While we find it difficult to curb an appetite for the latest stainless-steel commercial ranges and glass-front refrigerators to complement wine coolers stocked with fine champagne, most all the staples of high-style performance these days are missing in French kitchens.
Appliances sit in plain sight. There are no granite countertops or family-friendly islands touting togetherness, let alone twenty-first-century computer centers lauded for their own prowess.
Noticeably absent, too, are paneled upper cabinet doors. Instead, open shelves brim with pitchers, pottery, glassware, platters, trays, and other paraphernalia illustrating just how passionate the French are about their cuisine.
Unlike Americans, who tend to tuck clutter out of sight in designated cabinets, the French prefer that cutting boards, porte-couverts (cutlery holders with knives that carve, chop, pare, peel, and dice), richly glazed confit pots, small appliances, and baskets for storing fresh bread vie for counter space with collections of tin molds: some for baking, some for chocolate making, and some to satisfy cravings for sorbet or ice cream. Windowsills meanwhile, flaunt mossy pots of sage, rosemary, chives, and basil.
There’s no question that French kitchens can rightly boast of being incredibly efficient—with an array of equipment designed to steam, strain, boil, and drain within easy reach.
Scores of pans, colanders, and bowls in every size imaginable crowd crémaillères (pot racks), as if letting the world in on the merits of copper—or at least selling the younger generation on the notion.
As if on cue, hardwood floors sweep uninterrupted from dining rooms in some regions. Sleek black-and-white tile lends distinction in others. Far from an after-thought, unglazed, oversized squares or octagons of terra-cotta tile have the flavor of Provence, Burgundy, and the Loire Valley, where clay is plentiful and there’s ample charm.
In a country long the uncontested capital of haute cuisine, most kitchens are surprisingly small, thanks to everything from being more about cooking than socializing, to resisting change from the time when they were servants’ domains, to homeowners who perhaps lack significant sums to invest in expanding and improving their kitchens. By comparison, Americans spent $214 billion in 2003 chasing renovation dreams, according to the National Association of the Remodeling Industry.
With the charm of rural France, a cypress mantel—stained and distressed to resemble antique pine—hovers over a Viking stovetop. The carved wooden plaque de chasse aux oiseaux depicts French fowl.
A stainless-steel showpiece stocks most all the utensils a serious cook needs.
Custom painted-vegetable sink in the island of kitchen shown on page 50.
Le Croissant
Legends abound. One of Austria’s most celebrated—early one morning in 1683, while fashioning decadent creations, Viennese bakers heard strange noises and alerted authorities, who discovered that the Turks were tunneling underneath Vienna—and credited the bakers with saving the city. To the latter, it seemed symbolically fitting that people would enjoy devouring the enemy. So, extracting the crescent—or croissant, in French—from the Turkish flag, the bakers shaped their dough.
More certain: Nearly a century later, in 1770, Princess Marie-Antoinette—sent from her native Austria to marry the future Louis XVI —introduced the croissant to France.
Today, boulangeries sell all kinds of bread, including the croissant and the baguette. Patisseries sell pastries.
Inspired by the charm of the classic French kitchen, glazed earthenware it is not sandwiched into cupboards.
Fine Dining
When the French entertain, impeccably bedecked tables overflow with sparkling crystal, oversize linen napkins, resplendent well-polished silver, and a striking mix of heirloom china patterns, setting the stage for candlelight fêtes designed to please the senses as much as the palate.
By common consent, perhaps, the handle of each piece of sterling silver flatware sits near the table’s edge, while the dessert spoon and fork lie above the plate. In keeping with the French mind-set, the dessert spoon rests closest to the plate’s rim, with its handle to the right, as if hinting that it may join the other spoons on the right side of the plate. Above the dessert spoon lays the dessert fork, with its handle to the left.
Unlike other cultures, the tines of forks face down, resting on the table cloth—a custom that some say developed to undercut the fork’s ability to snag ruffled lace sleeves. Others claim someone thought the tines of forks and bowls of spoons looked less aggressive faced down, saying nothing about drawing attention to engraved initials without being obvious. But in fairness, the flip sides liberally borrow flourishes from various chapters in French history and often are even more decorative.
Water and wine goblets meet directly above each plate, rather than above the knife and spoon as in the States. A regal “underplate” called a charger by Americans, is integral to the table’s beauty; it is removed before the first course is served.
Centerpieces are always low—with fresh flowers straight from the garden or from local markets—so they do not interfere with conversations. Indeed, in France there is an unwritten rule: talk must continue even after a lingering meal followed by dessert. For one to simply pick up and leave without engaging in further conversation is considered socially incorrect, insinuating that a dinner party is thought less than successful.
The influence of the French moves from the kitchen above into an inviting nook, where a farm table, circa 1870 from Carl Moore Antiques, Houston, rests on an Aubusson from Stark Carpet. A mix of pretty fabrics covers skirted host chairs (one unseen).
A sophisticated bookcase of Italian descent—from Hermitage Antiques, Dallas—holds a pleasing mix of antiques, including a collection of confit jars. The walnut dining table is from Michael Taylor, Los Angeles.
Silver Flair
In the United States, sterling is 925 parts silver to 75 parts copper, honoring the universally accepted norm established in the fourteenth century and still accepted worldwide today. While it is treated with respect here in America, the French are less than enamored with second standard silver—a term that refers to the ratio of purity in pieces marked with the numeral two.
Since the eighteenth century, first standard silver—composed of 950 parts silver to 50 parts copper and adorned with the numeral one—has been a notable source of French pride while garnering an international roster of admirers intent on passing it down for eternity. Some pieces bear the maker’s personal stamp. But the hallmark always reveals the district where crafted, while the control mark bespeaks the year it was produced.
It was Napoléon who set uniform silver marks throughout France, beginning with the Coq (rooster), followed by the Vieillard (old man), which gave way to the head of Minerva in 1838.
Now as then, sterling ages gracefully unless called into service only on holidays, while stainless flatware becomes duller with use. And though French flatware is larger than that produced in America, one doesn’t feel its heaviness, thanks to its design.
All that glitters is not gold—at least not at this table set in the French style. From the venerable house of Christofle, founded in 1830, comes " Malmaison" sterling flatware, crystal, and porcelain. The silver charger, or "underplate," as it is known in France, is "Beauhamais." The Empress Josephine purchased Malmaison—a retreat outside Paris—while Napoléon was in Egypt in 1799.