robert brown

Since I'm not in a thinking mood, I'll put forth these two quick, gossamer thoughts. One manifestation no one has considered is how many Italian chefs have served apprenticeships in France. I remember soon after Ezio Santin had opened his Antica Osteria del Ponte outside of Milan, my wife and I paid him a visit. During the meal I said, "I bet he worked at Georges Blanc and Moulin de Mougins". When Santin came to our table, I asked him where he had worked. Sure enough he said Blanc and Mougins. (BTW, it's the only time I have been so prescient). Does anyone know what other Italian chefs have apprenticed with the great chefs in France? Marcus, if you hven't tried Gamebro Rosso in San Vicente, you should be bowled over. I ate there one time in 1996 and I have heard nothing to indicate it has deteriorated. Of course I like Miramonte l' Altro and da Giaccomo in Milan, though it isn't "creative" cooking.

Steve S., before I attempt to reply to what you asked me about, what kind of cuisine are the people you spend time with making in terms of its nationality, because if you're asking me to discuss why they are not embracing Italian cuisine, why might it be that they are inventing dishes with pasta, risotto, palenta, Ligurian olives, radicchio, Parmesan cheese, balsamico, and so forth along with foie gras, Roquefort, summer "truffles",etc. Then what about so-called Meditteranean cuisine.?And how about your mentoning that a hallmark of Ducasse was his comingling of French and Italian cuisine?

Steve P., Concerning Italian opera, that's what happens when you make a generalization and someone comes along and asks about the specifics (or the exceptions). My main concern or connection is the French involvement with decoration (of which frivolity is a major component such as in the 1920s). It would be interesting if to know if someone ever studied any correlation between the decorative concerns of a country during a certain time and how it influenced cuisine. (There is a matter of national character at work here as well.) On one of your previous concerns, don't you think (as Bux alluded to) that pasta is the driving force of Italian cuisine? I fact I said to my wife just this summer that it was presence of the pasta section that made Italian menus and restaurants as varied as they are. And hasn't whatever innovation that there has been in Italian cuisine taken place mostly with pastas/risottos (mainly outside of Italy, too)?

Steve S., If you define modern gastronomy as “dining in today’s world”, I would have to say that the essence of it does not revolve around “cutting edge” or innovation, but what I have described previously as “gourmandness” or the immersion of oneself in the gastronomic life. In that regard, Italy has no competition. What strikes me as the reasons for this are the sheer number of not only delicious restaurants (and how often do you hear it said that for eating day in and day out, Italy has it all over France; and to add my personal take, I have yet to cry “uncle” when touring gastronomically in Italy) that one can simply walk into without any prior knowledge. But not only is the average restaurant delicious, but the people who own it are likely to be all related, and thus more entrepreneurial-spirited and caring. Add to this the seemingly-endless number of gastronomic resources in terms of specialty stores, markets, and vineyards and the geographic rapidity in which gastronomic zones come and go, I don’t think there is any other country that can compete. Modern gastronomy in the sense of innovation and experimentation I admit is not a hallmark of Italian cuisine; but that hardly implies that it does not exist. I believe there are many chefs, unheralded or otherwise, who take a posture toward classic Italian cuisine not unlike the “Nouvelle Cuisine” chefs did in France in the late 1960s through the 1980s. Take such guidebooks as “La Guida de L’Espresso, “Gambero Rosso”, or the Veronelli, and you will see dozens upon dozens of highly-rated restaurants whose chefs put their own spin on traditional Italian cuisine. It may not be as extreme (or as in often the case, misguided) as what one could find in France, Spain or parts of the Anglo-Saxon world, but it exists in what I find to be in a more sober and disciplined form. I believe however that what motivates the situation (perceived or otherwise) that Italian cuisine, or eating in Italy, suffers because of lack of innovation or risk-taking on the part of chefs is in reality indicative of the triumph and immutable nature of classic Italian cuisine that is part and parcel of a nation whose omnipresent great art, architecture and music can never be accused of superficiality or trendiness. French cuisine, on the other hand, shares some of the attributes of French decorative art, which in French culture has played a relatively larger role, particularly in the 20th century, compared to fine art. The two main attributes are its ephemeral nature and preoccupation with decoration at the surface, the latter of which is apparent in the presentation of food on the plate and the design of certain savories and desserts.

