What is bad French Food?

As Bastille Day draws near, I am preparing for an onslaught of French cooking and MTAOFC will finally get a work out - a large amount of butter has been purchased in preparation for Wednesday night's meal, which fills me with a degree of trepidation (poor little Bruce is ill prepared for what is to come).

Queries about whether it is "right" to serve 4 out of 5 dishes with butter as the main ingredient are supplanted by the big question - what is bad French food? For some people it is too rich, too much butter and I fear that Le Gourmand may eventually skid right into this big, buttery wall. For me I think a more appropriate word than bad is disappointing. If you manage your expectations and order correctly, I think there is almost always something on the menu that will satisfy you in even an ordinary French restaurant but if the Chateau Briand is on the menu for $10, don't be surprised if it doesn't live up to your expectations (0f course life is even worse if the food is both overpriced and underwhelming).

Sometimes it is impossible not to be disappointed - on our recent trip we were innocently dragged into a group dinner at a touristy French restaurant in the centre of London a mere day after our return from Paris. One of the worst things about pregnancy is the warnings against eating undercooked meat, which meant that (unless I was prepared to order it well done), I could not follow Le Gourmand's sensible selection of steak frites. Instead I ordered chicken in a creamy mushroom sauce. For me one of the highlights of french cooking is the amazing technique the French demonstrate with sauces. This fell sadly short. An excessive use of cornflour is really a very efficient way to stuff up almost any sauce and sadly this "technique" had been employed by our "chef".

We wisely steered clear of French restaurants for the rest of our English-American trek - it just wasn't fair to compare.

La Belle Paris

Going to France when you're pregnant and love to eat French food can be a somewhat cruel opportunity. The red wine, brie and charcuterie are suddenly off limits. Even if there was a point to eating steak bien cuit, would any self respecting french chef deign to prepare it in such a way? However this was likely to be our last opportunity for a decadent few days in our favourite country (gastronomically speaking) so I booked our favourite hotel and the Eurostar tickets as a present for Le Gourmand with barely a second thought. I could still eat quiche and pain au chocolat after all.
Le Gourmand was delighted when he received the gift in April. However he advised me with some seriousness that as the trip would be brief, that we would need to plan our meals with precision. I tended to agree. We both remembered a merely OK meal in a touristy restaurant on our last trip and a morning spent aimlessly hunting for crepes on our last trip to Paris. Spontaneity, which had served us so well on previous occasions, had to be sacrificed when time would allow for only one dinner and two lunches. Research was done and reservations were made. On the Eurostar early Tuesday morning we discussed the plan of attack - early lunch and late dinner so that three courses could be consumed at each sitting. Concern was raised and noted that my stomach, a stalwart in the past, was reacting suspiciously to pregnancy and did not seem to be able to consume as much as it had in my gluttonous past. I determined to soldier on!

Le Commencement

Is there anyone else with a childhood recollection of complaining about never going overseas and the response being something along the lines of "Don't you remember that we took you to Disneyland when you were 6 weeks old?" The wheel has turned and with no small amount of satisfaction Le Gourmand (my husband) and I realised that we would be able to tell our bub-to-be, Bruce, that we had taken him/her to Paris, New York and London, albeit in utero. However much more important work was done on this trip. Bruce was introduced to two days of french food and probably made the unpleasant realisation that his mother is a fan of garlic and butter in vast quantities. More importantly, Le Gourmand, often thought to be a picky eater, ate lobster, gizzards and blood sausage with relish, declaring that he would anything cooked by the French. I decided that this was the opening I needed and, within a week of returning to Australia, rushed out to buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking volumes 1 and 2, hopeful that this would widen Le Gourmand's palate to seafood and sweetbreads in the twinkling of an eye.
Acknowledgement must be given to the Julie and Julia phenomenon but it is only fair to note that Volume 1 has been the cornerstone of my mother's French cooking library since I was not even a twinkling in my father's eye. Consequently I have already been treated to the delights of its Coquilles St Jacques, coq au vin, cassoulet and boeuf bourguignon so the pudding has been proven, so to speak.