Flying With Faber: French Cuisine – It’s Simple Yet Elegant

By Stuart J. Faber

In the mid-60s, I embarked on my first trip to Europe. Things were cheap then. I purchased a round-trip ticket from Los Angeles to London for $250–a First Class Eurail Pass for $90, which allowed me unlimited back-and-forth travel anywhere in Western Europe. I roamed around for about six weeks––from Norway to Italy and from England to the Hungarian border.

During an interlude in Spain, I luxuriated in an oceanfront casita on the Costa Brava for five dollars and consumed a whole lobster dinner for three dollars. After six weeks of visits to virtually every country, I exhausted my $1,000 worth of traveler’s checks and headed home–broke but richer in heart and spirit than I had ever been.

England, my first stop, was a breeze. After several days in London, I rambled on to Dover, marveled at the White Cliffs, and hopped a ferry (today, you can travel

under

the English Channel by Chunnel), to Calais, France. I boarded a train and soon arrived in the heart of Paris at Gare du Nord.

“Bon Jour.” I hailed to the first French person I encountered. She responded with palpable hostility–I did not understand the words, but her meaning was clear. After a few more attempts with my high school French, it was obvious that I was not welcomed. I sat on a curb and fought the tears away. As I was about to retreat on the next train back to Calais, two American young ladies approached me.

“Are you OK,” they asked? I explained my plight, and they immediately took me under their wing. We shared a delightful week exploring every nook and cranny of Paris. To this day, Paris is one of my favorite cities in the world.

I’m an ardent WWII buff, so I was anxious to visit the D-Day battlefields. I flashed my Eurail Pass and headed to the coast of Normandy. At Cherbourg, I stepped off the train and spotted a charming seaside cafe. Of course, on the waterfront, the seafood was the best. “Boisson,” I cried out. Along came a glass of wine. I rarely drink alcoholic beverages; but after all, I was in France. I waited for my seafood entree. After 30 impatient minutes, I again demanded, “Boisson.” Along came another glass of wine. Politely, I consumed it.

Finally, I asked again. “Ou est mon boisson?” Indignantly, the waiter insisted that I already had two “boissons.” I pointed to a table where a guy was devouring a tempting array of fish and shellfish. “That’s what I ordered,” I asserted indignantly.

“Oh, Monsieur, you mean ‘Poisson.’”

Mr. Hancock, my high school French instructor, was an amiable and enthusiastic teacher. He loved his subject. But in those day, rowdy and undisciplined, we took advantage of his extremely good nature. We teased him mercilessly and generated incessant turmoil in the classroom. While still in the cafe, I wrote a postcard to him. I apologized for our adolescent behavior and expressed regret that I ignored his pleas to study French with passion and use it throughout life.

My body was unaccustomed to alcohol–even two glasses of wine. I wobbled out of the cafe as if I were flying lazy eights. I proceeded to hitchhike to Omaha Beach, the site of the first D-Day landing. (In those days, hitchhiking was very safe and common in Europe). An elderly guy stopped. Between his broken English and my horrid French, we were able to communicate quite well. I asked him if he was heading anywhere near Omaha Beach. “Oui,” he replied.

He turned to a direction away from the coastline. Was I being abducted? Was he a leftover Nazi soldier taking me prisoner? I meekly asked him where we were going.

“I will take you to Omaha Beach,” he responded. “But first, I want to show you some magnificent chateaus, vineyards, and cathedrals.” We spent a delightful and memorable afternoon together. He stopped to purchase a baguette, fresh from the oven. He grabbed a bottle of wine and a hunk of cheese.  We sat on a cliff, and gazed at the peaceful shore where so many perished just two decades before–he adamantly refused my offers to pay for the snacks or for his time and transportation. He was just a genuinely nice man. Rarely has anything tasted as good as that simple bread, cheese, and wine.

Although some French folks can be exasperating at times, I love France and the French people. The vast majority I have encountered throughout my years were more like the guy in Cherbourg and less like the nasty lady in the Paris train station.

The Magic of French Cuisine

The mention of French food often arouses visions of heavy sauces, creams, and arduous combinations of ingredients. There is some truth in those perceptions. But most classic French dishes consist of just a modicum of ingredients. One secret is that the ingredients are the freshest and superior quality money can buy. The most important secret is the love, patience, and devotion that great French professional and home cooks devote to the preparation of a meal.

Both professional chefs and astute home cooks in France visit the market on a daily basis. They don’t plan a menu before this excursion. Whatever provenance happens to be the freshest and best quality that day will dictate the menu items that night.

