Jonathan Day

That ugly website contains an essay entitled "Rick's Secrets to Good Food and Healthy Living", which you can read here. "How come," his friends wonder, "you’re so lean, if you’re a chef?" He answers this question at considerable length, dividing his prescription into six Essential Learnings. These includes yoga, which for Rick delivered "some vision of my potential self. Longer, stronger, leaner, more lithe." But yoga wasn't enough, so he turned to diet: He gave up every drink but water, coffee, tea, "plus a glass of wine or a beer with dinner". He started reducing the amount of his food portions. He stuck to unprocessed foods, the kind you find "around the perimeter of the grocery store": He dreams of And then we get his Essential Learning #4, the one most relevant to this debate: The tedious and extensive remainder of the essay is a paean to Bayless's personal lifestyle: yoga, strength training, no processed or fast foods, healthy snacking from the kitchens of his restaurants. * * * I want everyone to leave this topic quietly, now, without any wisecracks.

Bux, I could probably come over for lunch on the 8th -- dinner would be slightly more complicated. I'd get an early train from Waterloo and a return around 1800.

There are different kinds of breakdown in a service operation. One is the "one night disaster" that Steven describes. I've seen these happen in top restaurants but also in other finely tuned service enterprises like law offices and advertising firms. One of the chefs could have been suddenly taken ill, or a vital piece of equipment could have broken down. Since everything in a restaurant operation is connected to everything else, the effects of a problem like this can spread until the whole thing stops working. Another is a more long-term systemic problem, a breakdown that occurs over a long time, as the operation either loses sight of what it is really trying to do, or something goes wrong with morale, training, quality, incentives, etc. Again, a decline of this nature usually affects many aspects of the place: reservations taken in a slovenly way, chilly greeting as guests arrive, mistaken orders, badly cooked food and the like. The link between the two problem types is that a well run service operation (and I don't mean a roboticised place like a McDonald's or a factory law firm) needs enough redundancy to compensate for unexpected disasters. An operation in decline will often cut staff or skimp on maintenance in order to conserve cash, only to find that they have no resources to continue through a crisis. My reading of Robert's report is that he was pointing to the second kind of breakdown, the systemic breakdown that can take months to fix. He cited as an indicator of how well a restaurant was really doing. And in the case of Restaurante Martin Berasategui, he pointed to the design, the welcome as guests arrived, and the table settings as evidence. I saw something like this with the Moulin de Mougins. It has improved somewhat since it lost two of its three stars -- it is now back to two, though our lunch there this summer merited one star at best. But when we dined at the nadir of its performance, a few years ago, there was a generally lost and down-at-heel character to the place, in welcome, setting, service -- and in the food. This was clearly not a one night problem, but a systemic decline that took place over a long time. I would contrast this with the meal that we had at el Bulli earier this year, also reported in TDG. Here there was a bit of a "one night breakdown", resulting in unacceptably slow service and a meal that started at 8 pm and didn't finish until 1 am. And sure enough, Adria admitted that he was having trouble with some of his new staff that evening. But everything else, the food in particular, was very positive.

A business lunch at Fleur today. The setting hasn't changed that much from when it was Petrus -- and before that, "33". Those dark still llife food paintings are still on the wall. Tables slightly closer together, and brown banquettes replace chairs. Two course set lunch was £18, but ordering from the carte wasn't crushingly expensive, e.g. scallops + guinea fowl was £23.50, gravlax + duck was £20. Bread rolls were crisp and came with good butter and a small dish of anchovy butter. I had the set lunch: a velouté of chestnuts, mushrooms and walnuts followed by a sea bream. Both were good, especially the soup which was light, creamy, well balanced flavours with a pleasant crunch of walnuts. Petrus served similar soups, but they were always more complicated (lots of mirepoix and frippery tossed into the bowl) and often oversalted and dosed with truffle oil. The fish was served with a few bits of very tender squid, and the bream itself well prepared: crisp skin, flesh just done. Each of the three mains came with a little pitcher of sauce on the side. The bream was sauced with butter and a hint of anchovy...slightly irritating after having this flavour with the bread. Mediocre coffee with chocolate almonds. Service was good and less obtrusive than at Petrus. Not overwhelming, this, but I am prepared to give it another try.

