"It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there... If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany's then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name."
- Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's
As Tiffany is to Holly Golightly, Willams-Sonoma is to me. When the mean reds rear their ugly little heads, off I go to the venerable house of cookware. Nothing is more soothing than seeing order in its merchandise and civility in its salespeople.
So wasn't I thrilled to be invited to attend a cooking class at the E. 59th St. location. And it was to feature a new cookbook -- Paris to Provence. How could I say no. Bien sûr, save me a seat, s'il vous plaît. Simply j'adore the idea. Just j'adore it.
Lesson plan was laid out on a chalkboard. Curious page numbers were written next to the items to be covered. They were recipe pages from the recently published cookbook (our textbook for the class). I marveled at the touch of academia in a retail setting.
The smell of puff pastry shells straight from the oven floated like sirens to weary sailors. They would be led to an island. Yes, it was just a kitchen island, but a banquet table was placed before it - a lovely summerscape of sunflowers, lemons, and linen.
Seated to my left was a pretty, soft-spoken research veterinarian. I asked her what brought her to such an event. She smiled and said a friend of hers suggested it. The friend thought she was a terrible cook. Is it just her or do you hear it from other friends? She confessed, "It's pretty unanimous." Her ability to accept criticism so well amazed me.
When I think of French cooking lessons in France, I imagine very critical, ruthless professors depicted in movies from Sabrina (original) and Julie and Julia. Would I have survived Le Cordon Bleu, in 1912, 1954, or even now? Would I have a meltdown and scream, non Monsieur, you are mad! I cannot crack zee egg in zee way you want me to. I prefer zee guillotine!
So let us be grateful for our American French cooking instructors ~ Ivana Giuntoli and John Ochse. The harmony they worked in was noteworthy. I was to later find that this was the first time they had taught a class together. It was calming, engaging, and enjoyable. Even when one unwittingly took another one's Gruyère, there was no awkward who-stole-my-French cheese moment. They laughed it off as Jacque Pepin would. Seamless.
It helped that there was a good deal of attention to their mise en place. A delightful phrase, mise en place, was explained as an integral way to prepare for the cooking. It is the process of measuring out the ingredients, arranging them, as well as pre-heating the ovens, and so forth. One's mise en place can be the very thing that determines if the cooking will be enjoyable or misérable.
It helped that there was a good deal of attention to their mise en place. A delightful phrase, mise en place, was explained as an integral way to prepare for the cooking. It is the process of measuring out the ingredients, arranging them, as well as pre-heating the ovens, and so forth. One's mise en place can be the very thing that determines if the cooking will be enjoyable or misérable.
Effortlessly, we glided from savory puff pastry, to Pistou a la Provençal (imagine French minestrone), back to another savory pastry dish. And what would be a French dinner without crêpes. We are told that the famous Crêpe Suzette was named after a girl dining with the Prince of Wales in 1896 at a Monte Carlo restaurant.
There is little question that the dish was made purely by accident as the chef himself made an account of it in his autobiography. It was an accident waiting to happen anyway. If one is handling a pan with Grand Marnier over a hot stove, some of the liqueur will jump into the fire, creating a fantastic flame. Add an ability to quickly recover and improvise with showmanship, and voila! ~ Crêpe Suzette is born.
However, there is a gray area on the namesake. 1896 was during the Belle Époque. So it is plausible to think Suzette was a courtesan. Some stories say she was a mistress, some note her merely a child -- perhaps a daughter of the Prince (future King Edward VII). I'll take the latter because the real flame in his life was Alice Keppel.
It does make one wonder. If Alice had dined with him on that particular night at Café de Paris, the dish would've been named Crêpe Keppel. So lesson to be learned: never decline a dinner invitation from your sweetheart - it could change history.
And speaking of sweethearts, a term of endearment used by the French is brought to light. "Mon petit chou" is often lost in translation and thought to mean "my little cabbage". But there is another "chou" which refers to a type of pastry. As far as affection is concerned, that is the only chou that fits.
But I demur. "My little cabbage" sounds adorable. Terms of endearment are endearing because they sound so silly. So what if Americans run around tweeting and texting, "my little cauliflower", "my little brussel sprout" ? Where is the harm?
Ready to shrug off the distinction between chou this and chou that, I bite into my first savory puff pastry, the gougère, and I gasp. Oo la la. It is like a cloud of yumminess I cannot explain. The unbearable lightness of chou.
Because I can see myself trying very hard to resist eating them all. I cannot get enough of chou, you, mon petit chou! I changed my mind. Calling someone "my little cabbage" is no way to treat a person so exquisite, so rare... so divine as the chou of all choux.
For your next cocktail party, try serving gougère and look for the reactions in your guests' faces. You chou'd try it at least once.
Gougère
Recipe from Paris to Provence, by Ethel Brennan and Sara Remington
You will need:
1 cup of water
6 tablespoons of unsalted butter
4 large eggs
11/2 cups of grated Gruyère
1 cup of all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon of water, lightly beaten with 1 egg
1 teaspoon of salt
1/2 teaspoon of pepper
Instructions:
1. Preheat oven to 425°F.
2. Combine 1 cup of water, the butter, salt, pepper and stir in medium heat until the mixture comes to a boil.
3. Add the cup of flour and mix with a wooden spoon into the sauce until a paste forms.
4. Remove from heat and make a well in the center.
5. Crack an egg and incorporate into the mixture. Repeat with the other eggs.
6. Blend in 1 cup of Gruyère until the mixture is smooth. Reserve the half cup.
7. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or nonstick mats.
8. Dip a spoon in a glass of cold water and scoop a generous teaspoonful.
9. Push each dollop onto the baking sheet with fingertips. Repeat, dipping the spoon in the glass of cold water in between scoops.
10. Brush the top of each mound with a little of the eggwash and sprinkle with the reserve Gruyère.
11. Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce to 350°F.
12. Bake for another 15 minutes until the choux pastry turns golden brown and crunchy.
13. Pierce the gougères with a wooden skewer (to vent) and turn off the oven.
14. Leave them in for 10 minutes and serve warm or at room temperature.
Happy Bastille Day! ~e
