‘A letter to my mother’ Chef Raymond Blanc pays tribute to the woman who inspired him to cook
Raymond Blanc lost his beloved Maman while writing his latest cookery book. He knew instantly it would become a thank you to all she taught him – and the importance of a home-cooked meal…
Ihis Raymond with beloved Maman n March 2020, Great Britain went into lockdown. The world was about to change. The coronavirus pandemic was here. Convenience vanished. Shopping for food became difficult. The culture of the sandwich at the office desk was no more. The shops that made sandwiches were closed, and offices with the desks were shut. Most of us stayed at home, though millions continued as ‘key workers’, and to them, we shall always be indebted.
On my own, and in my flat in
London, I would call my mum in
France. A woman of less than five feet, she had never let her lack of height get in the way of a good meal. I think of her, a loveable, funny, little woman, quickly moving a chair from one cupboard to another in a frantic search for sugar, salt or a spice, and then she’d realise, ‘Ah, it’s on the table.’
And I found myself craving, and then cooking, childhood meals, simple to make and full of goodness. All of them could be rustled up speedily – tartiflette, a plate of crudites, a Morteau sausage salad, an onion or tomato soup. I was her young helper and runner. The family meals began with me being sent from the house to my father’s immaculately kept potager to gather the ingredients. ‘Mon petit, go into the garden and get me…’
(Mon petit is a phrase that I often call a lot of my chefs, especially when
I cannot remember names.)
I realised that all of these dishes would have to be included in my new book, and so they are, along with classics such as Caesar salad, salad Nicoise and a ratatouille (my version is quick to cook).
I started to wonder about the book, and how it might be affected by the way you and I were cooking. More importantly, I began to understand how this pandemic would impact on our lifestyles and the food we eat. We will seriously tackle food waste, and we will be closer to our farmers, butchers, fishmongers, cheesemakers and our other food producers. We need to reconnect more with seasonality and the provenance and authenticity of produce. Sustainability must be the driving force in the years to come, and we will rediscover our skills, grow more and import less: good for the farmers and the economy. By digging into the past, we shall find our future. (Maybe I am just an old romantic, but I do believe, from my heart of hearts, it will happen.)
As the weeks of solitude passed, it was as if we had been ‘given’ more time. And the cooks among us spent that extra time in the kitchen. People spoke of finding positives in this new climate of negatives and, for those of us who love to cook, we didn’t need to search far for pleasure.
A few months into lockdown, I received the phone call that I had dreaded. Death is in all of our lives. None of us can escape it. My Maman had died. She had coronavirus, although it was not the disease that caused her death. Instead, she died after a fall while trying to get out of her bed. She could have called for help to leave the bed, but did not want to disturb the nurses. At the age of 97, her final act was one of characteristic thoughtfulness.
I was desperately sad not to have been there at her side. She had been at mine throughout my life. She was the daughter of a farmer. At the age of 14 she left school to help in the fields, and her broad, tough-skinned hands told a tale of hard, manual labour. And while Maman didn’t learn much in the classroom, she made up for it in the kitchen. I can picture her at home, darting around the garden as she gathered vegetables and herbs for a fantastic soup, which she’d blend with her moulin-legumes, the classic
French food mill. I remember catching my first fish, a tench almost as big as me. I was so proud and thrilled that I kissed the fish on its lips. At home, Maman slow-roasted the tench in a silky sauce of butter and lemon.
I can see her, too, at the dining table at home, as we ate lapin à la moutarde, in which the rabbit is braised with white wine and mustard. Maman sat with a fork in hand, a smile on her lips, and tears on her cheeks. The smile because she loved the taste. The tears ran down her cheeks because she adored the rabbits that we kept. Such is the French paradox. Lapin la moutarde was among the courses I cooked at my first restaurant, Les Quat’Saisons. Within these pages is a recipe for chicken in a mustard sauce. It is made like my mother’s rabbit dish, but with her in mind, and for those who love rabbits, I have used le poulet.
My mother lived her life in FrancheComté. Since my late 20s, I have lived in Britain. We were separated geographically and went for months without seeing each other. However, there is rarely a meal when I do not think of her.
Simply Raymond is dedicated with the utmost love to Maman Blanc. My inspiration to become a chef stems from my mother’s desire and compulsion to give, share and feed a family of seven. She was a muse to me, shaping my approach to food and people. Her values formed the foundations of my cooking and career. She has brought happiness to so many, in the kitchen and at the table.
Maman, your life was long, your loss is great. Your legacy, however, is immense.
✢ Now turn the page for
Raymond’s delicious recipes
‘There is rarely a meal when I do not think of her’