Let's start with the repeated admission that Andy and I were guests of the restaurant, on the opening night of the antipasti bar, and that we were seated next to the open kitchen where Mark Broadbent could come and chat and offer us delicious items, both on and off the menu. We later moved to a table where Oliver Peyton came and talked with us. Both chef and restaurateur were knowledgeable and interesting. So the experience was very pleasant, and it's hard to be objective about this place. I'll also say that I am far from an expert on Italian food, though I have spent a fair bit of time in various bits of Italy. I would certainly defer to the judgement of Craig or one of our real Italophiles. Finally, as Mark freely admitted, this was somewhat a "shopping rather than cooking" event. What was amazing about Isola was the quality of the ingredients. All that said, I was amazed at how closely this antipasti bar hit the mark with almost every dish. This was astonishingly good food. The meats were outstanding: lardo, capocollo, two salame, and a prosciutto. All were flavourful, moist, not overseasoned, perfectly balanced. Frittata with mushrooms and white beans (fagioli) was creamy and delicious. And the off-menu guanciale that Andy mentioned had a lovely sweetness and a perfect texture. Mark really outdid himself with the vegetable dishes, suggesting that there is more to this operation than just clever sourcing. Grilled aubergines with salmoriglio (a herbal sauce) were revelatory, as were finely sliced raw courgettes, sauced with olive oil, lemon and a bit of salt. Both were perfectly simple preparations, yet complex in the mouth -- to me the essence of great Italian cooking. I also enjoyed the mushrooms a lot. The fish preparations were good, but not at the same standard as the rest. We were served the "gran piatto di pesce misto", small samples of all the fish offerings. Marinated octopus was fine but far from the best I've had. In general the flavours on the fish plate were less distinct than was the case with some of the others. The cheeses were outstanding. Mozzarella was delicious all by itself, without olive oil, herbs or pepper. Pecorino di Fossa was deeply flavoured, almost smoky. And a goat cheese "caprino" was both rich and wonderfully tangy. 24 month old Parmesan wasn't as good as the very best I've tasted, but almost. I only tasted two of the breads -- good but not extraordinary pane carasau, the Sardinian flatbread, and a superb olive bread. Finally, the wines. All are priced at £3 the glass. None was anything like a great wine, but all had character. I tasted the orvieto classico Castello della Salla, 2001, a Vermention "Tavaoes", Cherchi 2002, and a Barbera d'Asti 'Fiulot' Alfredo Purnotto 2001. What I don't understand is how Mark Broadbent managed not only to capture the spirit of Italian food but also to connect with suppliers of this quality, based only on a brief trip to Italy. We asked Oliver Peyton how Mark had managed this little miracle. "He just has the touch," said Oliver. However he's done it, this is a gem of an operation. They won't take reservations for the antipasti bar, so it will be interesting to see whether access requires a long wait in a queue. I will certainly be back to try this place on normal terms.

Fakhreldine 85 Piccadilly Tel 020 7493 3424 Lebanese. Used to be dire, but has improved a lot and is now garnering some very positive reviews. Some tables with pleasant views over Green Park. Great local flavour...

I would add that we were disappointed with Maximin's place in Vence. The welcome and the food were both rather chilly. The whole place lacked panache and energy, though the food was technically fine. I am much more enthusiastic about Chibois in Grasse. Our visit to Maximin was almost 3 years ago, so it's time for a recheck. The burden of research... Another option for dinner after your lunch in Grasse is Le Bistrot de Mougins. It has character and charm, and they offer traditional dishes (civets and the like) that don't often make their way to fancier menus.

