The genius of the chef, like that of any artist, is not in the selection of his materials but in knowing how to combine them. - Lin Yu Tang

It isn't really true that God rested on the seventh day. On the seventh day he combined calves' liver and fried onions. - Woody Allen

That certain seemingly unrelated food products seem destined to be combined in ways that become classics is almost beyond question. Even if one goes beyond calves' liver and fried onions, to which Mr. Allen and others have attributed godlike qualities, examples are legion. Grilled or roast lamb seems almost born to have been complemented by mint jelly; the marriage between chicken and tarragon is one that is especially soft and harmonious; nutmeg was surely created so that it could be grated and sprinkled over hot chocolate; herrings quietly pass their lives in the hope that one day they will be set on a plate together with apples; and watermelons seem to harbor a secret (and very quiet) knowledge that they are destined to one day be served with salty Feta or Bulgarian cheese. That such combinations exist is undeniable. To paraphrase Albert Camus, the only question of importance is why they seem so natural.

The question seems simple enough. All one need do, it seems, is turn to physiology to explain flavor and texture combinations, to aesthetics for an analysis of color and aroma, and to history and anthropology for the logic behind cultural acceptability of different foodstuffs. The answers, however, elude us, for no matter how diligently one strives, for at least in the realm of culinary combinations, scientific analysis offers little but contradictions.

Several examples show precisely why physiological/taste mechanisms isms fail to explain the phenomenon. Salty cheese or even salt itself complements watermelon perfectly, but salt added to other melons, even those whose chemical composition is almost identical to that of watermelon, is repulsive to most people. Serving Feta cheese with a green, pink or yellow melon would be an insult to both the cheese and the melon. That lamb can be ideally complemented by mint jelly also seems natural, but when cooked or served with mint leaves, lamb becomes largely unpalatable. Grated nutmeg sprinkled on hot chocolate is heavenly, but there are few combinations less appetizing than nutmeg on a hot chocolate souffle.

Nor are there specific answers as to why certain combinations "work" and others do not. If, for example, it is the texture of proscuitto ham that goes so well with melon, why does the texture of venison carpaccio, which is measurably identical not? (And as anyone who has ever tasted that catastrophic combination knows, it does not!). On the other hand, it is the saltiness of proscuito that goes so well with melon, why do most people find the combination of bacon and melon not at all appealing? From any measurable point of view, why does calf's liver (with beef liver running a close second), go so well with mashed potatoes and not with sweet potatoes or cooked pumpkin, all of which have remarkably similar textures or with cream of rice which has both similar texture and flavor?

Changing the direction of our search for answers, one suspects that it may not be the raw materials that are combined but the specific ways in which they are prepared before they are combined that is important. Continuing with calves' liver as our primary example, it is clear that while fried or grilled calves' liver and mashed potatoes make ideal combinations, very few people want their fried or grilled liver served with baked potatoes, potatoes Lyonnaise or any other form of potatoes. Then too, we realize that when calves' liver is steamed, or stewed that the last thing people want to see on their plates is mashed potatoes. Nor does it take very long to realize that other forms of liver are not so readily married with mashed potatoes. Chicken livers, for example may go well with fried onions but definitely not with mashed potatoes and serving mashed potatoes with fried, grilled or any other form of goose liver sounds as silly as it tastes.

Nor do cultural factors seem to play a major role in determining which culinary combinations seem so natural. The combination of calves' liver and any of fried onions, mashed potatoes, fried apples and, mild curry sauces are acceptable in every society where calves' liver is eaten. The fact that observant Moslems and Jews do not enjoy liver with its other classic pairing, fried bacon, is obvious but does not significantly change the reality that these taste combinations seem fairly universal. Tarragon and chicken or other small birds is seen as a delight wherever in the world that tarragon grows, and herring and apples or with onions in or out of sour cream is as popular among Malaysians as it is with Central European Jews, and lobster with mayonnaise is considered as luxurious a dish in San Francisco as it is in the Maldive Islands.

In the end, again to paraphrase Camus, science fails and only metaphysics remains, so like that noted French author-philosopher, let us consider the possibility that there is no general answer and that all that exists is a large collection of individual cases none of which seem to have satisfactory explanations. That is to say, as diligently as one may try to find them, there are no rules or formulas with which to determine or explain classic combinations. So be it.

Because nutritionists, physiologists and chefs alike fail to find an answer, perhaps we can allow ourselves a bit of freedom in our inquiry. Keeping in mind that we should not take this freedom too seriously (perhaps more as a game than anything else), the time has come to look for a philosophical rather than a scientific reason.

