So, having finished both the Dining out and eating in sections of the New Yorker book, I’ve been left with a very melancholy feel. It started out quite good, with a short, but fun and interesting look into the world of Beefsteak. This was a fun story, consisting most of BEEF & BEER. It was uncivilized, fun, and messy sounding. But then we dive into the complete and utter opposite of this for the next few stories, and it’s a little disconcerting.
This has for me become a book of contradictions. Perhaps that is a good thing, as the world of food is full of people who all think they’re right, and everyone else is wrong. In this way, the book greatly reflects the world, and such preconceived notions as that the best food can only be found in France. My own personal belief is something along the lines of Socrates, we’re all far too opinionated about things, doubly so when it comes to food.
I certainly enjoyed reading some about the various meals in France, though I found myself having to look up dishes with a despairing frequency. Once or twice in a story is kind of cool, but when you have to look up more then half the mentioned dishes, the author is assuming you know more about what he or she is writing then they should. To be honest, most of these stories came out seeming a little snobbish, with a few exceptions.
Bourdain’s small piece in fact manages to be both a little snobbish and as brutally honest as the first piece about Beefsteak. Even that though left me a little put off, as it showed a lot of the side of Bourdain that makes fun of vegetarians and disparages others just a bit too much.
The Eating in section managed to avoid some of these issues, though brought a few of it’s own to the table (pun fully intended). It starts out with a good selection on secret ingredients, and Tripe, and each story seemed a little better told then the previous section’s. While I still had to look some stuff up, overall the authors tending to explain a bit better.
In fact I found the story about casserole to be even a bit amusing, and not many of the stories so far had been remotely funny. Then again, those first three stories were all by the same person. But even the later ones were good, and the dialogue on the issues with cookbooks while seeming a little haughty, was also quite funny.
I think my issue with this book arises from the fact it wasn’t written for me. These stories are written with a certain target audience in which I don’t fall. Part of the issue is I am quite blasphemous when it comes to food. I enjoy it. None of the stress of cooking ever touches me. If the meal doesn’t turn out good, well tough luck, I’ll eat it anyway. It’s not that I don’t care about other’s tastes, is that I don’t care if things turn out wrong. I roll with it. I don’t spend an hour and half deciding what to make, I pick the first things that pop to mind randomly. This book therefore ends up seeming more pretentious to someone like me then anything else. And there are some stories in it so far that aren’t like that, but as a whole, this simply isn’t the book for me.
I also had mixed feelings about the reading, most notably A.J. Lieblings work. I know Marin wanted us to read him, and I think it was important that we did. He seems to be an important name in food writing. Anthony Lane even mentioned him in his article Look Back In Hunger, describing him as, “a man whose delicately gluttonous writings on food keep wandering off (when he can tear himself away) into such equally pressing areas as Paris, boxing, and sex.” Liebling’s constant wandering off of topic was just another distraction in his piece that took me out of the story. Perhaps if I understood French cuisine more and understood the subject of his writing better, I would have liked this technique. But due to the focus of his story, it just confused me further.
ReplyDeleteI was a fan of the Bourdaine section. His humorous voice still made me laugh and I found his mocking tone funny and a welcome change from the stiff French cuisine sections. That being said, I totally understand why you might find him to be pretentious. I’m a little biased because I’m in love with him, so I like most of the stuff he writes.
It was really hard for me to connect with the pieces simply because an article cannot be published in The New Yorker without at least an element of biggotry, and all of these articles had that. Then again, it was kinda nice to go back to the "pleasure" aspect of food
ReplyDeleteI think you make a really good point with the Socrates quote. Sometimes I wonder if people think French food is the best just because they take so much pride in it and because it has been presented with in a convincing manner or if it really is that good. I won't know for sure until I have an opportunity to go to France. The fact that every one has such varied tastes and opinions makes me skeptical of the large following that says French is the best.
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