Eddie was busy so I sat at a table and ordered a corned beef sandwich on rye with unsweetened ice tea. The spicy mustard was on the table. As my sandwich was served Eddie walked by and said, "Would you like the perfect wine to go with that corned beef?" "Sure" was my reply and I assumed he was thinking Zinfandel or Syrah.

When he set the bottle of La Tache down on the table, he saw the "you must be shitting me" look on my face because he said, "Are you game for this?" I looked up at him and said, "I'm game if you are." He laughed and pulled the cork. I'm sitting there wondering if I have enough cash on me to pay for that bottle. In all my trips to his stores I hadn't seen any Grand Cru Burgundies sitting on his shelves. I just accepted my fate and knew I had plastic in my money clip.

I'm not going to tell you that after 38 years I remember exactly how this wine tasted down to the nuances of fruit flavors and aromas. I do remember there was a depth of flavor I had never tasted before and a deep earthy quality in the overall impression of the wine. A lot of people will say that to drink this wine from the Burgundy "vintage of the century" with only 10 years of age was a crime. That wine is still drinking good today. Eddie infected me with another of his axioms. "It is a greater crime to drink wine too old than to drink it too young." Neither Eddie nor I had any problem drinking this wine. Neither did the 4 or 5 sales reps that came by. When asked if they would like to taste the La Tache, they all said yes with happy grins on their faces.

I had about a third of my sandwich left when we ran out of wine. Eddie jumped up from the table and returned in a minute with a bottle of 1966 Chateau Haut Brion. "This will go great with the rest of your sandwich." was all he said. He had that cork out of the bottle before I could say a word. I sighed with acceptance and tasted one of life's great pleasures.

Again I don't remember all the nuances of the wine. I do remember an intense depth of flavor and a nice sense of balance in the wine between the fruit, acid and tannins. There was also a deep sense of place in this wine. I noticed this in the La Tache but more in the Haut Brion. It's what the French call "terroir". It was as if these wines had absorbed all the special characteristics of the geography, geology and climate of the place from which they came. For me this was more pronounced in the Haut Brion. So much so that to this day it is my favorite wine. I have never been to this vineyard but I like to think if I were dropped into it, I could tell you where we were.

Needless to say this was not the last bottle brought out that day and there were a few gems from the sales reps. I remember a Grand Puy Lacoste, a Brane Cantenac, a trip back to Burgundy with a Nuit St. Georges, a trip out to his car for a sales rep for a bottle of Chateau Beaucastel Chateauneuf-du-Pape and another rep's bottle of Ridge Vineyard Lytton Springs Zinfandel. There might have been one or two more but I can't remember.

I do remember when I got up to leave after five hours, Eddie wouldn't let me pay for a thing, not even my sandwich. I managed to slip a $50 bill under my plate for the waitress and walked gracefully (gratefully?) out the door. To this day I call this my "$2000 lunch".

Eddie and Erica's 25th wedding anniversary was the next year, 1980. My wife and I were sent an invitation. Eddie had secured one of those supper boats and everyone had a tour of Norfolk Harbour with food, entertainment and of course wine. I managed to secure a bottle of 1961 Chateau Haut Brion. Eddie and I both have a love affair with this wine. As I gave it to him, I could sense he was going to open it. I convinced him that it should be something he and Erica have later. The look in his eyes told me I had passed my final exam.

Over the years I left Virginia Beach and lost track of Eddie. Over the years I heard that Eddie and Erica's families were 'Holocaust refugees". She and her family got out of Austria in 1938 when they were sponsored by a cousin in Norfolk. She was 3. Eddie's family got out of Vienna in 1939 for New York when he was 8. When I knew them in Virginia Beach, they never spoke of this past. They were too busy living the present.

Whenever I see a bottle of Haut Brion or a corned beef sandwich, I think of Eddie. I see a lot more corned beef sandwiches than bottles of Haut Brion. For my last meal, I would choose a bottle of Haut Brion even in a bad vintage over any other wine. (Not that Haut Brion has ever had a bad vintage.) I don't say that because I love the wine and I do. I say that because it's my link to Eddie, the one who taught me that wine is for sharing. It brings family, friends and acquaintances together for a brief moment of peace. He taught me a lot about wine and living. And he did it all for the love of the game.

Thank you Eddie.

If You Are Familiar With The Texas Term "Knock Off Its Horns, Wipe Its Ass And Chunk It On The Plate", You Will Love Steak In Paris

Take a look at the picture above. If you can't imagine your steak any other way, you will be in heaven in Paris. Here most restaurants assume you would want your steak 'Saignant' which is the correct way, rare. Most of the time since this is the correct way they don't even ask. You can get it cooked more but you will get that 'save me from the uneducated rabble' look from your waiter. Don't be offended. There are some French that don't like their steak rare either. 

