A French Girl masters the art of French cooking with a little help from special friends

Julia Child would have been 100 years old this fall. 

In her honor, I read the excellent new biography by Bob Spitz, Dearie. This made me respect Madame Child even more. How adaptable, fun-loving, and determined she always was, as she enthusiastically embarked on the roller coaster of life! When I reached the end of the book, I had to watch the Julie and Julia movie once again. One thing led to another, and I ordered Julia and Jacques Cooking at Home, the DVD collection the great Julia - the original celebrity chef - taped with French chef Jacques Pépin a few years before she died. If you have never taken a look at these lively shows, I highly recommend them (the eponymous companion cookbook released in 1999 is also a good investment.) 

The book Dearie reveals that things did not always run smoothly on the set, when Jacques and Julia's strong personalities clashed over some recipes. The best part about the shows is watching the old friends spar as they trade tips and techniques. Illustration:

(Jacques and Julia are making crêpes Suzette...) 

- Julia (as Jacques pours orange liqueur into the pan and lights it up with too much gusto:) "Our viewers should know that it is NEVER a good idea to pour the alcohol straight out of the bottle. It is VERY dangerous! They should use a ladle instead."

- Jacques (smiling sheepishly:) "Yes Julia, but zis is how I do eet!" 

Julia and Jacques... goofing around (and cooking) 

Some of you may be wondering why I ordered this instead of the much lauded  original Julia Child cooking TV series, the French Chef. Honest answer: I am not that interested in the cooking part.

The French Chef: Behind the scenes look

While I get a kick out of watching Julia-the-entertainer as she makes mistakes, jokes around, or argues with colorful Jacques Pépin in that unique voice of hers, I am not particularly interested in learning how to make French bread (shocking, I know,) or in preparing elaborate sauces or soufflés. 

It is time to spill the beans. 

Not all French women love cooking; are super knowledgeable about wine; can tie a Hermès scarf in twenty different knots. Some of them - the horror - even get fat!

Disappointed yet?

Don't get me wrong. I can cook, at least as long as I have a good recipe to follow. Like every other woman I have met in our neck of the woods, I own the Ina Garten cookbook collection and have successfully prepared many of her favorite dishes. Do I enjoy making the occasional coq au vin or tagine in my time-tested Le Creuset dishes? Oui. Would I hire a private chef if I could dispense with the dreaded preparation of the family's evening meals? Absolument. 

I will let you in on a little secret: When in the kitchen, I have always looked for shortcuts; ways to get things done quickly. La cuisine has never been my favorite room in the house, you see. As soon as I moved into my first place (a 240 square foot studio in Paris' 11th arrondissement,) I invested in a microwave (a revolutionary appliance in France at the time,) to complement the small hot plate set up near the sink. Add a tiny fridge, and voilà, meet my first kitchen; not even a room, more of an afterthought, stuck on one side of the narrow hallway connecting the tiny bathroom to the main living space. 

Julia would not have let that detail stop her from preparing elaborate meals. She thrived as a budding cook, as she experimented for hours in her modest-size Parisian kitchen.

Julia, at the "Roo de Loo" (rue de l'Université) apartment, Paris (1950s) 

I am no Julia Child, but I remember my late 20s in Paris fondly. Ah, what fun meals I shared with my friends and co-workers. We went out several times a week and enjoyed delicious food at our favorite neighborhood restaurants. I also entertained at [my diminutive] home. What did I cook? Pas grand-chose (not much.) I did not have to: My friends and I had all invested in wonderful small appliances that are still best-sellers in France today. 

Two favorites: Crêpes and Raclette machines. 

These weren't the fancy and overpriced versions found at Williams-Sonoma these days; more like their poor cousins, by reliable French manufacturer Tefal. They were so good and helped justify so many parties, I could not bear the thought of leaving them behind when we moved to the United States. I was undeterred by the purchase of a heavy and pricey adapter so I could use them here. 

Junior and his friends have often enjoyed making their own crêpes
with this wonderful contraption!

La Raclette: A French/Swiss tradition best enjoyed on a cold day...

I always knew instinctively what Ina Garten and other chefs has been advocating all along: Who wants to slave away in the kitchen for hours (especially during the party,) when they could be sitting at the table with their friends, a glass of wine in hand? 

Other women seem to agree. A quick look at DARTY's website (the French appliance specialist) reveals an ever-expanding section of cute, colorful, magical contraptions, listed under "Cuisson Conviviale" (convivial cooking.) 

Among the time-saving cooking appliances sold in France, one reigns supreme: La Cocotte-minute - a.k.a. l'Autocuiseur. That's right, the pressure cooker.

