The French Vanguard

France's Charles de Gaulle once famously complained: "How can anyone govern a nation that has 246 different kinds of cheese?"

His point was political: If you can't decide between a spoonful of creamy vacherin or a chunk of piquant Roquefort, how can you form a consensus

Restaurant professionals, however, can't help but ponder the culinary implications of de Gaulle's statement. If French food is so diverse, how can an umbrella term such as "French cuisine" encompass the breadth and depth of a gastronomical category so monumental, it forms the groundwork of most Western-based cooking?

It can't. And so, there's a tendency to compartmentalize French food in easy-to-digest categories. Classic French, aka haute cuisine , is the descendant of Auguste Escoffier, who codified its techniques and multicourse menus; French bistro or Brasserie fare, offers comforting, often provincial staples in environments from casual to urbane; and New French, a catch-all term for the evolution of French food in its homeland and beyond.

Since most chefs have cooked their share of classic dishes and bistro hits, it's in New French that today's latest menu innovations are found.

The strongest inclination is to look to Paris for culinary trends. There, Alain Passard, chef of Michelin three-starred L'Arpège, has forged new appreciation for vegetables by shifting his menu away from meat. And Joël Robuchon is making waves with L'Atelier, a casual restaurant with a busy open kitchen that whips up internationally inspired small plates.

In stateside kitchens, French food has always been tailored to American tastes. The first sample came with the introduction of haute cuisine at the 1939 World's Fair French Pavilion, which led to Henri Soule's opening of Le Pavillon in New York City. Much later came the next generation of French chefs who created nouvelle cuisine —that lighter, brighter response to the burdens of French classicism. It coincided with, and was further influenced by, California cuisine's seasonal focus.

Over the past decade, as tastes changed, health concerns arose and new ingredients and equipment emerged, many classic French restaurants grew long in the tooth. And this year, a good number called it quits.

In Boston, the venerable Maison Robert, run by the same family who introduced haute cuisine to Boston with Maitre Jacques, ceased operation after nearly 50 years.

In New York City, a flurry of closings sent Francophiles into mourning. Lutèce, which The New York Times cited as spending $75,000 a year on flowers alone in 1980, closed after 43 years. La Caravelle, which had been purchased by the Ark Restaurant Group and recently revived by hotshot chef Troy Dupuy, shut the doors André Soltner opened in 1960. And Lespinasse, which served Christian Delouvrier's inspired cuisine on a frilly stage set, ended its run (Delouvrier is heading the kitchen at Alain Ducasse at the Essex House).

Most notable, perhaps, was the closing of La Côte Basque, which was founded by Le Pavillon's Henri Soule. The legendary 69-year-old Chef-owner Jean-Jacques Rachou—who trained such luminaries as Todd English, Rick Moonen and Charlie Palmer, and is well-known for being the first chef to use squeeze bottles for sauce swirls—relaunched the restaurant he bought in 1979 as a friendly, casual spot called LCB Brasserie.

LCB Brasserie echoes a trend seen all across the country, where classic French restaurants are swapping sumptuous décor and heavy food for accessible environs and lighter bites.

Back to Basics

Three years ago, Rachou noticed a dramatic dip in his business. At first he thought it was the economy. Then he realized: "the restaurant's time had passed."

Expenses were exorbitant, and that trickled down to the diners who were no longer used to spending small fortunes on dinner. "You had to tip the waiter, the captain, the maître d', the bartender, sometimes," he says. "People would leave happy, but they didn't come often enough. It was time to do something new."

He went to Paris, visited some classic restaurants and found them practically empty. One evening, he dined at the traditional brasserie, La Coupole. "They had 1,000 diners!" he exclaims. "The next night, I went to another brasserie, and it was the same story."

He returned to New York City and envisioned a new La Côte Basque, one with urbane details, not fussy floral displays. One with à la carte dining, not pricey prix fixe . One with comfy black banquettes and without wait captains.

One like he has now—busy and thriving since the recent opening of LCB Brasserie.

When it came to the kitchen, he lightened things up a bit: Sauces are made with less cream and butter. Vegetables are incorporated into dishes, rather than served on the side with a sauce accompaniment. For regular customers, he kept a few classic dishes, "but lighter." And for the younger generation, he added regional brasserie classics.

"They love it," he beams. "Last night I served eight choucroute and 10 cassoulet—in summer!"

Rachou, who started his career in a Toulouse brasserie in 1946, is making a habit of exploring ingredients that resonate with this new clientele. "There are so many new vegetables—baby this, baby that," he says. "I never used catfish before. But I'm trying new things."

Head of the Class

Dominick Cerrone, Director of Culinary Arts at The French Culinary Institute in New York City, says it's about time classic French chefs caught up with contemporary dining trends.

"Heavy food has not been in vogue for a long time," he says, explaining that many techniques and recipes were developed for reasons that are irrelevant today. "No one needs to make a fish mousse anymore."

Cerrone, like Rachou, asserts the importance of solid technique. "It may be boring but [the students] do the same old roast chicken, and there's a beauty to that. You can put 1,000 spices on it, or some herbs from the Andes, but it's still a roast chicken."

The curriculum instructs students on the latest must-have equipment in French kitchens, and their practical applications, such as sous-vide technology used for slow-poaching food in vacuum-sealed bags.

