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Paris Bistro II
Jennifer Garant
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Rooster and Sunflowers
(Coq et Tournesols)
Giclee Print
Ochoa, Isy
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Chiu Tak-Hak
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Coq Blanc
Pascal Cessou
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La Belle Cuisine
Bless Butter, Cream and
Simple French Fare
The New York
Times, October 16, 2002
By Nigella Lawson
"Does anyone really eat French food anymore?
You may think I'm joking. I'm not. Even in France, they seem to be losing
their appetite for the stuff. During my last visit to Paris, every
soi-disant hip bistro
was churning out carpaccio and fettuccine au beurre —
and this last as a side
dish, of all things.
Of course, in the French countryside they are not so unpatriotic, but the
old,
fondly held belief that you cannot eat badly anywhere in France,
however so
humble the little hole-in-the-wall establishment may be, is no
longer truly
tenable. The great edifice of la cuisine Française is
crumbling.
But you have to love the French: their confidence may have taken a knock,
but
their glorious trademark self-esteem is undented. From their
perspective,
you see, this decline is all our fault.
And they have a point. Part of the demise of French cooking is due to the
pre-
judices of the modern Western world. All that fat, those eggs, so much
heavy
cream and cheese: this is not what we want cluttering up our plates
and clog-
ging up our arteries these days.
Now, I make no pretense that these are my concerns. I'm actually on the side
of
the French here, and this week's recipes, for coq au vin and a
traditional apple
tart, reflect that.
Moreover, I have never quite understood why there is among us such
disproportionate fear of fat and dairy. For one thing, the jury is still out
on
whether these foodstuffs are indeed harmful to us. (I rather suspect that
if
we
were such fragile creatures, so minutely susceptible to the fuel we
choose
to run
on, we would have fallen out of the evolutionary loop a long,
long
time ago.)
And for another, the crucial element must be portion size. Ever notice how
chic Parisiennes eat pastry for dessert and still fit into their size 6
tailleurs?
They eat a slice of cake at dinner and that's it. They do not, as many of
the rest
of
us do, skip dessert and then, back at home, mooching about the
house at
midnight, devour half a cake.
Meanwhile, a recipe stipulates a quarter of a cup of heavy cream and every
non-Français has a fainting fit. But this recipe may make enough to feed
eight - and really, how much harm could a couple of teaspoonfuls of cream
do?
French food observes none of the current dietary proprieties, and when
it
has,
as with the now outmoded nouvelle cuisine, the food begins to lose its
point and dwindles into mere plate decoration.
That, too, may be our fault, but no matter. It happens. And that's the
trouble.
French food falls foul on any number of complaints: it's either too fatty,
too
fussy
or just plain takes too long. Cuisine grand-mère may be wonderful,
but
even grandmothers do not want to stay in the kitchen anymore, larding
and
basting
and stuffing and rolling all day long.
Food is no less impervious to fashion than any other part of our cultural
life,
and
so it follows that we view cooking differently depending on the
age in
which we live.
These days we adhere to the Italian model, which is to say we believe in
taking
the best ingredients we can find and doing as little as possible to
them. This is in absolute contradistinction to the old French way, which
enshrined the belief that cooking was a transformational act: any foodstuff,
no matter how humble, could, through loving attention, long hours of
simmering and a great deal of skill (and butter), be turned into something
heart-stoppingly delicious. French cooking
pays homage to the cook, not the
food.
But that, you could argue, was then.
And if now it is alarmingly easy to eat badly in France, there are other
reasons,
too. The heart of good French cooking does not lie in haute
cuisine. The great restaurants, wherever they are, can stay great, all fancy
ingredients and cloches
à go-go. But what matters is what happens in the
back streets, all those little
family-run places which are beginning to
exist only in the nostalgic memories
of wistful Francophiles. The young no
longer want to go into the family busi-
ness, earning a pittance while working
long hours in a job that offers neither
glamour nor independence.