Bleu

I can't lie to you. Sally and I as well as most of our family take our steak in the Texas fashion. The French call this 'Bleu". It's a little less cooked than 'Saignant'. Yes, I know that is disgusting to some of you so I'm not going to tell you that we like 'Beef Tartare' and 'Beef Carpaccio' which have even less cooking. Yes, they are raw. Hey, nobody gets upset about eating raw vegetables.

                        

                                      Carpaccio                           Tartare

I fell into my addiction for Paris late in life after wasting my "ill-spent youth" and middle age in America and the beach areas of the Caribbean enamored with sun, beaches, skiing, mountains, food, wine, drugs, sex and rock and roll. I wish I had been smart enough to get to Europe earlier in my life but that was not to be. Instead I traveled to American outposts of food and wine like San Francisco, Chicago, New York, New Orleans and many others in search of new and old ideas on food, wine and the aforementioned drugs, sex and rock and roll.

After having read Hemingway's "Moveable Feast"  and "The Sun Also Rises" in college, I fell in love with the Paris I created in my mind. The problem was I had attached that Paris to a young lady I had fallen in love with at the same time. When we broke up I shoved her and Paris out of my mind and didn't seriously think about Paris until I went back to get her twenty years later. When we finally went there together, I realized the Paris I had created in my mind paled in comparison to the real thing.

 "...do you have any more urges?”

“Yes, I want to go to Paris.”

“Damn, you’ve been reading Hemingway again. Haven’t you?”

“A Moveable Feast.”

“Aren’t you afraid you will fall in love with Paris?”

“No. My greatest fear is Paris will fall in love with me and won’t ever let me leave.”

“Then you should go.”... Warm Against The Cold

During our preparations for that first trip we happened upon Anthony Bourdain's very first episode of "No Reservations" which of course was Paris. In that first show he went to Chez Robert et Louise, so we decided to check it out. We wanted to see if Tony knew what he was talking about. Click here for the clip on Chez Robert et Louise. We have since become avid fans of his show including the 100th episode which was a trip back to Paris. It was at Chez Robert et Louise that we first encountered the French doctrine of serving all steak underdone.   

 

Chez Robert et Louise

When we placed our order for the Cote de Boeuf pour 2, we were not asked how we wanted it cooked. When it came out "Saignant" we were in heaven. Cote de Boeuf is a standing rib roast that's cut between the rib bones through the meat to produce a bone-in 2 to 3 inch steak. Yes, that makes it about 2 to 3 pounds too. Here, they swab the thing with melted butter and throw it on a huge slab of cast iron over a wood fire in an open hearth. The potatoes cooked in goose fat were a big plus as well. This dish was magnificent and is among many things we love about Chez Robert et Louise.



Cote de Boeuf pour 2 at Chez Robert et Louise

I know for some of you this is a "heart attack on a plate" (or board as it was) and eating meat this rare is just savage. Not everyone feels that way. Certainly not the majority of the French (the most civilized people in the world according to many) and certainly not Sally or me. You can count in your group the German couple sitting next to us that evening. They too ordered the Cote de Boeuf pour 2. When it was served I thought the fraulein was going to have a heart attack of her own after looking at the rare sliced steak on that wooden platter. Without even taking a bite she demanded the steak be taken back and cooked "bien cuit" (well done) in that less than courteous manner some Germans have. If everything is so perfect back home in Germany, why do these people bother to travel. Oh, that's right it's not! This reminds me of some New Yorkers who come to Florida and complain about how everything is so much better at home. They forget to mention that, if they were there, they would be freezing their asses off as they dig their sidewalks out of 3 feet of snow. Okay, okay I'm going to stop as I'm getting to that unhappy place. The Germans got their steak cooked a little bit more but not to the "bien cuit" they were demanding in their less than perfect French. I finally found some one who speaks worse French than I do. My meal and evening were perfect.

