Only recently did it come to my attention that some of my friends found “foodies” to be elitists. Altogether, they upheld the thought that all foodies sat — armed with pretentious foodie buddies — at lavishly spread picnic tables adorned with exciting cutlery, bizarre organic foods and colorful napkins, all played to the soundtrack of clinking glasses and accordion-driven French movie music. There’s also always a cheese platter to cinch it.
Pushing away thoughts that friends thought I lived in Nigella’s backyard, I took part in a workshop that became the precedent in what looked like a genuine interest forming exceedingly fast in me. It was there, at the French Culinary School in Asia, that I began learning from Jean Michel Fraisse that the international foodie movement was frequently less about culinary complexities and more about simplicity achieved by sourcing the best ingredients around.
Hailing from Toulouse, Jean Michel made his way to Southeast Asia after his years of experience in France. Fraisse, being an avid chef, culinary trainer and researcher in the hospitality and tourism industry, spent a week out of his 15 years in Malaysia with the three of us teaching us the ins and outs of the kitchen and about people’s food expectations. From humanely killing lobsters to teaching me to like lamb, Fraisse only reinforced the idea that I was on the right track, learning from the right person.
Upon receiving our certificates, I thought I’d go back one afternoon and banter about food with him, someone I was sure doesn’t live in Nigella’s backyard.
“My philosophy is to do something practical and suitable for everybody,” Fraisse told me, “without a lot of equipment.”
After talking about using cookbooks as references and the eternal hunt for the next great cookbook, Jean Michel went on to discuss Escoffier, the revered French chef who codified French cuisine, modernized it and made it easy to build on years later.
“Once you know the way it works, you just have to change ingredients. You also have to know the basic rules of association. Once you understand technique and which ingredient is associated with others and what works, you can build and reinvent.”
By living in Asia for so long, I wondered if he applied those same learned techniques to Asian cooking. “You cannot cook by the book with Asian food, like many other cultures. There is no codification and everyone changes the dish according to his or her taste. Today, we should be able to rewrite recipes with cultural value to maintain them,” Jean Michel went on to explain.
If it were only that easy, I thought. Could we come up with a team of writers to rewrite the basics of our cuisine and if so, who are the people capable of such a thing?
“It just needs someone who understands the real essence of these recipes and cultures and who always respects this,” he continued while my thoughts ran ahead of me.
I nudge him to elaborate further on the food culture of the developing world. Since we’re moving towards fusion cooking and such, we surely must have a future, right?
Fraisse laughs and his big voice, ladled with personality, booms, “In the 90s, fusion food was the average chef’s response to economic crises. It was turned into a trend, yes, but it wasn’t why it started. It was difficult to import certain products and if the chef managed to properly execute the idea, it could be a very elegant dish.
“People now abuse fusion cooking because many cannot match flavors correctly. It’s the same with the commercialization of western food. In big cities, many adults eat better food outside their home but feed their kids chicken nuggets and pizza for dinner. In the time I’ve been in Malaysia, food has become a lot more westernized, in a bad way, and a meal is inconceivable without meat. In France, it is the same. We call it nomad food because of people’s always-moving lifestyles.”
Are we, too, without realizing, leaping with open arms into this nomadic culinary culture? And is there hope?
It turns out, there is: “What is happening now is that cultures are moving and this is good. In Europe, it is now very popular to cook with a wok, while in Asia baking is becoming the thing to learn. But if you are going to reinvent a classic, call it something else. Don’t downgrade the dish or put your reputation at stake. In the end, regular cooking is very important and should be a family affair. When I was growing up, everyone contributed something. Now, I find many restaurants putting a lot of effort in presentation but what the customer carries home is the taste, [which is what] home cook[ing] should focus on.”
Jean-Michel Fraisse left me wanting to ask another hundred questions. Apart from changing my opinion on lamb (and for that I am grateful), he also unknowingly strengthened my dedication to finding the balance between my roots and my learning experiences while teaching me that gender roles have nothing to do with my love of food. Ultimately, it’s all about slowing down and appreciating the essence of food, rather than about hunting down the newest swankiest sushi bar and the endless pursuit of perfection.
Mechoui-Style Roasted Lamb Leg
(The indicated measurements for the ingredients are set per kilo)
1 Lamb leg
20 grams of butter
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons of ground coriander
2 teaspoons of ground cumin
2 teaspoons of chili powder
1 teaspoons of paprika
¼ teaspoon of turmeric
½ teaspoon of saffron threads, crushed
50 grams of butter, softened
2 tablespoons of salt
1 tablespoon of freshly ground black pepper
Mix all the ingredients, except for the lamb, together and blend into a find paste. Coat the lamb leg with the mixture and place in a roasting pan. Allow to marinate for 1-2 hours in the refrigerator. Remove from the refrigerator and allow to return to room temperature. Preheat your oven to 220 to 240 degrees Celsius. Put your lamb into the oven and lower the heat to 180 degrees Celsius. Roast the lamb, uncovered, for 2 hours for a 2 kg lamb leg. Baste the lamb every 15-20 minutes until it is browned and evenly colored. Transfer the lamb to a serving platter and allow to rest for at least 15 minutes before serving. If desired, the juices can be poured over and around the lamb.
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