The seeming truism that come foods seem almost ideal for combinations implies some kind of a pairing process, that is to say a situation in which certain ingredients are so well matched that they seem "born for each other". Here one cannot avoid thinking of the Chinese principle of yin-yang. In Madarin Chinese, the word "yin" has three distinct meanings: female, night, and lunar. Within its cultural context the term also refers what is assumed to be the feminine, passive, negative force in the universe. As a force, yin never exists alone, and is always both contrasted and complemented by the masculine "yang". In addition to meaning masculine, "yang" is also the Mandarin word for daylight and solar, and is taken to be the active, positive principle of the universe, the source of light and heat. Working together, as they always do, yin and yang assure, as American- Chinese poet-philosopher Lin Yu Tang said, "a harmony within harmony, a continuity within discontinuity and a sense of peace where no peace exists".

Applied to our own question, that of culinary combinations, one might speculate (and here one can take the author of this article as seriously or as playfully as they like) that there is an ideal coming together that occurs only between those ingredients in which the yin and the yang have an ideal yin-yang "fit", where they form a pattern that is both full and pleasing, at least from the gastromic point of view. That is to say, foods that are "yin" are ideally suited to be paired with foods that are "yang". The question of which foods are actually "yin" and which "yang", is one best left to true metaphysicians, ideally those born in pre 17th century China.

Some will object to this metaphysical and thus not scientific enough approach to the question. Because most of those who read this article (like the person who wrote it) will have been steeped in and are devoted to what has been perceived since the Renaissance as the "Western scientific method", such objections are understandable. For better or worse, however, those objections may have to be set momentarily aside, as the simple reality is that at least for the moment, there is no other explanation that works. And, as nobel prize winning scientist Stephen Hawkings says, "some answers seem to work, and whether we like those answers or not, we have no choice but to live with them until something better comes along". Thus, in a very pragmatic way, we may be left with an odd and rather metaphysical truth - that classic culinary combination between two seemingly incompatible foodstuffs depends on how well their Yin and their Yang fit together.

Several of the following recipes are for well known combinations. Others are less known. All rely in their quality of "specialness" on seemingly incompatible ingredients.

Poached Eggs with Watercress A recipe by Marie-Blanche de Broglie

4 eggs
salt
vinegar
2 medium tomatoes
1 cup watercress, washed and with stems removed
1 cup sweet cream
freshly ground pepper
nutmeg

Poach the eggs in simmering water to which has been added a pinch of salt and several tablespoons of vinegar. (The eggs may be poached in advance and kept in cool water until ready for use. Before using drop them briefly in simmering water to reheat).

Cut the tomatoes in half horizontally and scoop out the insides. Salt the insides of the tomatoes and let drain for several minutes. Puree the watercress in a blender or food processor and transfer the puree to a medium-sized saucepan. Add the cream and salt, pepper and nutmeg to taste and reduce the mixture by 1/3 over a moderate heat.

Place the hot poached eggs in the tomato shells, top them with the hot sauce and serve immediately. (Serves 4 as an appetizer).

Chilled Watercress and Avocado Soup A recipe from the Hyatt Kingsgate Hotel, Sydney, Australia

4 Tbsp. butter
1 large onion, sliced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
3 large potatoes, peeled and diced
100 gr. shallots, chopped
2 bay leaves
5 cups chicken stock
2 cups watercress, trimmed and chopped
salt and pepper to taste
1 medium - large avocado, peeled, with stone removed and diced
1 Tbsp. sour cream watercress sprigs for garnish

In a saucepan melt the butter and in this saute the onion and garlic until golden brown. Add the potatoes, shallots and bay leaves and saute for 3 minutes longer. Add the chopped watercess and boil for an additional 2 minutes.

Remove from the heat, remove any leaves and then process the mixture in a blender or food processor until smooth, adding salt and pepper to taste. Chill well.

Serve in 4 soup bowls, sprinkled with diced avocado. Top each bowl with some sour cream and garnish with the watercress. (Serves 4).

Trout Fillets with Leeks A recipe by Anton Mosimann

8 fillets of trout, each about 80 gr., skinned and boned
2 tsp. walnut oil
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
15 gr. butter
250 ml. low-fat yoghurt
pinch of cayenne pepper
1 tsp. Angostura bitters
200 gr. leeks, cut into very small strips and blanched
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Season the trout with salt and pepper, sprinkle with the walnut oil and let marinate for 30 minutes.

Heat the vegetable oil and butter and in this quickly saute the fish fillets for 1 minute on each side. Leave on kitchen paper to drain and set aside to keep warm.

