John Whiting

I suspect that it's quite simple. The purpose of journalism is no longer to extend the readers' horizons, but to reassure them that where they are is exactly OK. Any suggestion of anything whatsoever that is different from what they know and love is elitist -- and could negatively affect sales.

This is one of those classics in which it's difficult to go wrong, providing certain principles are observed. For me, a crucial factor not mentioned in any of the recipes I've seen is for the savory custard mixture to get well in between the slices. I pour some of the mixture in first, then slip in the slices of potato one at a time so that they are well separated from each other; otherwise they are likely to stick together in solid lumps which defeats having sliced the potato in the first place. [Note: Some people rinse the slices in water to remove the surface starch which makes them stick together.] If thicker slices are wanted, then pre-blanching them is desirable. The trick, I think, is for the potatos to be thoroughly cooked before the custard has overcooked, gone hard and lost its smooth creamy texture. Indeed, yellow waxy potatoes of some variety are essential if you want them to keep their texture. Ordinary white mealy potatoes will taste ok, but will break down so completely that you might as well have puréed them.

Yes indeed, honey. I should have remembered that.Edit: Actually, this is a wonderful warm-up drink coming in from long exposure to nasty weather, cold or no cold.

For me, the most interesting question hasn't been answered: Why did the restaurateur name his restaurant after a Peter Cook and Dudley Moore routine, in which they deliberately chose the most ridiculous name they could think of? Those unfamiliar with the sketch will find the complete text at: http://www.davehitt.com/july99/frogskit.html

Thanks, Tommy, I can always count on you for a Zen sting!

Well, someone, somewhere, is pushing form at the expense of content.

In print and on TV, "designers" are given a freer and freer hand. Both graphic artists and cinematographers now regard text as a decorative feature of their craft rather than the other way around. Any extended speech by a single person is taken as an excuse for a visual riff -- a sort of cadenza which works itself out without reference to the words. It's the same mode of thought which often makes text difficult to read by insufficient tonal contrast between type and background, or a page with a complex self-pattern which obscures the text that overlays it.

Inside, when I was there, the clientelle were predominantly locals and they set the tone of the place -- rather like Chez Denise in Les Halles, which has absorbed the tourists rather than the other way around. Steve, give it a try -- if you're not happy, I'll refund your Euros.

Yes. Sweet, sour and hot (spicey).

Five years ago Nice still had a wonderful café in the old part of town, which served perfect soup de poisson and excellent entrecote au poivre, its sauce made properly from the pan juices. I learned about it from the EyeWitness guide to Provence, of all places. I hope it's still uncorrupted. L'Acchiardo, 38 rue Doite, Nice, tel 04 93 85 51 16

Since the first thing that goes during a bad cold is the sense of smell, I ignore traditional comfort foods, which tend to be bland, and gravitate towards strongly spiced, well-chilied mouth assaulters. A good cold-comfort drink is hot strong sweet lemonade with lots of brandy. Sweet-sour sensations survive the numbing-down effect of a cold and the hot brandy adds a heady glow. It doesn't cure the cold, but I no longer give a damn.

Speaking as a grandfather, I found her egg-sucking demonstration particularly enlightening.

Second it on Charles Campion -- really dedicated and not taken in by fashionable pretense. Conscientious scoffing has left its mark -- he makes our Fat Guy look like an Oxfam poster!

Did Mireille Johnston's "A Cook's Tour of France" (BBC 1992-3) ever make it to the US? I have them all on tape; they were the one TV food series that treated television as if it were a medium watched by the same people who read -- and write -- good books. Mireille interviewed some of the greatest French chefs of the time -- in French, in short bursts, immediately translating as she went along. You saw these people being comfortably themselves, not set up like zoo animals before a gawking public. She was a great but unpretentious lady, whose legacy includes having done the translation for the English version of Louis Malle's extraordinary four-hour documentary on wartime France, "The Sorrow and the Pity". Writing her obit for the Guardian was one of the saddest but most rewarding jobs I ever did.

I was in Roumania in the Ceausescu days. The only meal I ate in public which gave me any pleasure was at a huge old beer hall, the sort one finds in Munich, where we ate very Germanic "wieners und sauerkraut" fare. It was the only place which had any sense of reality or of continuity; others, no matter how old, felt somehow as though they'd just been knocked together for the night and would be gone in the morning. Life itself under Ceausescu had this sort of impermanence.

In Spain, of course, there is the tapas -- the original menu degustation! Small portions with small prices. I love it! From each according to his agility, to each according to his greed.

Here are a few excerpts from an A.A. Gill masterpiece of a couple of years ago which I saved as a horrible example. ". . . [A] restaurant critic . . . is a spiteful no-mates old queen. . . . I’m a restaurant critic.” Deliberate irony? He goes on to write in the same review, “The alpha and omega of stuff to say about this restaurant is that you can’t smoke. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it – I shan’t ever go back.” He develops this proposition to obscene lengths: “I’ll stop smoking in restaurants when they stop serving ugly people,” and proceeds through an elaboration which would make Bernard Manning blush.

I think that boning the pigs foot before braising it is a triumph of presentation over flavor. So much of the richness is in the bone and in the cartilege which couldn't possible be removed in its entirety when the foot is raw -- much of it is connective gristle between the individual bones of the foot. The extra ingredients would serve the purpose of replacing some of the richness of flavor which has been discarded.

I haven't encountered this except in London -- but "don' get around much any more". It could have to do with the fact (at least I think it's a fact) that London contains so many rich totally ignorant punters that practically any concept or anti-concept will sell, providing it's expensive enough.

Raw oysters with chocolate sauce?

I'm surprised it's so unusual, although I've not encountered it elsewhere. My Dad wasn't from the South but lived briefly in Kentucky/Kansas. And it was precisely cantalope that he salted. Of course there's the cook's axiom: a little salt with the sweet, a little sugar with the savory.

Cabales, should that be Rabelaisian, or am I missing a pun?Edit: A genuine question, not a nit-picking comment on a typo.

Presumably they are boiled before being boned; otherwise one is losing a major component of the flavor, as well as making one's task virtually impossible.

Pre-cooking of seeds and spices is an important but often neglected component of many cuisines. For instance Diana Kennedy maintains that it is a vital step in constructing a Mexican molé.

Not strange food combinations, but unorthodox seasoning: My father taught me how a light springling of salt brings out the flavor of a ripe melon. Charles Shere had a breakfast suggestion published in Gourmet years ago: Hot toast with lashings of butter, liberally sprinkled with freshly ground black pepper. I like mature farmhouse cheddar nibbled with strong hot black coffee.