Though our weekend celebration of the American Revolution is about over, we're not putting away the fireworks just yet at our house. That's because there's another July revolution we routinely celebrate, and its anniversary will occur next week, on Bastille Day.
It's the French Revolution, of course. Though historians point to significant connections between that revolution and ours (the new French government in 1789 actually sent the door key of the Bastille to George Washington), we celebrate the French struggle not because of its principles, but because of its culinary repercussions.
As Lisa Bramen, writing for the Smithsonian, notes, the birth of the French Republic also gave birth to the modern restaurant. As the Oxford Companion to Food explains, "A surplus of unemployed chefs no longer in charge of aristocratic kitchens laid the scene for an enormous expansion of the restaurant industry. ..."
Thus, had it not been for the French Revolution, my favorite Parisian restaurant might never have existed -- and that, I submit, is reason enough to join the French next week in a chorus of La Marseillaise.
Off the beaten path on Rue du Mont Thabor not far from the Place Vendome, the restaurant is not the most expensive one in Paris, nor the fanciest, nor the one with the most stars.
But it is unquestionably the most distinctive. Furthermore, though I have had the privilege of dining at some notable temples of gastronomy in Paris, I have never enjoyed any meal in any Paris restaurant more than the ones I've had there.
The name of the place is Le Souffle. Less well known than other Paris restaurants, had my wife and I not stumbled upon it on our first trip to the city nearly 40 years ago, we might still not know about it. Its charming, old-fashioned façade painted in French blue with small scalloped awnings over muntined windows beckoned us to come in. We were glad we did.
Probably for most people, memories of the first visit to Paris are dominated by the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe or the Louvre, but for me it was the discovery of this restaurant. We've been to Paris several times since then, and, on every visit, we make time to have a meal at Le Souffle.
As the name of the place indicates, the restaurant specializes in souffles. That's about the only thing on the menu, some 20 varieties both sweet and savory. There are plenty of places in Paris where you can get a souffle, of course, but this is one of the few, perhaps the only one, where you can get an entire meal, le tout souffle, built around the beautifully puffed-up concoctions.
"Puffed up," by the way, is what the word souffle means, and I have never seen souffles puffed up as loftily as they are at Le Souffle. What's more, the flavors offered are hardly ordinary. Consider, for example, the crème brulee souffle. Now that's what I call fusion cuisine!
Making a souffle is somewhat intimidating to most of us, but since Le Souffle's opening in 1961, the chefs there have had lots of practice, making some 300 of them daily and going through a thousand eggs a week in the process. No wonder the cozy little restaurant is my favorite one in Paris. It always rises to the occasion.
Adapted from one by Jacques Pepin and attributed to his mother, this is the easiest and most unconventional souffle recipe ever. You don't even have to separate the eggs.
Melt the butter over medium heat, whisk in the flour, and cook for 10 seconds. Add milk all at once and, whisking constantly, cook until mixture thickens and comes to a boil. Remove from heat, stir in salt and pepper, and cool 10 minutes. Beat eggs thoroughly and add to sauce along with cheese and chives, mixing well. Pour into buttered 8-cup souffle dish and bake at 400 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes until puffed and golden brown.
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