N.M. Kelby
Alma Books ISBN 978-1-84688-207-4
It’s a particular pleasure to read a story which uses food, with the labour and rituals of preparing it, as a metaphor for the meaning of life. The first author I discovered who could write about food and feasts at length without boring or nauseating the reader was Enid Blyton, who with her descriptions of picnics invented a kind of gastro-pornography. She obviously relished her food; and believe me, when it came to relish, she used a little trowel.
But this fictionalised account of the coming together of probably the first celebrity chef, Escoffier, and his young bride and collaborator Delphine is really more about the business of living, with an almost religious devotion to producing near-perfect dishes from tending the vegetable plot to setting the table, as the unifying strand running through it. The author is able to shift from the bucolic surrounds of village fields or the kitchen, to war, to the horse-trading involved in setting up marriages without letting go of a quiet, laid-back sense of humour which gives the whole story a kind of warm irony. So there will be an overdose of morphine halfway through but life must go on; we are on to the chocolate sauce before getting to the next page. And if you think you know tomatoes, think again.
“He picked a ripe tomato, bit into it and then held it to her lips. 'Pommes d’amour, perhaps this was the fruit of Eden.’ The tomato was so ripe and lush, so filled with heat it brought tears to her eyes and he kissed her.”
Although this is a work of fiction, it is based on truth, and fortunately in lieu of petits fours there is a list of sources and references, including of course Escoffier’s own writing.
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