Partying bon vivants: The world is their oyster

By CHRIS SHERMAN, Times Restaurant Critic

© St. Petersburg Times, published December 17, 1999

The Hon. Thomas Jefferson
Monticello
Charlottesville, Virginia

My dear Mr. Jefferson,

I trust this missive finds you in good spirits and at some leisure despite the press of the holidays and the annual reckoning of accounts. Because this is a time of great moment I should like to request the honor of your company at an unusual celebration on the cusp of the New Year, and in the minds of some, a New Century and a New Millennium.

As I have had the pleasure of visiting your fine home and gardens but not the privilege of a personal meeting, allow me to introduce myself.

By trade I am a scrivener of the public prints in the former Spanish territories and by inclination an admirer who shares your fondness for the pleasures of the table and an appreciation for the wonders of the fields and vineyards.

In that regard I know the frustrations with which you returned from Europe and your dream that a young nation might with diligence and science make the frontier yield foodstuffs to rival the Old World. For all your achievements in governance and the arts, many today accord you equal prominence for your early dedication to matters of the farm and the victuals that derive therefrom.

Such topics have for the current generation become an obsession, at least in the consumption and discussion thereof, if not the actual growing and preparation. Indeed, agriculture and food provisioning of any sort are now the province of large mercantile combines. Consequently, the majority of America now dines on abundance, and these midwinter holidays are a time of special abandon.

You witnessed a similarly historic turn of the calendar in Philadelphia, possibly with more sobriety than merriment, given the worries of your household and your duties as vice president. The New Year of 1800 saw you elected to full leadership of the country and before the 19th century emerged from infancy you set a course of expansion and experimentation.

In the two centuries since, we have crossed many frontiers and opened our borders to a wide variety of the world's peoples. Today our menu exceeds the diversity of the great imperial courts, and my purpose is to invite you to sample our progress and share the larder and library of recipes we now enjoy.

Time does not allow the transcontinental banquet that would be ideal to show you the present breadth of the nation and its harvest, but inventions of modern agronomy and travel have eliminated concerns for distance or season. This can be costly and not always wise, but it permits us to spill the national cornucopia in one place.

I have chosen a setting you may remember, Fraunces Tavern in New York City. It housed the foreign ministry while you and Mr. Franklin were in Paris, but you may remember that Mr. Fraunces made it a tavern again and it remains so today (along with a museum).

The environs are much changed, for it is now dwarfed by towers and temples of global commerce. Yet the location is ideal for a postprandial stroll giving onto a prospect of celebrations in the city's harbor. These are certain to include fireworks over an immense likeness of Liberty, given by your French friends, and a neighboring island that served as the first step on American soil for much of the world.

I have assembled a small guest list from the culinary cognoscenti of modern times. Madame Julia Child is one of the foremost promoters of the French style (her husband was in government service overseas as well); Ms. Jessica Harris is a scholar expert in the foodways of the New World; and Ms. Alice Waters, a chef who has led this generation's revolution in American food.

In addition I have invited two older gentlemen, Mr. Andre Tschellistcheff, a distinguished viticulturist who fled his native Russia and guided the developments of our finest vineyards, and a Mr. Rex Stout, who is an author of criminal entertainments and an orchid fancier as well as a gourmet.

We will begin with fresh fish served raw. I forewarn you to rein in any apprehensions: It is an unusual yet artistic and healthful technique taught us by the Japanese. This will be followed by a selection of tamales, a fabrication of hominy grits wrapped in corn shucks perfected by the Indian peoples of the Southwest and Old Mexico.

The soup tureens will also reflect our diversity. One will be a backwoods potion of oysters, sausage, sassafras and okra, which is called by the African name of "gombo" or "gumbo" from the edge of the Louisiana territory you purchased. Another will contain an unusually perfumed version of the "chilies" of South America as interpreted by Greek settlers in Cincinnati. If the night is unseasonably warm, I commend to you the "bunh," a refreshing combination of noodles, greens and seafood with mint and nuts, which we have acquired from citizens late of Indochina.

Macaroni, derided as a foppish fad in your time, has become a dietary staple and the end product of great waves of grain that now spread west of the Mississippi. It merits a special course in our dinner: I have commissioned special pasta, infused with basil leaves in the current fashion, to be garnished with rock shrimp, a petite lobster from my state, and shavings of that fine ham from Smithfield, in fresh cream.

For a respite, we shall move to a salad course for which I have acquired fresh lettuces and rare tomatoes, some of which may trace kinship to varieties at Monticello. Against this backdrop will be a collection of hand-made cheeses from a new generation of craftspeople seeking to revive that most glorious art.

The center of the feast will no longer be the roast beef of old England but a sampler of the grander species of this country: a turkey from Virginia, a rack of lamb tended by Basques who followed Lewis and Clark into the western mountains, a suckling pig marinated in sour oranges as the Cubans do and a scarlet red salmon from the cold Copper River once under the flag of the czar.

We shan't forgo beef altogether: prime aged meat cut in the preference of M. Delmonico, the Swiss restaurateur who succeeded Fraunces as the toast of New York. It will be served with either foie gras, now made nearby in the Catskills, or barbecue sauce, formulated by every citizen of the land.

Fearing that the menu may be overlong and the hour of toasting upon us, desserts will be kept simple. I propose a bombe of ice cream flavored with nuts of the macadamia tree found in the Sandwich Islands, served with fresh pineapple of the same provenance and strawberries from farms near my home where they grow quite well all winter.

We shall be accompanied throughout by wines of native manufacture, for grapes are grown and wine made in virtually all states of the Union (there are now 50); the most successful having been established along the Pacific coast. The best vintages produce clarets rivalling Bordeaux, white wines reminiscent of Chablis and the Rhine, as well as ports and brandies worthy of European cellars, including Cognac's. We shall even toast the occasion with glasses filled with sparkle like that of Champagne.

While fine food and companionable society provide substance, the evening would be incomplete without music, so I have arranged a program to sample the national songbook along with the food. The concert will include a mariachi band from Texas; Mr. Doug Kershaw, a rustic violinist from Louisiana; Mr. James Buffett, a balladeer of modern Florida; and the orchestra of Mr. Edward Kennedy "Duke" Ellington, who refined an innovative form of democratic composition we call jazz.

If you cannot join our company, we shall endeavor to share our good fortune with others and trust that you wish us well in our subsequent efforts. With gratitude for your counsel in years past, I remain

- Your most obedient servant Chris Sherman