LEARNING FROM THE BEST CHEFS IN THE WORLD

Timo's California mentor

It was a beautiful Spring morning, and I was so excited about my scheduled 8 AM breakfast that I woke up earlier than usual without the need for an alarm. Opening the shutters to let the sun in revealed a calm, deep blue Lake Annecy, just beyond the multi-green colored vegetable garden at my feet.

The bathroom in my three room suite was all tiled, with one of those big old porcelain bathtubs that are bigger than most hot tubs. But even that tub and the bottle of Badedas (known as Vitabath (R) in the U.S.) on the shelf next to it were not a big enough temptation for me to risk being even one minute late, and, after a quick shower, I was on my way to the main building of a long time internationally renowned country inn that included The Aga Khan and Dalida among its frequent guests. I was ten minutes early and already about six people had arrived; by eight o'clock sharp, fifteen of us were sitting down for a breakfast of scrambled eggs, freshly baked croissants with the best sweet butter and jams I have ever tasted and jumbo sized bowls of coffee.

The breakfast was taking place in an immaculate kitchen and my companions were the cooks "brigade" of L'Auberge du Pere Bise in the village of Talloires, the ritzy area of the lake, about twenty five miles from Geneva. I was there for an indefinite time, under a special arrangement to observe and take part in the cooking of the food served in one of France's best restaurants.

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I know I am only one of thousands of people who have fantasized about an experience like the one I am about to relate, and I consider myself extremely fortunate that it happened to me. I took a long shot and it worked.

My association with Narsai's had been short lived, but just the fact that it was part of my record made it much easier for me to find employment as a chef. I accepted another job, but purposely one not requiring a very high degree of commitment of my time, while I looked for something better and mulled over the idea of opening my own restaurant. I have always loved books, had by this time built up quite a collection of cook books and was always one of the first to acquire the latest one. When my friendly bookstore clerk showed me a copy of Great Chefs of France by Anthony Blake and Quentin Crewe, I did not have to look past the jacket to decide that I should have it, and, by the following morning I had read it from cover to cover.

Blake's photography and Crewe's writing about twelve of France's top restaurants outside of Paris resulted in a work that belongs in the "must read" list of anyone interested in cuisine. I had been seriously considering registering for a rather expensive five day cooking class lead by one of the internationally famous chefs; the class was to take place in the wine country north of San Francisco, and it was necessary to register a few months in advance to be sure of being accepted, as it was limited to twenty people.

It occurred to me that instead of spending five days in the wine country to see a chef who traveled from France, one could easily travel there and see the same chef in action in his own kitchen and not just for five days. And then, like that day I was driving by Narsai's, "why not?". Within the hour, armed with my rusty high school French and a miniature dictionary, I was composing a letter addressed to Monsieur Le Chef Patron, expressing my desire to learn the best possible cuisine and my willingness to "work, for free if necessary, in your kitchen, which I know is one of the finest in the world".

By the next day, twelve copies of the letter, one addressed to each of the Great Chefs of France had been air mailed, and I had registered in a French class offered by the local community college, just in case. In my mind, taking a little time to learn another language is never wasted, especially a language intimately related to your profession. To my surprise, within a month I received answers to six of my letters, each one personally signed by the chef himself. I was satisfied just to have their autographs, even if all the letters said no. Then, the seventh and last letter came shortly thereafter, signed by Madame Charlene Bise, offering to let me work in their kitchen, just as if I were a member of the staff, for as long as I wanted, for a daily fee; the only condition was that it had to be off season, either in the following Spring or Fall. After one more letter asking about room and board near the restaurant, I figured out that I could spend about one month in that kitchen and pay for my food, lodging and airplane fare for the same amount I would have spent for five days in the wine country, an hour's drive from home.

Francois Bise

During breakfast, Monsieur Bise himself introduced me to the kitchen staff, told them the purpose of my visit, instructed them to give me their full cooperation and let me know that he himself would be available to assist me in any way possible. My arrangement by correspondence with Madame Bise had been that I would eat my meals with the kitchen staff and would be given a room in the separate building where most of the employees lived; all this was included in my daily rate, which would not have been enough to get just a room in any good hotel in the area. I did not get exactly what I was promised - here is what I got instead:

I have already described my room, which turned out to be a special guest suite. On my third day, when I asked Madame Bise about laundry available nearby, she acted surprised and had a word with the head maid. From that day on, the bath gel and colognes were replenished as I needed them, and the room made up daily; I had not worn ironed socks and underwear since I left Colombia. Also, I was allowed to leave my luggage in "my room" during a four day absence, but only had to pay for the days I was actually there.

