French Fried by NANCY FAIRBANKS Read Free Book Online

lemon cream sauce.
    “A safe choice,” said Victoire.
    “It is an appetizer,” protested Professor Laurent.
    “All the better,” said Carolyn. “I had a large lunch, so a light dish will be perfect, and so exotic. I’ve never had raw trout, but sushi is delicious, don’t you think?”
    “I do not eat Japanese food,” said Laurent.
    “I’ll have the Salade Lyonnaise,” said Victoire. “What will you have, Professor Blue?”
    “The red mullet looks good,” I replied, “but what’s a mangold tart, other than something wrapped in leaves?”
    “A salad ?” exclaimed Laurent. Then he turned to Carolyn and muttered, “My wife eats nothing. She becomes more skeletal each year.”
    “Skeletal is chic,” snapped his wife, “not to mention healthful. You should order salad yourself.”
    While dining in a Lyon bistro, a fellow diner, on a diet, ordered Salade Lyonnaise, which looked lovely and struck me as a fine thing to serve at a brunch. It is a Canut, or poor silk worker’s, dish. Historian Felix Benoit admired the food of these workers, who used cheap ingredients to produce tasty food. He said, while eating a dandelion salad that might have been the ancestor of what the lady ordered: “Donkey snout and other crude cuts, in a spring salad with some grilled bacon, could bring a saint to damnation.”
    There is a story about Louis XIV as a rather ill-mannered young man. His favorite pastime at dinner was throwing fruit and bread pellets at the ladies-in-waiting. One such young lady, having been hit by an apple, rose and dumped a whole bowl of lettuce with vinaigrette on the playful king’s head. As I watched the lady at our table eat her Salade Lyonnaise, I imagined her dumping it on her unpleasant husband’s head. The thought of the dressing and yolks from the poached eggs dripping off his very large nose was quite satisfying.
    Salade Lyonnaise
    • Rub 1 cut clove garlic over the bottom of a frying pan. Pour ½ inch oil into the pan. Cut 5 slices crust-less white bread into ½-inch cubes and fry until golden brown (1 to 2 minutes). Drain on paper towels and wipe pan.
    • Heat ¼ cup olive oil in pan and cook 3 chopped scallions and 3 slices bacon cut in short strips for two minutes. Add cup red wine vinegar and 3 teaspoons whole grain mustard and boil 2 minutes to reduce by a third. Pour over 7 or more ounces curly endive, other lettuce, and fresh herbs. Arrange on serving plates.
    • Poach 4 eggs for 3 minutes, remove with slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels. Place on leaves and sprinkle with croutons. Serve at once.
    Carolyn Blue,
    “Have Fork, Will Travel,”
    Syracuse Ledger

9
    The Empty Chair

Carolyn
    What a bossy man! Jacques Laurent tried to insist that I order that nasty sausage. And his nose! Not to mention hair so black it looked dyed. His wife’s silver hair was lovely, but she was as sharp-tongued as he was pushy, not that he paid attention unless she disagreed with him. And I’m happy to say that my trout tartare was very tasty. They’d flavored it with lemon, olive oil, and fresh herbs. “It was so thoughtful of the department to send us the foie gras and champagne,” I said to the chairman.
    He looked up from his sausage and Lyonnais potatoes fried in goose fat (Think of the cholesterol count in that meal!). “I’m not aware that we sent anything. Why wasn’t I told?” He looked offended. “I’ll have to ask the departmental secretary.”
    “It was waiting for me at the hotel.” I didn’t mention that it might have had a terrible effect on the pâté thief, serious enough to bring on the aborted autopsy. And what would the thief think when he regained consciousness and discovered the cut on his chest?
    Jason was asking Sylvie Girard if there were any special rules for runners in Lyon. Goodness, but she was pretty with her curly black hair and elfin face! At least she wasn’t a chemist, so Jason wouldn’t become infatuated. And obviously he planned to take his usual