Those little extra steps in the preparation are what make the difference. For example, I visited the home of a French lady. She was about to make a salad. First, she chopped some fresh garlic. She reserved a few plump cloves with which she scraped the inside of the wooden salad bowl for a full five minutes. She carefully washed and thoroughly dried the just-picked greens. She whisked together some white wine vinegar, the best olive oil that money could buy, a few more cloves of garlic, freshly ground black pepper, and a pinch of kosher salt. She dressed the greens sparingly and deftly mixed them together with her hands. Every leaf of this simple, exquisite salad was lightly coated with dressing.   

On another occasion, I had the honor of spending the day in the restaurant kitchen of a French chef. He was about to roast a free-range chicken. Tenderly, he dried it with a clean cloth. “The drier the skin, the more crispy it will be.” Gently, he rubbed a small amount of soft butter over the surface and lightly seasoned it with salt and pepper.

“Don’t forget the cavity,” he instructed. He rubbed salt and pepper throughout the cavity. Finally, he stuffed the cavity with several garlic cloves and half of an onion. He placed the chicken in a 375-degree oven for about an hour and a half and basted the bird every 15 minutes. Unequivocally, the best, juiciest, most tender and flavorful chicken I have ever eaten––and all with just four or five ingredients. I’ve imparted this method to numerous experienced home cooks. Without exception, none were previously aware of these simple steps and each asserted that, from that point forward, their families proclaimed the chickens as the best ever.

Over the years, I have collected and modified the following recipes. I guarantee that each is relatively simple to prepare and the rewards to your taste buds will be enormous.

Roasted Duck with Orange/Raspberry Sauce

Roast Duck (Stuart J. Faber)

I’ve rarely met a person who doesn’t love duck–but few attempt to cook one at home. If possible, purchase a Long Island duck. They are very meaty with minimal fat. If you can’t find one, most super market frozen ducks are very good. 1 4-6 pound duck1 cup freshly squeezed orange juiceZest from 2 oranges (Save the peels)1 T fresh lemon juice¼ cup chicken stock3 T apricot jam1/8 t. ground mustard1/8 t. kosher salt4 tablespoons sugar1 teaspoon freshly ground ginger (optional)2 T. butter½ t. orange liqueur¼ t. cognac1tablespoon cornstarch dissolved in 2 tablespoons cold water¼ cup fresh raspberriesPreheat oven to 425 degrees. Clean and dry the duck completely. Sprinkle salt and pepper on the surface and in cavity. Stuff cavity with the reserved orange peels. Fold wings back under the duck. With kitchen string, tie the legs and tail together. Place the duck on a rack in a heavy roasting pan. With a serving fork, pierce the skin all over. Insert the fork at an angle and pierce about ¼ inch deep. Pour about ½ inch of water into the bottom of the pan.Roast uncovered for one hour. In the meantime, make the sauce. Mix orange juice, orange zest, lemon juice, chicken stock, apricot jam, ground mustard, salt, sugar, ginger, if using butter in a medium saucepan. Over medium heat, bring to a boil, and add cornstarch mixture. Continue to boil until mixture thickens to approximate gravy consistency. Add liqueur and cognac and simmer for a minute more. Add raspberries and simmer for about two minutes more until they soft. Set aside.Rotate pan and continue to roast for another 30 minutes. Reduce heat to 375 degrees. Baste duck every 15 minutes with sauce. Roast until the breast registers 180 degrees when inserted with an instant thermometer-about two hours depending on size of duck. If the skin becomes too dark, cover loosely with aluminum foil.Remove duck from oven and place on a cutting board. Cover with foil and allow to rest for 15 minutes before carving. Serve with sauce.

Wild Rice with Pecans, Mushrooms and Shallots

(Stuart J. Faber)

A surprising number of folks I meet have never heard of wild rice. I’ve heard of it, not because I am a culinary snob–it was a common dish in my native Wisconsin where it grows wild. Wild rice, believed to be indigenous to the northern latitudes of the Eastern seaboard and around the Great Lakes, grows in well-planned, man-made paddies with water depths of less than one foot. Algonquin, Chippewa and Sioux Indians and preservationists of the old ways paddle canoes through dense, marshy rice beds to gather the ripened kernels. The “green” rice, is dried in huge kettles over open fires, threshed and winnowed to remove hulls and chaffs, then placed in birch-bark baskets for storage-and exportation to France. California, now a grower of oxymoron wild rice, harvests the grains in a more sophisticated and efficient method than the original process.

1 to 1 ½ cups wild rice4 cups chicken stock1 cup chopped pecans½-1 pound shitake mushrooms3 shallots, 1 leek, diced3 cloves garlic, minced1 stalk celery, diced½ cup chopped parsley1 tablespoon fresh thyme, choppedbutter, salt, pepperWash rice three times. Place rice and stock in pot. Add salt. Bring to boil. Cover and simmer for about one hour until barely tender. Drain rice and reserve stock. Set aside rice and reserved stock. This yields about three or four cups of cooked rice.Sauté pecans and celery in butter for about five minutes. Add shallots, leek, mushrooms and garlic. Sauté  for about three minutes more. Add cooked rice, thyme, and parsley. Add about ½ cup of reserved stock. Cook an additional three to five minutes or until tender. Stir and fluff up. Serve.