Not all my meals were with the cooks. Monsieur Bise wanted to make sure that I tasted everything on his menu, so I had several meals in their private dining room, each course accompanied by the appropriate wine of the region. Two or three times, items that were not on the menu but popular in the area were specially ordered so that I could taste them; M. Bise himself served me the best horse steak I remember eating. The evening when I was invited to eat in the dining room so I could see the service, it was past midnight when I stumbled to my room after a five hour one man banquet, after which I could not even talk Michel, the maitre d'hotel, into accepting a tip.

I had several opportunities to chat with Monsieur Bise; naturally, most of the time the subject was cuisine. On one occasion, when I asked him how he felt about outsiders, like myself, getting exposure to his techniques and recipes, his reply was something like: "I do not believe in copying from my colleagues in this country and I do not think they copy from me; you live five thousand miles away and your enthusiasm about good cuisine and produce are obvious, so I do not mind giving you any information you want". And he meant it; one of my most treasured possessions is the word by word copy of his entire recipe file, which he made available to me.

It is impossible for anyone to fully appreciate the quality of the food served in a restaurant of the caliber of L'Auberge du Pere Bise - and what goes into producing that quality - without actually tasting the food and watching its preparation but, let me give you a glimpse:

Here is a comparison between busy kitchens; I am now speaking of the actual service, i.e. the work done while guests are actually in the dining room being served, not the preparation that takes place before the dining room opens.

At Narsai's, the busiest dinner service I took part in was on a Saturday night, when we served about two hundred and twenty guests, all of whom paid for and got the high quality food that is always served there. This was done by six cooks in a six hour period.

The busiest service I participated in at Bise's was for one hundred and ten guests. It was also about six hours long, but it took fourteen cooks. Did the guests at Bise get a "better" meal than those at Narsai's? Who knows! Each individual makes that judgment based on many factors, and we all have different values and different conceptions of what we should get for what we give.

Let me go on to describe some of the other things that I found remarkable. All ingredients were delivered every day, all fresh, by 8 AM; after breakfast, the preparation began, and included shelling peas, making certain sauces, cleaning fish and birds.

One of the items on the menu was a fish called "omble chevalier", which is similar to a baby salmon and is found only in Lake Annecy. The fish was purchased daily from local fishermen who came to the restaurant to offer their catch of that morning. It was served simply "a la meuniere".

The lobsters arrived live, flown to the area from Brittany; the crayfish were kept live in an outdoor tank just outside of the kitchen and brought in only minutes before needed. Nothing was ever frozen; the only freezer in the entire restaurant was a small one used only to temporarily store the home made ice creams.

All the herbs used in stocks, court bouillons, sauces or soups were fresh, most of them picked from the garden just before going into the pot. Except for two or three saute items that required more than moderate heat, all the cooking was done in tin- lined heavy copper pans. Besides the dish washers, there was one employee whose full time function was to polish the outside of the copper utensils.

There was one rule always strictly enforced: "NEVER, JAMAIS (don't even think about it) REHEAT ANYTHING!!!

There were five pastry cooks. All the doughs were made in-house, fresh croissants for the guests' breakfasts were baked every morning. The souffle batter was mixed with its flavoring liqueur and folded with the egg whites less than twenty minutes before the souffle was on the table.

The kitchen staff had a two hour break between the day and evening services (I do not say lunch and dinner because the menu was exactly the same for both meals). After the day service, everything was put away, as if the kitchen were closing for a holiday, and the kitchen was left as clean as a surgery room in a hospital is supposed to be. To different degrees, all these details that are overlooked in most kitchens - in homes and restaurants - are part of preserving the integrity of your ingredients, and, when food that is served to you has gone through a high degree of tender loving care, it somehow shows it and becomes more enjoyable.

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Madame Bise - what a charming lady! - went out of her way to help me in any way she could. She was the one who would arrange rides for me when I wanted to go to Annecy, would help me place long distance calls and take messages for me, and made sure that my room and my clothes were taken care of.

