New York: L'Ecole: This year marks the tenth anniversary of an enterprise called The French Culinary Institute, a professional cooking school in Manhattan's SoHo that in its short existence has managed to join the ranks of the nation's foremost such programs. It was established by Dorothy Cann Hamilton, an educator who was impressed by the rigorous training of fledgling chefs in France. The school is meant to be an American transposition of the focused study of cooking techniques, foodstuffs, and the French tradition that has for centuries provided the foundation for serious cooking in any idiom, well beyond the dishes typically found in France.
The school has no campus: It is just one building on a corner of lower Broadway, and its enrollment is small, a condition dictated not only by the lack of space but also by the intensity and intimacy of the curriculum. The students work directly under master chefs throughout their training, which lasts either six months or nine months depending on class scheduling--and all students are expected to attain the 250 codified "competencies" that are the backbone of French culinary practice. The main differences between the American and French versions of this education that I noted when I visited the school's kitchen-classrooms are that many of the trainees are older that their Gallic counterparts (career-changers rather than unformed youths) and the chef-instructors addressed their charges far more solicitously and politely than any young cook-to-be in France could expect.
The school's ability to place its graduates in the lower rungs of top professional kitchens is testament to its ability to transform enrollees who may not know how to cut a carrot or make a stock into desirable additions into a brigade de cuisine. The institute's dean of culinary studies is Alain Sailhac, who was raised in the South of France and served as chef at two of New York's finest restaurants, Le Cygne (now closed) and Le Cirque. He has an intimate knowledge of what contemporary kitchens expect of their cooks, and his curriculum is aided by advice from such fellow eminences as Jacques Pépin (the dean of special programs), David Bouley, and Jean-Georges Vongerichten, among others.
The public face of the French Culinary Institute is
L'Ecole
("the school"), a restaurant for which the advanced students cook--and for the sake of some acquaintance with dining room procedure--briefly wait tables. One ought not to go to L'Ecole expecting to get away with enjoying the cuisine of Mr. Sailhac or Mr. Pépin at a discount. The dishes offered on the ever-changing menus are chosen primarily for their instructional benefit, as chances to refine technique or to coordinate disparate ingredients. A customer, especially one interested in fine cooking, should bring along a willingness to be a part, albeit indirect, of someone else's learning process.
Mrs. Hamilton has done much to make the setting for this form of participation comfortable. L'Ecole is spacious and airy, and tall windows provide ample light for lunches and early dinners. The permanent serving staff is made up of professionals who keep things moving at an acceptable pace while students provide some wobbly assistance. Through doors at the rear of the dining room, one may catch a glimpse of the white-coated crew of students at work.
Some dishes that appear on the rotation are solid classics, such as soupe de poissons, tournedos of beef, roast rack of lamb with Provencal herbs, and bouillabaisse. Others are the current updates of familiar fare--paté de campagne made lean or a terrine of eggplant and red bell peppers sparked by a tomatillo sauce.
It is not possible for me to recommend particular items because every time they reappear on the menu, as the curriculum progresses, they are cooked by different students. In general, the dishes are full-flavored and attractively presented and have been made from the same excellent ingredients the students will, one hopes, use in their future places of employment. The final product is missing the finesse that seasoned professionals might provide, but that is entirely what one should expect.
In return for serving as a pampered sort of guinea-pig, the customer is rewarded with a sense that fervent dedication has gone into the meal, and that the student-cooks will be eager to see the marks they receive on the "report card" that arrives with the bill, with spaces to rate Cuisine, Presentation, Service, and Wine List with from one to four stars. Among the few rigidly standardized dishes occasionally on the menu is creme brûlée Le Cirque, which is to many tastes the defining example of this dessert. It is a boon to all who enjoy it that Alain Sailhac is teaching it month after month to the eager culinarians of tomorrow.
Another benefit for the customer at L'Ecole is a break on the price of haute cuisine in Manhattan. In the evening, first courses range from $5 to $10, and main courses are usually $14 to $20.50. Desserts are $5. Entrée prices are somewhat lower at lunch, and multicourse tasting menus are available at very reasonable cost. Lunch is offered weekdays from noon to 2, and dinner hours are 6 to 9:30, Monday through Saturday. L'Ecole is closed on Sundays.
