Egg on My Face

It is now the age of Men Who Cook. These are regular guys--carpenters, accountants, U.N. peacekeepers--who have made it normal for a guy to devote his Saturday afternoon to making mole negro or wine-braised short ribs. No longer do men have to hide behind the smarmy (“I cook to seduce”) or the defensive (“ ‘SportsCenter’ isn’t on for another hour”). Men can stand up and say, “I own a Le Creuset and I’m proud!”

Except, let’s face it, men can’t really cook. Oh, sure, they claim to have the secret to perfect roast chicken or serve fancy dishes with names such as carbonnade a la Flamande, but it’s a con. Carbonnade a la Flamande is beer and beef stew, and my dog can roast a chicken. And he’s not that bright.

I am as guilty as the next Henckels-wielding flimflam man. The secret behind my successful dinner parties is 10-ounce martinis. But you can’t hide the truth in a late supper, a light and simple dinner consumed after an evening at the theater or a concert. The idea is that you’ve arrived home tired and peckish from an evening out and now turn your hand to meals that you can dash off in 20 minutes. As summer approaches and plans are made for evenings at the Bowl, it occurs to me that a few late-supper items might be just the arrows to add to my quiver.

The problem is, these simple supper dishes are very easy to make badly. I’ve read that at one time in France a senior chef would try out a new hire by having him make an omelet. The idea was that this would demonstrate whether he had a feel for the delicate interplay between heat and the fragility of an egg.

My own omelet is just scrambled eggs folded over. What I yearned to master was an omelet as light as a souffle and as rich and satisfying as a full Irish breakfast.

Determined to master this simple supper dish, I asked L’Orangerie chef Christophe Bellanca if he could spare half an hour for an omelet remedial. The 32-year-old Frenchman was hired last year as executive chef for the elegant Los Angeles landmark by owner Gerard Ferry and made his mark with dishes such as confit of squab leg and porcini mushroom marmalade. As a veteran of several Michelin two- and three-star restaurants in France, Bellanca would be the man to show me how to flip an egg.

When I showed up one midmorning at L’Orangerie, he and his kitchen staff already were hard at it. Between half a dozen other tasks, Bellanca set out the omelet ingredients: medium, brown organic eggs; chopped Italian parsley, chives and chervil; sea salt; sweet butter; and a little dish of milk. I asked Bellanca who had taught him the secrets of the omelet. He stared at me blankly.

Uh-oh. It seemed that his English was on par with my French. Luckily, Julien Wargnies, Bellanca’s 29-year-old chef de partie, stepped in to translate.

“I was lucky to learn how to make a wonderful omelet from the famous French chef Regis Marcon [of Le Clos des Cimes], which has three Michelin stars,” Bellanca said, as he beat the eggs with a fork for three minutes until they had a good froth. “I was 15, and it took me two days to perfect it. I kept making them . . . and the entire kitchen crew ate them as their staff meals.”

With the herbs, milk and salt added, Bellanca moved quickly to the stove, where a nonstick pan with a tablespoon of butter was beginning to smoke. After removing the pan from the heat, he poured in the egg mixture. It required extraordinary timing to pour the mixture in at just the first hint of smoke, but before the butter turned brown. With a rubber spatula, Bellanca scrambled the eggs until they were cooking uniformly. He then slipped the tip of the spatula under the edge of the omelet and moved it clockwise several times to loosen the egg.

Bellanca returned the pan to the burner and tilted it 30 degrees so that he could very carefully fold about 2 inches of the omelet edge toward the center. Then he ladled in another tablespoon of melted butter next to the folded edge. You’ve got to love that about the French: They’re not afraid of butter. They worship it. And when they say it in French--beurre--it sounds like a cat purring.

Bellanca folded the edge again, occasionally pounding on the pan’s handle to make the far edge of the omelet curl back on itself. Then, with the handle in an underhand grip, he served the omelet by flipping the pan over the plate and tucking in the final fold, thus creating a narrow, rectangular omelet with four layers.

Grabbing an egg, I prepared to crack it on the bowl. Bellanca suddenly stepped forward and stopped me as if the egg were a detonation cap. He demonstrated that the correct way to crack an egg is to smack it against a flat surface. Man, if I couldn’t even crack an egg to his liking, this was going to be a tough tutorial.

The only thing I did right on my several tries at the perfect omelet was to beat the eggs into a heady froth. Turns out I’m a born egg beater. The rest of the steps . . . quelle catastrophe! My attempts at plating were especially poor, and three or four times Bellanca was forced to grab the pan from me and save the eggs. He did so with that unique Gallic “tsk” that requires expression from the entire upper body.

We finally managed to plate one of my attempts and even got it looking presentable with a little half cherry tomato on top and a few streaks of lamb jus as garnish. Unfortunately, because I’d taken too long folding the omelet, the center was cooked through and was, by French standards, inedible.

I discovered that the fluffy but rich omelet of my dreams was the antithesis of the French model. Bellanca’s ideal was a multilayered affair, and between each firm layer a nearly runny filling--two textures achieved with one main ingredient.

Clearly, I would have to practice, practice, practice.

That night I cooked omelets for three friends. One had been married to the owner of La Tour d’Argent, the oldest fine-dining restaurant in Paris. Of the four omelets I made them, each was slightly better and closer to the Bellanca ideal than the one that had preceded it.

“Pas mal,” conceded my La Tour friend.

And I didn’t even have to offer her a 10-ounce martini first.

*

L’ORANGERIE OMELET

1 serving

4 medium, brown organic or free-range eggs (or 3 large)

1/2 teaspoon each of coarsely chopped chervil, Italian parsley and chives

1 pinch sea salt

2 tablespoons whole milk

2 tablespoons melted sweet butter

Cherry tomato and chervil, for garnish

Crack eggs into a bowl. Mix in herbs, salt and milk. Whisk steadily with a fork until the mixture is frothy, about 2 to 3 minutes. Meanwhile, add 1 tablespoon of melted butter to a nonstick omelet pan over medium heat. When the butter begins to smoke, remove from heat and let sit for 30 seconds. Reduce heat to low.

From here on, follow Bellanca’s technique, being careful to make your folds gently or it will fall apart.

To serve, hold the pan handle in an underhanded grip, making sure that the pan is tilted over the plate so that the far edge of the omelet is folded under the rest of the omelet.

Garnish with half a cherry tomato and a sprig of chervil.