Ford Fare

A man, as the German wit L. A. Feuerbach observed, is what he eats. The culinary tastes of Presidents may bear out that maxim. Under Dwight Eisenhower, a state dinner, served with military precision, might feature such Army-wife specialties as Mamie's cherished Chicken Jewel Salad Ring, a cloying confection that included cranberries, celery and almonds, epoxied with gelatin. During the Kennedy Administration, the sumptuary menus seemed intended to rate a star or two from Michelin. Lyndon Johnson introduced Texas ranch-house-chili cuisine to the White House.

The Nixons, not known as epicures, banned lamb and even--that chefs delight--soup, serving what might be described as Cordon Red-White-and-Blue.

And how will the food fare under the Fords?

The new President seems to be very much what he eats: unpretentious, hearty, open-minded. Indeed, reports Swiss-Born White House Chef Henry Haller, the Fords "say they like everything." Like many U.S. executives today, the President has to watch his weight, and that is a determining factor in White House menus. He is under orders from his personal physician, Rear Admiral William Lukash, to lose weight (he has already shed about twelve pounds in the last month, to 198) by following "a very simple, balanced calorie-reduction diet." Lukash explains: "His problem is that he is a meat-and-potatoes man and enjoys desserts."

No Seconds. During the Fords' first weeks in the White House, their private dinners have given a good indication of what their guests may expect: breast of capon with rice, a Haller chef-d'oeuvre; calves' liver and onions; filet of sole; lamb chops, filet mignon and sirloin (all the Fords' meat is broiled and there is a ban on rich sauces). For dietary reasons--but not because Ford, like a Borgia, has to have his food tasted for fear of poisoning--the President is always served separately; he receives a plate garnished by his chef with exactly 6 oz. of meat and the prescribed amount of vegetables, such as spinach, broccoli, or occasionally asparagus tips.

Ford's favorite dessert is pecan ice cream with fresh peach slices that Haller likes to marinate in Grand Marnier. For the President there are no seconds, except on salads, for which he has a consuming passion, particularly when they are perked up with finely chopped onion--whose breathy aroma is not likely to promote many postprandial tete-`a-tetes.

Before dinner in his pre-presidential days, Ford was a two-or three-martini man; now the libation consists of one or two. With dinner comes a wide selection of California, French and German wines chosen by Betty Ford, who is the family oenophile.

Despite the President's early observation that he intended to make his own breakfast, this service is now usually provided by a Jeevesian attendant, who brings him his orange juice, sliced melon, tea and English muffins piping hot, margarined and ready to be marmaladed. (Last week's presidential muffin-toasting performance was a special show put on in response to numerous requests by photographers.) A man of enormous energy and appetite, Ford nevertheless sticks strictly to Dr. Lukash's regimen, even manfully downing the Nixonian lunch of cottage cheese (Chef Haller says that the President has never been seen to cascade catsup on the curds), washed down with tea and lemon.

Foreign diplomats, in particular, will still pine for the "Maison Blanche Kennedy," whose culinary genius was the celebrated Rene Verdon. After a two-year siege under Lyndon Johnson of spoon bread, chili con queso (chili concrete, Verdon dubbed it), tapioca and barbecued steer, Verdon quit in disgust. In, from Manhattan's old Ambassador Hotel, came Haller, who not only survived L.B.J. but thrived under his successor. During his first week in office, Richard Nixon even descended on the kitchen to congratulate the chef for a triumphant dinner.

Though Jerry Ford is not likely to pay many visits to the White House kitchen, the delighted Henry Haller has already had one constant caller: 18-year-old Steve Ford, who like most teen-agers could eat twelve full meals a day. Unable, under the family's more august circumstances, to raid the icebox, he wandered in and inquired plaintively: "Is there anything to eat?" A little leftover capon, Monsieur Steve? Or some hot dogs a la Haller simmered in Chablis?

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