Some notes on "wholesome cooking with a difference and without the trimmings": La Merenda, Nice; Le Bistrot de Mougins Les Arcades, Biot Au Rendez Vous des Amis, Nice near Falicon Robert is right that La Merenda could be difficult for a large group. It isn't really set up for a long, langorous dinner of multiple courses. I didn't find the stools especially uncomfortable, but then we weren't lingering there for several hours. You can't call them because they don't have a telephone, but you might try ringing the olive oil store next door (I think but am not sure that this is 04 93 62 20 72) to see if they would speak with M le Stanc about a group booking. I doubt they would, though, since this goes against everything he has set up at La Merenda. Note that bookings at La Petite Maison can be erratic as well -- we once booked a group of 13, only to have it suddenly cancelled on us. They did manage to fit us in, though, after an hour's wait. The food at both places is very good. Another place you might try is the Restaurant de Bacon, in Antibes. It has lovely views of the bay, and the fish and bouillabaisse are fresh and fine. Of all the places mentioned here, Les Arcades has the most character and joie de vivre. The food is good, too.

Putney Bridge really isn't that hard to get to, and the view at night can be lovely. But as much as I enjoy it I would struggle to put it into the category of "truly exceptional and exciting food". Given the criteria and places you mention, GR RHR comes out ahead of the others. However, it is not inexpensive. There's also Sketch, which is truly not inexpensive. And Fleur, in the St James's Street location of the former Petrus. And Le Gavroche, which is comforting rather than exciting, but very, very pleasant. All of these should offer the peace and quiet you seek.

At the risk of diverting this topic onto the problems/benefits with an Aga, I'll just say that - the flat tops don't cool down all that quickly. It's easy enough to compensate - on our older Aga, at least, I can usually smell what's cooking (though my wife and the nanny often cannot) and sense how far it has come. Our electric convection ovens actually have a tighter seal, and you can't smell the food, though you can see it. All that said, every nanny we've had has incinerated some forgotten dish, and we end up discovering a piece of coal in the oven that was formerly potatoes, roast, whatever, and had been left there for several days - the Aga ovens cook beautifully, especially for roasts. It makes superb stocks. And, I think because there is no convection fan, it just doesn't scorch things as easily as some ovens. And you can make good pizza right on the floor of the roasting oven. I don't think I'll persuade "enthusiast" or anyone who doesn't get on with one of these cookers. It took us a couple of years to get really comfortable with it, and that included enduring an agonising day's cooking class with Mary Berry, the queen of Agas, including all the frilly curtains, twee country town, and other stuff associated with these things. Once you got past the patronising tone, though, there was some good information imparted. And that's the other thing about Agas: there is a "back story" associated with them that some of us don't care for. But a final comment, which takes us back to Thom's original topic. Cooking on the Aga and learning to cope with its idiosyncrasies has been very useful. It has helped me be comfortable with wood-fired stoves and ovens, as well as with a professional gas stove that doesn't have an external temperature indicator for the ovens. As Andy says, you basically cook at one or two different temperatures, and you learn to sense where the food is and how to get it where you want it. I just don't see the need for a control to set the oven at 125.4 degrees. I don't do much pastry anymore; just as pastry calls for more precise measurement than non-pastry work it also requires more precision temperature settings in the oven. Your experience may vary...

One further comment about the "domestic professional" cookers (Britannia, etc.): 6 burners, stainless steel, etc. Many of these that I've seen and occasionally used in friends' houses seem to me like fakes: impressive to look at, until you get closer and realise that they were never really designed for serious cooking. One, for example, has a burner useful for nothing other than a fish poacher. That's fine if you are planning on poaching fish every night, but ultimately not very practical. And the grates on some of these "domestic professional" units look very flimsy. Then again, I don't have one of these units and may be criticising unfairly. A lot of people throw stones at Aga cookers who have never really used one. Ours came with the house, and I would think twice about buying one if we were building anew, but it has actually proven a good friend in the kitchen. Maybe this illustrates Andy's point, that the cook and the cook's disposition may be more important than the kit.

Only if you also have the Aga heating your water. Most don't do this, therefore they aren't attached to the water supply. But this is very similar to the "flat top" surfaces on most professional ranges. Last year my wife hired a chef to cook a birthday lunch in our kitchen and serve it to a large group of friends. He flipped the covers of the Aga open and used them just like a flat top. The most difficult thing about an Aga is that it is a stored heat system, and the heat is drawn off faster than it is replenished. So if you do a lot of saute work, the flat tops cool off after awhile. Still, you get used to this; the only reason you really need a separate hob is so that you can turn the Aga off when it gets really hot -- we do this for about a month each summer. Right. Or two chickens, or several ducks. The depth of Aga ovens is very practical; I prefer it to the usual little cube you get in a Neff or similar home oven. You may need different roasting pans for an Aga, though: slightly narrower and a lot deeper.

