June 2002

OF PHONES AND FOOD

Being in the United States is always a thrill. From the minute my feet hit the ground I feel a familiar energy and speed. Part of the sensation comes from being "home," in a place where I inherently understand the systems and the pace. The other part comes from the fact that the USA is simply a faster, more streamlined place than France will ever be.

I always have a million things to accomplish when I'm "home," that have nothing to do with whatever concrete project has brought me there. It may be that I need to purchase electronics that would cost double in France—like a timer, an address book, a computer—or a kitchen gadget that I can only find in the U.S., like an oven thermometer that measures in Fahrenheit, or a tape measure in inches, or a rasp with a handle...There are usually things I want to get for the children, or for Michael, or for friends—whether it be the grade B maple syrup I love from Maine, or crisp and crunchy See's candy bars (yes, they're scrumptious). So, I hit the ground running, anxious to get out on the street and inhale the vibrancy that is America, and get my errands accomplished. I do so believing all will go smoothly and easily, for implicit in the words United States of America is the notion of efficacy, availability, ease.

Wrong. Yes, things move fast in the U.S. A. Yes, the customer is (generally) first in the U.S. Yes, everything is open all the time, prices are low, choice is overwhelming. But, let me tell you about the portable phone I purchased on my most recent visit. I did slight research—who has time for more?—and walked out of a store on 57th street in Manhattan with a chunky Motorola and about a half-hour talk time, and a phone number with a prefix I didn't recognize. I made a call or two, delighted that I didn't have to search for a pay phone and change.

I used up the phone card within about four calls, and went to get another at a different store. There, I learned that the phone system I'd just purchased wouldn't take me to the west coast. In fact, it went about as far as Ohio with lots of dead spots in between. This meant the it was useless to me as I would be traveling far and wide. I wanted to throw the phone away. The salesman calmed me down. He loaned me a phone to call the store where I'd purchased the Motorola. They kept me on hold forever, disagreed with everything I said, but told me they would take the phone back. This freed me up to buy the sleek little Nokia with a phone card system—AT&T—that would stretch the length and breadth of the continent. The salesman handed me the phone and assured me I would be very happy. I love that about the USA—everyone feels free to sell happiness right along with goods.

I settled in with my new phone and lots of phone time, which ran out so quickly that I arrived in San Francisco with a dead phone. People tried to call me, but all they got was a message stating that the number was out of order.

How could this be? I hadn't had the phone more than a week. It took me forever to track down an AT&T card , apparently now the most obscure phone system in America. When I finally found one, a salesman at the store set me straight. "Your time runs out fast because you're charged for incoming and outgoing calls," he said. "Your phone number is on the east coast, so unless you're calling to that prefix you're being charged long-distance rates. AND," he emphasized, "When your card runs out, your phone won't work, not even to receive calls."

This was ridiculous. I have the exact same type of system in France and it is perfect, inexpensive, efficient. How had the tables turned?

Living the expatriate's life in France, it is easy to think that quaint inefficiency is just part of the Gallic character and charm, along with bureaucracy, reserve, and fabulous pastries. In the USA there is no Gallic charm. It is a country whose identity is can-do, one that worships ease, time-saving and economy. Things, everything, should work perfectly and efficiently at all times. But of course they don't. Once I remember this and become re-accustomed to the foibles of my homeland, I can begin to pay attention to all the wonderful things about it.

On my most recent trip, in March and April, when I was giving cooking classes across the country at Sur La Table kitchen supply stores, I found myself delighted and impressed with the marvelous ingredients I was given to work with. The dishes I'd planned to make—tiny rolls of smoked salmon stuffed with herbed crème fraiche, asparagus showered with spring onions and dressed in a hazelnut vinaigrette, spring pintade with baby spring vegetables, fresh fruit tourte, were simple, elegant, and completely reliant on the finest seasonal ingredients. I knew that planning such a menu was a risk, for what if I didn't get gorgeous produce? Nothing would taste good. But since I wanted to give an accurate representation of myself, my food, my school, my work, I couldn't do it any other way. I cast my luck to the winds, to the careful shoppers at Sur la Table, and to a detailed ingredient list with the words ORGANIC WHENEVER POSSIBLE writ large across the top. This helped immensely, for anyone looking for fresh, organic ingredients in the USA will find quality and flavor. From white asparagus to guinea hen, from new spring onions to fresh herbs, I got the best.