Furthermore, French food can continue only as long the French feel that it
is
their noble birthright. When the national minister of culture - as indeed
hap-
pened some years back — exhorts food producers and housewives to go into
schools to demonstrate to pupils the greatness of French cooking, you know
that something
is amiss.
Of course, I am English, and therefore tainted by the longstanding antipathy
between our two nations.
Still, I take no real pleasure in France's culinary crisis. Real French food
is everything home cooking should be: comforting, transporting, with a reach
that
far extends the pettifogging, constraining vagaries of fad and fashion.
True, there is no novelty in a coq au vin, but that is also what I love
about it.
As
you sear some cubed salt pork or pancetta in a pan, soften some
shallots
and
simmer chicken in a deep, velvety red wine, your kitchen smells
of the
promise
of good
food, and it doesn't disappoint.
The dish is not pretty — the red wine does have a way of tingeing everything
a bruised and purplish hue — but this is food for the stomach and the heart,
not
the photo-op.
And for all who fear that French cooking requires long hours in the kitchen,
you should know that perhaps the greatest contribution to the dessert menu
ever made,
a crisp, flaky, buttery apple tart, is perhaps one of the
easiest.
Unroll a sheet of store-bought puff pastry, slice a few apples and arrange
them
on top, stick it in the oven and see why French cooking was for so long
held to
be the greatest on earth.”
Coq au Vin
10 ounces shallots, or 2 medium yellow
onions,
sliced or chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil, more if needed
6 ounces salt pork or pancetta
in 1-inch cubes
2 tablespoons butter
1 clove garlic, peeled and minced
4 cups whole button mushrooms, or
large mushrooms, halved
3 1/2 pounds free-range organic
chicken, cut into 10 pieces
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 cup brandy
1 bottle Burgundy or other
rich red wine
1 bouquet garni:
one 3-inch piece leek,
one 3-inch piece celery,
3 sprigs
parsley,
2 sprigs thyme
and a bay leaf, tied
in cheesecloth)
Salt and pepper
1. Bring a pot of water to a boil; pour water over
shallots, then peel, and set them aside. Place a large casserole over medium
heat and add olive oil and salt pork. Sauté until pork begins to crisp, 3 to
4 minutes, then add shallots. Continue to sauté until shallots are lightly
browned, about 10 more minutes. Transfer mixture to a large bowl with a
slotted spoon; set aside the
unwashed casserole.
2. Place a medium skillet over low heat, and melt butter. Add garlic and
mushrooms, and sauté until mushrooms have softened. Add mushroom mixture
with slotted spoon to salt pork and shallots.
3. Place chicken pieces in a large freezer bag or a large bowl. Add flour,
and toss until chicken is coated. Return casserole to medium-high heat, When
pan is hot, brown chicken in batches, adding olive oil if pan looks dry. Do
not crowd pan, and turn pieces as needed until well browned on all sides.
Transfer chicken to a plate, and set aside.
4. Shake any excess flour from freezer bag into casserole,
and scrape bottom with a wooden spoon. Pour in brandy, then stand back and
carefully ignite with a long match. Slowly stir in the whole bottle of
Burgundy. Bring liquid
to a boil. Return chicken to casserole, and add salt pork, shallots and
mushrooms. Add bouquet garni, and stir to mix well. When liquid returns
to
a boil, cover, and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 1 hour, and season
with
salt and pepper to taste. Flavor improves if cooled and refrigerated
overnight; reheat thoroughly before serving. Yield: 4 to 6 servings.
Copyright The New York Times Company
Featured Archive Recipes:
(Okay. So you don't really need
2 Coq au Vin recipes. But I am
leaving this one in the archives
for sentimental reasons):
Gigi's Coq au Vin a la Beaujolaise
Braised Chicken with Artichoke Hearts,
Mushrooms and Peppers
Chicken Breasts Shoemaker Style
Chicken and Dumplings, Old-Fashioned
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