I agree with the advice about using commercial equipment at home -- it is longer-lasting, performs better, and is ultimately more satisfying to use than domestic stuff. However: 1) You must be sure that the installation fits fire and insurance requirements. In some locations, these can be onerous: large spaces between the unit and the wall, steel or thick tile insulation, commercial ventilation systems and fire extinguishers, etc. Ignore these requirements and you could find yourself hassled by a building inspector or without insurance cover in the event of a fire. 2) This equipment is not cheap. A very small steam/electric "combi" oven (e.g. the little Electrolux) will cost about £1000; a very basic 6-burner commercial gas stove, with oven, about the same. And these prices are before VAT, and before extra insulation, and before your builder says "wotcher? I don't know how to install this stuff" and ups his price. And, some of this kit requires deeper installation space (worktops) than the usual home kitchen specification will provide. Deep worktops are great if you have the space, but they entail extra expense, further hassle with the builders. Even after all this commercial equipment is better value than the cheaper domestic stuff, but the initial outlay is high. 3) This kit is designed for cooking large quantities at speed, and you may therefore be forced into using larger pots and pans. Our commercial stove in France has large, hefty burners; visitors occasionally grumble that a saucepan just large enough to boil a single egg doesn't sit comfortably on them. (It also has a flat-top on which the egg pan works fine, but they are generally afraid of using it). So a stove upgrade leads inevitably to cookware upgrades ... again, a good thing, but again, not cheap, and perhaps troublesome if you are mostly cooking for two. 4) This kit isn't dumbed down. A professional oven doesn't have a button on it marked "push me if you wish to roast a chicken". Stoves may not have electric pilots, so that you have to light burners and ovens with a sparker or match. A combination steam/electric oven takes some learning -- how to recharge the water softener, how to set the programme for steam injection, etc. Again, more satisfying and you may end up a better cook, but there is an initial outlay. 5) None of this kit is self-cleaning. In a professional kitchen, there are helpers, stagiaires, etc., to clean grease filters, scrub steel surfaces, clean ovens with toxic cleaning solutions, recharge water softeners, and so on. Use it at home and you may have to do this work yourself. 6) None of this equipment is insulated for heat or noise. Big gas burners, grills/salamanders and flat-tops generate a lot of heat (and use a fair bit of energy). Commercial convection ovens buzz and whir. Commercial ventilation equipment is noisy. I would like to install a commercial fridge and undercounter freezer in the new kitchen in London, but will probably end up going for domestic models because of the noise. Just a few things to think through before visiting your local catering supply house...

It isn't clear that it will. Some diners like to be close to the action, and chefs are responding -- as witness Robuchon's "Atelier" and a good number of open-kitchen restaurants. I suspect that for many of us the same behaviour holds at home. It is very difficult to keep guests out of the kitchen. The increasing media presence of top chefs must add to the allure of these "kitchen tables". My sense is that they are in fact on the rise and will, like it or not, be with us for awhile.

Joyce, just reading your recipe for spicy grilled corn makes my mouth water. I have two questions on how to make it. The recipe says Do you brush this mixture on the husk, or on the corn, i.e. pulling back the husks before brushing on the mixture? Then it says: Do you put the husks back in place before putting the corn on the grill? Thanks for your recipes, and for joining us in this Q&A!