Were the ingredients comparable to what I get locally in Normandy, right from the farmer? They were close. From Virginia to Los Gatos, California, passing through Chicago and Kirkland Washington, the asparagus was fat and flavorful, the guinea hens sumptuous, the fruit flavorful, the onions sweet and juicy. Occasionally a guinea hen wasn't to be found so the alternative, a free-range chicken, stood in its stead. This was less exciting—even the most highly vaunted free-range chickens in California are no match for a good guinea hen. In one store the white asparagus was woody and awful, simply because the person buying it didn't know what to look for. Someone else ran out to buy good asparagus, and all was saved.

I had a wonderful time cooking for appreciative audiences, who ranged in age from early twenties to early seventies. I found everyone willing to ask questions and to sample, to learn and to be open-minded. I included an olive oil and a sea salt tasting in each of my classes, which were revelations to many. It was a heartening experience, for all of these many people so eager to learn shop wisely and well, then take their ingredients home to cook. This means that many Americans are eating well at home. And this is what I'm in the business to encourage. There is no substitute for eating well at home. It shouldn't be considered a luxury, and really needn't be. It just involves paying attention to ingredients, buying them as close to the source as possible, then doing the simplest possible things to them so they offer up all their flavor. This is not an occupation reserved for the wealthy. This is available to everyone, and here are some recipes to put it to use.

Roast Guinea Hen with Citrus
Pintade Rôti aux Agrumes

Guinea hen is sumptuous no matter how it is prepared, though roasting is one of my favorite ways to prepare it. I always stuff it with several lemon halves, and usually an orange as well, then use those, once the guinea hen is roasted, to squeeze over all the golden pieces—it is extraordinary! If you can't find guinea hen, substitute a free-range, preferably organic, chicken.

	One 3 to 4 pound (1.5-2 kg) guinea hen or farm-raised chicken, whole, giblets removed, at room temperature
	Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
	2 lemons, cut in half
	1 small orange, cut in half
	1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
	2 teaspoons good quality dried oregano

Preheat the oven to 450F (230C).

1. Season the cavity of the guinea hen with salt and pepper, then stuff it with the citrus fruit and the giblets. Sprinkle 1 teaspoon of the oregano inside the guinea hen.
   
   
2. Mix the butter with the remaining teaspoon of oregano. Loosen the skin from the breast meat of the guinea hen and, reaching carefully under the skin, rub the meat with the butter and the oregano. Truss the guinea hen.
   
   
3. Roast the guinea hen until it is golden and cooked through, for about 45minutes. To test for doneness, pierce the thigh joint with a sharp knife—the juices run clear.
   
   
4. Remove the guinea hen from the oven and sprinkle it lightly with salt. Turn it on its breast side, angled so the feet are above the head end, and let it rest for at least 20 minutes. Cut the guinea hen into serving pieces. Squeeze the lemons and the orange over the guinea hen and serve.

4 to 6 servings

White Asparagus with New Onions and Blossoms
Asperges aux Oignons Nouveaux et Fleurs de Ciboulettes

White asparagus is one of the best parts of French spring. The very best is said to come from the Loire Valley, though we have a producer not far from us and frankly, her asparagus—both white and green—is the best I have EVER tasted.

	2 pounds (1kg) white asparagus, trimmed and peeled
	4 fresh spring onions (about 200g), trimmed and cut in half then very thinly sliced
	1-½ teaspoon sherry wine vinegar
	2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
	2 tablespoons hazelnut oil
	Fleur de sel
	1 tablespoon chives blossoms

1. Bring water to a boil in the bottom half of a steamer over medium-high heat. Place the asparagus in the steamer, cover and cook the asparagus until it is tender through but not mushy, checking the stalks from time to time to be sure they are cooking evenly, which will take about 11 minutes. Transfer the asparagus from the steamer to a clean tea towel.
   
   
2. In a small bowl combine the onions and the vinegar. Whisk in the oils in a fine stream until thoroughly combined.
   
   
3. Transfer the asparagus to a serving platter and drizzle with the oil, vinegar and onions. Season with fleur de sel.
   
   
4. Sprinkle the chives blossoms over the asparagus. Serve immediately.

6 servings