pardon my french

"Sole à la Bumpa"

Yesterday was our second cuisine lesson where we made fillets of sole with a butter sauce. Yes the sauce looked relatively unassuming on the plate, but it was all butter…but we’ll get to that.

In the demo, a lovely chef du cuisine from the Basque country showed us how to fillet sole. The sole fish has four fillets, and we are to cut them away from the bones leaving as little meat as possible. It’s hard to describe the whole process, (and maybe harder to do) so I advise you to ask your fishmonger to do your filleting and send you home with beautiful, skinned fillets along with the carcass for fish stock. And, the fish stock…

I always cringe when I hear the words "fish stock," thinking smelly, murky liquid...but when fresh, it actually makes a nice braise for mild fish like sole or a base for soups. As chef was demonstrating how to make the fish dish, he also made veal stock, which took the entire class (2.5 hours). He explained that a good stock is the basis for many of the things we make and using bullion is never the same. Every day brown veal stock is made in the sous-sol (basement kitchen) in a vat that goes from floor to the top of the counter, probably 3’ wide and has a wooden spoon that is about 4' long to stir it.

As usual, chef was giving all his direction in French, but as he was skimming the fat off of the fish stock, he broke into English and emphatically said, “NEVER, NEVER, NEVER add salt.” We all furiously scribbled in our notes—NO salt!!!

When the fish stock was ready (a fraction of the time veal or chicken stock requires), he ladled some over the sole fillets  and put them in the oven to braise. The fish was resting in a butter-greased pan with salt, pepper, finely minced shallot and a few splashes of vin blanc. Once the fish is done cooking (about 8 minutes), you use the cooking liquid to make your sauce.

It begins with about three cups of the cooking liquid which is reduced by half. While it is bubbling on the stove, chef takes out a packet of butter, begins to cube it and starts his speech, “people zhink French cuisine iz all butter and cream, but zis is not true...”

He takes another packet of butter out and begins to cube it, “You want to see a lot of butter and cream, eh? You go to Normandy…zey use zee butter, zey use zee cream—and zey use it togezher in everysing!”

Now, the sauce has reduced to about a cup and a half of liquid. And he starts to whisk in each cube of butter. All the while, defending butter's honor and going on about how fine cuisine is meant to be small, so each person will only have a small bit of sauce over the fish.

And as he plops the last cube of butter into the sauce, which completes a full pound, he remarks “...and, we use much less zan we used to.”

Well, I guess if served with a side of Lipitor, it’s fine!

But, as promised, he beautifully plated the fish and ladled over--well, I'd say a medium bit of the sauce. Garnished with a sprig of chervil and, fini! There were a lot of mmmmmm's in the room as the tasting dishes were passed out. Immediately when I tasted this dish, I thought of my grandpa, “Bumpa.” He loves flaky white fish…and I'm sure I’m not embarrassing him to say that he’s famous for asking for an extra side of sauce, dressing, gravy, catsup, and the like. I bet he would want more than un petit portion of this sauce. It's velvety, not surprisingly the color of butter, and you do actually get notes of the white wine, shallot, bay & thyme…one bite is d-lish.

So, Bumpa…this dish is for you. This and a bottle of vin blanc...and something sweet to finish with a cup of coffee and grand marnier when I see you again.

Today for lesson three, we had a different chef du cuisine to demonstrate chicken stock, cheese soufflé (which was uh-mazing), how to truss a chicken and a few other things. This chef is quite a character and a true restaurant chef. He was putting together the ingredients and bringing the chicken stock up to a boil when he ceremoniously sprinkled coarse salt into the pot. There were a few gasps in the room…just yesterday we had the “never, never, never” speech. One brave lady raised her hand and remarked that we were told never to use salt in stock. To which he replies, “who told you zat! It is for zee taste! You must add!”

Voila! Big lesson we all learned this week: each chef has his own method. Not surprising. They’re all strong, proud French men. Judicious note-taking is key it seems, and when in doubt, add butter.