Birds of a feather
It's half past five in the morning. Michel Roux and Andr‚ Garrett embrace in the foyer of the luxury Vigny hotel off the Champs Elysées in Paris. Neither has slept for more than four hours. One has been wining and dining the press at a famous brasserie, Fouquet's, while the other has been making the jus in the kitchens of Guy Savoy, so the 2002 Roux Scholar and the award's sponsor and co-founder both deserve full marks for commitment beyond the call of duty.
Together, they're heading south of Paris for a six o'clock date with some birds - about 400 tonnes of them. That's an average day's turnover for the Pavillon de la Volaille at Rungis, France's premier fresh produce market. Garrett, head chef at Orrery in London, had pot-roasted a guinea fowl on his way to victory in the scholarship final and, as part of a prize said to be worth £20,000, Roux thought he might gain from seeing the full extent of what the world's largest poultry market can offer.
Inside a hangar large enough to swallow a jumbo jet, Marc Hervouet, president of FENSCOPA, the French poultry wholesalers' association, is waiting to greet them. There's been a sea change, he says by way of introduction, in the way the French buy their poultry, "la volaille". More than half the chickens sold are at the pricier end of the market, and the proportion is growing. The only place where the traditional factory-farmed bird remains the norm is in industrial and institutional catering.
Quality assurance
Label Rouge, the French food industry's quality assurance scheme, should take the credit for this. The pintade fermiŠre (free-range guinea fowl, ranging in density per square metre), for instance, has 22 separate "labels" spread across France, and you can buy guinea fowl from the Gers in the South-west that are quite different from those farmed in the ArdŠche in central France. Some may be reared under conditions similar to those of farmed chickens, while some may still be recognisable as game birds.
Roux makes clear his own preferences. "They're free-range birds and they love trees," he says. "They love space and they have their own harems." He also approves of the fact that many of the boxes on display contain whole carcasses, with organs and heads still intact.
Hervouet explains that his poultry industry has fought hard to gain exemptions from the EC laws that created the "oven-ready" bird. "Over time," he says, "we've proved that properly handled poultry that isn't gutted has lower levels of bacteria, because there's less chance of cross-contamination. With feathered game, it's the same, and we know that a hare with the fur on keeps better than a skinned and paunched one."
Skin colour on poultry is a partial but sometimes misleading pointer to quality. The bright yellow (even orange) colour associated with a maize diet may be down to colourings added to a cheap feed. The skin on guinea fowl should be a yellowish, even tone. Hervouet identifies a narrow chevron of fat running between the breast and the wings. Normally, he explains, guinea fowl fat isn't desirable, but that hint of plumpness shows the bird has reached prime condition.
Below it, the dark, almost black flesh on the wings testifies to its origins as a game bird. If it's paler, then the bird has almost certainly been reared intensively. "It won't," Roux adds, "taste any better than a factory chicken." Another sign to look for is the blue head, proof of a slowly grown animal. Most of the "labels" insist that guinea fowl be at least 13 weeks old before slaughter. By then, they are young adults and the head, like a turkey's, shows that they have reached maturity. Chefs often prefer males to the hens, supposing them to be meatier, but the differences are slight, though the females do lay down fat more quickly after they start ovulating.
Of all guinea fowl, Pintades de Bresse fetch the highest prices. They benefit from the Poulet de Bresse image. They do look distinctive - they weigh half-a-pound more than a Label Rouge equivalent, and their skin is a brighter yellow. According to Hervouet, though, an appellation contr"l‚e product should not be measured against a "label" one, as it has evolved from a separate tradition linked to a place and to husbandry practices going back a century.
To compare qualities, he takes Garrett to a box of processed, gutted and butchered guinea fowl. They look pale and thin-skinned, exactly the kind of product British consumers would recognise.
Roux mentions that in the past he has bought fairly good produce from Cumberland, but had to pay about £8 per bird, and he asks how that would compare with Rungis prices. It varies from day to day, he is told, but a Label Rouge pintade fermiŠre costs restaurateurs between £2.50 and £2.80 per kg. This comes as no surprise to Roux, since he has imported poultry from here for more than 25 years.
Distribution costs
Garrett says that he can find similar quality, but at a price. "We pay more in London," he says, "but it's to be expected, with the extra distribution costs." What strikes him more is the choice. Nineteen wholesalers rub shoulders in the Pavillon de la Volaille. "In London," he feels, "you are dependent on a few good sources, but in Paris you have a range of suppliers. I go to Covent Garden. I like it there. It's good to see what's around and to talk to my butcher, but it's a bit of a shame that it's so small."
