The Birth of Bicontinental Cuisine

On July 23 the first customers walked into a new restaurant in Santa Monica. They admired the decor. They looked at the view. And then they sat down to dinner. What they did not know was that the food that they were being served was the first of its kind--and a sign that the way we eat is about to undergo a dramatic change.

You certainly couldn’t tell this from looking at the food. You couldn’t tell by tasting it either. The guests gobbled up salads made of whole marinated lobster served warm with baby carrots; zucchini flowers stuffed with eggplant and mushrooms; and grilled sea bass in grapefruit, orange and lemon butter with corn. They finished up with gorgeous desserts: warm chocolate tartes with pistachio sauce, whole figs baked in raspberry juice, chestnut terrines with coconut ice cream. And then they sat back and said it was the best new restaurant in California.

But it was more than that: It was a testimonial to new technology. And yet there was nothing new about the way the food was cooked, and no strange strange sci-fi contraptions were hidden in the kitchen. Nevertheless, when the first dish came out of Fennel’s kitchen, the world got smaller and the age of bicontinental cuisine began.

The four chefs who own Fennel don’t live in Los Angeles. They don’t even live in the United States. They all live in France, where each has a wildly successful restaurant of his own. Now they are trying something new: a restaurant that recognizes no national boundaries. This is food’s first step into a truly global economy, for these chefs cook by commuting and the technology that they rely upon are airplanes, telephones and FAX machines.

“If I am in Paris and come up with a really superb idea that would work in Los Angeles,” says Michel Rostang, “I just pick up the telephone and place a call. I say, ‘Tiens , you do like this, and this and this.’ And then I take a picture of the dish, and put the photo and the recipe in the FAX machine. The next day you can be eating it in L.A.”

The Catalyst

Michel Rostang, one of the best-known young chefs in Paris, was the catalyst. He comes from a long line of restaurateurs. His father Jo has the famed La Bonne Auberge in Antibes. Rostang himself owns the Paris restaurant that bears his name and an offshoot called the Bistro d’a Cote. When Mauro Vincenti, owner of L.A.’s Rex, asked him, “How would you like to do a restaurant together in L.A.?” he didn’t flinch. He liked Mauro’s food. He liked Mauro. And he is an adventurous man. He did not sensibly say, “Commute half-way across the world? Are you crazy?” What he said was, “Yes, but there’s a problem: I would never permit myself to leave my restaurant in Paris full time. And then,” he says now, “I thought of my friends. . . .”

“ La folie ,” says one friend, Michel Chabran, “that’s what it was.” But he liked the idea. So did Yann Jacquot and Andre Genin. After all, each closed his restaurant at a different time of the year, and if they alternated their visits to Los Angeles, none of them would ever have to be away from his own kitchen for more than a few weeks. They all had a lot of American customers, and they rather fancied the idea of standing in Paris and saying, “The next time you’re in Los Angeles, come by and see me.” They sort of thought it would impress their French customers too. “These days,” says Andre Genin, “one has a really international clientele.”

Even the idea of commuting from Paris to Los Angeles began to seem feasible. Air France agreed to give them what Chabran calls “ un deal fabuleux .” When the chefs found a Santa Monica site that reminded them strongly of the Riviera, the restaurant began to look like a real possibility.

The Hurdles

But there were hurdles ahead.

Financing was not a problem. The chefs themselves put up half of the money and Vincenti and a small group of American investors the other half. But nothing else was easy. The process took years. “The rules and regulations are totally different here than in France,” says one of the investors. “The chefs have a hard time understanding the bureaucracy. After all, back in Paris Michel Rostang closed his restaurant, remodeled, and reopened 3 weeks later. That could never happen here.”

Building a transcontinental kitchen turned out to be no joke either. “Thank God for overnight mail,” says one chef, telling tales of plans converted from meters to feet and tile samples that shuttled back and forth across the continents. The chefs found a wonderful zinc-topped wooden bar in a Paris market--it came from an old bistro--and shipped it across the ocean only to discover that health codes demanded that it be modified.

Then there was the menu to be decided; with so many chefs, that took three years. “Finally,” says Yann Jacquot, “three months before opening, we got together every Monday and we each brought two recipes. So when we made this restaurant, we took a little bit from each of us.”

Training the staff was a unique problem too. The chefs agreed that everybody they hired to work in Los Angeles must spend time working with each of them in France. The crew had to be as good on its own as it was under a chef’s guidance because eventually the chefs’ personal presence would become more sporadic. And so head chef Jean-Pierre Bosc and his cooks (all but one of whom is French) started making the grand tour of the chefs’ kitchens.

“I think you have to give credit to all the people who came with us,” says Jacquot. “They all agreed to live the same adventure that we did.” And it was an adventure. For despite years of planning, when the kitchen staff left Paris none of them knew where he was going to stay. They didn’t even know how they were going to work or what they were going to earn. Few of them spoke good English. They began to worry that they’d have trouble finding good products. And as the opening day drew closer, and the commuting began, the chefs had yet to realize how much they didn’t know about America.

