French try to counter kids' fast-food tastes

LA TOUR-DE-SALVAGNY, France -- When he discovered American-style fast food had invaded his home, French chef and father of two Philippe Gauvreau decided to fight back.

His battle plan: Get kids hooked on the subtle flavors of traditional French cuisine before they develop a taste for assembly line burgers and greasy pizzas.

So once a month Gauvreau opens his two-Michelin-star La Rotonde restaurant in Lyon to a clientele not typical of restaurants of this caliber -- would-be foodies ages 5 to 13.

The monthly cooking lessons see some 30 children decked out in paper chef's toques descend for three-hour in-depth lessons followed by a "degustation," or tasting.

On the menu during the November lesson: A stuffed white sausage called "boudin blanc" and a delicate layer pastry of banana and chocolate.

This is the kind of cuisine Gauvreau says is under siege by the likes of McDonald's, Pizza Hut and KFC, which have mushroomed throughout France, helping to change the way the French eat. He also blames school cafeterias for turning youngsters off traditional dishes, saying they use often cheap, low-quality ingredients.

Gauvreau is one of a growing number of chefs, doctors, parents and politicians sounding the alarm about France's fast-food invasion and its disastrous effects on health. France is McDonald's leading market in Europe, and Turkish take-out joints serving shawarma sandwiches and fries are everywhere.

Changing lifestyles, too, have contributed to France's expanding girth, with families cooking and eating together less, and kids increasingly forsaking the playground for the video game console.

Child obesity is on the rise, now affecting 1.5 million children in France, a study by France's state health insurance authority found. And 1 in 6 children are overwight, a rate that is twice that of 10 years ago, according to a French pediatric association.

In response, the government has banned vending machines from public schools and required TV commercials for sweet and fatty foods to carry a disclaimer warning against snacking and recommending at least five daily doses of fruits and veggies.

But Gauvreau thinks more needs to be done. He insists it's time to return to the terroir, or soil -- the source of the wholesome, farm-fresh ingredients that are the foundation of French cuisine.

"We get kids here who don't know that a carrot comes from a ground, and who've only seen meat in plastic foam packaging," he said.

Gauvreau started the classes -- which cost $59 -- five years ago, after his eldest child developed a taste for pizzas and hamburgers at the school cafeteria. Most of his students are children of regulars at La Rotonde, which is in a suburb of Lyon.

"It's not by lecturing kids that you're going to change things," said Jacques Poncet as he dropped off his 10-year-old son for the lesson. "You've got to expose them to real food so they can judge what's good themselves."

During the lesson, chickens that were to be ground into sausage lay -- intact -- on the stainless steel counters, their unplucked necks bent at an alarming angle. The younger children blinked in disbelief as Gauvreau deftly relieved a chicken of its appendages: Off came the claws, the wings and finally, with a flourish of the glinting knife, the white feathered head.

Brandishing severed drumsticks, he explained how to distinguish healthy chickens from hormone-filled factory farm varieties.

If the meat sticks to the bone, it's a free-range bird that built muscle through exercise, not hormones, he said. He passed around a leg and the kids pushed and pulled. The meat resisted their prodding.

For Gauvreau, such awareness is more important than teaching techniques for chopping onions or whisking cream.

"We're giving the kids the tools they need to make decisions about what to put onto their bodies," he said.

Gauvreau doesn't dumb down his repertoire for his young students, and there are no simplified, kiddie variations on his recipes: He and his assistant chefs teach the children to prepare the dishes just as they would for the restaurant's clients.

And it can get complicated. Boudin blanc sausage requires dozens of steps, and one misstep can turn a dessert's caramelized bananas into a sweet goo.

Perhaps it's for the best, then, that lessons are taught in the old-school French style: The instructor demonstrates and pupils look on. Gauvreau delegated certain tasks -- separating egg whites, grinding bread into crumbs, slicing chicken breasts into food-processor-friendly chunks -- but the show remained decidedly his.

Still, most of the children were transfixed throughout the long sausage-making process. They squealed with horror and delight when Gauvreau squeezed creamy chicken and onion paste into a strip of cow intestine to form the sausage.

"Who wants to help?" Gauvreau asked. All hands shot skyward.

After the lesson, the young chefs tucked into the meal they helped prepare, washing down the sausages and dessert with sparkling apple juice served in plastic Champagne flutes. All but a handful of plates were clean in a matter of minutes.

Twelve-year-old Victoria Roure, a regular at Gauvreau's class, said she loved the boudin and planned to make it at home.

"I might even try to cook boudin noir," or blood sausage, she said. "It's really a classic dish."

Chocolate-banana Mille Feuille

Chocolate mousse

½ cup milk

½ cup heavy cream

3 egg yolks

cup sugar

¾ cup finely grated dark chocolate

1½ cups heavy cream

Bananas

1 stick (½ cup) butter

¼ cup sugar

4 small bananas

Phyllo strips

3 sheets frozen phyllo pastry dough, thawed

¿ cup powdered sugar, plus extra for garnish

cup cocoa powder

Pinch of cinnamon

1¼ sticks butter, melted and cooled

For the mousse: In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the milk and ½ cup cream. Bring to a boil, stirring often.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and sugar. When the milk mixture boils, quickly add the yolk mixture, stirring well. Cook the mixture until it thickens and sticks to the back of the spoon. Add the chocolate and stir well. Transfer the mixture to a bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let it cool

When the chocolate mixture has nearly cooled, place the remaining heavy cream in a large bowl. Use an electric mixer to beat until it forms stiff peaks. Gently fold the whipped cream into the cooled chocolate mixture, then cover and refrigerate at least 1 hour.

For the bananas: In a large skillet over medium heat, combine the butter and sugar. While the butter melts, cut the bananas into ½-inch-thick slices. Place the banana slices in the skillet and cook until golden brown on the bottom. Gently flip the banana slices and brown on the other side. Transfer the banana slices to a wire rack and refrigerate until cool to the touch, about 1 hour.

For the phyllo pastry strips: Heat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a small bowl, whisk together the powdered sugar, cocoa powder and cinnamon. Set aside.

On a cutting board, unfold 1 sheet of the phyllo dough. Use a pastry brush to cover it with a generous amount of butter. Sprinkle the dough with powdered sugar, then place a second sheet of phyllo over it. Cover the second sheet of phyllo with butter and sugar, then top it with a third sheet of dough.

Using a sharp knife, cut the stacked sheets into strips 3 inches long and 1½ inches wide. Transfer the strips to the prepared baking sheet, then set a second baking sheet on top of them. Bake for 10 minutes, then remove from the oven and let cool.

To assemble: Set one strip of phyllo pastry on each of 4 serving plates. Spoon the chocolate mousse into a pastry bag, then pipe a thick bead of mousse along the length of each plated phyllo strip. Place a second strip of phyllo pastry over the mousse, then top with several slices of banana. Cover with a final layer of pastry, then sprinkle the top with powdered sugar and decorate with a dot of mousse.

Chef Philipppe Gauvreau, La Rotonde, Lyon, France