Jonathan Day

I am struggling both with the premises and the conclusion here. I have never felt pressured to eat pasta, risotto or polenta in any Italian restaurant (most recently Da Vittorio in Bergamo, two Michelin stars, but also including some very humble places). Yes, starches are on offer, but even when they appear in a set menu I have seen diners who don't want risotto or pasta ask for a soup or a vegetable in its place, and the restaurants have always been accomodating. I remember a tiny village restaurant where bistecca alla fiorentina was the only thing on offer. When an Italian friend asked about an antipasto or a primo piatto he was told "don't bother, you won't have room." I have never seen a "starch only course" in any Italian restaurant (or any other kind, for that matter). I don't believe that a good Italian menu (again, including both upscale and less elevated places) "revolves around starch" or that the pasta course is the most varied in the cuisine. I also don't see why pasta should be in any way inimical to fine cuisine, as long as it is served in moderate proportions. But I would say make the same call for moderation in regard to, e.g., foie gras. Finally, I don't see why a heavier reliance on starches has held any country back from creating a modern cuisine, unless you define modern cuisine as starch-free. What about the Chinese and Japanese use of rice or noodles? Has that held them back? Is there a confusion between correlation and cause here? A number of writers have argued that the Italian tradition of pastas and heavier soups as starters is a reflection of the high relative cost of meats in a poor nation. I can see that it may be harder for a "haute cuisine" (as defined in a certain sense e.g. using luxurious ingredients) to develop within a poorer economy. But that has nothing to do with pasta or with starch: a symptom not a cause.

No, no, no. Robert, haven't you been listening? Pasta forms no part of haute cuisine. Pasta and other starches are the antitheses of haute cuisine. The poor Italians (every one of 'em) never made it onto the list of hautes cuisiners. Why? Because they were too busy choking down masses of pasta and risotto. You must not make the same mistake. So you should eliminate the pasta, puree the sauce, flame it with cognac, mount it with butter (lots of butter), add those truffles, then sauté a nice piece of meat and pour the sauce over the meat. This is a Fundamental Transformation of Haute Cuisine: starch into meat. While you're at it, stop all that bread baking you like to do. Bread is starch and forms no part of haute cuisine. Potatoes, however, count as a demi-vegetable, thanks to M Parmentier. To turn a potato into a real vegetable, you may effect another Transformation: cover the potato with truffles and sauce, removing its starchiness entirely. Now you know.

Peterpumkino -- I disagree with some of the conclusions that Steve has reached, and I have some issues with his style of argument. But why waste everyone's time and cause unnecessary offence by deliberately misspelling his or any member's name? All that does is add heat, not light, to the conversation.

We recently had the 7 course tasting menu at Chez Bruce, and I posted a brief review: (click here). Chez Bruce is far from perfect, but I struggle to see how it can be described as "very very ordinary", given both the ambitiousness of the cuisine and the quality of the experience they deliver. I wish there were a lot of restaurants in London of this calibre, but there aren't.

I'm honestly not sure exactly what question we are debating. But if it is "has Italian cooking had significant influence on French grande cuisine?" then it would not be hard to assemble evidence in the affirmative. I am biased in this regard because much of my serious eating goes on in the South, where the Italian influence is very strong. But it is difficult to eat at a two or three star restaurant (Ducasse, Chibois, Maximin, etc.) in that area without encountering some pasta preparation, risotti, and occasionally even some dish done with polenta. Ravioli of all sorts are very popular as starters. If the question, on the other hand, is "have specific (named) Italian chefs had a strong influence on top-end French restaurant practices?" then I have to admit ignorance.

Steve, I think you were exaggerating here to make a point. Fine Italian cooking doesn't have the layers of sauces and pre-preparations that French grande cuisine does, but it involves a lot more skill than shopping for the best ingredients and then following some simple recipes. The difference between a perfectly prepared pasta and a mediocre one is enormous, and, one Italian chef here (Giancarlo Caldesi) tells me that it has taken him years to get the technique exactly right.

