Take one freshly scrubbed aircraft carrier. Add about 80 assorted French chefs, all dressed in immaculate toques. Blend in one platoon of French Alpine ski troops. Garnish with Rossignol tennis racquets. Saute quickly in 85-degree sunshine. Sauce liberally with Pommery champagne, then stand back a safe distance and let the bon temps rouler.
Paul Bocuse, France`s foremost culinary missionary and founding father of nouvelle cuisine, did exactly that here Friday, proving once again that a great chef can take whatever fresh ingredients are at hand–no matter how bizarre–and turn them into a succes d`estime.
Inspired by the coincidence of the 40th anniversary of the Allied victory in Europe and the 20th anniversary of his own victory in eliciting a three-star rating from the prestigious Guide Michelin for his restaurant in Collanges-au-Mont-d`Or, France, Bocuse decided to commemorate these two historic events with a very special group photograph.
He invited about 80 of his closest friends and colleagues from around the culinary world to join him in the photograph, and they came, including Jean Banchet, chef at Le Francais in Wheeling, Ill. Happily, several top French chefs, including Bocuse, already were in New York on a promotional tour for the Rhone-Alpes region. So Bocuse seized the opportunity and chose the USS Intrepid, an aircraft carrier-turned-museum docked on the Hudson River, as an appropriately World War II-era setting.
That the Intrepid saw most of its action in the Pacific gave no one a moment`s pause. But then, neither did the rather striking incongruity of an Alpine ski troop in full battle dress on its flight deck. The soldiers, band members of the Grenoble-based 27th Alpine Division, just happened to be in town as part of the same French promotional tour–as did the Rossignol and Pommery people. So Bocuse, the consummate businessman, tossed them all into the celebratory stew.
The chefs began arriving around 2 p.m., toting their pristine toques and chef`s togs in little shopping bags. There was much backslapping, hugging and handshaking as colleagues, some of whom had not seen each other since they trained together years ago in some Paris kitchen, were reunited. At Bocuse`s call, they had come, happily and dutifully like pilgrims, from all over France and the United States, many at considerable expense. As many explained, they were honored to be summoned to honor Bocuse.
”For me, he`s the top of the top,” said the handsome Banchet, a longtime friend of Bocuse. ”He`s a good man as a person. He`s done so much for the cuisine–and he loves the chefs. He`s so friendly with everyone.”
Indeed, in a profession not known for its humility, Bocuse seemed to elicit a rare and touching combination of awe and genuine affection from the illustrious congregation. In speaking of him, everyone, no matter how young or old, took on the respectful tone of acolytes discussing a beloved leader.
”He was one of the first to travel, to spread knowledge of French cuisine and to educate,” Antoine Schaefers, head chef and instructor at New York`s French Culinary Institute, said respectfully. ”Today is something unique, something that will never happen again,” he added, indicating the culinary constellation around him.
Finally, all was ready. The young students from the French Culinary Institute had the champagne on ice and the glasses arranged in neat rows under Schaefers` critical eye. The chefs also had been arranged in neat rows on the flight deck, as were the French soldiers. The only thing missing, it seemed, was Bocuse.
As the waiting chefs, a forest of blazing white toques and jackets, patiently simmered in the sun, the 52 ski troopers stoically sweltered in their snow-white uniforms of knickers, heavy woolen socks and, yes, ski boots. Inevitably, a few rogue chefs began to stray from the pack.
”Restez groupe. Restez groupe,” pleaded a frantic Roger Fessaguet, of New York`s toney La Caravelle, to whom fell the rather delicate task of directing chefs more accustomed to giving orders than taking them.
Then, suddenly, Bocuse arrived, the ski troops struck up a rousing French march, the chefs broke rank and Fessaguet threw up his hands. A gentle, middle-aged man with warm brown eyes and a bright green plaid sport jacket, Bocuse worked his way through the crowd, embracing friends and signing autographs on toques.
Finally, Bocuse broke free long enough to change into his whites and the chefs shuffled back into place. As photographers from France`s Paris Match and Figaro magazines screamed directions from the deck above, Bocuse took his place at the center of the group, posed beside Roger Verge, celebrated chef of Le Moulin de Mougins, and behind a giant replica of the 1965 Guide Michelin.
But something was missing. The cry went up for ”Un verre de champagne,” and Banchet sprinted for a glass of Pommery. Everyone waved tiny French flags and the shot was taken.
Then a huge nine-liter bottle of Pommery was quickly trundled out and another picture was snapped as Josyane Couratier, the French consul in New York, accepted a check for $1,000 on behalf of the French committee for the restoration of the Statue of Liberty from Bocuse and the Pommery champagne people. The French tricolor and the Stars and Stripes were hoisted over the group and the Alpine troop broke into spine-tingling renditions of ”La Marseillaise” and ”The Star-Spangled Banner.” The misty-eyed chefs broke into more backslapping and applause.
Then, in a wacky fast-change, Bocuse, Verge and Banchet stripped off their whites and struggled into Rossignol T-shirts. Grasping racquets and positioned behind a giant 1985 edition of the red Guide Michelin, they posed for yet another picture. The Rossignol people hastily raised a tennis net on the flight deck and Bocuse, Verge and Banchet dutifully ran over and began swatting at balls. Verge was asked if he usually plays tennis. ”No, never,” he puffed, gamely lunging for a ball.
By 4 o`clock, it was all over. The Alpine troops marched off the aircraft playing ”Auld Lang Syne,” and Bocuse beamed contentedly.
Asked what he hopes to accomplish in the next 20 years, he smiled broadly, gave a Gallic shrug and replied, ”I will try to do like I did in the last 20, because they were the best years of my life.”
”I came from West Virginia just to see him,” said Herman Rusch, retired food director of the Greenbrier, who represented the Societe de Culinaire Philanthropique. ”He`s our best leader, the greatest leader of the culinary arts in this period–and we love him.”
Yves Menes, formerly chef of Chicago`s Maxim`s, Executive House and Playboy Club restaurants, came all the way from Las Vegas, where he is now a consultant. ”I have a lot of respect for Bocuse. He did quite a thing for the profession. He helped to give the cook more of a personality. There was a tendency for the cook to be forgotten in the kitchen,” he said, with a shy smile.
”Paul Bocuse is a very nice gentleman–and he took the cooks out of the kitchen,” beamed Patrick Parthounnaud, the dashing young chef at New York`s Regine`s.
”I have a big respect for Paul Bocuse,” said Antoine Bouterin, the handsome, young chef at Manhattan`s elegant Le Perigord. ”He was the first one to give an opportunity to young chefs. He represents the legend of French cuisine.”
Jilly Rizzo, Frank Sinatra`s chef and bodyguard, was on hand, wearing a toque and jacket borrowed from the Waldorf-Astoria, where Sinatra often stays. ”I think this guy`s one of the greatest in the world,” he growled. ”But we make the better pasta.”
