53version of itself–and plenty of older
gourmets were lamenting that the French
restaurant’s heyday was over. Foralong
time after the Second World War, no one
noticed their decline, partly because there
was little competition. The British were
still boiling their vegetables to grey, while
the Americans were gelatinising salads and
defrosting dinner. Chinese and Indian
restaurants were still widely seen as cheap
options, and hardly anyone had been on
holiday to Thailand or Morocco yet.
In the 1970s, my parents–like other
foodies at the time–planned whole trips
around the recommendations of the
Michelin Guide. First published in 1900
to encourage motorists to visit restaurants
in the provinces, it soon became the grand
arbiter of French cuisine. Obscure, definitive, conjuring an image
of alonely, corpulent inspector able to swallow whole goose livers
in one gulp, Michelin had the power ofaking to award stars and
turn around the fortunes ofarestaurant. But it also became a
leviathan that focused on one kind of restaurant–those with
formal dining rooms, white damask tablecloths and serried ranks
of waiters. By the 1990s, people had begun to complain that
Michelin was hidebound and tended towards favourites.
By then, restaurant economics had become brutal. Even grand
chefs were buckling under the expense of reaching Michelin
standards. As Thatcher and Reagan liberalised their economies,
French president François Mitterrand promised “a break with
capitalism”. He raised the minimum wage, allotted workersafifth
week of paid vacation, lowered
the retirement age to 60, and
cut the work week to 39 hours.
The bill was piled on to sky-high
VAT–19.5% for restaurants
–and high social-security
taxes. Michelin stars became
prohibitive to maintain–while the owners of average restaurants
complained it had become exorbitantly expensive to hire workers.
The crisis grew. In 2010,aTVdocumentary showed undercover
footage of restaurateurs inside an industrial caterer’s warehouse
piling frozen ready meals into giant shopping carts. One estimate
said 70% of chefs were using pre-prepared ingredients or sauces.
It was clear restaurants could no longer afford to employ people
to peel potatoes, chop carrots, mince garlic, pick through parsley
and all the other time-consuming jobs at the bottom of the food
chain. Much easier just to buy the pre-prepped version. Soon,
what I’d noticed as gravied blandness becameanational scandal.
The government intervened, reducing VAT to 5.5% and bringing
in anew labelling system to show dishes were prepared in house.
Conservation can breed conservatism–and over the years French
cuisine had also become increasingly codified. The system of
appellation d’origine contrôlée,adesignation that creates legal
labelling criteria for the provenance and quality of many food
and wine products, was paired with exacting professional
qualifications for chefs, patissiers, bakers, butchers, charcutiers
and chocolatiers. Withamyriad of gastronomic associations also
set up to celebrateagrand culinary legacy, there wasadanger of
tradition being codified into obsolescence.
There has always beenatension in French restaurants between
tradition and innovation. In the late 1960s,anew generation of
chefs raged against the old order, as the student revolt of 1968
pushed change in restaurants too. They rebelled against Carême’s
gluey, flour-thickened gravies and made sauces out of vegetables
and herbs. Focused on simplicity, this movement became known
as “nouvelle cuisine”. At the forefront of the new cooking, the
Troisgros Brothers’ salmon with sorrel was as famous for its fresh
acidity as it was for its pretty colours:
pink and vivid green. It was as much an
aesthetic revolution asaculinary one.There is much that modern chefs owe to
nouvelle cuisine–but at the time, many
laughed at the fussiness of the presentation
and complained that the portions were too
small. In 1996, several well-known French
chefs, including Joël Robuchon and
Alain Ducasse, even issuedamanifesto
denouncing the “globalisation of cuisine”
and innovation for its own sake. It is
tempting to drawaneat loop from such
culinary conservatism to culinary cul-de-
sacs, but that isn’t really fair. France has
consistently produced extraordinary chefs
cooking extraordinary food. This year,
The World’s 50 Best Restaurants, the list
that largely replaced Michelin asaglobal guide, ranked Mirazur
in the south of France as No.1. It’s more mid-level restaurants
that had got stuck–but in France,as elsewhere, the internet has
been collapsing distances between culinary trends and ideas.In the past decade,ayounger generation of French chefs–many
trained in London, New York, Copenhagen or Barcelona–have
established themselves. WhenIreturned to Paris after four years
away in 2014,Ifoundanew era in full swing. Infused with the
global foodie zeitgeist, hip new places used yuzu and turmeric in
dishes, eschewed tablecloths and had paredanew “bistronomy”
movement back to bare tabletops, small plates and daily-changing
menus. They were even championed byanew guide,Le Fooding.
This was all very welcome, delicious and fun. But often it felt as
if France was borrowing from
other food cultures rather than
reinventing its own.For along time,Ifelt as if good
French food in Paris was the
domain ofafew prohibitively
expensive old faithfuls, while the smattering of newer places were
über-chic and often booked up. The perfect, affordable bistro
around the corner no longer seemed to exist–sofor many years,
Chartier was my stand-by, the only bouillon in Paris providing
acheap but hearty meal. Now suddenly, in the past year or so,
three others have opened. And they have been so successful that
their proprietors are planning to open more.Back to basics is proving popular. The Bouillon Pigalle opened a
little overayear ago, an updated version of the genre. The space
is modern and bright but the old, familiar style of decor has been
respected–the banquettes are still red. The young manager, Jean
Christophe, told me that the menu was deliberately nostalgic.
“We thought: ‘What can we do that reminds us of our
grandmother’s cooking?’” On the menu iscéléri rémoulade,
escargots, boeuf bourguignon,pot-au-feu,blanquette de veau.
The food is good–and you can come out with change froms20.Perhaps restaurants are less about the food than we think,
and our relationship with them more emotional than gustatory.
WhenIasked agroup of French restaurateurs what was the most
important ingredient toarestaurant they answered, in unison,
“ambiance”–the feel of the place. At Bouillon Pigalle,Iwatched
people at tables talking, plotting, flirting, celebrating. There were
old people, solo diners, families, couples. The tables are side by
side so you rub elbows with your neighbour, swap menu advice,
get chatting.Irealised that this kind ofjoie de vivreis at the heart
of the French restaurantexperience. The waiter brought more
wine, conversation hummed,people were laughing loudly. The
line of people waiting to getatable is permanently out the door.Alonger version of this article appeared in The Guardian.
©Guardian News&Media Ltd 2019.The last word24 August 2019 THE WEEK“In 2010, an undercover TV documentary
showed French restaurateurs piling frozen
ready meals into giant shopping carts”Escargots:asymbol of French cuisine