This may be the key. Nothing worse than an area that still has associations of "highly desirable" but has in fact slipped in favour. Even the shops no longer seemed as interesting or ambitious as those I recalled from 1990. And it may explain why the eating seems to have slipped. BLH -- agree with you about many of those places (with the notable exception of Bibendum) but most of them aren't, strictly speaking, in South Ken...alas, Bibendum is. Vanessa, I only ate in Daquise once. The pierogis were flavourless and leaden and the service was dreadful. Perhaps they were having a bad day, but I haven't returned. Fortunately the gastronomic fate of S. Ken is primarily a matter of nostalgic interest, since I now live near Wandsworth Common -- an area known in the very best foodie circles as "Chez Bruceville".

I have eaten at the Fat Duck but have yet to try the Riverside Brasserie. I understand that the menu at the latter is more traditional. Could you tell us to what extent you are using your innovative methods (low temperature cooking, flavour encapsulation, distilled flavours, etc.) at the Riverside Brasserie? What "niches" or "spaces" do you see the two restaurants as occupying? When would you want to eat at one as opposed to the other?

I was excited to learn that you are developing some new dishes and a style that you feel will be uniquely yours. Could you give us some clues as to the kinds of experiments you are now working on, or the sorts of dishes we can anticipate at the Fat Duck?

12 years ago we moved to the UK, starting out in a flat in Onslow Gardens, South Kensington (much of South Kensington happens to be called Onslow Gardens or at least Onslow Something, but that's another story). We left the area after a few months and have not been back. Trips to the museums or the park somehow haven't entailed a stop on the Old Brompton Road. This weekend I arrived in S. Ken somewhat early for a rendez-vous and had a pleasant walk around the old neighbourhood. But I was surprised at how poor the food offerings seemed to be, at all levels. I had hoped to find an espresso and a decent pastry, but the shops were all chain stores (Coffee Express, etc.). Hilaire has closed -- it is now a Lebanese restaurant with an ordinary-looking menu. A few of the food shops aimed at the French were still around, but most appeared to have closed. I didn't walk up to see whether Bagatelle, the baker/patissier/fancy food shop, is still operating, but I presume that it is. It was once distinctive compared to other offerings in London, but this is no longer the case. The wonderful La Vigneronne wine shop is still in operation. But I spotted no other food shops or restaurants of interest or distinction. (I rule out Bibendum in this regard; in days past I had a couple of fine meals there, but after two dinners where the food and service were horrible, I have not returned. I am also distinguishing Knightsbridge from South Ken). Given that (1) there are many French people living in South Kensington and (2) it is a reasonably wealthy area, I am wondering why the area seems so devoid of gastronomic interest. After all, as we've been reminded many times on this site, France + Money = Haute Cuisine = (objectively) Good Food. Is this observation accurate, or am I missing some great places in South Kensington?

In my experience it is always helpful to reserve in France, except at tourist places that are basically designed for walk-in customers. A call at 5 pm for the same evening is helpful even when the place is not full, because you tend to get a better table and better service. A growing number of restaurants have non-smoking areas (Chibois in Grasse has a beautiful non-smoking dining room) and an advance call is useful for one of these tables, if that is your preference. For Loulou I would book at least three days in advance. In high season Chibois tends to get booked a week to 10 days ahead, and even in December I have been unable to get a booking 5 days ahead of time. As Cabrales notes, lunch bookings are almost always easier to secure.

No. I was asking whether the concept of haute cuisine appears, in "native" form, in other languages: Italian, Spanish, German ... or whether the idea is fundamentally a French one. It doesn't seem to translate naturally into English. "Gourmet cooking" doesn't work. One further definition of haute cuisine might be that it always responds to a need somewhere higher than hunger on a scale (e.g. Maslow's) of basic human needs. In other words, if someone's only (or fundamental) need were to relieve hunger, it's hard to imagine them running down for a quick meal at the Grand Vefour. Haute cuisine might respond to other needs, but not, fundamentally, to satisfying hunger, even though it would also do that.