The Iron Gate House

Having been in the restaurant business for a number of years this was not my first encounter with some one objecting to rare meat. One particular incident sticks in my mind. My first wife and I had just opened our first restaurant, The Iron Gate House in Virginia Beach. I was the cook and she took care of the front of the house. We had a prix fixe menu with a choice of 3 or 4 appetizers, soup, salad, a choice of 4 or 5 entrees and choice of 3 to 4 desserts for a fixed price. We were very small (50 seats) and had two seatings, one at 6:00 to 6:30 and a later seating at 8:00 to 8:30. We allowed 2 hours between the seatings because it was a 5-course menu. I know, I know by European standards that's a rush job but we were in the United States and people eat quicker. (Especially if they start at 6:00)



This was a Saturday night and we had success at getting most of the early seating entrees served by 7:30. We had a party that presented a problem early on. One member of the party had requested his Steak Diane (Yes, this was back in the day. It'll be back! Everything old is new again.) well done. Back then I was young, arrogant and a bit stubborn. (Sally insists I'm the same today except for the young part. I don't know what she is talking about but back then I definitely was.) I refused to cook our beef past medium rare as I thought to do so detracted from the true flavor and quality of the meat. I know, I know, I'm in the hospitality business so I should be hospitable and serve the steak the way the customer wants. I was young and arrogant. I thought I was bulletproof. Life had not yet taught me that I'm not.

Dining Room The Iron Gate House

I reminded the server, Kirk, that we didn't serve beef well done and tell the gentleman if he wanted something well done we had Veal Piccata or Roast Duckling. Kirk came back and said the man wanted beef and he would take it medium rare. We served the appetizer, soup and salad courses and then started on the entrees. That party's entrees were the last out the door for that seating. A minute later Kirk was back with the Steak Diane and said the man wanted it cooked more. It had been sliced to expose a perfect medium rare but not a single bite had been taken. I reminded Kirk that the man said he would take it medium rare and I showed him it was a perfect medium rare. "Yes but the guy wants it cooked so there is no blood." I looked at the clock on the wall and saw I had some time to play. (Arrogant? I think so) I told Kirk to send the gentleman back and he could cook his steak more but that I wouldn't.

I set a skillet on a burner and added some drawn butter to heat up. Kirk in his descriptions of this party failed to mention the size of this gentleman. He had to dip his head and turn sideways to get in the kitchen door and this was a standard 36" wide door. This gentleman was a refrigerator with a head! He was huge! Nonetheless I shook his hand and introduced myself. I explained to him that I searched out the best beef possible and paid top dollar. My only criteria was that it be the best and I couldn't in clear conscience serve this tenderloin past medium rare. However I had no problem if he wanted to do it. I pointed to his plate sitting on my worktable, the hot skillet on the stove and handed him a pair of tongs.

He took the tongs, addressed the stove and placed his meat in the pan. He then proceeded to pace in front of the stove which was a little difficult because of his size. As he paced back and forth, slouched over, he said he understood my desire for seeking perfection and that was one of the reasons he had brought his party to my restaurant. "I deal with red meat all day long and I just can't bear to see it when I'm eating." He said with a bit of apology in his voice. Thinking he must be a butcher or involved in the meatpacking industry I inquired as to what he did for a living.

"I'm an undertaker", was his reply.

Well, I nearly bit my tongue in two, to keep from laughting. I nodded my head and told him to let me know when his steak was to his desired doneness and I would finish the sauce. He looked at the skillet and said: "It's done!" Then he made his way out of the kitchen and back to his table. His entree was about 45 seconds behind him.

My sous chef Todd and I stepped out the back door and laughed ourselves silly as we recounted what had just happened. I am sure that our "undertaker" went back and told his party he had admonished the cook and got his steak done the way he wanted. I admit he should have gotten it that way in the first place but you forget the arrogance of youth. I will also say that his steak didn't spend enough time in that skillet to get any more than re-heated. It certainly wasn't well done. I did top it with copious amounts of sauce to hide any blood.

Steak Frites and Red Wine

In preparation for our second trip to Paris, I came across an article written by Mark Bittman for the New York Times on steak frites restaurants in Paris. His favorite at this juncture was a place called Le Severo in the 14th Arrondissement. I love steak and fries so I put this restaurant on my list.

After our trip to Rome Sally and I started renting apartments instead of staying in hotels. We felt you get more of an understanding of the culture if you stay in a neighborhood rather than a room at the Ritz. An apartment also gives the advantage of a kitchen so that you can take advantage of all the street markets and market streets. Paris is loaded with these. You can't imagine the torture a cook goes through seeing some of the best produce in the world and not being able to do something with it. As it is with all great food items, simple is best. Let the fruit, vegetable, fish or whatever speak for iteslf. We typically go out to the morning market pick up some of the really good stuff and fix that for dinner. So we hit a lot of the restaurants in Paris at lunch instead of dinner. Sometimes this makes it cheaper but not all the time, especially not at Le Severo.
 