How come the Japanese in non-touristic Japan don't call raw fish restaurants "sashimi bars"?

Steve, after you go to Hiramatsu, let me know about your meal there. I am sure you would have a better grasp of it than Patricia Wells. JD, thanks for jumping in with the periodic cogent, definitive post that this thread needs from time to time. I am not sure everyone understands that "appeal to authority" is a logical fallacy that people invoke when they cite a so-called authoritative source as being "the last word"; i.e. Patricia Wells wrote that L'Astrance is a great restaurant; therefore L'Astrance is a great restaurant. Here's one for the group. If no one recreates a chef's signature, can that dish ever be considered a classic? Also, given that competent chefs today seem to have an aversion to being perceived as serving a dish someone else has made, can we legimately expect to see fewer classic dishes in the future? Since the last meal I had at Ducasse Monaco (aka Le Restaurant Louis XV) was an abomination, what does it mean that Ducasse strives for perfection? (By the way, the meal was when people were wondering how Ducasse was going to keep up standards because he had recently open another grand restaurant in Paris in Robuchon's former space.. Remember the talk about the helicopter that would go back and forth because the two restaurants had different days of the week when each was closed? How long does it take a helicopter to go from Monaco to New York?) On the other hand, less than a year before that meal, I had a sensational dinner at Le Louis XV (and I did not appreciate and enjoy L'Arpege to the fullest until I had the second meal the day after I had had my first since the early 1980s). I guess the motto is to keep an open mind and, if possible, try, try again.

