JAMES BEARD

The Father of Modern American Cookery

Now that the James Beard Foundation awards for this year are over and, BTW  congratulations again to all the winners, I can pour myself a glass of champagne and remember Jim.

Jim was not as large as his hero, the mountainous Fernand Point, but his bald head, height well over six feet, baby blue linen suit and pink scarf, and gold wire filigree bracelet around his huge wrist fluttering over a bowl of pot-au-feu as he exclaimed in booming voice, “EXQUISITE!” all made him stand out in a crowd. 

He was instantly recognizable, and he liked that.

Born a Tauran and as big as a bull in Portland, Oregon in 1903, Beard learned cooking at his mother’s boarding house, but it was not until forty-five years later, after trying every form of theatricals that he found food again, this time in New York. Fame soon followed. In the 1960’s he was as well-known as Julia Child, and that without television. By the time he died in 1985 he was the most famously respected culinary figure in the United States.

So respected that he was intimidating for most of his fans, especially when they didn’t behave as he thought they should. Beard had two parts: the big jolly one, and the big-tempered one. Until I had seen the temper-induced flapping and flying of his weighty and ponderous jowls, their quivering a preface to an even more serious seismic body event and stentorian roar, I realized I had known only the jolly man. I had taken him to lunch at his choice of a San Francisco Nob Hill eatery, where we were oiled to the table by the maître d.’ The owner’s prostration made Jim nervous from the outset.  Nothing went well. The food was mediocre, our guests fidgety. Jim’s already pink face turned even redder, splotched with streaks of purple by the time dessert was finished. When his espresso arrived, his jowls went into full swing.

          “WHO asked for lemon zest IN the coffee,” he roared.

The waiter looked as if he might make a puddle. Soon Jim’s cane was found and he launched himself, Robert Morley-like, into the foyer.

          “And furthermore, the coleslaw was TERRIBLE!”

To defuse the moment, I said: “OK, Jim, whose coleslaw is better?  Your uncle Billy’s or my aunt’s?” Both were in our respective cookbooks. Jim looked at me fiercely.  His body stopped heaving and began to roll. Tears appeared and he roared again, this time in laughter.

Beard was man of many firsts, but only after he had failed Reed College, repertory theater, and Hollywood. Returning to the States in 1927 after a few years of international travel, he continued to flounder. It wasn’t until 1937, when he started a catering company called “Hors d’Oeuvre, Inc.,” that he felt saw rise to stardom. Overnight he revolutionized what Americans would come to accept as standard snacks. No surprise then that his first cookbook in 1940 was called Hors d'Oeuvre & Canapés. Soon his, and then America’s, favorite form of cooking moved into the garden and, in 1942, he published Cooking it Outdoors, that sport’s first major and popular book.

Apart from his thirty or so books published over thirty years, perhaps his greatest accomplishment was to create in 1959 with Restaurant Associates and “The Four Seasons,” arguably the most important grand restaurant in the United States since the great and ground-breaking Delmonico’s defined American cooking for the 19^th century and the first twenty years of the 20^th. What has now become standard “locavore” and “farm to table” philosophy of cooking was started at this restaurant.  Given such a highly publicized boost by Chez Panisse in 1973 and then with “California Cuisine,” most do not know that the first time menu phrases like “Our field greens are selected each morning and will vary daily,” as well as, under “Vegetables & Potatoes,” the comment that “Seasonal gatherings may be viewed in their baskets,” were first seen at The Four Seasons. There had been a “California Banquet” given in San Francisco in 1896, “the object of which was to prove the possibility of making up an extensive menu from the products of the state,” which I showed to Jim as my inspiration for the “Californian Regional Dinner” that I did in 1976. His smiling comment to both California events was:

 “Well, we did it first!”

Jim Beard died in January, 1985. At that moment he was testimony that if you stay vitally interested in life, you can still reach eighty-one despite what you eat. There were many long hospital stays because of the vast quantities of sausages, pig fat, and barbecued Omaha steaks that stuck around his girth and arteries. But he left with most of his dignity intact. Probably to give cooking classes on another planet. On this one he left a legacy of culinary excellence and integrity to generations of both home and professional cooks. He was hailed as “The Father of American Gastronomy.” As far away as Australia, the great food writer for The Sydney Morning Herald, Leo Schofield, said that James Beard was the person who “liberated American cooking from Gallic shackles. Beard’s name remains synonymous with American food and the foundation named after him as a center for showcasing emerging chefs in the United States. It is still going strong with its national annual awards held every year. And don’t miss re-reading Delights & Prejudices, (1964), one of the most delightful culinary memoirs ever.