In a small saucepan combine the yoghurt, cayenne and Angostura bitters. Add the leek strips and heat gently. Check the seasoning.

Divide the yoghurt mixture between four prewarmed plates and carefully place a fillet alongside. Serve immediately, with new potatoes if desired. (Serves 4).

Red Mullet with Thyme A traditional Italian recipe

6 red mullet, about 180 gr. each, cleaned
12 fresh thyme sprigs
6 slices lemon
salt and freshly ground pepper

Clean and wash the fish. Lay out 6 sheets of aluminum foil and place a fish on each sheet. Place a thyme sprig inside each fish and on top of each fish place another twig of thyme and a slice of lemon. Season with salt and pepper.

Close the packages, rolling the edges of the foil together to seal them. Preheat the grill and grill the fish for 5 minutes on each side. Serve at once. (Serves 6).

Tarragon Rabbit Stuffed with Artichokes A recipe by Giuliano Bugialli

1 whole rabbit (about 1 1/2 kilos with the head and skin removed)
1 cup red wine vinegar
1 lemon
3 large artichokes
2 large cloves garlic, peeled and chopped finely
115 gr. fatty proscuitto, chopped very finely
4 narrow strips lean proscuitto
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 Tbsp. fresh tarragon (or 1 1/2 tsp. dried tarragon)
5 Tbsp. olive oil
about 2 1/2 cups dry white wine

Rinse the rabbit thoroughly and discard the liver. Place the rabbit in a large bowl containing 4 cups of cold water and the wine vinegar. Let stand for 1 hour.

Cut the lemon in half and place in a large bowl of cold water. Add the whole artichokes to the bowl and let soak for 30 minutes. Clean the artichokes and then cut them into small pieces using the body and stems (but making sure to have removed all of the fine hairs near the heart). Place the artichoke pieces in a clean bowl. To this bowl add the garlic and the fatty proscuitto bits. Add salt and pepper to taste, add the tarragon and mix well.

When the rabbit has soaked for 1 hour, rinse it thoroughly in cold running water and then dry with paper towels. Stuff the large cavity of the rabbit with the artichoke mixture and then sew up completely with a needle and thread. With a larding needle, lard each leg of the rabbit with a strip of proscuitto.

Pour the olive oil into a 35 x 22 cm. glass baking dish and then put in the rabbit. Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper and then pour in the wine (the wine should cover about 2/3 of the rabbit). Place the baking dish in an oven that has been preheated to 190 degrees Celsius and bake until all of the wine has evaporated (1 1/2 - 2 hours), turning the rabbit twice during this time.

Take the baking dish out of the oven and remove the thread from the rabbit. Transfer to a serving dish and set aside to keep warm. Transfer the juices from the baking pan to a saucepan and simmer over a low heat for 15 minutes. Slice the rabbit like a loaf and serve with some of the reduced sauce. (Serves 4). Note: Serve only white wine with this dish.

Baby Onions Braised with Bay Leaves A recipe by Lorenza de Medici

2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
60 gr. fatty bacon, chopped
6 small sage leaves, chopped
1 Tbsp. chopped parsley
750 gr. small new onions
1/4 cup dry white wine
salt and freshly ground pepper
3 Tbsp. tomato sauce (ideally home made)
1 handful bay leaves
1/3 cup chicken stock

In a skillet heat the oil and in this fry the bacon, sage and parsley gently. When the bacon becomes lightly golden in color add the onions and cook, turning often, over a low heat for 10 minutes.

Sprinkle the mixture with the wine and continue to cook until the wine has evaporated completely. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Add the tomato sauce and bay leaves to the stock and then add these to the onions. Continue cooking until the liquid is absorbed. Serve hot. (Serves 6 as a side dish).

Braised Endives with Oranges A traditional recipe from Normandy

1 kilo small Belgian endives
2 oranges juice of
1/2 lemon
6 Tbsp. butter
salt and freshly ground pepper
1 Tbsp. confectioners' sugar

Trim the endives and make conical cuts into the stems to remove them. Wash the endives well and then cook them in boiling salted water just until tender. (10 -12 minutes). Drain them and pat them dry on towels and place them close together in a buttered baking dish. (The endives can be prepared up to one day in advance).

With a vegetable peeler remove the zest from the oranges. Cut the zest into fine strips and drop them into a small saucepan with about 1 cup of boiling water. When the water returns to the boil remove and drain the zest. Arrange it on and around the endives in the baking pan. Squeeze and strain the juice from the oranges and pour it and the lemon juice over the endives. Dot them with butter and sprinkle with salt, pepper and confectioners' sugar.

