Chambres de Bonne

A Tiny Story about a Tiny Space

UPCOMING TALK FOR THE SMITHSONIAN: I will be giving a talk this evening, Tuesday December 3, via the Smithsonian Institute, entitled In the French Kitchen: Yesterday and Today. A virtual event, all are welcome. For more information, click HERE

My thoughts lately have been about chambres de bonne, those rooms in the rooftops of the Haussmanien buildings that line the streets of Paris. As I cycle through the city, in neighborhoods I once lived in, I remember with fondness being an occupant.

Everything about Paris was exotic to me when I first moved here in my mid-twenties, to become a cooking apprentice. I had left a very good and decent paying job and a lovely apartment in Seattle for the pleasure of squeezing myself into a teeny chambre de bonne, at most 8 square meters (86 square feet) with the window open. All my belongings fit into a suitcase then, all my money in a wad of traveller’s checks. But I was in Paris learning to cook.

Did I mind, then, walking up six flights of stairs to a dark hallway with a toilet at one end, the aromas of Portuguese, or Indian, or African cuisine wafting through the air? No! I inserted my key into my door and entered my very own private space, with bed. It was, to me, perfect.

My experience living in a chambre de bonne was totally different from those experienced by the “bonnes,” or domestics, for whom the rooms were intended. When the Haussmanien buildings were built in the 1860’s, the rows of rooms with windows on the top floor – the sixth - represented an improvement for those who had previously been lodged under a kitchen table or stairway in the home of their employer, in an overcrowded room, or on the family farm with lots of people and sometimes animals for company.

The biggest inconvenience of the chambre de bonne for me was descending six flights of stairs and realizing, at the bottom, that I’d forgotten my pen or notebook. Rather than climbing back up to retrieve the missing items, I learned quickly to buy new ones, engendering a habit I still have, which is collecting too many pens, too many notebooks.

As time progressed, I moved into ever larger chambres de bonne until I landed in one accessible by elevator. Oh, the luxury. One of my fellow apprentices moved in to a second chambre de bonne down the hall and every day as we left for work, we congratulated ourselves on our luck. The downside? None, except that we were on call to the Ambassador who lived in the apartment attached to our chambres de bonne, to prepare apéritifs for visiting dignitaries. Sometimes we had just an hour or two of advance notice, which meant we dropped what we were doing and ran. That’s another story.

The reason for my musings is that, while I wait for my apartment to be renovated, I am staying in the neighborhood where I once lived in a chambre de bonne. As I rediscover the neighborhood, so much remains the same despite the passage of time. I walk down forgotten streets and rediscover bakeries and shops; I turn a corner and there is the little park where I met friends for an afternoon; I retrace my steps down a hill and across the Seine then under the belly of the Eiffel Tower, remembering the many mornings I traced that same route on my way to the glories of kitchen and cellar. I suppose as an apprentice I was a domestic of sorts (albeit enjoying a steep learning curve) so my lodgings were fitting. I didn’t think about this at the time, all I knew is I wanted an uncomplicated situation, and that’s what a chambre de bonne offered.

I do remember, though, a certain frustration at not being able to entertain, and so when I moved into a bigger chambre de bonne that included a sink, two chairs, and a hotplate I’d procured from the Marché aux Puces at St. Ouen, I invited three of my fellow stagiaires for dinner.

My latest culinary discovery as an apprentice was cod with sauce verte and so I prepared it, followed by salad and cheese. Dessert was the responsibility of the guests and of course, at that time, they got it at Le Notre which was our pinnacle for quality desserts. With plates on laps, we luxuriated in it all.

I could love living in a chambre de bonne then, tiny as it was, because it was temporary, and part of my Paris adventure. When my apprenticeship was finished, I was ready to move along, to a studio in the 5th arrondissement with a surprisingly large kitchen, saying a fond goodbye to Paris’ rooftops.

With housing expensive and rare in Paris, many chambres de bonne today are either joined to create rooftop apartments. Others are rented out to students, who have the energy for the climb, though it is illegal now to rent out anything smaller than 9 square meters (about 100 square feet), and water and heating must be available, not the case when I was a lodger. I salute these rooftop dwellers, as I step into the elevator which will take me to the sixth floor!

STEAMED COD WITH MELTED LEEKS AND CAPER SAUCE
CABILLAUD A LA VAPEUR, SUR FONDU DE POIREAUX ET SAUCE VERTE

1 pound 14 ounces (920g) fresh cod, lingcod, flounder fillets that are at least ½-inch (1.25cm) thick, bones removed
4 fresh bay leaves or dry, imported bay leaves - (Laurus nobilis)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 pounds (1 kg) leeks, white part with 1-inch (2.5cm) of the green part, cleaned and cut into thin rounds
Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup (125ml) Sauce Verte (see recipe)

1. Rinse and pat dry the fish and refrigerate until right before you cook it.

2. In a large, heavy skillet melt the butter over medium heat. When it is frothing and melted, add the leeks and stir until they are coated in the butter. Season with salt and pepper, stir, cover, and cook the leeks until they melt and are very tender, checking and stirring them frequently to be sure they don’t turn golden, which will take 18 to 20 minutes.

3. While the leeks are cooking, bring 3 cups (750ml) water to a boil in the bottom half of a steamer. Lay the four bay leaves in the top half of the steamer and set the fish in the steamer over the boiling water. Cover and steam the fish until it is opaque through, which depending on the thickness of the fish will take 6 to 10 minutes.

4. When the fish is steamed, transfer the top of the steamer to a large plate or platter to let the fish give up some of its liquid, for about 5 minutes.

5. Divide the leeks evenly among 4 plates, making a circle in the center of each plate. Set a piece of fish on top of the leeks, then drizzle each piece of fish with 2 tablespoons of Salsa Verde. Garnish with a parsley sprig if desired and serve immediately.

6 servings

SAUCE VERTE
CAPER AND PEPPER SAUCE

1/3 cup (80g) capers, preferably packed in salt
1 bird's eye chili, crushed (optional) or ½ teaspoon piment d’Espelette
½ cup (125ml) olive oil

1. To de-salt the capers, place them in a bowl and cover with hot water for 10 minutes. Remove them from the water with a slotted spoon and pat dry, and discard the salted water. If using capers in vinegar, rinse them under warm water, pat them dry and proceed.

2. Mince the capers and the birds eye pepper and place them in a bowl. Add the olive oil, whisk to blend, and reserve. If using piment d’Espelette, whisk it in after adding the olive oil.

About 2/3 cup (160ml) sauce