The war years found Jim with the United Seamen's Service, setting up sailors' canteens in Puerto Rico, Rio de Janeiro, Marseilles, and Panama. Perhaps this is where James Beard came to be known for favoring young men who favored him, a taste that led him to launch, help, and restart many a young chef’s career in the United States. In 1974 Jim was visiting San Francisco, and he had just written in his widely-syndicated column that if he had to choose four restaurants in the United States to revisit, they would be New York’s The Four Seasons and Coach House, Tony’s in Houston, and Berkeley’s Chez Panisse. To thank him, I invited him to dinner at John Sanger’s San Francisco house in which I was staying while unemployed.

I had never cooked for Jim except at Chez Panisse. I was very nervous to be cooking for him, let alone at home, with no backup staff or professional equipment. Up to the morning of the day of the dinner, I had no idea what to serve. I wandered around Chinatown in San Francisco, looking for inspiration. I saw several deep-sea urchins, each the size of a large grapefruit. I knew I must have them, whatever their preparation or place in the meal. When I faced them in the kitchen that afternoon, from somewhere a memory came of a recipe for sea urchin sauce that referred to using the sauce as the basis for a soufflé.

 “Right,” I thought aloud. “Soufflés they will be.”

It was too late to buy individual soufflé dishes, so the shells just had to do. As I opened the oven door, my heart held by cold hands, I saw that the scheme had worked. The spines were intact, a wonderful ocean smell began to waft into the kitchen, and best of all, the soufflé mixture had risen above the crater like openings in the shells, puffy pink-beige, and beautiful. I rushed them to the table. Jim tried a spoonful. No word was said. He looked up slowly, aware of the theatrical effect, rolled his eyes slowly, and said:

“My God, that is the best thing I have ever tasted.”

Not true, but Beard was perfect at public relations, and the start of a long friendship.

Photo Courtesy of Stock Food

Sea Urchin Soufflé in an Urchin

Serves 4

 4 large         whole sea urchins

2 ounces      unsalted butter

2 tbs             flour

1 cup           fish stock

2                  egg yolks

4                  egg whites

                    salt and freshly ground white pepper

Using scissors, cut a hole around the inside perimeter of the underside of the sea urchin. Discard the cut shell and clean out the inside of the remaining shell, leaving only the pieces of orange-colored roe that sticks vertically to the shell.

Photo Courtesy of Yummy Mummy

When the shell is perfectly clean, scoop the roe into a bowl. When all the roe is out, clean the shells thoroughly and dry the inside surfaces. Purée the roe.

To make the soufflé base, melt 1 ounce of the butter in a saucepan. Add 1 tablespoon of the flour and cook over low heat for 5 minutes, stirring all the time. Heat the fish stock, add to the butter-flour mixture, and whisk until smooth. Cook over low heat for 30 minutes, whisking every 5 minutes and skimming off any scum that rises to the surface. Let cool to room temperature.

Heat the oven to 400°F.

Add the salt, pepper, egg yolks and the puréed roe into the soufflé base. Mix well. Rub the insides of the shells with the remaining butter and dust with the remaining flour. Beat the egg whites until stiff. Fold them into the soufflé base and spoon into the shells. Cook until the soufflés have risen and are slightly browned on top, about 20 minutes. Serve immediately.

Stars

One of my favorite memories Of Jim is of his visit to the desolate and raw defunct-restaurant space that was to become my Stars. I saw only its glorious (I hoped) future.

All he saw was the filth, the rats, and the broken water pipes spewing across the old kitchen.

That look of horror was in 1983.

Two years later he was looking like this. And so was I.

But now I was earning real money (not my $500 a month as executive chef of Chez Panisse) I had to thank him for all the attention. And that called for caviar blini and lots of champagne.

Cornmeal Blini with Caviar

Serves 8

1 cup            yellow cornmeal

1/2 tsp          salt

11/2 cups     boiling water

2                  eggs

1 cup           milk

1/2 cup         sifted all-purpose flour

8 tbs             melted butter

3/4 cup         warm clarified butter

8 tbs             sour cream

8 tbs             black caviar

Mix the cornmeal and salt and stir in the boiling water. Cover and let stand for 10 minutes. Beat in the eggs one at a time; then slowly stir in the milk. Mix in the flour and 2 tablespoons melted butter; beat until the mixture is smooth. The batter should be the consistency of heavy cream; if it is too thick, thin with a little more

Brush a well-seasoned crêpe pan (or a non-stick pan) with clarified butter and heat.

When the pan is hot, pour in about 3 tablespoons batter and tilt the pan to distribute the batter evenly. Cook until the underside is lightly browned, 2 to 3 minutes. Turn and cook the other side another 1 to 2 minutes.

Put each blini on a hot plate and pour 3 tablespoons clarified butter over the blini. Put 1 tablespoon sour cream in the center of each blini, then 1 tablespoon black caviar in the center of that.

Serve immediately.

Or with Buckwheat flour as in Russian of old.

And always these plates for Jim.