Viewpoint: Stick With Roast Chicken; France should take care not to forget what it's good at.(Cover Story)

Byline: Rob Long

O for a French miracle--a perfectly roasted chicken. Crispy skin, juicy breast, richly fatty legs and thighs, a ravishing aroma. There aren't too many places left on earth where one can be had, alas, especially now that France seems obsessed with deconstructed dishes and fusion food.

At the ultrahip Cafe des Delices in Paris, talented chef Gilles Choukroun serves up tasty--but bizarre--plates bearing little resemblance to bistro favorites of the past. Dinner, recently, turned out to be a collection of five or six large tasting spoons, each cradling a delicious morsel of... something. A helpful waitress lined them up in the chef's recommended order. Though each was wonderfully yummy, it felt less like having a meal than taking my meds. As for the new L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon, the superstar chef of the '80s and '90s, it has a distinctly L.A. vibe: open kitchen, seats at the counter, long waits, high prices and lots of little dishes for splitting and sharing.

Splitting and sharing? What is this--Pizza Hut? Where's the starchy maitre d' and the silent battalion of waiters and stewards? The soft clickety-clink of Christofle against Villeroy & Boch? The smooth gurgle of Bordeaux filling a balloon glass with inky redness? The turned carrots and pommes duchesse , the poached turbot and the carre d'agneau avec morilles on a bed of mache ? And while we're at it, where's my freakin' roast chicken?

Years ago, at one of my first experiences of French haute cuisine, I remember the hot stare of the waiter as my friends and I, eyes glazed in delirium, passed little bites of our dishes back and forth, trying to sample everything at the table. "I'm sorry," I told the glowering garcon , "it's just that... we want to try everything." Go to a swank Parisian restaurant today, and you're expected to share. Waiters, in fact, get snooty if you do not. It's as if the French, exhausted from their reflexive anti-Americanism, have decided to embrace (of all things) our restaurant culture. At my next meal in Paris, I half expect to slip into my ...