Over what I believe is the most impassioned and intelligent thread in the brief history of e-Gullet, I have spent a few hours just trying to digest it. The differing beliefs of the participants are so tightly held and well articulated that there can be no winners or losers, or no winning and losing positions-- only personal convictions. Of course, I have them too, and if they sneak out, why should it matter? Instead, I have been so mentally stimulated that all I want to do is share a few conceptual thoughts that came into my head simply by dint of reading and re-reading the thread and which I hope will cast some additional light to the several topics that people have brought to the fore. One concept that came to me since it has in various ways driven certain aspects of the debate is aesthetic distance. As most of you who ever took a philosophy or esthetics course, or simply well-read in certain fields know, (and there is a lot of which I have forgotten since my undergraduate days) aesthetic distance is a term used to indicate the extent to which a person is able to relate to an esthetic object, expression, performance, or, generally speaking, manifestation regardless of the intervening circumstances that have the potential to disrupt, interfere or distort the esthetic response. Thus, the person who recognizes and allows the back-projection behind two people in a 1940s movie “riding” in a car to spoil his-absorption of the narrative in the film would be “under-distanced” or not maintaining aesthetic distance. After conjuring up the concept of aesthetic distance, I saw immediately how easily applicable it was to fine dining, certainly so to the French three-star variety. (Okay, I have to admit that to a large degree it is shorthand for the non-culinary aspects of dining, but it conveys it in a novel way, especially with all the attention given on the thread to esthetics). I strongly suspect that when restaurateurs in the 1880s through to the Belle Époque were building Maxim’s, Laperouse, La Tour d’Argent, and so forth were not thinking about shortening esthetic distance between the client and the cuisine. However, I am certain that there is much more a conscious effort to do so today, even if that is not the term a restaurateur would think of to call what is the esthetic positioning of the diner towards the cuisine through the use of available ruffles and flourishes, bells and whistles, and whatever non-culinary weapons are in the proverbial arsenal. One obvious but nonetheless overlooked and interesting aspect to the debate between the adherents of Passard and those of Ducasse is how close the two men and their businesses are to being polar opposites in such key areas as temperament, goals, and how they construct their livelihoods. In terms of meaningful aesthetic distance, Passard does almost everything possible to maintain and lengthen it in the context of a lean and mean restaurant operation, which, as far as I know or can tell, almost completely dominates his everyday life. Ducasse, on the other hand, has a life we all know about: the dozen restaurants he oversees, the books, boutiques, products, and so forth. A visit to any of his three major restaurants is, given the works of art on the walls or the original Empire surroundings, and all that goes with it in terms of service and the culinary and extra-culinary accoutrements alike, an exercise in shortening the aesthetic distance. I have to wonder, therefore, if this vast dichotomy between the two men and their enterprises helps account for the preference of Passard by the well-traveled and experienced (perhaps even somewhat jaded) eaters, on one hand; and the great admiration for Ducasse by those in one form or another earn their livelihood from gastronomy, on the other. And let’s not forget the strictly culinary considerations. I believe that those for whom dining at Passard is paramount can bank on his preparing their meal, and that much of what he makes, while at times idiosyncratic, will be inordinately distinctive. As for those who express deep admiration for Ducasse, Steve Shaw has described perfectly their reasons why (as has Steve P done with Passard) ; but to put it in another way, Ducasse’s cuisine represents the best manifestation of the connecting link to the mainstream of French “haute gastronomie” as it predominated in the last quarter of the 20th century. Another aspect of the thread that I find interesting is a kind of appeal to authority: that food professionals, be they chefs or critics, somehow know best; and if there is an overwhelming consensus among them, all the better. The first phenomenon one should be aware of is that living practitioners are the least reliable source of recommendations, which is why the truths and the insights they do have usually come out in memoirs and posthumous letters and diaries (often with a many-year embargo), and, of course, they rarely write the definitive histories of whatever art form or profession they represent. As Steve P. wrote above, “What chefs think has nothing to do with what the paying public thinks”. While I would take under consideration in certain circumstances a chef’s recommendation, how forthright and objective is a chef going to be when talking of the restaurants of his colleagues? Furthermore, and maybe even more significant, many chefs are incapable of discussing gastronomy or the experience of a restaurant visit at the same level of insight or open-mindedness as the best culinary writers and the people who post on this site. Without getting into a diatribe about restaurant critics, I think one of the hallmarks of learning how to eat is the ability to dispense eventually with an over-reliance on restaurant critics. (“Restaurant recommenders” is a more suitable name for the profession). In the purview of criticism of restaurants in France, it doesn’t matter how many visits to three-star restaurants Patricia Wells has made. After more than 20 years of doing so, she still cannot write in any evocative or amusing way (as witnessed above by her “description” of Ducasse’s cuisine that gives no tangible indication of what it really is. Compare it to the successful and enlightened one that follows). Of course, we all know the conflicts of interests, the closed clubbiness of the food writing profession, and the lack of “gourmandness” in the soul of most of them. To my mind, the best and most accurate restaurant opinions come from the dedicated, devoted and unencumbered amateur (“amateur” in the classic sense of being a lover). There are so much more concerns that people have manifested on this thread. However, since I finally realized that if you address too many topics in one post, the replies can end up addressing the ones you don’t deeply care about. Therefore, I will stop here for the time being, even though I have some more to say.

Steve, the family sold the restaurant maybe 2-1/2 years ago to a local chef. We went one time after that and have not/will not go back. But I shared your love for the place when the Cerutti family owned it. It was still good after the wife, Veronique, was there without her husband. It was the best restaurant in Nice to our minds. I wish Franck would open up his own place again and be able to devote full time to it. He must be getting paid a lot to stay at the Louis XV. My guess is that his heart isn't in Monaco anymore. I'm still working on it, but at least it's started.

I have just now begun to write.

I feel this enormous pressure, an overriding obligation, tremendous tension, and here I nodded off during the 9th inning of the Angels-New York game due to lack of sleep last night from a noisy air conditioner at the Latham Hotel in Georgetown. I beg for your forebearance and patience until tomorrow.

I am sorry I was away (in DC having a terrific meal) and missed all the fireworks. It is enthralling reading. As always when I miss out on a great discussion I regret not having had the opportunity to put everything in neat, succinct perspective. Only if the debate picks up again will I set everything straight. I can see, however, that the postings have evolved into short, personal comments that typically mark the death of an e-Gullet discussion. Tough luck.