When I mentioned to her that I planned to travel around France and Spain by train and that I would like to visit some of the other top restaurants, we sat down and made an approximate itinerary. Then she personally phoned the chefs whom I planned to visit, told them the purpose of my trip, and asked them to extend me every possible courtesy.

I did visit six of the other restaurants in Great Chefs of France, and, as a result of Madame Bise's personal referral, I received the kind of treatment from the chef owners that you read about in connection with dignitaries' visits. Some highlights of these visits follow.

I decided that a three or four day break to see the countryside and try a few restaurants was in order and might be beneficial from the standpoint of acquiring more cooking knowledge - if I saw something interesting, I could always ask Monsieur Bise about it upon my return, or otherwise research it while at work in the kitchen.

With Madame Bise's influence, I arranged to spend one day in the kitchens of Alain Chapel in Mionnay. My plan here, as in all the other top restaurants I visited subsequently, was to spend one service in the kitchen, then order a meal during the other service; this would allow me to see each restaurant both as a guest and a cook and by patronizing them, partly reciprocate the courtesies that were going to be extended to me.

I checked into a hotel near the train station in Lyon, and without even bothering to put things away, I started walking, determined not to waste half a day in some non-eating activity. I found a brasserie where I ordered the renowned "saucisson chaud" (a poached garlic sausage served with boiled potatoes) and as many other charcuterie products as I could stuff into my body. All I will say is that if you like sausages, pates and charcuterie in general, do not miss Lyon if you ever go to France.

My second day in Lyon was the one I had scheduled for Alain Chapel. At eight the next morning I was in a bus leaving the terminal in Lyon and forty minutes later I was walking across the court, in drizzle and fog towards an entrance door that made me feel like "this is serious business"; and so did the inside of the building; and more so, the appearance of M. Chapel, who looked about eight feet tall from the dark leather chair I was waiting in, his imposing look accentuated by the whitest, stiffest, longest white gown I have ever seen. For a fraction of a second, I wondered what religious order had its headquarters there. He promptly turned me over to his Chef de Cuisine and went about his business. Watching the staff at work at M. Chapel's was awe-inspiring. I have been in libraries that were noisier than that kitchen, where everyone seemed so concentrated in work that an earthquake might have passed unnoticed. I do not think one single plate escaped M. Chapel's final inspection, and, believe me, he would have detected the slightest flaw.

If I had to criticize anything at Alain Chapel, the only thing I could think of would be "too quiet". But, when the food is put in front of you at the table, that becomes irrelevant; and when you taste, you want it quiet, you want nothing to distract you while your taste buds are telling you that perhaps you are in heaven.

M. Chapel was not, after all, cold. After my dinner, we sat down in the bar to enjoy the fine old cognac he offered me, while I intently listened to the words of a highly educated, sensitive, slightly timid man who loves and respects food - and with whom I shared our mutual love and admiration for the greatest musician ever, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Here is my translation of his autograph on my copy of Great Chefs of France: "For Monsieur Carlos, a Colombian cook friend. Cuisine, the universal image of culture ............ of course, in brotherly communion. "Alain Chapel "May 30, 1980."

I had scheduled a total of four days to visit the Lyon area and see something other than three star restaurants, but knowing Paul Bocuse was just outside of the city limits proved to be too great a temptation; even though his restaurant was on my schedule for later, I could not wait, and decided to call and make reservations for that evening; after all, my only food the previous day had been my meal in Mionnay.

When I phoned to make my reservation I was informed that Bocuse was in Japan, but changing my dinner plans at this point was impossible, plus, I thought, "what's wrong with eating there twice?". So I would be back two or three weeks later, as originally planned, and not miss meeting him in person.

Madame Bocuse, who already knew about me from Madame Bise, greeted me herself and offered me a nice Champagne cocktail and blushed but became much friendlier when I told her she was much prettier in person than in photographs in the book. She waited on me herself through most of my five course meal - I did not want to overdo it two days in a row - and took my reservation for my next meal there, on a day when I would get acquainted with M. Bocuse and watch the operation of his kitchen.

On the train back to L'Auberge du Pere Bise I felt like I was returning home after a long absence - and I could not wait to see M. Bise again and get his opinions on some of the things I had seen at Chapel's kitchen and in the Lyon area in general.

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By the time I returned to the Bise kitchen, I was thoroughly familiar with the routine set up and the system in general, but not one shift passed in which I did not learn something new as I watched each of the cooks perform his duties.