French Peas with Mint

French Mint Peas

(Stuart J. Faber)

3 tablespoons butter1 onion, choppedKosher salt & pepper3 cups peas1 head butter lettuceHandful chopped fresh mintMelt the butter in a sauté pan and gently fry the onion until soft and translucent, about 15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.Pour ¼ cup water over onions and bring to a boil. Add the peas, toss to coat, cover and cook until tender.Trim ribs from lettuce leaves. Roll individual leaves into a log and shred with a knife. Remove cover from pan and add lettuce. Cook uncovered, until the peas are completely soft, the lettuce strands wilted and the water evaporated, about five minutes. Adjust seasons and add mint to taste. 

(Stuart J. Faber)

Monsieur Le Fabre’s Beef Bourguignon

This classic, flavorful French bistro dish is easy to make. Heard the old joke: What’s the difference between beef stew and beef bourguignon? Answer: About 20 dollars.1 pound assorted  fresh mushrooms3 carrots6 strips bacon6 ounces pearl onions3 pounds chuck roast, cut into 1” squareskosher salt, pepper, thyme2 whole cloves garlic, smashedWorcestershire sauce3 tablespoons tomato paste2 tablespoons chopped parsley2 tablespoons flour2 tablespoons unsalted butter3 cups good quality dry red wine,Pinot Noir or Cabernet suggested2 teaspoons thyme2 cups chicken stock, homemade preferred2 bay leavesMise en place: Remove mushroom stems and cut crowns in half. Cut bacon strips into one-inch pieces. Cut carrots into one-inch chunks. Peel pearl onions by immersing them in a saucepan of boiling water for two minutes. Remove and place in a colander and run cold water over them. They will then peel very easily.In a six-quart Dutch oven, heat two tablespoons of olive oil, then add mushrooms. Season with salt and pepper. Allow them to brown for one minute without stirring them. Stir occasionally over medium high heat. Cook until browned. Transfer to a plate and set aside.Add one more tablespoon of olive oil to the pot and add ½ of the meat. Season with one-teaspoon thyme, salt and pepper, and cook until browned on all sides. Remove the browned meat, then season and brown the second batch. Transfer meat to a plate and set aside. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.Add bacon to the pot and cook over medium heat until medium brown. Add tomato paste. Stir and cook for one minute. Add flour, stir, and cook for one minute until dissolved. Add about ½ cup of the wine. With a wooden flat-ended spatula, scrape the bottom of the pan to loosen all of the fond, and add the balance of the wine, the chicken stock, the bay leafs and the meat. Increase heat to high, bring the liquid to a boil, cover with a lid and place in the oven for about one hour. Remove the pot from the oven and place on the stovetop. (You can also return it to the oven after adding the carrots and pearl onions, but you have more control on the stovetop).Add the carrots and onions. Bring liquid to a boil and reduce to simmer. Add the remaining one teaspoon dried thyme and about one tablespoon Worcestershire sauce. Simmer for about one hour more or until meat and carrots are both fork tender. Add chopped parsley. Return mushrooms to the pot and add butter. Re-season. Stir until butter dissolves and mushrooms are warmed through. Do not overcook or mushrooms will be just mush. If desired, serve over buttered noodles.Serve six.Note: You can also add cut-up white potatoes when you add the carrots.This dish is better the second day, so it is a good idea to make it a day ahead.

Chocolate Chip Meringues (Stuart J. Faber)

Chocolate Chip Meringue Cookies

(Stuart J. Faber)

2 large egg whites, at room temperature1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar2/3 cup granulated sugar1 teaspoon vanilla extract1 cup semisweet chocolate chips or finely chopped semisweet chocolate

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees F. and line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat egg whites until foamy. Add the cream of tartar and beat until fluffy but not at all dry. (Be careful not to over beat.) Add the sugar gradually, about three tablespoons at a time. When 1/2 of the sugar has been added, add the vanilla extract. Continue beating and adding remaining sugar in batches, until all of the sugar is dissolved and the meringue is very shiny and tight. Gently fold in the chocolate chips. Place rounded teaspoonfuls of meringue onto the lined baking sheets, leaving one-inch of space between cookies. Place baking sheets in the preheated oven and bake for about one hour or until the meringues are just hardened and slightly beige. Turn oven off. Leave the cookies (undisturbed) in the oven for at least one hour more.

Another reason I enjoy preparing French cuisine is that I love to utter the French names of the ingredients. It’s just fun. Enjoy!