Michel Rostang

Tuning Up (Aug. 2)

It is 9 o’clock in the morning and Michel Rostang’s white jacket is already stained with berry juice, duck’s blood and wine. His hair stands in a halo around his head, making him look as though he’s just walked through a force field. His smile is wide--and a bit weary. The restaurant has been open a week--and Rostang has been here every day from 7 in the morning until 1 the next morning.

Right now he is trying to work on a lunch menu and he is having a problem. “It seems that Americans like shrimp very much, but I haven’t found any good shrimp here.” But that is minor compared to the question he really wants to ask. “Do you think we are serving the food too fast?”

There are other problems that Rostang did not foresee. “One of my clients from France came in and said, ‘I want pressed duck,’ ” says Rostang, citing one of the dishes for which he is famous in France. “She just didn’t understand!” His voice rises passionately. “I didn’t come here to do what I do in France. You have to adapt yourself to the American mode.”

Rostang is not totally unfamiliar with American tastes. He is a consultant to the Plaza Athenee in New York. Still, he is finding that tastes in Los Angeles are quite different than they are back East. “People here don’t like much salt, you can’t put in too much cream, all of that. Here they like lots of vegetables.” He points out the window to a man jogging by. “It is la vie naturelle . You have to learn California. You can’t just arrive with your suitcase.”

Rostang has clearly studied the subject. It was he who came up with the “tarts” on the menu, a sort of sophisticated French version of pizza. One is large rounds of puff pastry topped with baby artichoke hearts and anchovy paste. Another is a sort of potato pancake topped with salmon, salmon roe and onions. They are unlike anything else in town; they are wonderful. One night he wrapped John Dory in thin slices of bacon, popped a potato jacket on top and served the dish in a red wine sauce made with a fish fumet . The customers loved it. He knows how to titillate California palates.

But he is still puzzled by American customs. “You know, I learned in New York that Americans order differently than the French. The American sits down, orders wine and sits and talks for an hour. They don’t order, they drink. And then, ‘OK, we’ll order now.’ And it must be there, on the table, right away. In France we sit down, we order, we wait 20 minutes for the food to come. In New York they reproached us for going too slowly because the food didn’t come out as soon as it was ordered. So we had to change, immediately, the way that we worked. Here I wanted to start by getting the food out of the kitchen very quickly. And now they say we are going too fast. . . . There is so much to learn.”

Michel Chabran

Taking Chances (Aug. 11)

“Try some of this cheese.” Michel Chabran, who has just arrived for his 10-day stint, gleefully produces a St.-Marcellin that he brought from home. It was made by Madame Richard, a famous Lyonnaise cheese maker. “Go ahead and taste it,” he urges.

Of the four chefs, Chabran seems the most open. Within minutes of meeting visitors he is talking about his 18-month-old son and his two “ grandes filles .” He is showing pictures of his family--and talking of his troubles.

The restaurant which bears Chabran’s name is in Pont d’Isere, near Valence, in the middle of the vineyards of Hermitage. It was once a village bistro that belonged to his grandparents. Over the years, Chabran has modernized the rooms and completely updated the food. His delicate cooking earned him two stars; last year he lost one of them. Chabran was devastated.

And yet despite the loss, his business went up 20%. Michelin stars are still prestigious, but they just don’t have the pull that they once did. These days, it is international success that counts. And that is why, although many people would prefer that Chabran stay in France, he has risked coming to Los Angeles.

“People said all sorts of things. Above all, they reproached me for never being in the kitchen. . . . Now they’ll probably say more of the same, but in spite of all that, I am here. Because I thought it was important to come to L.A. to do business.”

And he seems pleased with that decision. “Look at America,” says Chabran. “Look how it has changed. The evolution has been crazy. I remember the first time I came to the U.S.--it was 7 years ago--you couldn’t find foie gras , you couldn’t find anything. Now there is everything. The products are superb.”

Chabran uses these products to concentrate on daily specials; all four chefs do this, leaving head chef Jean-Pierre Bosc to deal with the regular menu. Some nights Chabran has made frog’s legs in caviar butter as an appetizer, or foie gras with raspberry vinegar. He serves tiny filets of sea bass in an extraordinary lobster sauce. And then he strolls through the restaurant, basking in people’s pleasure and apologizing for not speaking English (“I understand a little bit, but when it comes to serious conversation. . .”).

In unguarded moments he’ll admit, “We still have a few things to work out.” The lunch business remains slow. “I don’t think people know that we are open for lunch. Do many people eat lunch in Santa Monica? Is it too far?”

Yann Jacquot

An Adventure (Aug. 19)

“I just called to see how dinner went in Paris. I call after each meal to see how things are.” Jacquot’s expressive face reflects a little worry, then it passes. “I have a wonderful team there at Le Toit de Passy, but this is the first time I’ve been away for as long as 10 days.”