We dined at the "kitchen table" at Chicago's TRU this summer. It is actually the chef's office, converted into a pleasant private dining room in the evening. It's just slightly removed from the noise and action of the kitchen: one glass wall gives on the pastry kitchen, another on the main kitchen. I had spent enough time doing prep work in commercial kitchens that I was very happy to be a bit away from the action, to enjoy the food in peace. Our guests, Britons who had not visited the US for 30 years (and then only to Florida) had had a "full on Chicago" experience that day, culminating in the 14 course TRU extravaganza. For them, it was an unforgettable experience. They have gone from being vaguely contemptuous of America to stunned awe at the vitality, the friendliness, and the complete, in-your-face energy of the country and of Chicago in particular...not to mention the enormous serving sizes in restaurants. We had very little interaction with the chefs -- which was fine, in my view, since they have other work than to chat with customers. But our waiter, who almost never left the room, was the most extraordinarily competent I have ever experienced, anywhere in the world. She knew every dish in detail (and since early in the service, they switched to serving distinctive variations on a given dish, e.g. foie gras, to each of four diners this involved a lot of different dishes); she understood and helped us understand exactly what the restaurant was about; she was funny without being obtrusive; she matched our mood exactly. I am kicking myself now for not asking for her name: she was at least as important as the kitchen team in making the experience magical. In fact, I am going to contact the restaurant and ask for her name, before writing up a review of the food for the Heartland forum. At a break during the meal, our waiter offered us a tour of the kitchens and dining room. I was struck by the different quality of energy in each room -- the kitchen, though quiet as restaurant kitchens go, was of course lively. The dining room, by contrast, was dark and almost sombre. Our room was somewhere in between. One other aspect of the TRU kitchen table deserves mention. You are not given menu choices. Our waiter asked whether any of us would not eat anything, and from there the kitchen team decided what we would have. At one stage in the proceedings -- I believe during the caviar service, which is presented on a distinctive glass "staircase" for each diner -- our waiter noticed our happiness and excitement, and asked whether we would like a photograph of the evening. She stepped in with a digital camera. As we departed, we were given our photographs to which had been added a complete menu of the evening, wines included. A lovely, personal touch. The menu, minus photos, will appear in the Heartland Forum, when I get this written up. From a diner's perspective I share Grant Achatz's ambivalence about kitchen tables. The experience is a bit like being invited backstage at the theatre. There is a sense of privilege, of having special access to a part of the house normally forbidden to visitors. You gain perspective on the preparation in a way that you wouldn't otherwise. Yet the restaurant's art, like the theatre's, is aimed at a patron who is in the front of the house. If I lived in Chicago, I would readily return to TRU -- but probably not at the kitchen table. It was a wonderful icebreaker, rather than a habit I would care to form. But an unforgettable evening nonetheless.

It is something of a bad news / good news story. Unquestionably la France profonde is not what it was. When I first joined eGullet, I posted a note about a barge trip up the Charente, on which we found one village after another reduced to economic ashes, as people had moved out and shops had succumbed to the grands surfaces of Carrefour and the like. This presented a big challenge since my wife and I had three children, a nanny, and two somewhat frail grandparents to feed, and our only means of transport was the barge or bicycles. I once cycled into a village, desperate to buy bread and milk, only to find it deserted except for a drunk who complained that the town once had three bars, and now had none. The village where we now spend a lot of time, Mougins, has recently lost the best artisanal butcher/ charcutier/ traiteur that I have ever found, anywhere. He had a heart attack and does not have the strength to reopen the shop. In general, independent or artisanal butchers seem to be vanishing, at least in that part of France. There is good news, however. A number of the big chains in France, e.g. Intermarche and Leclerc, are in some form mutuals or cooperatives, and they have tended to be more sympathetic to local producers and products, forcing even investor-owned Auchan and Carrefour to do some of the same. Independent bakeries seem to be flourishing, in part because unlike the butchers they seem to have established some local or even wider economies of scale. Examples of this would be Le Petrin Ribeirou, which specialises in levain (naturally leavened) breads; or, more upscale, Paul or Poilane, which have crossed the channel to the UK. All of these places do all of the work (dough, rising, baking, etc.) on premises, and the product is good. The restaurants certainly nod to the importance of terroir and sometimes even manage to deliver on it. Ditto for the winemakers. And as wgallois points out, there is a renewed interest in local dialects: you can go from Menton to Marseille and pick up university language courses and authors publishing in a range of local dialects: Mentonnais, Nicois, Provencal, etc. Chains like Logis de France have helped indpendent hotel operators achieve some economies of scale, yet preserve their character; and similar networks are springing up at many price ranges. Accor are not without competition. A cynic might say that the remnants of "real" France are unnaturally preserved, a Disneyfied restoration of something that was once completely organic. Perhaps. But it is better than doing without. I have to admit that I found Wilmott's article disappointing and just a bit cynical. Setting aside sloppy editing, it didn't really offer any new news. Yes, the forces of globalisation continue to work, though fortunately it hasn't unfolded in anything like the way the pundits predicted even 5 years ago. Yes, information and communication technology costs have led to all sorts of changes, and it's now tougher for small independent shops to compete with the bigger ones. But we knew that, and some of the changes are going to happen whether or not the French national government or local governments intervene. As a gastronomic tourist, I could see a case for pickling la France profonde in an economy of the 1950s or 1960s. It would make some aspects of tourism far more pleasant, whether carried out by car, train, bicycle, boat or on foot. But I doubt that many of the French themselves would care to live in this world.

