"Herman Sets The Record Straight"
On New Year's Day 2011, I received an email bearing the above title, from Bob M. who lives in London.
The message read: "Attached is the text of an excellent column by Herman Goodden published in yesterday's London Free Press (both print and online editions)."
The following is the full text of the message (and of the column). Click here if you'd rather read the article as it appeared in the London Free Press.
But if you do, don't forget to come back and read the follow-up correspondence with Herman at the end of this post.
The message read: "Attached is the text of an excellent column by Herman Goodden published in yesterday's London Free Press (both print and online editions)."
The following is the full text of the message (and of the column). Click here if you'd rather read the article as it appeared in the London Free Press.
But if you do, don't forget to come back and read the follow-up correspondence with Herman at the end of this post.
Auberge party stirs memories of dishwashing duties
By HERMAN GOODDEN
My wife and I were invited to a dinner party one week before Christmas at the Auberge du Petit Prince, an experience we found fairly mind-blowing.
Our company was seated in the eastern main floor dining room. Though completely redecorated, this was still recognizably the original (and only) dining room in that converted house on King at Maitland street when chef Ginette Bisaillon and wine steward Robin Askew first opened the Auberge's doors in June 1972. My wife and I both worked for Ginette and Robin for about five of those years.
I started as a dishwasher, or "plonger" as Ginette and Robin called it, their specialty being French-Canadian cuisine. Dishwashing is a notoriously grim job in most restaurants, but there were certain compensations at the Auberge that made it surprisingly agreeable.
With one dining room containing seven tables and hosting only two two-hour sittings per evening, it was a very rare night indeed when the plonger felt run off his feet. I always brought books in with me and spent most of my not-so-arduous shifts sitting cross-legged on the counter next to my trusty Hobart dishwashing machine engrossed in my reading. Indeed, I made it through the better part of Will and Ariel Durant's 11-volume History of Civilization sitting on that counter.
The leftovers were fabulous. Because all the dishes were made fresh every day, staff could take home buckets of great food to store in their freezers. Most nights after the second sitting, we were invited to load up a plate with a bit of this and some of that and take it through to the dining room where artist friends of Ginette and Robin would frequently drop by, eating and chatting into the wee hours. I got to meet virtually all of the members of the Nihilist Spasm Band in this way and fondly remember their front man (I am loath to call him a lead singer) Bill Exley reciting large swaths of Wordsworth in his stentorian voice.
When I went to jail for three days for running a red light on my bicycle, Robin and Ginette had a Herman Gets Sprung party the Monday after my release.
I was a wine barbarian at the time (my tastes are scarcely more sophisticated today) and my preferred plonk was a vile carbonated red put out by one of the Ontario wineries called Baby Bear. At my request, Robin decanted a bottle of the stuff for our celebration and somebody took a Polaroid snap of her, looking away in distaste as she presented the bottle to me.
I desperately wanted that photo for my album, but Robin got her mitts on it before I could squirrel it away and tore it into a million pieces.
I showed my wife the dishwashing ropes and she went on to become a sous chef there. I taught my friend Chris Squire how to wash dishes and he went on to become a sous chef and then bought the place from Ginette in December 1979 and greatly expanded the operation.
During Chris' regime, hoping to pump up my income by a little, I worked one lunch-time shift as a waiter just to see what it was like. It wasn't particularly hot that day, but I don't think I've ever sweated so much in my life. I was so far out of my comfort zone I practically needed a passport to get back into it. I returned to my station by my trusty Hobart with tears of gratitude in my eyes.
Wanting to make sure I was spelling her last name right, I checked out Ginette Bisaillon on Dogpile and found a sort of history of the Auberge that Ginette is posting on the Internet as an act of protest against the current owners whose website states, "1980: The building is converted into the restaurant - Auberge du Petit Prince."
This, of course, erases not only the Auberge's true origins but its first seven and a half years of operation -- the real glory years -- when it was the most highly regarded restaurant in town and singlehandedly brought London's reputation as a culinary wasteland to an end.
Both as a restaurant and as a gathering place, it was a very special institution of which Ginette is rightly proud.
Herman Goodden is a London freelance writer. E-mail [email protected]
By HERMAN GOODDEN
My wife and I were invited to a dinner party one week before Christmas at the Auberge du Petit Prince, an experience we found fairly mind-blowing.
Our company was seated in the eastern main floor dining room. Though completely redecorated, this was still recognizably the original (and only) dining room in that converted house on King at Maitland street when chef Ginette Bisaillon and wine steward Robin Askew first opened the Auberge's doors in June 1972. My wife and I both worked for Ginette and Robin for about five of those years.
I started as a dishwasher, or "plonger" as Ginette and Robin called it, their specialty being French-Canadian cuisine. Dishwashing is a notoriously grim job in most restaurants, but there were certain compensations at the Auberge that made it surprisingly agreeable.
With one dining room containing seven tables and hosting only two two-hour sittings per evening, it was a very rare night indeed when the plonger felt run off his feet. I always brought books in with me and spent most of my not-so-arduous shifts sitting cross-legged on the counter next to my trusty Hobart dishwashing machine engrossed in my reading. Indeed, I made it through the better part of Will and Ariel Durant's 11-volume History of Civilization sitting on that counter.
