They are classics, just like the recipes in their latest book. These recipes are elegant the way good basic food is--no strange ingredients, all vaguely familiar, and very appealing. These are dishes that will require a special trip to the market, but that will please and impress your friends and family.

You don't really want to think about how much fat you're eating in a Croque Monsieur. Instead think about Julia the famous butter advocate, and how old she is. Think about the left bank of Paris and that at least you're not smoking a Gauloise. Remember that you cannot afford couture clothes anyway, so who cares about an extra pound here and there. You'll have plenty of time to think because nothing is easier than putting together and cooking a Croque Monsieur. Be warned however, that like most French food, or any kind of food for that matter, the better your ingredients, the better your results.

Our trouble began at the supermarket. Henry Miller wrote that one "can travel fifty thousand miles in America without once tasting a piece of good bread," and despite the proliferation of artisan bakers, finding a good loaf of bread at the supermarket is still a challenge. Our ham and cheese came from the deli and had a plastic-like finish, but once assembled into a sandwich with a smear of mayonnaise and mustard, then toasted in butter, the ingredients transcended their institutional beginnings to become a sandwich of real distinction. Eat it with a chilled glass of white wine and you'll feel like there's a cranky garcon hovering in the corner just waiting to give you an outrageous bill.

Just as on TV, in the book the two chefs interplay, each with their own preferences and skills. Many of the recipes are presented as comparisons: Jacques' omelet, if you dare to try it, is a magician's piece of work, delicately folded with only a practiced turn and tap. Julia's omelet is a more quotidian affair, but still with a proper elegance. The variety makes the book approachable for cooks with varying amounts of experience. If you're tired and hungry, Julia's omelet is the way to go. If, on the other hand you're feeling like the master of your refrigerator, attempt Jacques'.

Making both Julia and Jacques' versions of potato salad takes a bit more rigor than we usually apply to this dish. Rather than scanning the fridge for any bit of complimentary leftover that can be used to flavor the potatoes, from roasted red peppers to bits of shallot and pepperoncini, we followed each ingredient list to create two very different salads. Jacques' salad begins with elegant fingerling potatoes and dresses them with fresh herbs, Dijon mustard, olive oil, and white wine. The flavor has a simple intensity with no masking of the potatoes' flavor.

Julia's Potato Salad is all-American: mayonnaise, celery, hard-boiled eggs, chopped pickle, and even some bacon. It is good to go back to the basics and this salad is addictive. It is creamy with just enough contrast in texture and a light vinegar bite; the salad keeps well and we were glad for the leftovers all week. Both salads though are good lessons in creating big, balanced flavors with simple, pantry-standard ingredients.

Jacques' Seafood Bread is a recipe with considerably more dash than potato salad. A round, country loaf is carved into a bowl, slathered (these two love butter and know how to use it) with an herb butter flavored with almonds, dill, Pernod, and four cloves of garlic. It is filled with a mixture of salmon, haddock, squid (we used rock shrimp instead), and tuna, drizzled with white wine, and baked for an hour. As it bakes, the butter seeps into the bread, turning it into a giant, savory crouton. The dish is a fantastic presentation, hearty and delicate at the same time. We thought this was a great technique and thought about all kinds of other things we could bake in a loaf and even thought small dinner rolls treated the same way would make and elegant first course.

Desserts have the same kind of grown-up elegance, and are built on a few basic components: pastry or cake, cream of fruit filling, sauce, and garnish. They begin with custards and then play every variation--crème caramel, crème brulee, pots de crème, and sabayon. From there they go on to pastry where Julia laments the decline of the cream puff--pate a choux. She's right, this archetype of 1960s continental elegance deserves a millennial revival, perhaps with some lavender or something organic.

What this book really shows is that simple techniques, classic recipes, and good ingredients are the basis of good food. So make that extra trip to the bakery or farm market to find a good loaf of bread, some really fresh tomatoes, a real piece of cheese and sit down to join Jacques and Julia's ongoing kitchen conversation.

© 2000 Claudia Kousoulas and Sandy Tallant