by Elizabeth Wheeler

I am a grown woman with a respectable culinary background and a sizeable dossier of international travel, yet somehow I had never set foot in France. No Cordon Bleu, no apprenticeship with a tony chef, no youthful grape-picking jobs with open-air lunches of baguette and local fromage. At last, in mid-January, I arrived in la belle France with my companion, clutching my wish-list of modern bistros, and for two weeks we wandered the wintry landscape between Paris, Brussels, and the Loire Valley.

On our whirlwind Paris weekends, we were fortunate to be shepherded by a born-and-bred Parisian who trotted us through the chilly, gray streets to visit centuries of architecture and art, lavish food markets, and flashy boutiques. We joined a queue of exceptionally chic Parisians, some cuddling fluffy miniature dogs, at Pierre Hermé, the finest cutting edge candy store on Earth. Their famous “ macarons,” exquisite little confections that look like tiny, brightly colored hamburgers, have unusual flavor combinations like chestnut and green tea, foie gras, and fruit-and-flower essences. At E1.70 each (about $2.30) the decadence must be savored, leisurely. We ate well almost always, once for a sumptuous price at Fontaine de Mars, the classic bistro where the Obamas dined, scandalously declining President Sarkozy’s dinner invitation to the Elyseé Palace.

Restaurant service in France is “correct” everywhere: in bars, superhighway convenience stores, bistros, countryside inns. One quickly learns that waiters are serious professionals, with rules of deportment, (and, please remember, rules apply to customers, too). Grateful for my mother’s insistence on giving me “White Gloves and Party Manners” when I was 11, I summoned the etiquette of silverware use and bread-buttering rules (always hold your bread on the plate while you butter it; never, never hold it in the air). Wherever we dined, plates were cleared from a table only when everyone had finished, a nicety rarely found in U.S. restaurants.

My favorite cultural lesson came on my last afternoon in Paris at the modish Etamine Café in the Marais neighborhood. I wanted one last cup of the ubiquitous potent coffee, always served in a miniature china cup with a doll-size bar of dark chocolate and sugar cubes wrapped in pretty paper. The young, handsome chef-proprietor emerged, arched an eyebrow and flipped through menus for a good 30 seconds, looking for one in English. Did I speak even a little French, he asked, in French? I was a pathetic American tourist after all. “Little enough,” I said. He proceeded to instruct me on how patrons are to behave upon entering an establishment: sit down, and wait to be waited on. “Yessir,” I saluted, and sat down. “Kindly bring me a coffee.”

The several hundred miles of countryside we traversed in north-central France flow in memory as an undulating stream of vast muted gold and grqy-green agricultural fields and naked vineyards, punctuated by stands of gigantic modern windmills, perfect rows of trees, and every few miles a beige stone village bookended by traffic circles. In the Loire valley, we came upon a town with huge community gardens that unrolled for a good 50 acres along the banks of the Cher River. Most plots had leeks and cabbages in the ground, a reminder of Leeks Vinaigrette, a winter standard on restaurant menus throughout the area. It is delicious, and really very simple to prepare.

Leeks Vinaigrette

Serve this as a first course, followed by a platter of thin-sliced roast meat or poultry, or prosciutto and a tossed green salad and French bread, for a simple meal. If you can find them, use small leeks an inch in diameter.

Makes 3 to 4 servings

2-1/2 to 3 pounds of leeks (about 6 – 12 leeks depending on size)

4 hard-cooked eggs (simmer for 8 – 9 minutes until yolk is set, but still slightly soft in the center)

Mustard Vinaigrette

1 rounded teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon finely chopped shallot or scallion

1 tablespoon wine vinegar

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/3 cup olive oil

1/4 cup chopped Italian parsley

Trim away the tough upper dark green leaves from the leeks and discard. Trim off the roots and a thin slice of the white base. Trim each leaf down to the light green portion. Slice each leek lengthwise down the center, leaving a 2-inch end section to hold the leaves together. Rinse under cold running water to remove all dirt and sand. Tie the leeks together in a bundle with kitchen string. Cook in lightly salted simmering water until just barely tender, about 10 minutes. Drain well. Remove the strings and place the leeks on a serving platter or individual plates.

Peel the eggs and set aside.

Prepare the vinaigrette: In a small bowl, thoroughly mix the mustard, shallot, vinegar and salt and pepper. Whisk in the oil, mixing until the sauce is emulsified. Add all but a tablespoon of parsley. Taste for seasoning.

Cut the eggs in halves or quarters and arrange around the leeks. Spoon the sauce over the leeks and eggs, and sprinkle with parsley. Serve at room temperature.