The leftovers were fabulous. Because all the dishes were made fresh every day, staff could take home buckets of great food to store in their freezers. Most nights after the second sitting, we were invited to load up a plate with a bit of this and some of that and take it through to the dining room where artist friends of Ginette and Robin would frequently drop by, eating and chatting into the wee hours. I got to meet virtually all of the members of the Nihilist Spasm Band in this way and fondly remember their front man (I am loath to call him a lead singer) Bill Exley reciting large swaths of Wordsworth in his stentorian voice.
When I went to jail for three days for running a red light on my bicycle, Robin and Ginette had a Herman Gets Sprung party the Monday after my release.
I was a wine barbarian at the time (my tastes are scarcely more sophisticated today) and my preferred plonk was a vile carbonated red put out by one of the Ontario wineries called Baby Bear. At my request, Robin decanted a bottle of the stuff for our celebration and somebody took a Polaroid snap of her, looking away in distaste as she presented the bottle to me.
I desperately wanted that photo for my album, but Robin got her mitts on it before I could squirrel it away and tore it into a million pieces.
I showed my wife the dishwashing ropes and she went on to become a sous chef there. I taught my friend Chris Squire how to wash dishes and he went on to become a sous chef and then bought the place from Ginette in December 1979 and greatly expanded the operation.
During Chris' regime, hoping to pump up my income by a little, I worked one lunch-time shift as a waiter just to see what it was like. It wasn't particularly hot that day, but I don't think I've ever sweated so much in my life. I was so far out of my comfort zone I practically needed a passport to get back into it. I returned to my station by my trusty Hobart with tears of gratitude in my eyes.
Wanting to make sure I was spelling her last name right, I checked out Ginette Bisaillon on Dogpile and found a sort of history of the Auberge that Ginette is posting on the Internet as an act of protest against the current owners whose website states, "1980: The building is converted into the restaurant - Auberge du Petit Prince."
This, of course, erases not only the Auberge's true origins but its first seven and a half years of operation -- the real glory years -- when it was the most highly regarded restaurant in town and singlehandedly brought London's reputation as a culinary wasteland to an end.
Both as a restaurant and as a gathering place, it was a very special institution of which Ginette is rightly proud.
Herman Goodden is a London freelance writer. E-mail [email protected]
Later the same day, I emailed Herman to ask for permission to reprint his column here. He replied:
Dear Ginette -
By all means, reprint away. I heard yesterday from Robin who's staying with S. C. here in town for a few days and she also was pleased to see the record set straight and we had a fine chat about those days when you operated a seven table restaurant that recalibrated what fine dining meant for an entire city. I must say I wasn't very impressed with the makeover of the old dining room that the current managers have orchestrated. It completely changes the feel and cheapens the ambience something awful.
Do you have any idea where they picked up the goofy idea that the place only goes back to 1980? It seems perverse to invoke the old name (presumably because they're hoping to attach themselves with a name that still stands for something) and then disregard the greatest era of its operation. The people now running it seem like nice enough people but their menu isn't a patch on yours (their soup was great but otherwise the meal was nothing special and the Yorkshire pudding they served up tasted like a baked football) and everything about our visit there felt crowded and rushed - something I don't think the old Auberge was ever guilty of.
If my column can nudge them along to doing the right thing and crediting those first seven and a half years, then that will be something good to come of it.
It's great to hear from you again and I'm glad you were pleased with the column.
HG
I was very fond of Herman (everybody was). I wonder if he remembers how often he was mistaken for the chef. We wore the same white apron and mine was as dirty as his, and this was the seventies, when women in charge of French kitchens were a rarity. So it was not surprising that when a customer would poke his head into the kitchen to say "Compliments to the chef!", he was more likely to look straight at Herman than at me, even though I was the one at the stove. O tempora o mores!
Dear Ginette -
By all means, reprint away. I heard yesterday from Robin who's staying with S. C. here in town for a few days and she also was pleased to see the record set straight and we had a fine chat about those days when you operated a seven table restaurant that recalibrated what fine dining meant for an entire city. I must say I wasn't very impressed with the makeover of the old dining room that the current managers have orchestrated. It completely changes the feel and cheapens the ambience something awful.
Do you have any idea where they picked up the goofy idea that the place only goes back to 1980? It seems perverse to invoke the old name (presumably because they're hoping to attach themselves with a name that still stands for something) and then disregard the greatest era of its operation. The people now running it seem like nice enough people but their menu isn't a patch on yours (their soup was great but otherwise the meal was nothing special and the Yorkshire pudding they served up tasted like a baked football) and everything about our visit there felt crowded and rushed - something I don't think the old Auberge was ever guilty of.
If my column can nudge them along to doing the right thing and crediting those first seven and a half years, then that will be something good to come of it.
It's great to hear from you again and I'm glad you were pleased with the column.
HG
I was very fond of Herman (everybody was). I wonder if he remembers how often he was mistaken for the chef. We wore the same white apron and mine was as dirty as his, and this was the seventies, when women in charge of French kitchens were a rarity. So it was not surprising that when a customer would poke his head into the kitchen to say "Compliments to the chef!", he was more likely to look straight at Herman than at me, even though I was the one at the stove. O tempora o mores!