The English translation of "haute cuisine" seems to be "haute cuisine"....or would someone suggest a better (non-French) rendering? Does this imply that the concept is essentially French? Do similar concepts exist in other languages (alta cucina, etc.?). Is there a German equivalent?

I recently had dinner at Midsummer House in Cambridge. Whilst the menu was more traditional than those I've enjoyed at the Fat Duck, Daniel Clifford added a number of touches that were reminiscent of yours, most notably the green tea "palate cleanser" to start. Could you tell us what you think of other chefs imitating or adapting your innovative dishes? Similarly, it would be interesting to understand how free you feel to adopt dishes or techniques developed by other chefs?

I would like to urge some caution here. Sometimes the application of skill and technique is a good thing, sometimes not. There is merit in knowing when and when not to gild the lily. A lot of "French" cuisine went too far in this direction, especially as it made its way to America and to Britain. Many of us have heard the likes of John and Karen Hess's fulminations about bad sauces covering mediocre ingredients. Elizabeth David wrote in a similar vein (see "Chez Gee-Gee" in An Omelette and a Glass of Wine), as have other thoughtful writers. Yes, the great French chefs take fine ingredients as a jumping-off place, but I'm not sure the schools of French cuisine do. I cited Julia Child as an example: if I recall correctly her point of departure is kitchen equipment and technique. But it would be interesting to know how the CIA or Malawry's school or similar training institutions attack this. Do they begin with knife skills or with shopping? (This is not in the least a rhetorical question!). Indeed, I think one could assemble convincing evidence that some of the most recent "progress" in fine cuisine (including the French) has been a rediscovery of the importance of impeccable ingredients. In the US people like Alice Waters played an important role here; in the UK, Rogers & Gray at the River Café. But we could also cite the Japanese influence on haute cuisine. In this sense the direction of "progress" is far less straightforward than the simple model Steve P. is setting out. As for "relevance", I am still trying to understand what this means other than "what is relevant is what I choose to talk about". Quite a few chefs have, in the last few years, been saying a lot about simple preparations and perfect ingredients. Are we to ignore these views because they are not relevant? I am not trying to make a case against technique -- far from that. But to me (as an eater, observer of these matters, participant in this conversation) simplicity and technique look like equal pillars, not layers in some sort of hierarchy.

I was only doing so in order to comment on the degree to which French cooks try to do more to / with their food. In the introduction to her first book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Julia Child claims that its subtitle might have been "French Cooking from the American Supermarket". The flaw here was that she didn't push her readers to insist on high quality products, though in later writing she said a bit more about this. But she was right in that French methods can be used with a larger variety of foods and a wider range of qualities. The cook has more options for doctoring and balancing flawed ingredients. Not that the final product will be better than it would have with perfect meats and vegetables -- it won't. But there is more margin for error. This is harder to do with fine Italian cooking, because the treatments (frying, roasting, etc.) are far more simple and direct. Some of the River Café cookbooks have a hectoring tone on ingredients (the polenta must have been ground in the last few months, you must use this kind of salt, the vegetables must be no larger than this, etc.); the quality of ingredients is more essential to the product than is the case with French cuisine. This summer we had lunch with the (Robert) Browns at La Petite Maison, in Nice. For me the best dish, by far, was a plate of young, tender squid, dusted in a bit of seasoned flour and fried. Essentially an Italian preparation, as one often finds in restaurants in that part of France. It was virtually perfect: so crisp as to be almost dry, with a gentle crunch but no thick batter, and with the flavour of the squid coming through in a clean, powerful way. Of course there was a lot of technique involved, but the essence of the dish was that the squid were tiny and very, very fresh, and, I will bet, the oil immaculately clean. This was a dish to enjoy in that place, not easily duplicated outside it. Bux, I don't know Spanish cooking at all, but can guess that it would share some of these characteristics. To me that doesn't make it any less interesting or relevant to our discussion here.

