Shellfish

Cooking - like couture - is a national art, reflecting the personality, moods and tastes of a people, creating the indefinable aura of a country. The very atmosphere of Paris, when I went to live there just after the war, seemed to be made up of tantalising odours, escaping from the numberless casseroles simmering on kitchen stoves in every back street. I used to love the sharp, acrid aroma of coffee beans roasting near the Bourse; the sudden, sensual whiff that would waft across the table as the lid was lifted from a golden-crusted cassoulet in my favourite little restaurant round the comer from the École des Beaux-arts; or the saffron-scented goodness of a rich bouillabaisse bubbling in a huge cauldron on the outside terrasse of some little bistro in Montmartre. Even the smell of a fish sizzling in its bath of golden oil was enough to set my senses reeling with the promise of pleasures to come. This was a whole gastronomic symphony of smells and flavours, certain to influence - like the crooked streets, the winding quais, the open markets and the unforgettable Paris sky itself - the writers, artists, painters and couturiers who had the good fortune to make Paris their home.