Jambon de Bayonne

We were into our 10th day of our trip and hadn't yet gone to Le Severo. We had been that morning to the Raspail Market and had sliced Jambon de Bayonne, fresh fruit and a wedge of Brie de Meaux. We stopped on the way back to get chocolate macarons from Pierre Herme, a baguette from the boulangerie at # 78 Rue Saint Louis en I'lle and a nice Cote du Rhone from a shop a few doors down from the bakery. I suggested that since we were going to have such a light dinner we should hit Le Severo for a light lunch of their world famous Cote de Boeuf pour 2 with some frites.

Noticing that it was approaching 12:30, Sally suggested we call and see how late they were open for lunch. I seemed to remember in my research that it was 2:00 but I wasn't sure. (I have since corrected that problem and always get the open and close dates and times for restaurants on my lists.) I called and got a rather busy Monsieur William Bernet, the owner. He didn't speak English. My French is just about as bad as my Italian but I make the effort in hopes that I can cross the cultural barriers and show that I am at least trying. After 2 quick phone calls (quick on Monsieur Bernet's part not mine.) and some language difficulties, (on my part) I ascertained that they were open for lunch that day but I still wasn't sure of their cut off time.

We dashed to the Ile de la Cite Metro station. (Okay, leisurely walked.)  We hopped on the # 4 Metro headed south to the Porte d'Orleans. We rode it deep into the 14th Arrondissement and hopped off at the Alesia station, the next to last stop. We raced (Okay, more than leisurely walked.) up the Rue d'Alesia to the Rue des Plantes and to the door of # 8.

# 8 Rue des Plantes

I entered and immediately confronted Monsieur Bernet. It is a very small place, only 30 seats and he was the only server in the tiny dining room. In my perfect French I greeted him with "Bonjour Monsieur" and requested "C'est possible dejeuner pour deux? S'il vous plait." He eyed me up and down and I could tell from the look in his eye that he recognised my accent. He reached into the pocket of his white  jacket and pulled out his iPhone. He looked at it for a moment and then nodded his head and said in perfect English: "Yes, you are before 2:00. Just as I told you. Right this way."

Le Severo Beef

Yes, he speaks some English. The French get a bad reputation for being rude pretending they don't speak English when they do. I think that they fear they do not speak correct English so they don't try. When they hear someone like me slaughtering their beautiful French language they don't feel so bad about their English and in an attempt to equal my politeness they try. I had gotten through to Monsieur Bernet. He sat us in the middle of the dining room at one of the two empty tables. I didn't see any other tourist. His customer base was French businessmen.

He knew we were serious when we ordered the Cote de Boeuf pour 2. (80 Euros at that time.) No, he didn't ask how we would like our $110 steak cooked. When he served it perfectly "Saignant" and saw the gleam in our eyes as he set it on the table, he knew he had found kindred spirits. We didn't order any additional courses because we thought 2 to 3 pounds of beef would be enough. He served us excellent bread and that fantastic French butter. I had to stop myself from eating it so I would have room for the steak. When he served a huge mound of frites alongside of the steak, I told Sally that I wouldn't be having any because I was going to concentrate on the beef. That lasted about ten seconds. These frites were thick and had been cooked in duck fat. They are the best frites I have ever tasted. We finished the whole mound of frites and all the steak. (Yes, I did eat the last piece of beef off Sally's plate when she called, "Nuff".)

We washed this down with a bottle of water and two glasses of a very nice Cote du Rhone. (Yes, I was into Cote du Rhone on this trip.) The wine list here is quite extensive and takes up the majority of the chalkboards on the main wall. Monsieur Bernet is happy to guide you through it or to make a recommendation.

Monsieur Bernet And His Wall

I'm a cook and I like to collect menus. Monsieur Bernet's menu was on the chalkboard on the wall but he also had some handwritten menus for customers who couldn't read the wall. I knew we had come to an understanding when I asked if I could purchase one. He said "No." Then he crossed the room, picked a menu up off the bar, returned and handed it to me. We smiled. I thanked him. He said it was nothing.

That night after several long walks and a short nap (Yes, it was mine), we decided we didn't need any dinner...except for the chocolate macarons from Pierre Herme.

The next morning as we were crossing the bridge from Ile Saint Louis to the left bank we noticed a commotion on the quai. An area had been roped off and there were several gendarmes, a couple divers and a police boat. The tarp covered body lying on the quai told us that another Javert had taken his life by jumping off a bridge into the murky waters of the Seine. Even in the "City of Light" there is sometimes darkness.

I admit I'm a little sick. As we are standing there looking at this sad scene, the only thought going through my mind was: "I wonder if French undertakers have a problem with red meat?"

No, that's not possible!