Eye Candy

Art Culinaire, Winter, 2003 by Carol M. Newman

Her eyes said, "Yes" before her lips could say "What's That?!"

CERTAINLY A CULINARY AFICIONADO WHO THUMBS through any of the preferred food lover's compendiums will quickly discover there is no reigning definition, classic or modern, for the term 'Eye Candy.' Even Auguste Escoffier failed to include in Chapter Ten of The Escoffier Cook Book a few words on eye candy as a "Leading Culinary Operation." Nor can it be found for that matter in Chapter Seven, "An Elementary Preparation." Louis Saulnier makes no reference to it in his Le Repertoire de La Cuisine. Alan Davidson's more modern Oxford Companion of Food seems to pass over eye candy all together--hastily departing the 'E's' for the 'Fs'--but not without a final thought on "eye-eating." Surely not what Art Culinaire had in mind.

Eye candy: It's that special dish--you know the one. The one that easily illicits stares from gawking guests when whisked across the dining room to the lucky recipient. It receives the same special treatment as the President; high security, plate practically spit-shined, coordinated down to the last detail--one final sprinkle of paprika, perhaps. Don't even think about getting near it, or risk reprimand.

Who hasn't, at one time or another, exclaimed, "What's that?" when a dish you wanted was wheeled en route to someone else. Try controlling yourself around Michel Richard's dazzling Sushi D'ici at Citronelle. And if you are lucky enough to stay at the Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel, Jeff Lehuede's dessert work will have your head spinning. Might as well surrender now.

Customers know it as "the impulse buy." Those who try to escape or ignore eye candy most often fail. How can one resist that savory-something or solicitous post-dinner plated dessert? Alluring and not easily forgotten; it's recalled instantly when all the decadent details are relayed to a salivating and envious onlooker. This special instantaneous spontaneity is the zenith of eating experiences.

They'll know it as the dish that oozes carnal appeal. Regardless if it's read alone from the menu in quiet comfort or described exhaustively by an especially zealous member of the waitstaff, eye candy has no real need for explication. It's shrewd appeal? It sells itself.

Jeff Lehuede

Who said all pastry chefs are quiet?

We'd care to dispel the myth that all pastry chefs are reclusive, quiet types. You know the ones; the sort who might start baking if someone said they'd like to have a 'long chat.' No chefs, put away your silpats, we are not referring to 'Langue de Chat.'

Well, the cat hasn't got Jeff Lehuede's tongue. We lunched with the Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel pastry chef and between bites, we learned quite a lot about life outside his pastry kitchen. For Jeff, life is a labor of love. And that life includes everything from his wife, to cutting the grass, to Southern California and whatever else that's sent his way.

Prior to joining The Ritz-Carlton in early 2001, Jeff Lehuede worked as a pastry chef for Mandarin Oriental Hotels in Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Indonesia. Ask him about Asia and he'll tell you, "The food was so spicy, I wanted to die! My friends used to ask me, 'Are you alright?' You have to burn your palate first before you can build it up ..."

"And everything is rice! Breakfast is rice. I'd say, 'Give me potatoes' ... and I'd get rice."

It's been an interesting journey for Lehuede who came to the states because the quality of life was much more conducive to raising a family and having a well-rounded existence.

"You have more time for yourself. Here, I have two days off, but in Asia ... I sometimes worked a few weeks without a day off. It's just part of life there."

And Lehuede could use as much time off as possible to complete the multiple projects he's continually working on.

"My wife wants an office." For anyone else, they'd have a contractor on the phone. But not our sweet pastry chef, who smiles when he speaks of these grand undertakings. The same perfection that goes into his pastries go into his projects.

"Home improvement is my hobby. Moldings, furniture, painting ..."

He continues, "I redid my fireplace. All the tiles were ugly and they looked even uglier since we just redid the floor and carpet. I spend hours inside."

"I made all the furniture for my daughter's room including a birch bench." (He lovingly refers to her as a "dragon.")

We can see he gets a genuine satisfaction from this kind of work, taking pride in the fine details.

"I reupholstered a chair, redid the wood fittings and polished it. It would have cost me 500 bucks to buy the chair new!" He reveals he bought the chair 'as is' at a bargain--50 dollars.

"And once something is done, I can say, 'I did it!'"

Perhaps Jeff inherited the nimble hands from his mother.

"My Mom ... she has gold fingers. She makes curtains, paintings, tapestries--everything. She used to do wedding cakes. She went to cooking school. She had her own garden. She cooked."

"Growing up, everyday, we had dessert. She would make her own dough and grow strawberries. Maybe one day there was a strawberry tart, and maybe the next, something else."