> Had lunch at Chez Panisse once, about five years ago. I was really
> disappointed.
The cafe upstairs is nothing like the restaurant downstairs.
> I got a Chez Panisse cookbook years ago and was floored by
> the 10 or 15 pages on lettuces. They were all of a kind that
> I couldn't get on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, one of the
> best neighborhoods for retail food shopping in the USA.
... apparently not? :-)
> If I couldn't get 'em, who could? Only people who grew them in their
> Berkeley backyards, I guess.
If you got her cookbook to use as a shopping guide, rest assured: those of us who actually live here can't get the exact ingredients either. Her suppliers are typically a) secret and b) exclusive. This week, for instance, you'll find simply "Viki's lettuces" on the menu ... good luck! About the best you can do is try to find your own good suppliers, visit farmers' markets, join a CSA, and hope for a lucky break. But don't forget: when you *do* find a special sourcing of an interesting lettuce, you likely owe a debt of gratitude to Alice, because she's single-handedly changed the way a large part of this country thinks about food.
On the other hand, I think your reading of her book is a completely wrong way to go about it. Alice's whole point is that in order to have a consistently fresh and imaginative approach to restaurant cooking, you have to be responsible for your ingredients; this trickles down to menu preparation at home, too. Her recipes are thus a guide to thinking about ingredients and then what simple things you can do with what you have -- and if you happen upon a supply of something more special, how to recognize it and what to do with it once you've gotten it. It also should be some incentive to seek out better quality ingredients (even if they aren't the elusive hand-picked raspberries that are delivered in the spring by the guy whose backyard they come from), since the payoff can be huge. There's a whole chapter of the "menus" book that talks about *how* to prepare a menu.
I mean, I can't get Jambon de Bayonne easily, but it doesn't mean I don't try to do what I can when I'm interested in a Basque dish that calls for it. I've probably eaten downstairs at Chez P. a dozen times in the last 25 years, and it's always an A+ experience from start to finish. It's not a typical French 3-star, or even a swanky NYC joint: it's just a very simple, comfortable space to enjoy an expertly thought-out and prepared meal. It's not a gimmick or a floor show, and I leave completely satisfied every time.
> That kind of cuisine might have been revolutionary when Waters was
> first on the scene, but she's spawned so many imitators that it just
> didn't do it for me.
Not just imitators, but disciples: the 'family tree' of Chez Panisse reads like a who's-who of the American food scene. People like Jeremiah Tower (Stars), Mark Miller (Coyote Cafe, but some of us remember his first place Fourth Street Grill or the followup Santa Fe Bar & Grill in Berkeley), Paul Bertolli (Oliveto and now fra' Mani), Deborah Madison (Greens), Joyce Goldstein (Square One), Judy Rodgers (Zuni Cafe): a thousand flowers have bloomed. It continues to train and inspire new chefs: Christopher Lee (Eccolo), Chris Cosentino (Incanto), April Bloomfield (Spotted Pig in NYC), Russell Moore (Camino) to name a few. It also spawned a whole generation of specialty producers who all 'get it' in the same way: Acme Bread[*], Cowgirl Creamery, fra' Mani, ICI. She was also an early and constant supporter of the Slow Food Movement. But for all of that, I don't think I've been anywhere that has the same feel to it, either in the place or the menu. You can spot the inspiration quite often, but I think she's unique in the whole package.
Andy writes:
> Tell me something interesting to do with a turnip, please.
The index of "The Art of Simple Food" has no fewer than 5 entries for turnips.
/jordan
[*] I've had great bread in all the "great bread" parts of the world, but if there was only one thing Berkeley ought to be food-famous for (and there's a lot!), it's Acme. The difference between *great* bread and Acme is just stunning. And their 'retail space' (if you can call it that) is in a little corner that also houses Alice Waters' Cafe Fanny and Burgundy importer Kermit Lynch. Bread, coffee, wine; what more is there? Stop me before I talk about Berkeley food all day ...