The Boy Who Wanted to Cook by Gloria Whelan

In the south of France near the River Tarn is the little restaurant,
La Bonne Vache.
The Good Cow takes its name from its famous
boeuf à la mode,
a delicious beef stew. In the kitchen of the restaurant is ten-year-old Pierre. Pierre’s father, Monsieur Valcourt who is both chef and
patron
of the restaurant, says, “Pierre, go and play with your friends.”
    â€œGo fishing,” says Pierre’s mother. Madame Valcourt bakes the pastries for the restaurant.
    But Pierre wants to cook. He longs to be a great chef like his father and his grandfather before him.
    Pierre’s father tells him, “Pierre, you are too young to cook.”

    As Pierre rides his bicycle under the chestnut trees he imagines a chestnut
soufflé
. When he passes a wood he thinks of the little
morilles
, the tasty mushrooms that grow there.
    A pair of goats look to him like a very large goat cheese. On the green leaves of the vineyard he pictures the delicious
escargots,
the snails, nibbling away. To Pierre, all the world is one big beautiful meal.

    A car stops and the driver calls to Pierre, “I am a stranger to these parts. Can you tell me, young man, where I can find
La Bonne Vache
?”
    Pierre leans into the car to give directions to his family’s restaurant. On the seat next to the man he glimpses a paper that says “Inspection Form.” On the form is the name of the famous company that awards stars to restaurants. If the restaurant is very, very, very good it receives a star and people from all over go there to eat. Inspectors test the restaurant by having a meal there, but there is a strict rule that the identity of the inspector must never be revealed.
    Pierre gives directions to the inspector who thanks him and drives away.

    Pierre pedals as fast as he can. Should he tell his mother and father who the inspector is? No. He could tell about the stranger coming to the restaurant, but it would not be honorable to tell who he is.
    Out of breath he bursts into the kitchen. “Maman, Papa, a stranger is coming a long distance to eat at our restaurant!”
    Monsieur Valcourt consults the reservations.
“Oui!
There is a name I don’t recognize.”
    He slaps his forehead and declares, “With so little notice how are we to produce a meal worthy of someone who has come a long distance to eat at
La Bonne Fache? Impossible!”
    â€œI don’t have any wild strawberries to make my famous
gâteau aux fraises. Impossible!”
says Pierre’s mother.
    Pierre recalls from his history class what the great General Napoléon said. He tells his parents,
“Impossible n’est pas français
.” Impossible is not French.
    The mother, the father, and Pierre stand at attention. Together they repeat,
“Impossible n’est pas français
”

    â€œPierre,” his father says, “you must go into the village for us.”
    Pierre races on his bicycle to the village. When Pierre tells Madame Farcy, the
crémière,
of the special occasion she chooses a cheese so soft, so silken, and with such a subtle aroma, she weeps to part with it.
    At the butcher shop Monsieur Camus selects, as he always does, a perfect cut of meat for the
boeuf à la mode
.
    Monsieur Moreau picks out tiny onions like pearls, potatoes no larger than marbles, lettuces as tender as rose petals, and hands Pierre a basket of plump snails, but alas, he has no strawberries for Pierre’s mother.

    Madame Valcourt is close to tears. “My
gâteau
will be nothing without strawberries.”
    Pierre knows a place in the woods and hurries off with his basket.
    Beneath the ferns is a patch of wild strawberries. Pierre gets on his knees and carefully plucks the tiny berries.

    â€œWhat will we have for the fish course?” his father asks. “The cod that I planned to serve tonight comes from the ocean, miles away. I must have something from our own countryside for the