Cover the endives with aluminum foil and bake them for 15 minutes in an oven that has been preheated to 190 degrees Celsius. Remove the foil and continue to bake until the endives are lightly glazed (about 10 minutes longer). Serve hot. (Serves 6).

Combinations That Have Not Worked What the Critics Thought

Lamb chops with red cherries, and tarragon-bernaise sauce (La Cote Basque, New York)
- Gael Greene: An abomination

Whale steak with raspberries (Prix Fixe, New York)
- Gael Greene: Another abomination

Tuna Sushi with Raspberry Sauce (Mona: San Francisco)
- Jonathan Kemp: Amusing but inedible

Potato pancakes with Hollandaise (The Grill Room at the Plaza, Boston)
- Jean Demme: Indescribably terrible

Chicken Livers with Bolognese Sauce (Il Cantinori, New York)
- Susan Ware: Tinned dog food probably tastes better

Poached Eggs on Proscuitto Ham with Balsamic Vinegar (The Four Seasons, Chicago)
- Martin Commoner: So bad that whatever I say, the chef will sue me.

Carpaccio of Tuna with a Puree of Black Beans (Gossemer Wings, Napa Valley, Calif)
- Margaret Dwyer: A single taste made me lose my appetite completely

Asking Modern Chefs About Their Successes

Metaphysics may be a pleasant enough game, but it does leave one with a vague sense of dissatisfaction. So, unfortunately do the answers of several great chefs when asked to explain precisely how they come up with new combinations for new dishes.

Alain Ducasse with regard to his cocotte of Breton lobster with macaroni and truffles: "For many years I felt as a certainty that lobster and pasta should sit well together. I tried Breton lobster with spaghetti, with spathettini, with fettuccine and with a dozen other pastas but none worked. It was only when I tried it with macaroni that I knew that I had attained culinary truth. It took altogether four years but I have not a single regret".

Georges Blanc: "Look for example at my sauteed chicken livers on a puree of parsley. I adore chicken livers and I adore parsley and always knew that one day there would be a way to marry the two into a single dish. No matter how I tried, however, nothing succeeded. One day we prepared in the kitchen of puree of parsley to serve with a lamb dish. Frankly, I would never have thought that the puree would go with my beloved chicken livers but a small insistent voice told me to try the two together. I tasted the combination. The voices were correct".

Alain Senderens with regard to his famous veal cutlets with cucumbers and tea sauce. "To tell the truth, I have no idea what insanity convinced me that veal, cucumber and tea would sit well on the same plate, but once the idea entered my head I could not resist it. I laugh to remember the failures we had, but finally it dawned on me that the cucumbers had to be sauteed, the dish had to incorporate creme fraiche, and that the tea should be served as a super-concentrated sauce".

Jacques Maximin regarding his Scallops with Champagne Butter: "I could convince you that I worked for years on this dish, but the truth is that it simply came to me one day when things were quiet in the kitchen (Maximin was then at Nice's Hotel Negresco). Don't ask my why, but I sweated chopped shallots with butter, moistened the mixture with a cup of champagne, and then reduced the liquids. I brought the sauce to a boil, whisked whipped cream into it and then poured it over the grilled scallops. The dish remains one of my favorites".

Asking The Same Great Chefs About Their Failures

Alain Ducasse: "There are times, I admit, when one dreams of a certain combination but no matter what one does, nothing works. I recall, for example, my once firmly held belief that eggs and cranberries would go together. I tried poached eggs, fried eggs, scrambled eggs, and even hard eggs. I tried plain cranberries, cranberry juice, cranberry en gelee and cranberries in puree. To tell the truth, each attempt was more catastrophic than the last. I still believe somewhere deep inside that the combination should work. Perhaps one day I will find out how".

Georges Blanc: "No combination has given me more pain that that of tarragon and oysters. I know that there must be a way of preparing them together but in twenty years of experimenting I have yet to find that way. One day, one day, perhaps...."

Alain Senderens: "Fortunately, my failures never make it to the dinner table. One, however, the ridiculous combination of roast lobster with vanilla sauce, did sneak into one of my books. To this day I cannot explain how or why I created such a monster or how it made its way into print".

Jacques Maximin: "You want confessions? I will give you one. If ever you tried my lamb medallions with chicken liver sauce, you will know what failure means. The combination should be prefect. In reality, however, it is nothing but a pure catastrophe. No more confessions".

© Daniel Rogov