Steve, I mentioned in my thread about the Old Dining vs. the New Dining that the former created many more classic dishes than the latter. I think one needs to segregate a chef's signature dish from one that permeates the repetoires of many other chefs; i.e. classic dishes. Examples from your list would be the Troisgros' salmon, Bocuse's Soup aux truffes VDG, (and what about his Loup en Croute, perhaps even more influential and the source of Daniel's dish, I believe), the three dishes of Senderens, Puck's pizza (and what about Rosenzweig's Lobster Club, speaking of casual). I will add to this tomorrow or Friday. Good work. Good Night

I think Trama was a few years younger. Wasn't Michel Bras a chemist at some point, although I believe his family owned a restaurant. Why not start a thread on Roellinger?

See Steve, I didn't know that about Roellinger. What did he do before and when did he decide to become a chef?

Holy shit, Steve. I can drive up the hill to my house without having to wait for any lights.

Bux, it is Johnny-come-lately-ism that is a bigger factor than whether a chef went to school in Lausanne, Lyon or Hyde Park. Bras and Veyrat, maybe even Loiseau, may have started out self-taught, but they started being exposed and to learn when they were 14 years old. Many great chefs grew up in kitchens and then went out to work in the kitchens of those who were their mentors. The only famous French chef I know who decided at a late age to become a chef is Michel Trama. In America we don't have chefs with that kind of background, although one exception, apparently is David Bouley who learned at his grandmother's side as an adolescent. This is why French born and trained chefs have such a grip on highly-regarded American restaurants. I have never been to Trotter's or the French Laundry, though, for what it is worth, I ate Keller's food in the 1980s a few times at Rakal, and I am soon to dine at the French Laundry. Thus, it will be interesting to see how an American thoroughbred, Johnny-come-lately tickles my palate. As for Trotter, I am waiting for the first person who has dined extensively in France to say he is as great as his fans say he is.

Cabrales, you may want to call ChopJWU12's boss Nicholas. He also has a wine business and has some quite rare bottles on his restaurant's wine list. When do you need it by? If you can wait, I would imagine someone you met could find and part with a really good and properly-stored bottle.

Steve P., patience please. I am not about to propose a "petite tour gastronomique", although you still have to be a Francophile and like food while bopping around France.

Bux, my approach has already changed. I think during the summer I sent you an e-mail saying that I wanted to start a thread about what I call a new paradigm of food-centered travel. Your post above provides an ideal lead-in. The problem is is that I have a few things to do before I get into it wholeheartedly. Let me say for the moment that it is centered around a de-emphasis of all but the most compelling two and three-star Michelin restaurants of France, a search for discovery of purveyors of classic French meals and products, and a renewed emphasis (for me) on gastronomy in Italy. To a certain extent it is what some of us already do. However, it might be worthwhile if I formalize it later in a dedicated discussion.

Steve, it seems that fewer people are finding it not worth going out of their way for it or willing to spend what it now costs, which is not to say that if the world situation were dreamy the strong demand would still not be there. I think Mrs. P summed up the feelings of many people, don't you think?

Rick Kennedy's "Good Tokyo Restaurants" has had an inordinate influence on my restaurant selection. Too bad the book is very out-of-date. Nonetheless I still grab an address or two out of it since interesting restaurants seem to always be there. Although I am not aware of a revised edition of this books, I think that Kennedy has a web site or contributes to one. Does anyone out there know him?

If certain chefs operate their restaurants as loss leaders, why are they charging so much money to dine there? My understanding is that some of the chefs with the more expensive restaurants in Paris are in a state of panic (one even said, according to Lizziee, that they hoped the situation would improve after this past September 11!!!!). One problem seems to be that all their ventures are related-none of them are hedged--so that when the economy gets bad, the whole empire suffers. No one has also mentioned that these restaurants (and much of the luxury business in general) tread in an illiquid market and are therefore inelastic in terms of price. My experience with the French, both in terms of the art and rare book dealers and the chefs, are pigs on the way up and helpless on the way down. I believe they all raised their prices between 10-35% in the last 18 months or so based on the general notion that "all those Americans" and others had money to burn. Of course being fully booked is some indicator of demand, but they milked this to the max without considerating the possibilities of what would happen when people decided to stop spending. Now all these owner-chefs can do is water down what they can offer, which is why they are in a vicious circle of less business and less reason for people to spend money at their establishments.