Gasp. I can already imagine every American reader - maybe even Julia Child - running for cover! The poor pressure cooker has never had a huge following on this side of the pond. Pressure cooker. These two words immediately conjure up horrific tales of exploding appliances, burned cooks, and traumatic meals. 

Is Holly Golightly (a.k.a Audrey Hepburn) to blame?

Breakfast at Tiffany's: The case of the exploding pressure cooker

Holly G.: Clearly more comfortable ordering out...

... Or could it be that Americans just don't get the pressure cooker?

Note to children: Do NOT stick your head in a pressure cooker!

Car-exhaust powered pressure cooker, USA (1930s)

Well, les amis, les Français l.o.v.e. their pressure cookers; always have; always will. Interestingly, my homeland's fascination for aesthetics (everything has to look/sound/taste great,) has carried over to faithful home appliances. Witness the evolution of the Gallic pressure cooker...

La cocotte minute, circa 1960

SEB's Clipso model in "Framboise" (raspberry) 

... or in "Citron Vert" (lime) 

SEB's newest wonder: The revolutionary Nutri-Cook
Cute enough to be a fashion accessory, non? 

Who would resist using these fun appliances? 100% safe. Quick and user-friendly, they are the French cook's best friend, and help prepare delicious dishes in a fraction of the time, with the same great taste. Mine came from Paris with me, when I was eight months pregnant (I don't think airlines would let me bring it on board as a carry on these days, do you?) I use in several times a week, especially in the fall and winter. J'adore ma cocotte-minute!

Forget le Boeuf Bourguignon for a second (sorry, Julia!:)
Meet la Blanquette de veau au roquefort...

Le Pot-au-feu (don't forget la fleur de sel!) 

How about a delicious crème caramel for dessert?

I should have quit while I was ahead. 

Last week, after sixteen years in the United States, I finally gave in and invested in a crockpot. Most of my American girlfriends have one. I knew the crockpot was the pressure cooker's antithesis; the powered version of a Le Creuset cast iron oven; but, as adventurous as Julia back in the day, I thought: "Pourquoi pas?" (Why not?) It must be nice to leave the house and return a few hours later to a fragrant home, dinner gently simmering and waiting to be served...

I must admit it was a pretty little thing, sleek and shiny, with bells and whistles. 

Mine was almost as pretty as this one!

Well. Essai non transformé, as French rugby players say (Free translation for all of you football and baseball fans: "There was no touchdown and no home run.") 

After just three hours (total cooking time was 8 hours,) the machine was already boiling on the slow speed setting! I felt truly sorry for the poor chicken sitting inside the infernal contraption. It was too late to rescue it. All I could do was watch for a while, then pull off the plug.  After just five hours - my Chicken Cacciatore had turned into... mush. Even chicken bones had all but disintegrated. Mon Dieu. 

I had to find out if Moi, the incompetent French cook, was to blame, or if there was another explanation. I spent one hour researching the topic online and found my answer. The old crockpots may have been renamed "slow cookers," but most of the machines manufactured in the last five to six years tend to overheat and overcook the food (even on the slow speed setting,) resulting in countless burned meals and thousands of frustrated customers. In other words, they can't be trusted, and the only way to get a reliable crockpot/pressure cooker is to inherit one from Grandma... or to find an antique at a garage sale! Seriously. 

Yikes!

Cute!

Conclusion: Unless you are making chunky soups, chili or pulled pork (all tasty but less than aesthetically pleasing concoctions,) it is best to stay away from today's *slow* cookers (or to cut the recommended cooking time by 50%, but at that stage, I'd rather use my time-tested pressure cooker.) 

Ironically, the French have been preparing similarly shapeless - yet fragrant - mixtures for years - not that the average American would dare touch them... 

Rognons à la moutarde (kidneys in mustard sauce) 

Tripes à la Catalane (Catalan-style tripes) 

Escargots (slugs with shells in garlicky sauce) 

My short, and unproductive partnership with the American crockpot is officially over. I have decided there are only two people who would have dared sample the Chicken Cacciatore that came out of my new slow cooker this week... 

Refined gourmet Hannibal Lecter

and Casimir(*), French children's favorite monster...

Casimir and friend enjoying their favorite dish: Le Gloubiboulga

Bon Appétit!

(*): Casimir. L'Ile aux Enfants TV show. France, 1970s.

How to make Casimir's Gloubiboulga: Mix mashed, overripe bananas, chocolate shavings, Dijon mustard, Toulouse sausage, some anchovies, and top with whipped cream)