Jacquot may be anxious, but he is also ambitious. He did not hesitate to make what he calls, “this leap.” “We have nothing left to prove in France,” he says. “This is a challenge. And I was very excited about opening this restaurant with my friends.”

Jacquot, like all the chefs, speaks lovingly of his friendship with the others. “We are together all the time--even for vacations. Our wives are good friends. We play tennis and go skiing together. And,” here he frowns a little, “thanks to Andre, we have discovered golf. He owes us for that one.’

The chefs have known each other for years. “When I arrived in Paris to open my restaurant,” says Jacquot, “I’d go to the market every morning at 3 a.m. And every morning I’d find myself standing next to Michel Rostang and Andre Genin, buying the exact same products from the same suppliers. After a while we said, after all, it’s a shame that all three of us are getting up every morning. Before long we got organized and one was buying for the two others. And then we had to buy bigger cars, and then we grew and we had to buy a big truck. And then, two years ago, we finally bought a buyer so that none of us has to get up. . . .”

“All four of us want to do unexpected things,” says Jacquot. You know, there are many talented chefs in France who I admire a lot who have no desire to do what we’re doing. Me, on the other hand, when I go back next week, I am going to sign up a new bistro in Paris. Weight Watchers has asked me to do a book for them. I belong to an organization that makes dietetic vacuum-packed dishes. And then--well, I don’t want to tell you everything the first time.”

With that Jacquot goes back to planning the day’s special-- poulet au curry . Suddenly he looks up, a puzzled expression on his face. “I never thought,” he says. “Can you get basmati rice in America?”

Andre Genin

Small World (Aug. 30)

“I feel completely Californian,” says Genin, bouncing into the restaurant as if he has been here all his life. “You know, I walk into the kitchen here and I feel immediately at home.”

Maybe it is because the restaurant is now a month old. Maybe it is Genin’s apparently unflappable personality. But nothing seems to worry him. Asked if the plane trip from Paris was difficult, he says only, “Once you get on a plane, it really doesn’t make any difference how long you are flying. You get on in the middle of the night and you go to sleep. . . .”

When Genin got off that plane, he had a few things with him. “We all bring a little something each time we come. This trip I brought infusions (various sorts of herbal teas) to serve in the restaurant. And some little pastry molds for Michel Richard, who called and said that he needed them. It’s much quicker than shipping, but it makes for a very fat suitcase.”

Carrying that suitcase, Genin arrived at the restaurant on a Saturday evening. “I walked in and the receptionist told me that half the clients knew my restaurant in Paris. No wonder I felt at home.”

To Genin, the world is just not very big. His father bought his Paris restaurant, Chez Pauline, in 1951. A real bistro, it has gotten he says, “very good press in America. So naturally we have a large American clientele.” But Chez Pauline is also extremely popular with Parisian businessmen at lunch, and they, says Genin, “are always coming to Los Angeles.” He says it as if they were just popping around the corner for a meal.

Chez Pauline is a good example of how much the world of food is changing. It looks like a typical bistro. Its menu offers typical bistro fare. But looks are deceptive. Genin has lightened the classic cuisine. “I make blanquette de veau , but I make it my way. I don’t use flour or a roux . I use vegetable purees to thicken my sauces. We just don’t eat the way we did 20 years ago.”

It is not surprising to hear that one of Genin’s contributions to the Fennel menu is the simple rotisserie chicken--with a twist. “I like very much chicken when it is served in two courses. Because when the leg is cooked, the breast is too cooked. This way, you end up with both perfectly cooked.” But then he looks sad. “In France I do it with poulet de Bresse . The chickens here are considerably less good than the ones you find in France. We’ll have to work on that.”

Meanwhile, Genin is working on something else. Chez Pauline is expensive; a meal there costs about $65 a person. “But,” he says, “I think it is important for the people who can’t afford the time or the money to eat at Chez Pauline to have another option.” And that is why, as soon as he gets back to Paris, he will open a second restaurant. “It will be much more rapid service and much less expensive.” He doesn’t say it, but the implication is also “much more American.”

How will he manage to do all this? Genin shrugs. “It’s easy. I close my restaurant in Paris for Christmas, so I’ll come here for my vacation.” Is this his idea of a vacation? Genin grins. “I love my work. We all do. And we’ll worry about taking vacations in 10 years.”

Ten years from now--it seems like a long time. Who knows what we’ll be eating by then. Just think what was on our tables 10 years ago--a time before California cuisine, before the sushi revolution, when pasta was still spaghetti. Ten years ago American food still meant hot dogs and hamburgers, everybody thought that yogurt was awful, and nobody had heard of half the things that now routinely end up in your refrigerator. Ten years ago good products were hard to find in America, and good chefs didn’t shuttle around the world. Ten years ago we had a whole world of food to discover. Now that world has gotten very small.

Fennel, 1535 Ocean Ave., Santa Monica, (213) 394-2074. Dinner for two, food only, $60-$80.