John Whiting

Discounting, for purposes of argument, all restaurants with magnificent natural views, my wife and I are agreed that the front (bar) section of Gramercy Tavern is the most perfect space we've ever dined in. Those enormous floral/branch arrangements turn it into a magic forest. And the not-too-crowded spacing of the tables, together with the relaxed but discreetly attentive service, make the whole experience a model of perfect human interaction. (And I haven't even mentioned the food!)

Small world. We met Jack the first time we had lunch at l'Astrance; he and his wife were at an adjoining table. We speculated as to whether all the other tables were occupied by prospective reviewers.

Frieda, you've raised the stakes. Of course a lunch you put together yourself from real French "fast food" will rival any Routier. My favorite French market town, for a number of reasons, is Perigueux. This is from a write-up I did a couple of years ago of their biannual cookery book festival: EVERY day there were a few stalls in the old market squares selling this and that. Thursday had been particularly rich in fresh wild mushrooms, with such an abundance of horn-of-plenty and chanterelles, at such modest prices, as to make me wonder if there could be any left in the fields. But Saturday proved to be the really serious market day. The stalls, under square blue umbrellas packed edge-to-edge, held fruits and vegetables I’d neither seen nor heard of. There were exotic varieties of turnip with concentric decorator-rings and luxuriant masses of greenish-purple tops, enormous black-skinned radishes, a dozen different varieties of goat cheese from a dozen independent farms, from puckered little Cubjac crottins—i.e., turds, as these sophisticated Gauls call them—to the soft fresh Le Biquet from Mére Elyann, a venerable fromagére as round and wrinkled as her cheeses. But even more impressive than the comestibles were the plump, sharp-eyed women who moved purposefully from stall to stall, squeezing a radish, hefting a pumpkin, pressing a chicken breast to test its resilience. They are the substratum of culinary culture, the critics who must be constantly satisfied, the foundation of taste and integrity which gives the markets—in fact, the whole agricultural complex of Perigord—the inspiration and the incentive to maintain its standards. Such traditions are not handed out by publicists, or even taught by experts, but rise ultimately from the very earth which gives savor and sustenance. THIS particular Saturday was the opening of the foie gras season, and so a huge double tent had been set up in the Square St-Louis, within which long rows of tables were occupied by perhaps a couple of dozen local farmers and their wives exhibiting what looked like the entire duck population of the world since time began. There were free samples, little squares of toast spread with fresh foie gras; in the jostling crowds, the unscrupulous browser could have gone the rounds again and again, consuming a small fortune in duck livers. [N.B. I didn’t.] In front of the tent were dancers and musicians in folk costume, the latter playing accordions and elbow-inflated bagpipes much like the uillean pipes I’d seen in Ireland. Off to one side two sweating cooks, laboring over a massive barbecue like the fires of hell itself, were grilling an acre of sizzling duck legs whose tantalizing aroma was rapidly drawing to the square everyone who passed within sniffing distance. And there in the midst of it all was the ubiquitous Mayor, delivering fluent extemporaneous speeches, reaching into a basket and extracting winning raffle tickets, chatting with passers-by, cracking jokes. During a lull, I asked him if he ever went home. “You’re everywhere, ” I teased. “Last night I expected to find you in my hotel room.” A loud laugh and, quick as a flash, the French reposte: “Only if I were with your wife.” Touché!

I was once told by a friend who ran an Italian restaurant that individual pepper mills on the tables disappeared faster than they could be replaced. The grotesquely oversized monsters you see are so they'll be too big even to slip under an overcoat.

lxt, shall we form a wisdom cartel? Maybe we could corner the market!

Yes, I've found Logis to be the most useful single guide covering the whole country with a veritable milky way of tiny stars. They are all independently owned hotels which come together into a sort of association, but there are inspectors who must pass and rate them before they are accepted. One benefit of the association is that individual hotels with restaurants are strongly urged, if not required, to include a menu du terroire in their carte. Some I've experienced have been very good indeed. France understands better than Britain (or most of America) how to make cooperatives of various sorts work well for the small operator without becoming enmeshed in fruitless arguments over "socialism". They aren't ideological organisations, they're practical mechanisms for mutual aid. And yes, Bux, the Michelin red bib recommendations are very useful and pleasurable, though they're not as thick on the ground as the Logis hotels.

Education is the art of overhearing. The most useful things we learn are not those which are told us by someone whose intention is to indoctrinate; rather, they are those insights which are revealed to us through inadvertent honesty.

Don't tell me that; I'm an incurable romantic. But seriously, it's not that I don't believe a chef can run an establishment which ticks over properly without his constant supervision, it's just that I prefer the atmosphere of a modest bistro, or a fine restaurant on that sort of scale, like l'Astrance.