Unlike the other six great kitchens, each of which I observed for one service, I was able to study Bise's in depth because of the length of time I spent there and because I was made to feel that I was part of the show, not an outsider.

I have already described some of the things I found remarkable. Here are two more, which I still think about from time to time, and still find amazing:

First, the attention paid to every detail and strictness about the procedures established by M. Bise, all designed to preserve the integrity of the foods handled - plus the pride displayed by all these cooks, mostly very young men working for below average wages because they love cooking and have a high degree of respect for nature's gift, beautiful produce.

Second - and in reality a product of the respect and pride just discussed - the fantastic coordination among all members of this team of cooks. In this restaurant, there were no heating lamps under which food waited to be picked up by the server. Even for someone who cooks professionally, it is hard to believe a group of fourteen cooks, each of which is just finishing one step in putting together the order for, say, a table of six - all talking at the same time in what seems mass confusion - and then to see the entire order put, all at once, on silver trays that the servers are standing holding in their hands, ready to go out to the dining room, while the chef owner is personally inspecting each plate.

As I write this, a tinge of sadness touches me, as it does every time something reminds me of the day I bid my adieu to Francois and Charlene Bise, who, with their kindness and sincerity, reinforced my belief in love of food - and of people.

Paul Bocuse - Second visit

Back in Lyon, because my clothes seemed to be shrinking, I was trying - in vain - to stay away from the sausages; in my efforts to find distractions from food, I went to extremes: a visit to the zoo seemed like a way to have some wholesome fun, but, after four hours of picturing the roasted loins and sauteed breasts of the fresh game on display, I decided to go to the movies.

Watching "Kramer vs. Kramer", "10" and two other American films dubbed into French, plus about four European movies, kept me away from restaurants enough so that, on the morning I was back in a bus headed for Paul Bocuse's, I was starving - which came in handy when I decided to taste about ten different kinds of goat cheese after my six main courses but before the pastries. No problem, since Nouvelle Cuisine is "lighter", right?

Madame Bocuse had greeted me again and introduced me to her husband, who, after giving me the grand tour of the whole restaurant, put me in the hands of his Chef de Cuisine, Roger Jaloux, who went out of his way, in the middle of his busy service, to answer my questions and show me as much as possible.

Here is an interesting bit of information about the Bocuse kitchen. When I did not see any copper pans and asked about this unusual fact, I found out that M. Bocuse had recently replaced all the copper with pans made of solid nickel - when I looked closer, I wanted to have a couple of the most beautiful cooking utensils made anywhere. Why the replacement?. Nickel costs more than double what copper costs, and is less efficient than copper as a heat conductor; but its conductivity is good enough to cook anything without sticking if you are careful, they heat up faster, do not discolor your foods and never need re-lining. Money is no object to the great chefs when it comes to preserving the integrity of their produce.

At Bocuse's, concern for the satisfaction of the guests is obvious. Madame herself keeps an eye on the dining room to make sure no one is neglected and Bocuse himself is constantly moving from kitchen to dining room and back.

M. Bocuse was kind enough to refer me to the manufacturer of the nickel pans, which now meant I had to squeeze in a visit to Alsace somehow.

I arrived in Valence on a sunny afternoon; after checking into the usual hotel near the train station, the first thing on my mind was to find out how to get to Jacques Pic's restaurant, where I was scheduled to be at eight o'clock the next morning. On the map in the Michelin guide it looked like a short walk; I did find it, and three hours later I was in a bus on the way back to my hotel to take my shoes off and put my feet up.

The next morning, a lady with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a broom in the other, opened the door, asked me to sit down and wait for her husband. While I waited for Jacques Pic at the door of the most modern of the great kitchens, I read a poster called "The Rules of the Chef", whose translation follows:

1. THE CHEF IS RIGHT.
2. THE CHEF IS ALWAYS RIGHT.
3. EVEN IF AN UNDERLING IS RIGHT, ARTICLE 1 APPLIES.
4. THE CHEF DOES NOT EAT; HE NOURISHES HIMSELF.
5. THE CHEF DOES NOT DRINK; HE TASTES.
6. THE CHEF DOES NOT SLEEP; HE RESTS.
7. THE CHEF IS NEVER LATE; HE IS DETAINED.
8. THE CHEF NEVER LEAVES DURING SERVICE; HE IS SUMMONED.
9. THE CHEF DOES NOT HAVE RELATIONS WITH HIS SECRETARY; HE EDUCATES HER.
10. THE CHEF NEVER READS THE NEWSPAPER DURING SERVICE; HE STUDIES IT.
11. ONE ENTERS THE CHEF'S OFFICE WITH ONE'S OWN IDEAS AND COMES OUT WITH THE CHEF'S IDEAS.
12. THE CHEF IS STILL THE CHEF, EVEN IN HIS UNDERPANTS.
13. THE MORE ONE CRITIZICES THE CHEF, THE FEWER BONUSES ONE GETS.
14. IT IS THE CHEF'S DUTY TO THINK FOR THE OTHERS.

Of course, you would know the poster was a joke, especially if you met Monsieur Pic and watched him at work with his staff. I met seven of the great chefs at work, and found they all have one thing in common: they personally check all the food before it leaves the kitchen, to the last detail. But Pic goes even farther: he actually participates in the preparation and serving with the rest of the cooks - I saw him peeling asparagus, fileting fish and doing other chores that are usually left to the apprentices. In the middle of his busy service, he made sure that all my questions were answered and that the answers were completely clear, and continually encouraged me to move around the kitchen ("Circulez, monsieur, circulez") and get as much information as possible. And I felt that he sincerely wanted to help me.

Lest you believe that restaurants of the same caliber - let's say, same prices, similar items on the menu, all rated three stars by Michelin, etc. - do their cuisine the same way, I shall relate a little incident at Pic's that made me realize this is not so.

I was being shown the preparation of Sauce Americaine (usually served with lobster, thickened with the coral and liver) did not see saffron added, but thought I missed that step. When the finished sauce turned out to have a color I was not used to, I questioned M. Pic, who confirmed to me the intentional omission of saffron because he did not think the sauce needed it. I do not recall seeing a recipe for this sauce that does not list saffron as one of the spices, yet I could not think Pic was wrong, especially after tasting his sauce - an example of my earlier statement to the effect that, as long as the integrity of the food is preserved, one dish cannot be labeled as "better" or "worse" than another, just "different".

Anyway, my intention had been to take a break after the daytime service, then come back and order dinner, but he insisted that I should have a little snack in the middle of a long day. He proceeded to instruct the maitre d' to find me "a little table" in the dining room and asked me what I would like to eat. My reply: "Anything that you think is representative of the Pic cuisine". I sat down for my "little snack" at one thirty, and I was promptly served a delicate filet of sole covered with a thin layer of Beluga caviar, accompanied by half bottle of one of the fine white wines of the region. Then came another fish course: four filets of different kinds of fish arranged to form a cross, with four sauces of different colors filling the empty spaces on the plate.

Then came meat and game courses and a bottle of an excellent red wine, a total of seven dishes, followed by cheese and four different desserts, a cigar I selected from a humidor a little smaller than my suitcase, cognac and coffee. When I rose from the table after my "little snack", it was almost five o'clock. Needless to say, I canceled my dinner plans.

There was no way I could persuade him to bill me for the meal. When I asked him why, he said he believed in supporting and helping anyone who displayed a sincere interest in good cooking. I will never forget my little snack a la Jacques Pic, nor this gentleman's kindness and generosity.

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Being in France during the latter part of Spring is in itself a good excuse for making a detour to visit Cannes, I thought, as I wandered all over this beautiful city, high on an entire day of visual "gourmandise" - the exclusive boutiques, the invisible two piece bathing suits, the deep blue Mediterranean sea, and only one pair of eyes.

But I had two other excuses to be there; their names, Louis Outhier and Roger Verge, my visits to them scheduled for my third and fourth days on the coast.

Louis Outhier

My projected two hour visit to a casino in Cannes for a little relaxation turned into a nine hour session - for circumstances beyond my control, of course - and the following morning I missed the first three buses to La Napoule. One must roll with the punches, so I chose to miss my kitchen tour at L'Oasis and just have dinner there.

Monsieur Outhier was very understanding and, with my permission, took the liberty of "substituting" a few items in my four course order, which is all I was billed for. His daughter Francoise herself served me eight or nine creations that were artistic beyond any degree I had ever imagined.