Wilmott's credibility took a dive when I read this bit about peas: Petits pois not eaten in France except in "vegetable salad"? Could Wilmott have taken a wrong turn on his walking tour and ended up in some other European country? Lithuania perhaps?

My reading of the penultimate paragraph is that Gagnaire is accusing Adria and the Spanish chefs of being sensationalist. French cooking is extremely varied, says Gagnaire (parcellisation here refers to breaking up) and doesn't need the shock tactics or obscure ideas (propos abscons) that the Spanish chefs rely on. This does sound like the pot calling the kettle black!

Prosciutto = jambon de Parme (or jambon San Daniele)

My strategy: 1) "Cook clean", cleaning as you go. Lesson painfully learnt after enduring multiple bollockings from my wife, who complained about being stuck with cleanup. This means allocating enough time before the event so that things can be put in order. 2) Plan -- what dishes will be used, where they will be plated (at table or in the kitchen), where they will go when finished. 3) Run the dishwasher before the meal begins, so that it starts out empty and is ready to be loaded. 4) Have a second dishwasher. Not currently true for us, though the second unit is going in as the kitchen is renovated. 5) Recruit help: we pay the nanny a few extra ££ to help with service and cleanup. This was paradise when the nanny was a recent catering school graduate, who understood how these things are done. Or bring someone in to help during the meal, so that while you are eating, dishes are being done. Children can also be helpful here, but in any event the cost is not prohibitive and the benefit enormous.

Adam, I don't know. But along the Cote d'Azur, you find lots and lots of Italians, and French people with Italian names, and Italianesque products such as porchetta, often with Italian names.

And in the Southeast, where there are lots of Italians around ... pancetta.

I've been doing this for some time with a very heavy rectangular terra cotta dish. It goes into the oven (which is always "preheated" to 220C, since it's an Aga cooker) for 15-30 minutes, while the chicken is prepared. Then the chicken goes into the dish. Works well. The chicken gets a lemon and some garlic and herbs inside, and a quick rub with olive oil. The chicken rests in the dish, which stays warm. The slow cooking method also works well. I only "truss" chickens and ducks very lightly, when they are going on the spit, just to keep the legs from flopping around as the spits turn. Chickens rarely need more than the spit attachments to keep them in place. No string. Spit-roasted birds always taste better than those roasted in a pan. Is that because the juices circulate more freely? Dave, what is the return to additional hours of brining? I had thought that overnight was a minimum for poultry. Is 6 hours twice as good as 3? Or are there diminishing returns to longer brining?

IrishCream, thanks for the pointer to the Anthony Dias Blue review. My experience was different: the eight of us had a very lively conversation. It is true that the pace of our meal was slow -- something like 4.5 hours rather than three -- but we never found the waitstaff intrusive or the service "staccato". There was a lot of conversation about food, not about the food we were being served, but about food in general: but also about music, and architecture, and travel. Nor was the food in any way over the top. Blue says that "my mother always told me that the essence of beauty was simplicity. We were discussing paintings, but this homily applies just as effectively to food." Well, I agree with that. But I would add a remark from Oliver Wendell Holmes: "I would not give a fig for the simplicity this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity." That second simplicity is the one that, I think, Ferran Adria is trying to find -- and sometimes succeeds. I do agree with Blue that there are imitators of Ferran who get lost in the thickets of "overwrought, overhandled, over-the-top food featuring bizarre combinations and arcane ingredients", or who focus inappropriately on a single technique, e.g. foams.