Setting aside issues of innovation vs tradition, it seems to me that Italian cooks at all levels do fewer things to the foods they prepare. In the "fine dining vs cheap eats" thread I gave the example of two different hare preparations: Similar comments could be made about fond de cuisine (stock, French style) vs brodo (Italian). There's more to talk about in the French case because the cook does so much more to the food. Alice Waters once showed up at a charity dinner where the dish she had elected to prepare was a perfect salad. As she unloaded crates of young greens, another chef commented, "that's not cooking, that's shopping!" This was an Italian influence on Alice's cooking. I don't think that the greater technical complexity of French cuisine is any indicator either of greater relevance or of superiority. At the very best, Italian cooking speaks to Oliver Wendell Holmes's comment: There's more to talk about in French cuisine, more to codify, more to put into the curricula of cookery schools. Not necessarily more to enjoy.

Steve P's take on this might be useful in keeping us from returning to the morass of the "superiority of French cuisine" thread. Is there something in the nature of Italian menus that robs them of variety or gastronomic interest? That would be a new topic worthy of debate. I personally have experienced no lack of subtlety or complexity in the best Italian restaurants, and especially at the homes of some very experienced and passionate cooks in Italy. Nor have I felt pressured to eat pasta, polenta or risotto at every meal, though at least one of these is invariably on offer. Friends on the Atkins diet (a strange idea, to my view, but then I'm no doctor) do struggle in Italy. But is that not more a matter of weight control than gastronomy? I have found that individual Italians, in general, seem to have somewhat stronger ideas than the French about what constitutes a "proper" meal, especially in the ordering of dishes and tastes. So perhaps they have embraced innovation less warmly than have the French. Or perhaps Rebecca Spang's analysis is correct (long after Wilfrid's prompting, I am finally reading The Invention of the Restaurant): the French, in the form of Grimod de la Reynière) "invented" the idea of gourmandise and educated, classified taste -- a fairly late invention, by the way. Hence what some are experiencing is not some inherent inferiority of Italian cuisine but rather the lack of a developed language for talking about that cuisine.

The key is that phrase "admitted" in the Time Out guide. In my experience this means "very grudgingly". We've taken our three (now 7, 9, 12) to all sorts of restaurants in Spain, France and Italy, but we avoid taking them to fine restaurants in London. Our initial exposure to London views on these things was an attempt to bring a 9 month old (asleep in a baby carrier) into a pretentious and horrid Chinese restaurant in South Kensington, only to be rudely pushed into the street by the waiter. If they are admitted at all (and you must check beforehand, not relying on guides), you may well find that you are placed at a distant table, given poor service, talked to in patronising ways, etc. Other diners in London restaurants will occasionally break the usual practice of no interaction between tables to drop arch remarks about how inappropriate it is to bring children to temples of gastronomy. Whether or not you agree with them, it is probably better to go with the flow and to leave the children at home or in your hotel. There are very good babysitting services available. Or choose a restaurant more suited to children. Apart from that idiotic place in S. Ken we've always had good luck in Chinese restaurants. I've seen children of many ages in restaurants in France, right up to the top of the range. And they are almost always perfectly behaved, sometimes worryingly so. Perhaps it's those tots of wine they receive, right from the start...

I completely missed this thread...I can only plead absorbption in the Passard/Ducasse thread. Steve, I enjoyed and learned from that writeup. You have a gift for making these places live. Thanks for keeping your reservation and for taking time to share it with us.

Have they in fact agreed with this point of view? Earlier in the thread, Steve Shaw wrote that Is this "innovation" of a different order or nature that the innovations of a Passard or a Gagnaire? I am not in any way defending Ducasse, only seeking to understand what is meant by "innovation" in the discussion.

Steve, I can assure you that the last words the conductor would address to his orchestra before the performance would not likely be a reminder of the importance of the musicians’ feelings. I have heard many conductors asking musicians to "play with more feeling" (or "more schmalz", or any of a variety of locutions) but this is not at all the same thing as asking the players to experience particular feelings or emotions themselvses.