More than the scale of the operation at Rungis, Garrett is moved by the passion and enthusiasm of the professionals working there. One is showing off a box of Poulets de Barbezieux to Roux. It's an old breed, from Charentes, he explains, famous 200 years ago in the time of Brillat-Savarin. A farmer is trying to revive the breed. There's no profit in it for the vendor - they weigh a massive 4.5kg each, not what his customers are looking for - but he takes them all the same, because they belong to the tradition of French gastronomy.
Do Parisian chefs really rise before dawn, or is it a myth they perpetuate to enhance their reputations? Guy Savoy, with whom Garrett has just completed his stage, doesn't go to the market himself. Twice a week, though, he sends Monsieur Jean, his senior head chef. During the game season, especially, the competition for the best partridges, hen pheasants, wild duck and hares is intense, and buying unseen isn't a safe option for a Michelin-starred kitchen.
Savoy puts the importance of purchasing the very best at the top of his list of priorities. "In haute cuisine, there can be no short cuts, no compromises," he says. "It's what makes the difference. Sourcing exceptional quality is the starting point of our daily routine. Outside of gastronomic restaurants, you won't find 80g white truffles and 10kg turbots any more. We take them, and twice a day we prepare them under the most rigorous working conditions, to the best level we can."
The skills gap separating French from English chefs has narrowed. Technically speaking, Garrett argues, a chef de partie in a top London restaurant is as competent as his Paris opposite number. The problem exists at the bottom of the industry - apprentices and commis receive better training in France. They also have a stronger cultural grounding. A 16-year-old French school-leaver who wants to be a chef will already know how a poulet fermier should taste because he has eaten it at home. When his English counterpart starts cutting up chickens in college, the birds will most probably be the same factory broilers that dominate UK eating habits.
As a Michelin-starred chef in his own right, Garrett buys French veal rather than the crate-reared Dutch veal that forms the bulk of our imports. He cannot, he admits, compete with Guy Savoy, who has been buying milk-fed veal from the same farmer for two decades. The infrastructure linking specialist producers to restaurants may be changing for the better in Britain, but in France it's a well-established fact of life.
Asked what he has learnt from his stage, Garrett says: "Details." Apart from a few culinary tricks, he is not referring to the cooking. What he has absorbed has more to do with the intangibles of a great restaurant: Guy Savoy may have interests in half-a-dozen bistros, but he is always in the kitchen by 9am; the structure of the 22-strong brigade allows for four head chefs; and far more effort goes into integrating kitchen and front of house than would be normal on the northern side of the Channel.
According to Savoy: "Andr‚ is getting the feel of a style of cooking." It's a typically French experience, whereby the best raw materials and the most promising personnel filter through the system till they reach the most famous restaurants. The movement is from the bottom of the pyramid upwards.
When Roux arrives at Savoy's restaurant from Rungis, it's past breakfast but not yet lunchtime. To warm his guest up, Savoy sits him down at a table in a private room. Pumpkin soup, dished up in a hollowed-out pumpkin, arrives to take off the early morning chill. White truffle is shaved over it. Next comes an hors d'oeuvre of foie gras and chicken served with toasted brioche. It's the perfect gesture of friendship from one seasoned pro to another.
And if Garrett realises how much thought and experience has gone into this impromptu snack, his three-months stage will have been well spent.
How to enter the 2003 Roux Scholarship
Mackerel is on the menu for competitors in the 2003 Roux Scholarship. Entrants must submit a recipe for four people using mackerel plus two garnishes. "It's good to see mackerel being used again," says Rick Stein, one of the judges. "It's one of my favourite fish to eat, and is really good value. Bewilderingly, it is a rather underrated fish. It will be fascinating to read the chefs' recipes."
The first stage of the competition will be judged blind, with the details of entrants being divulged only when the regional finalists stage has been reached.
The 2003 Roux Scholar will win £2,500 in cash, courtesy of sponsor the Savoy Educational Trust, plus various travel opportunities: a stage of up to three months at a three-Michelin-starred establishment in Europe; a trip to the Caribbean, courtesy of Celebrity Cruises, to learn about on-board cuisine; a visit to the cellars of Champagne Gosset at A•, and a trip to Milan to visit the CaffŠ Musetti roasting factory. Add to this the prizes from Global Knives, All-Clad cookware and EuropFelix, and the Roux Scholar 2003 will have a prize cache worth more than £20,000.
The judging panel is augmented by David Nicholls, of the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park in London, and this year's guest judge is Rowley Leigh of Kensington Place, also in London. They join Albert and Michel Roux, chairman of the judges; their sons, Michel Junior and Alain; Victor Ceserani; Brian Turner; Gary Rhodes and Rick Stein. The Roux Scholarship is also supported by British Airways Inflight Service; Bragard; Caterer & Hotelkeeper; the HCIMA; the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park, and the Personal Catering Company.
Entry forms are available by calling 020 8744 2630, e-mailing roux@golleyslater.co.uk, or downloading from www.rouxscholarship.co.uk.
