What Makes a Restaurant Great?

Also, a few intriguing vintage menus. My favorite stew. And a great new cookbook.

I found this in my files. I don’t know who I wrote it for - or when I wrote it. But I certainly remember the meal. Of the all the restaurant meals I have eaten, this was among the most memorable.

And although it was a very famous restaurant, it was not about the food.

“Do we have to?”

Nick was 8, and tired of traveling. By the time we got to Paris – our last stop – all he wanted to do was go home. He missed his friends, he missed his room, he missed familiar food.  He frowned as he watched me dance around our hotel room, thrilled that I had managed to snag an impossible last-minute reservation at L’Ami Louis – a restaurant I’d been vainly trying to get into for years. Michael, my husband, was only moderately more enthusiastic.  “Another overpriced French meal,” he grumbled, making it clear that this was his idea of hell.

In the end they grudgingly agreed to come along.

L’Ami Louis is a famous paean to the past. Since 1924 the restaurant has steadfastly resisted change; even the waiters looked as if they’d been there since the beginning.  Nick edged in, sniffed the oak-scented air and watched a golden heap of fried potatoes make its way across the dining room.  “It might be okay,” he admitted looking around the small, crowded room with coats piled on racks above the tables. The waiter studied him for a moment and disappeared. He returned bearing a huge plate of airy French fries and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.  “You look ‘ungry,” he said as he set the plate in front of Nick.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” my son announced.

“Isn’t that Carole Bouquet?”  Michael pointed across the room to a family seated with a boy about Nick’s age.  I thought it probably was the famous French actress, but in the dark, smoky restaurant it was hard to tell. “Could be,” I said, “film people love this place.”

“I do too.” Nick stuffed a fry into his mouth.

The waiter appeared with sizzling snails, sending a cloud of garlic and butter floating across the table.  Setting the platter down he whispered something in Nick’s ear.  He pointed, and Nick followed the boy from Carole Bouquet’s table out the door. “Do not worry, Madam,” said the waiter solemnly.  “It is only the maître d’ organizing games for neighborhood children.”

While we tucked into a plump chicken with crackling skin, Nick ran in to say the woman upstairs had shouted out the window.  “She’s calling the gendarmes!”  he said, thrilled, before dashing out the door.

The boys were not seen again until the waiter conjured up a chocolate cake. They sat together, old friends now, reluctant to join the grownups. That was fine with us; we were sipping cognac strolling from table to table, making friends. The waiters stood on the sidelines, watching us with fond eyes. The entire restaurant had turned into a dinner party.

It was late when the evening ended. “That,“ my son announced as we made our way back to the hotel, “is a very fine restaurant.”

“But all you ate was French fries and chocolate cake,” I pointed out.

“C’mon Mom,” he replied.  “You know restaurants aren’t really about the food. Can we go back tomorrow?”

Since I have rudely offered you an article that has very little to do with food, I feel I should make up for it. Here are three menus from Fredy Girardet’s eponymous restaurant in Crissier, Switzerland- which was widely considered the best restaurant of its era. And that was entirely due to what was on the table.

The food was astonishing. The dish I remember with the greatest fondness is that kidney roasted in bay leaves on the final menu.

I also remember that when the ice cream cart came around, each flavor was at a slightly different temperature.

Is there anyone on the planet who hasn’t heard of José Andres? Unlikely; he is one of the most beloved people alive.

I first met José more than twenty years ago. We’d invited Ferran Adria to participate in the Gourmet Institute, and when he showed up he had a friend in tow. Ostensibly there to help translate for Ferran (who is, in my opinion, almost impossible to understand in any language), the man had manic energy.

The next time we did an event with Ferran, there was José again. And again. I kind of fell in love with him - it was impossible not to - and we eventually became friends.

But it was not until eight years later that I really understood what a remarkable man he is. When I couldn’t find a hotel room for Obama’s inauguration José said, “Come stay with us. Tell me when your train arrives and I’ll pick you up.” It was like entering a whirlwind and staying for the ride.

Concerts, meals, endless introductions. The man knew everyone. But what I remember best is the breakfasts he cooked for his three daughters, tearing around the kitchen, adding improbable ingredients to pancakes. When he piled on the maple syrup and salmon roe I was sure he’d gone too far. The girls gobbled up. (So did I.)

The following year, when he was awarded the Vilcek Prize which included a $50,000 check, José channeled that titanic energy into doing good. Convinced that chefs know how to feed the world better than anyone else, he used the money to start a nonprofit. He wanted to change the world through the power of food, and he has done it by providing hundreds of millions of meals to hungry people through World Central Kitchen.

Now he’s put out The World Central Kitchen Cookbook. It’s as unusual, energetic and wonderful as the man himself. Proceeds go to WCK. Of course you want it.

It’s tomatillo season, and I find myself filling up my basket with the deliciously tart member of the tomato family. I make salsa of course - and then I make big pots of this stew I invented when I was cooking at The Swallow restaurant in Berkeley in the seventies.

What I love about this recipe - aside from its sheer deliciousness - is the way this method of cooking garlic makes it utterly mellow. You will not believe how different garlic cooked this way is from garlic that is minced and sauteed.

Pork and Tomatillo Stew

2 lbs pork shoulder, butt or loin, cut into 2” cubes
1 lb tomatillos, quartered
1 lb Roma tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1½ cups of fresh orange juice (approx. 6–8 oranges)
1 bottle dark beer
2 large onions, diced
2 jalapeños, minced
1 bunch cilantro, chopped
1 head of garlic
1 cup cooked or canned (drained) black beans
Grapeseed or canola oil
Salt, to taste
Black pepper, to taste

Garnish
1 lime
Sour cream

Begin by cutting the pork into 2” cubes. Sprinkle them with salt.

Remove the husks from the tomatillos, wash the sticky surface off and quarter them. Place them in a pot with the tomatoes, dark beer and 1½ cups of fresh orange juice. Let everything stew for half an hour or so, until it has all slumped into tenderness.

Brown the pork in a casserole, along with at least 10 whole cloves of peeled garlic, in a few tablespoons of grapeseed or canola oil. You’ll probably need to do this in batches, removing the pork as it browns. When the casserole is empty add the onions, along with the cilantro and jalapeños. Add salt and pepper to taste. Be sure to scrape the bottom, stirring in the delicious brown bits.

When the onions are translucent, about 10 minutes, transfer the tomatillo mixture along with the pork and garlic back into the casserole. Reduce the heat to low, partially cover and cook slowly for about 2 hours.

Squish the garlic cloves into the stew with the back of a spoon. Add a cup or so of cooked black beans (or a can of drained beans) and cook for 10 more minutes.

Make the garnish by stirring the juice of a lime into a cup of sour cream.

Serve the stew over white rice with a dollop of sour cream over each portion.

Serves 6.

This week I was in Huron, Ohio for Roots, an annual event where people in the restaurant industry come together to discuss issues, trade ideas and share food. It takes place at The Chef’s Garden, one of the most remarkable farms in America.

It was a great conference - and we ate remarkably well. The final dinner was a collaboration between the attending chefs, and while the extensive menu is too long to post here (you can find the entire meal on my Instagram feed), the dish everyone was talking about was this laminated onion brioche by Dario Torres, of The Chef’s Garden Culinary Vegetable Institute. I can’t stop thinking about it.