Robert's point about the appeal to authority gets to the heart of this debate. I have read enough of professional cookery and restaurant review writers to agree that their work is a ladder to climb up and then kick away -- in no small part because of the factions and cliques that develop within the tribe. And the views of chefs may be valuable but ultimately limited for those in search of a great dining experience, because I suspect that they experience food and service in a very different way. Even the small time I have spent "on the other side of the kitchen door" has changed the way I react to restaurants and food they serve. So we are left with a question about authority. At one extreme we find the pure relativism that I, at least, want to avoid: whatever you like is good, whatever I like is good, and there's no point in having a discussion. De gustibus non est disputandum. Let's close down eGullet; each of us can then go to McDonald's, Ducasse, or wherever. At the other extreme, we have what sometimes reads like a self-defined élite: "my own academy", in Steve Plotnicki's words. Those who are in the know will prefer Passard to Ducasse. How do you know that someone is in this magic circle? Because they prefer Passard to Ducasse. One reason this discussion is so difficult is that these chefs are working today. "Classics" -- and I think part of what we are struggling with in this and related threads is to understand what makes a culinary classic -- seem much easier to spot at least a few decades, if not centuries, after they are born. The dictionary (Concise Oxford) defines a "classic" as "of the first class, of avowed excellence." I would offer the following definition for our purposes: a chef who produces classic dishes (or classic dining experiences) is one whose work everyone who would consider her/himself knowledgeable about cuisine must at some point grapple with, someone who has made an immutable contribution to the art. It seems to me that we could adopt such a definition without any criterion about "liking" or enjoying work that is considered classic. I enjoy Stravinsky but struggle to enjoy Schoenberg, but understand why both composers contributed classic works, and why I won't fully appreciate music without some encounter with Schoenberg. If I understand Steve Plotnicki's point about Ducasse, and if he is right, Ducasse will go into history as a clever and entrepreneurial academician, someone who made a lot of money and opened several high-end restaurants, but didn't fundamentally change the language of cookery. If Steve Shaw is right, Ducasse's work will ultimately be seen as classic, just as Escoffier and Careme before him forever changed the ways we think about cooking and restaurants. This because of Ducasse's innovations in food preparation, ambition, scale, subtlety, and so on. We are still left with the question of authority. Rule out chefs and professional restaurant critics. The anonymous inspectors of the Guide Michelin accord Passard and Ducasse equal numbers of stars. While I deeply agree with Robert's claim that "the best and most accurate restaurant opinions come from the dedicated, devoted and unencumbered amateur", this thread has demonstrated several passionate, devoted and presumably unencumbered amateurs holding widely divergent views. My guess is that the two views are ultimately irreconcilable, and that we have come across two diverging schools. Again, I turn to the Concise Oxford: "band or succession of persons devoted to some cause or principle or agreeing in typical characteristics." A useful device perhaps, for sharing the criteria around which the passionate judgements are being made.

I was wondering why I was slogging through the ad personam remarks and the circular logic about (socially constructed) "objectivity" in this thread. But if the argy-bargy succeeded in eliciting that last post, FG, it was all worth while. A lovely bit of writing. Congratulations to you, and to Steve P for provoking it.

For the most part I use sel de Guerlande (coarse French sea salt) in solutions (cooked sauces, stocks, etc) and Maldon salt (fine English flakes) for sprinkling on things or uncooked sauces. I've been amazed by the low level of evaporation in oven-cooked stocks. I have done many of them completely uncovered, and only a small fraction of the stock evaporates, even over a long period. In some cases this is because a layer of fat floats to the surface; the simmer is so slow that the bubbles don't break through the fat. Perhaps this slows evaporation. The Aga does not have a convection fan, and I would advise switching off the fan in an electric oven. I struggle to believe the advice about removing the skin, simply because the flavour of roasted chicken skin is so good, and because there are substantial colour elements in the skin. I've done darker chicken stocks by par-roasting the chicken in a very hot oven. The skin caramelises and seems to lend a lovely colour and flavour to the stock.