ALMOST 40 years ago, Paul Aratow, a UC Berkeley graduate student living in Paris, wandered into a bookstore with the vague intention of learning to cook. He picked up the thickest book he could find and took it home. He cooked his way through it, and it opened up for him a glorious new world.
Eventually he used what he learned to help start a new restaurant back home, called Chez Panisse.
This year, he returned the favor. Aratow's newly published translation of "La Bonne Cuisine de Madame E. Saint-Ange" brings to English speakers for the first time a book that has often been called the "French 'Joy of Cooking.' "
It's a fascinating work, at once an encyclopedia of the basic techniques of cooking and a snapshot of French cuisine as it existed in the early 20th century. This is not the lighter, brighter experimental cooking of today's three-star palaces, but traditional \o7cuisine bourgeoise \f7-- dishes such as \o7blanquette de veau\f7, salsify \o7au gratin\f7, floating islands.
\o7 \f7It's the kind of food the great chefs' moms undoubtedly cooked when they were kids (and that chefs might still cook for themselves at home). And Madame explains things every good French cook should know, such as how to fold egg whites, how to turn mushrooms, how to make a roux.
The flavors are rich and layered. It is nothing for Madame Saint-Ange to bard a fattened hen with bacon, poach it in veal stock, thicken the sauce with flour and butter and then enrich it with plenty of heavy cream.
That is precisely the dish Aratow is preparing in the kitchen of his Studio City home in the hills of Laurel Canyon. He begins by laying strips of bacon across the breast of the chicken and then trussing it in place with twine. He then poaches the chicken in a veal stock he made the day before.
Aratow, a remarkably youthful 68, constantly refers to the book and then reports back as if having checked in with the lady herself: "Madame says when you poach something, you don't just drop it in boiling liquid. You start it in lukewarm," he says. "Boiling liquid seizes the flesh and that will change the texture."
It seems obvious from the constant back-and-forth that Aratow's job as translator did not include actually retesting the recipes, something he happily concedes.
"I didn't see the need," he says. "I've been cooking from the book since 1966 and I have never been betrayed. And it has been in print since 1927 without ever being revised. I think that argues for how strong the recipes are."
Inspiration for Julia Child
INSTEAD, Aratow dictated his translation into a digital recorder and sent it to a typist for transcription. He then went over the material again for a final polish. Working this way, it took more than two years to translate the 3,000-page manuscript.
Paid out over three years, his $10,000 advance barely covered the cost of a new computer and digital recorder, but Aratow says he looks at his work as a long-term investment.
"I believe the book will sell well and continue to sell well and I'll make money in royalties," he says. "The most beautiful words an author can hear are, 'This is a back-list book,' and that's what my publisher told me."
Little is known about Madame Saint-Ange except that that wasn't really her name. The author, whose maiden name is unknown, married Saint-Ange Ebrard, taking Madame E. Saint-Ange as her pen name.
With her husband, she wrote and edited a monthly publication called \o7Le Pot-au-Feu: Journal de Cuisine Pratique et d'Economie Domestique\f7, much of which was collected into the book.
First published in 1927, the book became the standard text for French housewives for most of the 20th century and, in fact, it is still in print.
One of those who learned from the book was Julia Child, whom her biographer Noel Riley Fitch quotes as saying: "[It was] one of my bibles."
Indeed, one of Aratow's prized possessions is an edition of Madame Saint-Ange that Child gave to her editor-to-be, Avis DeVoto, with the inscription: "This is the best French cookbook I know," dated 1956.
"Do you know what this means?" he asks, with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "Notice, she didn't sign it 'Avis, Happy Birthday.' No, this is 'Avis, this is a book we can use.' "
While Child certainly drew inspiration from the book, she just as surely put her own stamp on the recipes. Most importantly, she organized them in a practical fashion.
Trying to cook from Madame Saint-Ange can be maddening. A dish may call for a stock described in one chapter, thickened by a method described in another chapter and finished in a way described in yet another chapter.
It is clear that Madame intended this to be a work of instruction rather than something a cook would dip into when he felt like making dinner.
And that, undoubtedly, was how an earnest grad student like Aratow would have approached it.