I studied in France and as a result my approach to cooking has always been rather French. While in some circles that may elicit some ?oohs? and ?aahs?, maybe even admiring furtive glances (and hopefully, phone numbers), it will still create an image of snobbery. Few things define pride and snoot like a French chef behind his fortress. You?d sooner devour poison readily rather than tell him it is not to your taste, the ensuing fury may make you forget what they say about a woman scorned.
And it is justifiably so, for, over centuries, the French managed to quantify this subtle art form into venerable science. They exacted recipes and measures, precise proportions and adjusted timings, all in order to achieve consistency that has lasted for centuries. They have made cooking a measurable entity, so much so that today critiquing it is easy, provided you know how it is rightly done. A bechamel, for example, a ?mother sauce?, is always made in the ratio of 1:1:10 for butter:flour:milk and once it coats the back side of a wooden ladle, it is ready. Anything else, less or more, is not behcamel. All other sauces work similarly so and even the derivatives (demi-glazes, reductions, et al) work similarly so. That is how precise French food can be and there is little leeway for creativity with the classics just like there is no respite if you get these originals wrong. A great chef then, is easy to tell. Only once has he mastered these can he move on to be creative and inventive.
Italy, by contrast, is drastically different. Recipes have remained family heirloom and rarely been released for commercial exploitation. Something as subtle as the ratio of mascarpone in the tiramisu can vary from one household to another and they will never agree as to which serves the dish better. Without certified documentation, there is no exactitude or righteousness. There is but a general sense of a dish and variations only make for variety. And ?mamma?, is always the best chef one can ever taste from!
Recently, while touring Italy with the owners of what I feel is easily one of India?s foremost winery, Fratelli, I was invited to the houses of the owners and the winemakers on two nights to indulge in some local fare, outside of what the restaurants serve. Mind you, this is not to say that local eateries aren?t capable; but as I said, nothing beats ?mamma? and this is then the highest honour to have bestowed: to be invited to somebody?s home for a meal.
For the next two evenings I tucked into some of the most relished steaks and souffl?s, pasta and soups (pappa al pomodoro: traditional Tuscan broth with local bread and fresh tomatoes from their own orchard), zuchini flowers fried in fresh-extracted olive oil?so green that it looked like a garden, so tender that you could drink it like wine. There was every possible kind of meat on the table and most delectably, they were all local produce.
A bit on the wines. Piero Masi is a wine maker par excellence, not some out-of-job Westerner trying to make a fresh start in India. I have tasted his wines before and I realised why Fratelli was so lucky to have him. The new vintage of Fratelli is astoundingly awesome and I urge you all to try it. Masi has managed to contain all the typicity of a good chenin and a clean unoaked chardonnay, something that is unprecedented in India. The wines are all effortless and charming. He isn?t in India to take advantage of our virgin palates, he is delivering truly good wine. In fact, now that I am away from the hospitality and completely un-obliged to do so, I can fairly state that his modest tank sample of a sangiovese was way better than most of the expensive chiantis and super Tuscans that I have had in a long time. Unfortunately, as he says, ?The wine doesn?t think it is ready to be bottled just yet!?
With this local setting, all the warmth and hospitality, and these fantastic wines and food, I could see what Carlo Petrini from the slow food movement was all on about. It is only an effort to show us how food is much more, beyond recipes. Like wine, it starts in the fields: good produce makes good dishes. The French may have recipes but a commercial cuisine can never dole out the love that I sensed and so much felt a part of in sunny Tuscany. Watching the sun set between the pasta and the main course even as the moon takes up position to keep the table lit, as if on cue, the experience was absolutely ethereal and unparalleled. The food was good but it was well complemented by all else around.
The piece de oeuvre was when our hostMasi, gave us all a taste of something that no restaurant would ever serve up, a taste of Tuscan (Fiorentine to be precise) humour. As is the norm with a party, towards the end, as we sat there satiated with our steaks and tiramisu, among the best I?ve ever had,Masi inquired if the evening had been to our liking. We of course, in all sincerity, replied in the affirmative. ?Yes!? ?Well this is not normal for us. This is what we do when we have guests,?Masi continued, perhaps to let us know that everyday wasn?t about al fresco T-bones and a vertical of wines. ?Yes. Normally, we have much better?? and if it weren?t for the little smirk that escaped the side of his twirled lips, one wouldn?t have guessed that they had just been served up, local style!
As I said at the beginning, a meal is all about the experiences it delivers. Apart from the food, the service, ambience, and company matter a lot more. Things that a kitchen just can?t singularly rustle up.
The writer is a sommelier