Cabrales, great report. Now that you have eaten at Trotter's, did you see any evidence of lack of formal training, of possessing monster technique that most great chefs have, or indications of short-cutting? Did you also get a notion of how he stacks up against chefs like Passard, Troisgros, Klein, Bras or Gagnaire?

Jay, thanks for the marvelous discussion. If you want to read about my spending a lot of money for a disappointing meal in an expensive restaurant in France, see the topic I started on Le Moulin de Lourmarin. Up to now, I believe I am the only e-Gullet poster that from 1974 until the early 1990s dined in three-star Michelin restaurants in France on a consistent basis; probably as much as one could who lived 3000 miles away. My perspective, therefore, as the handful of people who follow what I write, is as much relative as absolute when I write about dining in France today. While I attempt to analyze the relevant trends in concrete ways, I can also say that what John Whiting looks for was an important ingredient in the years I mentioned: that some of the best chef-restaurateurs were content to eek out a living at the expense of providing value and satisfaction for their customers. I suspect that a major reason for it was the lack of greed and the certain badge of self-worth that net worth conferred, a state of affairs that started in the late 1980s and reached its crescendo two or three years ago. With this prosperity, now shown to be transitory for many of all-but-the wealthiest people, what people considered luxury became more widespread and, as a result, more diluted. I believe that this phenomenon also invaded restaurant-going at the highest level, for what else can explain the diminution of what characterized the great French restaurants a quarter off a century ago: large formally-trained serving staff and kitchen brigades, copious portions of whatever one selected from dozens of a la carte dishes, and prices for food and wine that did not seem outrageous (only in times of dollar weakness in the late 1970s and somewhat less from the late 1980s until the mid-1990s did dining prices in France feel expensive). What I find troublesome is that today one receives a lot less for a lot more. Not only have I noticed the above considerations, but also a certain amount of wiliness and cunningness I never noticed before: that chefs do not change their menus to the extent they used to; that certain parts of the meal-- cheese and dessert, mainly—are not the extravaganzas they used to be; and that humble products that great chefs would have treated lightly are conferred a certain status and offered, of course, at elevated prices. In the end, what I would like to know is why does a 25-course, amazingly elaborate “menu” at the restaurant that is the most sought after for reservations and the incontestably “hottest” in the world (the Spanish El Bulli) cost 115 euros, or why does the Italian two-star restaurant, Miramonte l’Altro, that I and a few other posters adore and would likely consider it to be the equal of several of the best restaurants in France, offer its cuisine for 100 euros?

In the mid-1970s at the Haeberlin brothers three-star restaurant in Alsace. L'Auberge de L'Ill, half of the clientele ate in a windowless room with communal tables and were served by women in black aprons and white blouses. The other half dined at their own tables in a gussied-up dining room with a view of the river. We ate in the former. I don't think we would have had a different feeling (indifferent) about the cuisine regardless of where we sat. Before Bernard Loiseau completely renovated La Cote d'Or in Saulieu several years after it had been the home of the legendary Alexandre Dumaine, it was a typical, rather dark, wood-paneled restaurant. Of course the three-star Paris restaurants, Maxim's La Tour d'Argent, Lasserre,etc. were opulent Empire/Art Nouveau palace-like dining establishments. But history is full of great meals taken in with simple surroundings, accoutrements, and service. Restaurants in many cities that serve lousy food have much more "luxe" interiors than L'Arpege and service that is more bustling, (if not intrusive). In fact, whenever I have a bad meal in a "fancy joint" I feel more ripped off than if I had had it in surroundings that were more humble and where I likely would have paid less. I can say that Passard's dishes could not possibly taste any better to me than they do, so it doesn't matter if I had them at a State dinner in a dining room at Versailles. As for my taking them in more humble surroundings, go eat fresh white truffles of Alba on a house-made pasta in a trattoria somewhere in Piemonte.