THE
LIVING
FRENCH
KITCHEN
by Colleen Davis

A traveler seeking the essence of French life should not stray far from the kitchen. While Parisian households are subject to many of the same pressures felt here in the States --high prices, shortage of time-- the French react to them differently. French families are more likely to use the dinner table as a medium to address the conflicting forces that make urban life both stimulating and stressful. In French hands, the evening meal offers an opportunity to carry out successful diplomacy between bitter and sweet, parent and child, knife and fork.

The harmony of a well-made meal is one of the great pleasures fostered by French custom. Eager to learn more about the basics of French cooking, I spent part of a recent visit to Paris helping in the kitchen of French friends. With great generosity, they shared their skills, teaching me how to make some classic meals with enough magic to charm eaters on any side of the Atlantic. We approached each evening's meal as a group endeavor. In the morning, my friends would select dinner's main elements and recite the ingredients. My day job was to procure wines well-suited to their menus. Since the proper marriage of food and wine is such an important element of French culinary tradition, most Parisians in the food industry were eager to provide matchmaking strategies. Even with my limited French vocabulary, I had no problem getting wine dealers to offer great suggestions in my price range.

It is important to remember one crucial factor when approaching these encounters: the French are passionate about matters of the palate. I was never subjected to any of the mythical Parisian arrogance that makes Americans avoid conversations abroad. Instead, most people eagerly offered as much information as my elementary French skills could process. I relied on a few basic rules to guide me through every cultural exchange. When entering a wine store, it is important to greet the clerk in French even if you don't speak it well. Say "Bonjour" -- it's not that hard. The positive impact of this greeting is amplified when accompanied by the sort of smile you'd offer an old friend. Parisians take these simple, formal exchanges very seriously; they make a huge impact on the outcome of a conversation. I usually follow that opener with my most-practiced phrase, "Je ne parle pas bien le Francais" -- (I don't speak French well). By humbly admitting this, I've informed the other person that I won't understand them if their answer is too rapid or complex. This also gives the listener permission to meet me halfway in English if their foreign language skills are better than mine. Of course, there may be one or two out of twenty clerks who will sneer at you. But if you honestly compare the search for Parisian service to the typical experience in New York or London, I believe their knowledge and graciousness wins the prize.

My efforts produced ample rewards. Most of the wine recommendations were terrific. The memorable pairings are worth mentioning because, with the marvel of exporting, some can easily be recreated in the States. For my first dinner in Paris, my friends made the classic French dish Pot au Feu --which translates to "Pot on the Fire". As a kitchen assistant in this project I learned how to stud the onion with cloves and prepare the vegetables for slow cooking. The dish is basically a braise of leeks, onions, turnips and carrots. The flavor of the broth is enhanced by bay leaves and later enriched with chunks of slow cooked beef and marrow bones. My wine matchmaker led me to a lovely Cotes du Rhone which nicely complemented the flavors in the dish. The wine was not too heavy to overwhelm the delicate taste of the leeks --but it had enough body to stand up to the beef. Though my French friends were wild about the marrow bones, I remain a little mystified by their devotion to that food. I was more attracted to fresh creamy cheeses offered at the end of the meal. The last sips of wine embraced them nicely.

Our next adventure involved breast of duck. The preparation was relatively simple with a brief saute. Although I had mine cooked more thoroughly, the French apparently think duck tastes best just after it stops quacking. Because the duck was accompanied by a fig based sauce, we needed a wine that wouldn't turn grumpy in the presence of some sugar. The perfect match in this case was a Bandol that arrived with enough ripe fruit of its own to keep the marriage happy. We followed this course with a beautiful salad of fresh mache. The legendary cheeses were not far behind.

It's possible that my favorite meal was the one with the most recognizably French ingredients. We began with an appetizer of baked escargots -- which can actually be bought frozen or fresh from many Parisian grocers. This course was followed by a quiche Lorraine and a beautiful salad of endive, walnuts, and carrots. The grape that brought everything together was Sauvignon Blanc -- in this case, a bottle from Quincy. The wonderful brightness and structure of the wine offered an excellent counterpoint to the earthy flavors of the snails and the salty ham in the quiche. The salad was visually beautiful with a bright mix of colors -- it was also impeccably fresh. To feed their families, even the busiest of Parisian cooks tend to buy their vegetables daily at one of the green grocers dotting residential blocks across the city. Great French food isn't always fancy or rich -- but it must be fresh.

-Colleen Davis lives and writes in Philadelphia PA, Paris of America.