Food
Where is My Chicken Bob Gainey?
By Matthew Christian
Napoleon Bonaparte, hungry after defeating an Austrian army at the battle of Marengo, sat down to dinner. Monsieur Dunand, his chef, was understandably nervous. The Italian heat had made Le petit caporal hungry, and the Austrian army had spent much of the late afternoon foraging for food in immediate area. He had no copper pots. No foie gras. What could he do?
In a feat of improvisation that would make an Iron Chef proud, Dunand collected everything he could find—an emaciated chicken, tomatoes, white wine, garlic, onions, and some mushrooms—fried them in olive oil and served them to Bonaparte topped with a poached crayfish, some toast and a couple of fried eggs. The meal was as much of a success as the battle, and fifteen years later had made it onto the menus of Paris’ most fashionable bistros.
While chicken, crayfish, fried eggs and hard tack may not be the sort of fusion that appeals to our 21st century palates, other notable and historical 19th century dishes are still being served, slightly modernized, in restaurants and homes across the country.
Beef, or hamburger, Stroganoff is an excellent example. It is popular enough for General Mills to produce a “Hamburger Helper Stroganoff.”. The ingredients are simple: meat, mushrooms, onions, and sour cream. Add rice, boiled potatoes, noodles, maybe a little dill, and you have a meal fit for a Russian Count.
Although likely a refinement of a traditional Russian recipe, Beef Stroganoff became associated with the name of one of Russia’s most aristocratic families in the late 19th century. It was the creation of an employee of Count Pavel (or Paul) Stroganoff. As with much of food history, the story is far from certain. The hardworking (and occasionally anonymous) chef either a) submitted the dish to a culinary competition in St. Petersburg, or b) served it while cooking for his employer at a hunting lodge. In either case, the resulting concoction is still being enjoyed from Vladivostok to Virginia.
Not all popular dishes, however, have such noble or notable geneses. Eggs Benedict may have been invented by a Wall Street broker looking for a hangover cure, and Melba Toast for a weight-conscious opera diva. They are all, however, associated in our minds with both a person and a set of ingredients.
We Canadians are lacking such culinary and historical touchstones. Where are our Eggs Georges Vanier? Where are our Pommes Atwood? While some chefs might be renowned for a dish of their own—Jamie Kennedy for his frites, or Greg Coulliard for his jump-up soup—not one has been inspired to commemorate Terry Fox’s determination by the creation of an enduring recipe.
Why is this? Is this because the same great and good people who 100 years ago were patrons of fine cooking are now more interested in giving their names to business schools and hospital wings? They might eat at fine restaurants, and one or two might indulge their interest through a financial investment in a kitchen or two, but there is no culinary Scott Griffin, the financier whose eponymous poetry prize handsomely rewards new literary talent.
It is time to treat cooking in Canada as we treat the other arts. Let successful hedge fund managers lend their names to cooking competitions. Let provincial and federal governments provide these patrons with some measure of tax benefit. A meal might only last 3 hours, but that’s no reason why our children shouldn’t remember it.
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