p.3-98 Response

    In our reading for the week, I was pleased to be exposed to what are arguably some of the best food writers of the past century. Of the authors we read, I was most interested with AJ Liebling's “The Afterglow,” Jim Harrison's “A Really Big Lunch,” and Anthony Bourdain's “Don't Eat Before Reading This,” which is a chapter from his bestselling book, “Kitchen Confidential.” These three authors all have the rare ability to put their voice in a piece, which makes the process of deciphering their personalities so much more interesting for readers such as myself. AJ Liebling's personal account on the evolution of the food industry in Paris enlightened me to the significant impact WW1 and WW2 had on the culinary identity of Paris. Anthony Bourdain's brutal honesty is as stark as ever with his cautionary tales on the hygienic habits (or lack thereof) of the food industry. Jim Harrison's life of writing, traveling, and excessive eating and wine-drinking makes me want to reconsider my future career plans. All of these writers kept me intrigued throughout their pieces, and left me unsatisfied and wanting to know more by the end.

    As soon as I finished Jim Harrison's piece, I was angry at myself for not finding him sooner, and was even angrier to learn that he had passed away earlier this year. His writing possesses a Hemingwayesque romanticism about it, that when reading it, gives me the sudden urge to move to Paris so I can drink obscene amounts of alcohol and recite Shakespeare and Fitzgerald all night and day. This couldn't be more true than with his description of a 50 course meal he had in Burgundy, France. Not only was the man in France – any food lovers idea of heaven on earth – he was at the “manor” of one of the most famous french foodies living at the time, and he is there to eat a 50 course meal and drink shit loads of wine, all in the spirit of celebrating his friend's 50^th birthday. Harrison says, “Gérard (the french foodie) threw a dinner with fifty courses. Why? Because it was his fiftieth birthday. Why else?” This quote is brief and simple, but it shows just how luxurious these kind of people live: Turning fifty? Why not spend the entire day eating a fifty course meal to honor each and every year of life you've spent on Earth? Why not add some of the most rare, and expensive wine to the equation while you're at it? Some people may call this frivolous or even selfish. Not me though. These people are doing it right.

    AJ Liebling is an example of a person who actually lived like Hemingway's Jake and Lady Brett in Paris. He was there at the end of what he sees to be the golden age of Paris, which explains his feelings of loss and disappointment when he explains the fall, or demise, of the great Paris restaurants and foods. According to Liebling, the fall began immediately following the end of WW1, with the emergence of new laws and new perspectives that limited or possibly prevented the potential for culinary creativity and passion. Liebling says in the piece, “ as a career for the artistically ambitious, cooking became less attractive just at the moment when alternative means of earning a living grew more numerous for the offspring of the proletariat. Child-labor laws and compulsory education were additional obstacles in the way of the early apprenticeship that forms great cooks.” He said this trend continued slowly all the way until WW2, when things got much worse. When WW2 came, with it came the Nazi occupation of Paris which, not surprisingly, resulted in the destruction of many of the city's most famous restaurants, and forced many citizens and visitors to flee. Supply also became very scarce (as it does during any war occupation), which raised prices immensely, dissuading those who had stayed in the city from buying anything. Years after the end of the war, Liebling maintains his pessimistic view of the Paris food scene saying, “That the humble glory of the classic French kitchen should have to be ordered two days in advance in one of the best restaurants in Paris is evidence of how far la cuisine française has slipped in the direction of short-order cooking.” He finishes in 1959, still unimpressed, admitting that there are still good meals to be had and good wine to drink, but also saying that they are very hard to come by. Since then, I can't help but wonder if much of a comeback has been made. Maybe Paris will never be as perfect as it once was.

     When reading Bourdain's piece, I was overwhelmed with regret for all the times I have ordered seafood at restaurants. I will definitely be following his advice for the rest of my days when it comes to ordering fish – never on Sunday or Monday. I was also horrified at the “save for well-done,” section. I am proud to say that I prefer most meats medium-rare, so this luckily isn't a risk for me. But for my family members, most of which order everything well-done, I can't help but feel sympathy for them. I'll do my best to persuade them to order differently next time. As for the rest of it, I can't say I was really surprised. I've worked in food business for a couple years, so the knowledge that most cooks don't wear gloves or hair nets isn't new to me. Perhaps the best part of the piece, where Anthony exhibits his high aptitude for comedy – is his description of the cook's perception of vegetarians. He says, “Even more despised than the Brunch People are the vegetarians. Serious cooks regard these members of the dining public— and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the vegans— as enemies of everything that’s good and decent in the human spirit. To live life without veal or chicken stock, fish cheeks, sausages, cheese, or organ meats is treasonous.” I know of many great people who are vegetarians, and one of my best friends was a devout vegan during high school, but anyone who doesn't think this quote is funny has some serious work to do on their sense of humor.