Food science is another important consideration of late. "We have a deeper understanding of food," says Cerrone, who recently introduced Master Chefs (who teach at the school) André Soltner and Jacques Pépin to soybean lecithin. "When you make an emulsified butter sauce, it helps the emulsion that much better." Other scientific techniques and ingredients popping up in French kitchens include citric acid, used when the chemistry of a lemon is called for, but the flavor is not. And powdered vegetable essences, made in dehydrators.

Adopt and Adapt

Modernizing classic French menus means tweaking, not starting over. "You have to offer traditional dishes," says Scott Zahren, CEC and director of culinary for Philadelphia-based foodservice contractor Aramark's Innovative Dining Solutions, which manages campus facilities across the country. "But in many places we're replacing the fat with more nutritional substitutes."

One example is chicken cordon bleu, the special-events staple. "Where the fat comes in is the standard breading procedure and deep-frying. Now you'll see veal cordon bleu that's stuffed with ham and cheese, cooked in a very small amount of oil and finished in the oven."

Mark Moran, executive chef at The Conference Center at NorthPointe in Columbus, Ohio, agrees. The Gaithersburg, Md.-based Sodexho USA managed facility includes a ballroom that accommodates some 600 guests. "I stuff chicken breast with Gorgonzola, wrap it in prosciutto, and serve it sliced on the bias," Moran says, adding that the dish comes with field greens and raspberry-walnut vinaigrette.

Moran's beef tenderloins are no longer served with thick demi-glace but rather with quick reductions of pan juices. "With the quality of the meat you get today, we don't feel the need to cover it with heavy sauces." When preparing fish, he thinks fruit, not butter; such as the mango-papaya salsa served with his sautéed skate.

These global flavors suggest Fusion-French, a category that's gained momentum in recent years. In New York City, French-inspired Japanese restaurants—such as Josh DeChellis's Sumile, Marcus Samuelsson's Riingo and Eric Ripert's Geisha—have recently opened. In Santa Monica, Calif., John Makhani launched Cinch, another French-Japanese fusion.

And in Kansas City, Mo., after feeling the sting of Sept. 11, 2001, and anti-French sentiments, Patrick Quillec, chef-owner of Café Paris, closed the traditional bistro and re-opened it as Hannah Bistro Café. His new menu features American cuisine with a French soul, with international twists that have made it a popular spot with his new all-age crowd.

How do these chefs balance the mix of cuisines? "I think there's a certain clientele still looking for tradition," he says, rattling off the béarnaise and hollandaise he's been whipping up since he was a kid in Brittany. So he offers those classic dishes separate from the globally inspired innovations.

He also does a lot of international adaptation. Mussels—traditionally cooked with a cream sauce—are further enhanced with anise-flavored liquor. French fries are doused with paprika, curry and a bit of butter for sweet crunch.

Les Enfants Terribles

Today's generation of French chefs cooking in the United States, such as Didier Virot of Aix in New York City, say international influences are nothing new.

"French cuisine has always tried to create new dishes," he says, pointing to duck à l'orange, a classic dish inspired by Asia's sweet-and-sour flavors. France once had colonial posts across the world, and their exotic flavors found their way into kitchens as they do today. Once you know your essential techniques, Virot says, "You can play around, you do your own style. The cuisine will always evolve."

It helps that these groundbreaking chefs are jetsetters. Like his mentor, Jean-Georges Vongerichten—perhaps one of New York City's earliest proponents of internationally inspired French fare—Virot's culinary sensibilities are unmistakably French, yet simply spirited by his global world view.

Chris Poteaux, a Paris native who recently followed Jean-Louis Palladin's footsteps to Aquarelle at the Watergate Hotel in Washington, D.C., has cooked in France, in Los Angeles (at L'Orangerie), and New York City (at Daniel).

He says local ingredients in each place informed the menu. "For example, corn is not used in French cuisine," he said of the New World ingredient. But he uses it a lot here: It's in a fingerling potato and corn salad served with filet mignon.

These New French chefs are quick to point out that their style is not fusion. "We're doing a contemporary version of traditional French food," says Chef Michael Lachowicz, co-owner of Le Francais in Wheeling, Ill. He bought the haute landmark from retired Chef-owner Jean Banchet, for whom he worked in the 1980s.

"We're doing something more for the American palate," he adds. "We're a French restaurant—our heritage is French —but everyone, from the owners to the dishwashers, are American."

He doesn't eschew tradition because he says, "It didn't need to be fixed. It just needed to be modernized a bit."

And so he uses international ingredients, such as Kobe beef, which improve the flavor or execution of a recipe. He has lightened sauces in texture, but not flavor. "I probably use a tenth of the roux in a sauce than I did 15 years ago."

And he revised the restaurant's classic dishes. Lobster terrine—made with jumbo lump crabmeat, whole lobster and sushi-grade seared salmon— comes with lobster jelly. "What Jean used to do was in a velouté sauce. I do a clear consommé."

Lachowicz says his new menu has been drawing crowds. "We got all our old customers back, and we merged with a huge market base we didn't know was out there."

That's what happens when everything old is new again.

Dana Bowen is a New York City-based freelance writer.