Ah, Routier. Our last lunch before leaving France was at a Routier restaurant. Outside it looked unpromisingly like an English transport caf, but the dining room was cosy and not ill-decorated, with tablecloths , formally set places and a litre of vin rouge ordinaire on each table. It was a bit late for lunch so there were only a couple of tables occupied, one by two middle-aged French couples and the other by what we took to be a couple of truck drivers. We were promptly brought menus which offered two price levels; we chose the more expensive at 14 ½ euros, which offered paté de foie gras as a starter. Two generous blocks arrived together with warm toast wrapped in a napkin. Obviously the paté had come out of a can, not prepared on the premises, but the quality was decent – as good as you’d get gift-wrapped at any up-market tourist trap for not much less than the cost of our entire meal. The other two tables were engaged in lively but not raucous conversation, having a jolly time with no apparent intention of leaving very soon, nor was the waitress at all impatient. For a main course I chose faux-fillet au poivre and Mary went for a fillet of white fish (we forget what) with a sort of béchamel sauce. She didn’t particularly care for it, but I fared rather better. I asked for it bleu, and so it was, well seared outside and translucent within. It was a bit tough but very tasty – I’m always prepared to make that trade-off. The made-up sauce had not been prepared from scratch in the classic manner and was a bit too thick, but the flavor wasn’t bad at all. I genuinely enjoyed it. And the pommes frites were generously supplied and just fine. In the meantime the wine was disappearing from the open bottle at an alarming rate. Where was it all going to? It was perfectly decent stuff; I’ve had much worse at exorbitant mark-ups from pretentiously cradled bottles. Then a cheese course. A plate was brought around with half a dozen choices. Nothing to write home about but perfectly edible -- no processed rubbish. And desert. I chose a coconut cake, Mary a dish of vanilla ice cream. She swore it was the best she’d ever had. I sampled it and was inclined to agree. She generously offered to share it and we both ended up with coconut cake a la mode, as the Yanks would say. Delicious. By this time the other tables had emptied. We asked if we could have a coffee (for me) and a hot chocolate (for Mary). No problem. No hurry. We took our time and asked for the bill. Then came the shock.: 29 euros for two four-course lunches, one euro each for the coffee and the chocolate, total 31 euros. No charge for the wine – that was included. We thought of what such a meal would have been like, at what cost, in an English motorway pit stop restaurant. Fervently crossing ourselves, we left in a state of euphoria. If you ever find yourself in Yerville, give the waitress our love. S.A.R.L. L’Escale, Avenue Charles de Gaulle, 76760 Yerville, Tel: 35 96 78 06

Chefs can get away with playing hooky because they're out of sight. So many dishes should be labeled "from the school of ...", although the comparison does a disservice to Rubens, inasmuch as he personally touched up and passed what went out in his name. These kitchens deserted by their masters call to mind pop stars who put in proxies for recording sessions, except that the latter are frequently better musicians than the celebrities who hire them.

I am biased towards Small is Beautiful (which is why I avoid looking in mirrors ) I love the woods when the newly green leaves have not yet reached maturity. I seek out undiscovered villages. I drive slowly along narrow roads. And I especially enjoy eating at small back-street restaurants where the chef is still too busy cooking to write books, give interviews, appear on TV, or sell his opinions to the ambitiously imitative. I did say it was a bias. I can't defend it, only affirm it.

Au Crocodile has lost a macaron this year and is up against the supurb Buerehiesel, which justly retains full marks.

Steven S, I've not been to the French Laundry (though I've often been taken to the cleaners), but I read your write-up with a spontaneous empathy which I couldn't possibly defend. Did the gents' have solid gold urinals?

Rubin's Gourmet Paris is a great idea with a lot of useful information, but I would treat it with extreme caution. The author (authors?) must not have checked out the recommendations, since two pages of cassoulet specialists, which include the reliable Trou Gascon, also include Domaine de Lintillac, where the cassoulet comes straight out of their own proprietary tin can and is the worst I've ever experienced. That's not just an off night, that's an off life. The very short list for tarte tatin includes Pierre au Palais-Royal, with the cryptic comment, "The traditional tarte tatin still makes an appearance, though upside down . . ." But the tarte tatin *is* upside down. Does that mean that there it's right side up?

I ate luncheon at Robuchon's Jamin ten years ago, including his celebrated potato purée. I thought that the latter epitomized the entire meal: perfect, suave, rich, bland, unchallenging. It was rather like the manner in which one should address royalty. I'm sure that the vast majority of his well-heeled diners found it reassuring, but it made me yearn for a garlicky aligot.

I avoid this moral dilemma by listening to Bach on CDs I've paid for.

Or just read the web site and spend nothing whatsoever!

Here's a provocative quote from the great A.J. Liebling: "The standard of perfection for vodka (no color, no taste, no smell) was expounded to me long ago by the then Estonian consul-general in New York, and it accounts perfectly for the drink's rising popularity with those who like their alcohol in conjunction with the reassuring tastes of infancy -- tomato juice, orange juice, chicken broth. It is the ideal intoxicant for the drinker who wants no reminder of how hurt Mother would be if she knew what he is doing." _Between Meals_, pp.68-9

Under another topic, someone recommended as a primary source on French cuisine that great book by A.J. Liebling, _Between Meals_. If it weren't for questions of copyright and fair use, I would have prefaced my suggestions for "France on a Shoestring" with the entire fourth chapter, entitled "Just Enough Money". Instead, I'll content myself with a brief quotation, the last sentence of which is constantly anthologized: “A man who is rich in adolescence is almost doomed to be a dilettante at table. This is not because all millionaires are stupid but because they are not impelled to experiment. In learning to eat, as in psychoanalysis, the customer, in order to profit, must be sensible of the cost.” A.J. Liebling, _Between Meals_, Chapter IV, “Just Enough Money”, pp67-8.

