back of my calf. I looked at him and
said, “Chef, what are you doing?”
and he replied, “I have to start giving
you some bruises, so when you go
back to America you can say, ‘Yeah,
I worked at a French restaurant!’ ”
That gentle joke exemplifies what
an even-tempered guy he was.
I never saw him get flustered.
Years later, in 2004, I took a trip to
France with my family. As we went
through Arnay-le-Duc, we came down
an alleyway next to the back kitchen
area. I was going to go in the front
but I said, “I’ll just try the door I used
when I worked here.” I knocked, and a
guy came to the door. I said, “I’m
looking for Chef Poinsot. Is he here?”
He replied, “Yeah — he’s around
back.” I saw that the kitchen had
been expanded, and was different
from the kitchen I’d worked in. They
had added an extra prep room in the
back, so I went around a corner —
and there was Poinsot!
He came over and looked at me and
said, “Comment ca va?” (How are you?)
I said, “I used to work for you back
in 1984.” He looked at me and said,
“Yeah, I remember you — the
American guy.” The next thing out
of his mouth was “Tu est toujours
en cuisine?” (Are you still in the
kitchen?) I said, “Oui.” At that time
I was still working in the White
House, and I started to tell him
about it. He was very, very happy.
I had left my wife and kids in the car,
because I hadn’t wanted to bring my