A chipmunk-cheeked news photo of Don Cherry, the jazz trumpeter returning for a gig at the Village Vanguard recently, brought back the ’60s for me with a jolt. I really hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to all the nostalgia journalism (for the ’60s, the ’50s, whatever) that’s been going around, but music pierces the memory as perhaps nothing else does.
Sneakily, then has turned into now. Sixties music continues, although some of its most strident exponents—Morrison, Hendrix, and Joplin—are long gone, and where are Dylan and Baez? The ’60s were an exploratory, pushing-the-limits-of- everything time, and that’s when the great revolution in food began too. No one ate sushi.
Julia Child, to whom my generation and at least a couple aft owe a tremendous debt, taught Americans there was more to food than casseroles made with two kinds of canned soup. Published in 1961, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” had been reprinted 14 times by 1967 when I was marching against the Vietnam War in my micro-mini Marimekko (the bold Finnish designs that made us all look like walking posters). Don Cherry was married to a Swedish weaver I gave some show space to at Design Research where I directed traffic in the ’60s.
A Culinary Counterculture
As a sideline, I was just starting to write about food; in a period of great intellectual and social upheaval, whole new worlds were opening up in this field too. American cookery hadn’t really gone anywhere since the can opener and the freezer had worked their timid “labor saving” liberation in the ’30s and ’40s. In the ’60s, just as the sweet, boyish Beatles were thrilling us, truly French cuisine was just being discovered by most food pros, but the general public was still miles behind. The funky chicken was not gustatory, but a dance routine seen often on the floor of the Peppermint Lounge. (We “collectibles” still remember Chubby Checker, who may even go back to the ’50s!)
Recalling the ’60s elates me; I wish nostalgia didn't bring out the lugubrious in so many people. After all, it was a brassy, nervous, exciting time in this country and all hell was breaking loose in the society. I imagine the New York we were living in was something like San Francisco during the Gold Rush . . . plunging ahead, taking risks, and no little showing off.
Americans had been kept in their place—foodwise—by a European culinary tradition that made us seem like hicks. Which we were. But we were learning and readier than the French to embrace their own first stirrings of “la nouvelle cuisine. ” That grand design pioneered by the legendary Fernand Point was a breaking out of the straitjacket of La Grande Cuisine, a style grown rigid with regulations in France. Everything, but everything, had to conform to pre-ordained taste and technique.
Souffles Free-Style
Besides quiches from California to the New York Island, one of the new things revealed to us was that . . . wait, are you ready for this? You didn’t have to bake a souffle in a souf? fle dish! Now I wouldn’t say this dish has become a standard (like “Satin Doll” for jazzmen) but it’s emblematic of the new style in matters culinary that was erupting in those fabled ’60s.
Fish Souffle on a Platter
Souffles have magic and mystery—they’re always box office even though their simple trickery has long been familiar. This is great for the January blahs when we all need some different, innovative, out-of-the-rut food. Introduced two decades ago, souffle on a platter is still a charming, lighthearted surprise. (Fresh codfish is the best local option for this dish, though fresh salmon from a tail is perfect too.)
Serves six.
1/2 lb. skinless cod fillet
3/4 cup dry white wine
3 scallions, minced
Pinch of dried tarragon, crumbled
Salt and white pepper
Souffle base:
3 Tbsp. butter
3 Tbsp. flour
1 cup boiling milk
2 egg yolks
1/2 cup fish fumet
5 egg whites
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Poach the cod fillet in the wine seasoned with scallions and a little salt and white pepper. Remove, cut in six portions, and reserve. Reduce the fish fumet to one-half cup, strain, and reserve it.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Melt the butter in a small, heavy saucepan and stir in the flour over low heat. Cook, stirring for a minute or two, then whisk in the boiling milk and season to taste with a bit of salt and pepper (cayenne or white). Beat in the fish fumet and egg yolks. Set aside.
Dish Not Necessary
Beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar and salt until they hold stiff peaks. Fold about a quarter of this into the souffle base, sprinkle with two tablespoons of the Parmesan, then fold the sauce base into the remaining egg whites. Spread a thin layer of the souffle mixture on a long heatproof platter and arrange the six portions of fish, broken into flakes, in six little mounds distributed evenly on the bed of egg white. Cover with the remaining souffle mixture, sprinkle with the rest of the Parmesan, and bake in the center of the preheated oven for about 15 minutes, or until the top is puffed and lightly browned. Serve, needless to say, at once.
This is not really a main course, but it could serve as one for three people. Tiny, frozen petit pois are a good January companion for the fish souffle.
