Book Excerpt
States, yes, I’d opened a few cans of
truffles (we didn’t even have frozen
truffles back then). They were the
only truffles I’d ever seen back in the
early 1980s, and their quality was
minimal. Nowadays, you can buy
frozen truffles, and you can get fresh
ones, too — they cost a fortune, of
course. But that afternoon, walking
into that kitchen and experiencing
that aroma, I was in awe. It was a
culinary first for me: to see a truffle
in its raw state. I know now, of
course, that using a perfect fresh
truffle like that, instead of using
a canned truffle, makes all the
difference in the world. Superiorquality fresh ingredients inspire
a chef to experiment, to reach out
and create innovative new dishes.
It was fantastic to work with
Loiseau, who used all of the local
ingredients and transformed them
into his interpretation of regional
Burgundy cuisine. Escargot, for
example. Usually, people open a can
of snails, put some garlic butter on
them, stick them in the shells, and
everyone goes wild. At the Hotel de
la Côte d’Or, local people would bring
in boxes of le petit escargot fresh,
and we cooked them from the raw
state.
We’d open up the refrigerator and
find them stuck on the inside of the
door. They were crawling out and
trying to get away. I think they knew
what was going to happen as soon as
they started smelling the thyme and
bay leaves. You can’t produce quality
like that when it comes from a can.
kitchen had to be perfect the
first time out. There was no second
chance. Absorbing that sense of
commitment to such a high level
of quality was invaluable in my
development. Later, it was one of
the deciding factors in my being
brought on board at the White House.
That très soigné VIP experience at
Loiseau’s was what I later recreated
every single day at the White House,
whether I was serving the President
and the First Lady a casual dinner
upstairs, or if the President of
France was downstairs for a working
lunch, or preparing a state dinner
for the Prime Minister of Japan.
I had been working with Chef Loiseau
in Saulieu for just seven months when
circumstances found me on the move
again. An officer approached me as
I was entering my car outside the
restaurant one afternoon, and asked
me in French, “What nationality are
you?” He demanded my papers, looked
at my passport, and saw that I had
overstayed my visa, so he ordered me
into his police van. We sat at a little
table in the back, and he grilled me
about what I was doing, why I was
there, and what my plans were.
Finally, the policeman wrote me up as
an illegal and told me I had to report
to the prefecture in Dijon the next
day — some ninety kilometers away.
Before making that drive, I tried to
figure out what to do. I assumed I
was going to have to move, but
where? Then I remembered a friend,
Jean-Yves Crenn, a chef from Cléder,
in Brittany, near the English Channel.
All in all, my progression through the
restaurants, from bistro to Michelin,
couldn’t have gone better if I’d
planned it. From beginning to end, it
was absolutely perfect. And back in
the States, it turned out that the
whole French experience in general,
and particularly my time at Loiseau’s,
was an important factor in finding
work. Having VIPs come in there on a
daily basis, I had to produce a
first-rate product all the time.
Everything that left the
Before I left for Loiseau’s, he had told
me, “If you ever need anything, give
me a call.” So I rang him up and said,
“Hey, I think I’m in trouble here,” and
explained my immigration difficulties.
“Look,” he responded, “my busy
season is about to begin, and I could
use some extra help, so just jump on
a train and come up here.” I agreed
to give him a call after my trip to
the prefecture.
The next day, I drove to Dijon and
reported to the prefecture. The
officer took me to an interrogation
room and started grilling me all
over again. He launched into a
tirade — all in French — about how
I had overstayed my visa and was
working illegally. He went on and
on, stressing how serious it all
was.