M. Outhier's cuisine reveals an incredible amount of attention to detail - and I am talking about the taste as well as the presentation. I still vividly remember a little casserole of scallops, probably not bigger than the usual cup of coffee; I had enjoyed about half of it very slowly, trying to stretch whatever was happening to my taste buds, when, BOOM! - a totally unexpected explosion of flavor, two or three little pieces of orange roe. I do not know what was in that exquisite blend of obviously very fresh ingredients, nor in some of his other dishes in which there were similar surprises. Not surprisingly, one of the menu items was the "Truffe en Surprise": a saucer with a single black truffle glazed with aspic in the middle, which turns out to be a big nugget of foie gras coated with truffle peelings.

I do know that the man is a master at accentuating the natural attributes of food and at using contrast to achieve this. And his presentation is beautiful, but simple, clean. In a way, I do not regret having missed my kitchen session a L'Oasis. I would have missed the surprises!

Roger Verge has a restaurant in Brasil, either owns part, or is affiliated with, a San Francisco Restaurant (Sutter 500) and has two restaurants in Mougins, appearing in the Michelin guide (two and three stars). In addition, there are many food products bearing his name sold in gourmet stores here and abroad - and there may be more that I don't know about.

One always pictures someone involved in that many enterprises in an ivory tower, impossible to contact and too busy for the personal touch. So, even though Madame Bise had contacted him about my visit, I was doubtful about him even being in town and was prepared to just have another super meal before leaving for Madrid the following day.

Well, surprise! He was there and came out to greet me less less than three minutes after I was announced and spent about half an hour with me before turning me over to his chef de cuisine.

M. Verge does leave town often on business, but, from my conversation with his cooks, I gathered that he is never absent for long periods. I saw him inspect the food as it left the kitchen and walk through the dining room several times to make sure the guests were happy, the same way Bocuse did. The food at Le Moulin de Mougins was, as I expected, beautifully presented and tasty, and my overall experience there enhanced by coffee and cognac in the garden, plus M. Verge's affability.

One dish I had there still makes me salivate when I think about it; curiously, it made an impression on me for exactly the opposite reason as Outhier's cuisine: lack of contrast - but not in a dull way. Perhaps "total harmony" would make a more appropriate qualifier. It was a roasted breast of pigeon garnished with what looked like a mini tamal - it turned out to be a mousse made from the pigeon's legs, wrapped in a lettuce leaf. You see, contrast is good, lack of contrast is good - isn't cuisine wonderful? You can create excellent dishes with practically any attribute you can think of, as long as you do not harm the integrity of your ingredients. Just do not be too avant garde, especially before you know all the basics and acquire some experience or your contrast will become clash, your lack of it sterility.

I would have liked to prolong my stay near Mougins and try M. Verge's other restaurant, but time was running somewhat short.

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The few days I spent in Madrid were not part of my culinary research program, but I would like to mention that I had the best fish soup I have tasted in my life there, in a restaurant called Alkalde.

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The gorgeous country, Gewurztraminer and the maker of Bocuse's pure nickel pans were enough to make a detour through Alsace attractive, on the way back to London for my flight back to San Francisco. I did savor a few brands of the spicy wine and am still cooking in the two sample pans I managed to get on credit (being referred by Paul Bocuse did not hurt there), but my most treasured souvenir of the region is the original art reproduced here.

The drawing was done at the dinner table while I had a most interesting and enlightening conversation about cuisine with the artist, Jean Pierre Haeberlin, who, with his brother Paul, owns and operates the best restaurant in Alsace, L'Auberge de L'Ill.

This drawing depicting the inn on the shore of the river is M. Haeberlin's autograph in my copy of Great Chefs of France. Painting takes up his time when he is not busy attending to the business aspects of the inn and overseeing the dining room. I did not get to see the kitchen at L'Auberge de L'Ill, nor to meet Paul, but from the food I was served, I cannot help thinking of him as an artist also.

The dining room was very busy, yet M. Haeberlin spent over thirty minutes chatting with me. His ideas about the similarities between cuisine and painting turned out to be analogous to mine as to cuisine and music - the subject of the conversation over the fantastic food made my last fancy meal in France even better Oh, yes! It was refreshing to see women other than the owner's wife working in a three star dining room and being served by one of them.

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My culinary adventure with the great chefs confirmed my belief that, to be a great cook, one must develop love and respect for God's greatest gift to us, food. It was worth bringing back twenty two pounds more than I took, and I am not referring to baggage.