Shaun Hill has gone so far as to insist that, because of the logistics and economics of restaurant cuisine, roast duck can only be properly prepared in a domestic kitchen. And Rowley Leigh's original title for his first recipe collection, subsequently modified, was "Better at Home".

Two things I should have included: COST: The B&Bs we stay at usually cost between 30 and 50 euros per night for two. Dinners at these places, including wine, are usually between 15 and 25 euros apiece. TELEPHONES: Large parts of rural France, especially in the mountains, do not have reliable contact with mobile phone aerials. Even if you have a mobile that's authorized for continental use, buy yourself a French phone card with a lot of units. Even rural areas are pretty well supplied with phone booths, and none of them take coins.

I just love those few remaining rural French bistros where the chefs are anonymous!

Most of our discussions about eating our way across France center around the top end of the market. That’s a very pleasant way to do it; but there may well be lurkers on our list who can only do it on a modest scale. For their benefit (and for those plutocrats who feel like slumming) I’d like to suggest an alternative which I’ve followed for most of my continental excursions. First of all, I’m not talking about hitch-hiking from barn to barn. I’m assuming a reasonable budget which the traveller wants to optimize. In outline, my plan of attack involves driving my own or a rented car; planning and following my route with the aid of a laptop computer loaded with Microsoft AutoRoute and GPS; and staying mostly at B&Bs. THE CAR: Whatever you choose to drive, it’s essential that it have enough concealed storage space so that your bags and suitcases aren’t on show. You want to be able to leave it with relative safety in parking lots, and so it’s wise to rent a fairly modest car that doesn’t scream wealth. If you’re coming from the US, you’ll probably save a lot of money by arranging the rental before you leave. My own vehicle is an ancient VW van with mortise locks all round, a sophisticated burglar alarm, a bulkhead and no windows in the luggage compartment, and an enormous collection of travel stickers all over the rear door. I’ve had it from new and kept it in tip-top mechanical shape, but let the bumps and scratches accumulate. The unpromising exterior has allowed me to transport thousands of pounds worth of sound equipment all over Europe in perfect safety – never an attempt at a break-in during fifteen years and 180,000 miles, even when parked overnight on unsavory city streets. AUTOROUTE AND GPS: This has been worth its weight in truffles. At the very least, it’s worth having the program on your home computer for advance planning of itineraries. I’ve gone for the full monty and have a lightweight slimline IBM laptop which sits on a tray I installed on my dashboard and is connected to a Garmin GPS 35 PC, so that my route automatically scrolls in front of me as I drive. In between these two extremes, I would suggest that, if you have a laptop which isn’t too heavy, you take it along with AutoRoute fully installed so that the CD doesn’t have to be inserted. When you’re planning your journey at home, you have the luxury of listing all the locations you want to cover and then asking the computer to arrange them in the most efficient order. You’ll get a map on screen with your route outlined, on which you can zoom in and out at will, and you’ll also get a point-by-point textual analysis which will tell you how many miles you’d have to cover in a day to get it all in. Route options include “fastest”, “shortest” and “preferred”, in which you can set relative preferences for or against motorways, etc. You can also program in your expected average speed on different grades of road. The final route can be saved so as to come back to it instantly. It’s also worth having separate programs for each day’s travel. If you take the computer with you, of course you can revise your plans day by day. On our last two-week trip we stuck to our hotel reservations but considerably altered our daytime schedules as we went along, and AutoRoute made this very easy and reliable – we always arrived at our final destination well within half an hour of the time we had planned. GUIDES: For restaurants it’s worth taking both Michelin and GaultMillau, or buying them when you arrive – that is, if you want to keep your options open. The big Michelin atlas is essential. As a primary source of information I’ve always used Alistair Sawday’s “Special Places to Stay: French Bed and Breakfast”. This describes the places in sufficient detail for you to form subjective opinions, which are likely to be reliable. For instance, farms which serve noteworthy dinners made with their own produce are clearly identified. One of our most vivid memories is of the finest quiche we ever tasted, a simple affair made with freshly laid eggs and unpasteurized cream from their own cows. His “French Hotels, Inns & Other Places” includes more upmarket establishments. Not infallible, but on our last Dordogne holiday, out of nine hotels, only two were not to our liking and there were four we would eagerly return to. If anyone has any questions I’ll try to answer them.

Bux writes: I'm sure it's a misprint, but what a great word! It sums up the lightning tour of gastronomic Meccas, the jet-propelled pilgrimage from star to star.

Steve P writes, beginning: Lifting this post out of the context of this needlessly controversial topic, I find it one of the best very short essays I've encountered on how to approach French cuisine. The key point, which is so often ignored, is using Paris, not just as a great splash of "Frenchiness", but as a menu degustation of the country's intimate detail. Steve, at some point I'll be in touch about incorporating this mini-essay into my own web site.