Stage presence
I am a great enthusiast for the stage system. It is the best kind of work experience you can get in an industry often criticised for its selfish attitude towards training. It also illustrates that leading chefs have time for young chefs who normally work in small kitchens.
Yet, while stages are widely regarded as a means for the young and inexperienced to gain a wider knowledge of the skills of cooking, I firmly believe they are something all chefs can benefit from.
When chefs gain command of their own kitchen or, as in my case, are both head chef and co-proprietor, the experience of other kitchens is more often limited to eating out in other restaurants. Seeing what is presented to the customer is very useful and keeps us all abreast of fashion and ideas, but it doesn't give the whole picture. That comes from seeing how the kitchen cooks it.
In March, I did my first stage in years, and it was brilliant, both in terms of fun and experience. Selecting where to go for the stage was almost as hard as convincing myself to do it in the first place. I think I could have gone anywhere in Britain, but I wanted to be anonymous and learn from other people. That is how to get the best out of a stage: don't worry about the status of what you are doing; concentrate on what others are doing around you.
One aspect of the Northcote menu that I am proud of is the way regional dishes from east Lancashire regularly feature. Trout with black pudding, braised lamb shank and boiled ox tongue are all foods and ingredients that come from a heritage that utilises every part of fish, fowl and beast.
There is a similar approach in Lyonnais cooking. But, as well as the rare combination of loyalty, tradition and incredible talent, there is the recognition that cookery must move on. What better place to spend my time than where the ingredients were familiar, but the method of using them unknown?
But how do you arrange the stage? Enter Max Bourguelle, director of gastronomy at Champagne Mumm, in Reims, a familiar face to many chefs in Britain, but a household name among the great chefs of France.
Two-and-a-half hours after hitting Calais, I was at the Champagne Mumm headquarters in Reims. I met Max and he revealed where my stage was to be: the kitchen of the two-Michelin-starred La Pyramide restaurant in Vienne, south of Lyons.
The prospect was exciting, but first we were going to do some front of house research by having lunch at a small brasserie called Au Petit Comptoir, which specialises in the regional cuisine.
I had rillettes de lapin as an amuse-gueule, which was simple, but bursting with flavour. My starter was le petit cervelas de brochet et galette de pommes de terre, compote d'oignons au miel (pike sausage on Anna potatoes with onions and honey).
This was followed by a main course of le croustillant de lapereau aux pieds de porc et pâtés fraîches, jus moutarde (pig's feet and rabbit pâté baked in a crispy pastry with noodles and mustard sauce). These dishes were specially chosen by Max as examples of the regional cookery around Reims and were, not surprisingly, drunk with a bottle of Mumm Cordon Rouge.
After a short rest at my hotel, Max telephoned me to say we were off to the famous Gérard Boyer's restaurant, Boyer "Le Crayères", just outside Reims, for dinner. From the imposing drive up to the hotel, I knew I was in for something very special.
The main course of breast of duck with mulled pear and neck of duckling, stuffed with sweet-bread pistachio and foie gras, was absolutely stunning. The cheese course lists more than 60 varieties, but I managed to sample only six. For dessert we had chocolate torte, which was excellent.
As I fell asleep, I reflected on the fact that with only 23 people dining in one of the most famous restaurants in France we ought not be too concerned when our restaurant in Lancashire seemed a bit quiet on a frosty night in March.
On my arrival at La Pyramide the following day, I met the wife of Monsieur Henriroux, who is the chef. I was told to report for work at 6pm.
At 5.55pm I walked through the impressive automatic doors into the magnificent kitchen. I was amazed by the sheer size of the place. If any kitchen could be described as beautiful, then this was surely it. The equipment and facilities were exceptional. I counted 19 chefs, and my first thought was one of envy to see so many chefs in one kitchen. I wondered how it was possible to afford that many.
The kitchen itself was divided into four sections: larder, pastry-making, sauce-making (with a massive four-burner island suite in the middle) and pot wash. After introductions, I was put to work in the larder section, helping with mise en place.
The following morning, I set to work in the larder section, where I chopped up boiled pigs' heads, ears and feet for a brawn - considerably different to the brawn we prepare in Britain from shoulder and belly pork, rather than rougher ends.
The chopped pork was set into pyramid-shaped terrines to be served in two ways: either thickly cut, roasted off until crispy, then served as a main course with pork fillet and cabbage, or cut thinly on a slicer, crisped in the oven until it had a crackling-like texture and used as a garnish with fish.
That evening, one of my tasks was to make a balsamic vinegar granité, which was served with oysters and horseradish cream as a starter - an interesting combination.
After learning that chef Henriroux usually went to market at 7am on a Saturday morning, I arranged to go with him. I woke at 6am but, when the chef hadn't appeared by 7am, I decided it was a great opportunity to grab some breakfast. As I was about to tuck in to orange juice, croissants, bread, Danish pastries, honey and coffee, Henriroux suddenly arrived, shouting: "On y va!".
The French don't know how lucky they are to have such magnificent traditional markets with lots of small stalls selling home-grown, top-quality produce. I was saddened to think about our local market stall-holders, who are no longer able to compete with the supermarkets and are dwindling out of existence.
We were back at work in the restaurant kitchen by 9am. This time I worked in a different section, with the pastry chef, Jean-Marie. He had been at the Pyramide for only a month, having worked for Alain Ducasse for the past five years. My biggest stroke of luck was that he spoke English.
Jean-Marie had five chefs working under him: one making petits fours and ice-cream, one baking bread, two on service, and an apprentice.
An interesting aspect of the bread-makingwas the bread dough, which was proved very slowly overnight. Four different base mixes of bread were used and adapted to make different breads. A baguette mix could be used to make either an olive bread or bacon bread. The bread was always wonderfully crispy.
With 65 people booked in, Sunday lunch was bound to be busy, which meant the kitchen was really buzzing from 12.30pm onwards. As in England, everyone seemed to arrive at the same time, so all 65 covers were served virtually within an hour.
There were lots of scallops and red mullet, John Dory wrapped in pig's caul, lobsters in a spicy bouillon, pigeon breasts and fillet steaks. Everything seemed to happen at once, but the synchronisation between the four hot sections was very impressive.
After the blood, sweat and tears of Sunday lunch, I asked if I could dine in that night, my last night, because it looked as if it was going to be fairly quiet. I left the menu up to the sous chef, Christian Nee, and he didn't let me down.
On Monday morning, I waved goodbye to Vienne and La Pyramide and travelled into Lyons, where I had booked a table for lunch at the three- Michelin-starred Paul Bocuse restaurant. Paintings of Bocuse adorn both the interior and exterior walls and the restaurant has a distinct air of timeless elegance.
I arrived at the restaurant at 11.30am, only to be turned away until noon, when I was still the first to arrive. I had already decided what I was going to have: the legendary truffle soup with puff pastry crust, followed by scallops with spinach, and pigeon in puff pastry with foie gras. By the time I had eaten all this, I was forced to refuse the cheese and sweet trolleys.
The meal was classic and uncomplicated, the service brilliant. I was also given a guided tour of the kitchen and received signed menus and Bocuse plates as presents.
So, was the travelling and hard work worth it? Absolutely, definitely, unquestionably, yes. I returned home full of enthusiasm and ideas.
Nigel Haworth is chef-proprietor of Northcote Manor in Langho, near Blackburn, Lancashire.
