A Chef in Provence

Rating:
Summary: Culinary Travelogue with an Interesting Idea.
Review: This book of recipes by chef Edouard Loubet of the two star restaurant Moulin de Lourmarin belongs to the class of 'Cookbook as Travelogue', where the object is not to use the book as a means to travel to exotic locations as to experience them vicariously. The other prominent aspect of the book is as an advertisement for the chef / author and his Provencal restaurant.

The first objective has never held much interest for me in a cookbook. To switch metaphors somewhat, a cookbook is much more commonly looked upon as a collection of plans for building furniture than as a book of pictures of either great modern pieces or antique furniture. The only type of cookbook I may ever buy with no expectation of actually preparing dishes from them is a historically important book such as the Roman Apicius' famous 'first ever cookbook'.

I am almost certain that the author(s) assembled this book with the expectation that the typical American reader or even the typical French reader (the book is translated from an originally French publication) will simply not be able to reproduce the recipes as written. For example, a single recipe requires the ingredients sea squirts, germander leaves, baby octopuses, saltwort, purslane, and nigella leaves. Admittedly, this is an extreme case, but virtually every recipe calls for some genuinely rare or unusual ingredient. Shaved truffles look positively ordinary beside the sea squirts, germander leaves, and saltwort. My spell checker does not even recognize most of these names. At least I know I can mortgage my house to actually buy a truffle at my local megamart. This book does not even provide the usual list of Internet sources for these unusual ingredients. I suspect that is because many are simply not available outside of a garden in Provence.

I make this case of impracticality to be sure that any reader who is on the lookout for a book of Provencal recipes does not buy this book by mistake. They are sure to be disappointed. If this is what you want, please get a copy of either of Patricia Wells' books on Provencal home cooking or Lydie Marshall's book 'A Passion for My Provence'. Two out of three of these books are in trade paperback, and I suggest you get both Marshall's book and Wells' first of two, 'Patricia Wells At Home in Provence'.

Since I hope you are now sufficiently armed with knowledge of what this book is not, let me say that the book includes at least one really interesting general culinary idea, which explains most of the unusual ingredients. The author's big idea is that many fragrant edible items simply do not taste the same as they smell. Loubet's objective, then, is to contrive a set of ingredients and a method of preparation which reproduces in the act of eating, the same experience one gets when they smell certain fragrant edibles. On a physiological level, I suspect there is something bogus to this idea, but I do believe there is a grain of gustatory truth in this idea. The difference between this idea and some of the more extreme notions of great chefs such as Charlie Trotter or Thomas Keller is that with some effort, you can actually reproduce them with only a modest expense in your own kitchen, and verify for yourself the effect of the preparation.

The second prominent aspect of this book has little or no redeeming side to it. In many ways, the book is an extended advertisement for the chef and his restaurant. Buying it to use as a cookbook has much the same effect as buying a baseball cap with the Chevrolet or 'Shrek 2' or TopFlite golf ball logo on the front. You are paying them to advertise a product to yourself.

One sure sign of the nature of the book is the fact that almost all the non-recipe text in the book was written not by Loubet, but by Catherine Vialard, a home economist and culinary journalist, whose text sounds for all the world like copy written for an extended advertising brochure. The book is full of tales and pictures of the author strolling through picturesque Provencal gardens and scenery with all sorts of talk about the surprising rise of Loubet's career from ski pro to chef. Loubet is joined in these pastoral reveries by his parents, grandparents, and agricultural purveyors. I appreciate many of the pictures, but I am not impressed in the same way that I was impressed by books of great recipes by Paul Bocuse and Joel Robuchon, both of whom amazed me by their modesty almost as much as they impressed me with their great culinary skill.

The only text with a degree of genuine warmth in it is the introduction by Peter Mayle, he of 'A Year in Provence' fame.

Recommended if you like cookbooks as travelogues and are fascinated by unusual culinary notions. The three star rating is done as a warning to all that may mistake this for a true cookbook. The only things preventing me from giving it two stars are the very good tables of recipes by page and by name at the end of the book, plus the modest bibliography, needed if you want to really understand the unusual ingredients.

Rating:
Summary: Culinary Travelogue with an Interesting Idea.
Review: This book of recipes by chef Edouard Loubet of the two star restaurant Moulin de Lourmarin belongs to the class of `Cookbook as Travelogue', where the object is not to use the book as a means to travel to exotic locations as to experience them vicariously. The other prominent aspect of the book is as an advertisement for the chef / author and his Provencal restaurant.

The first objective has never held much interest for me in a cookbook. To switch metaphors somewhat, a cookbook is much more commonly looked upon as a collection of plans for building furniture than as a book of pictures of either great modern pieces or antique furniture. The only type of cookbook I may ever buy with no expectation of actually preparing dishes from them is a historically important book such as the Roman Apicius' famous `first ever cookbook'.

I am almost certain that the author(s) assembled this book with the expectation that the typical American reader or even the typical French reader (the book is translated from an originally French publication) will simply not be able to reproduce the recipes as written. For example, a single recipe requires the ingredients sea squirts, germander leaves, baby octopuses, saltwort, purslane, and nigella leaves. Admittedly, this is an extreme case, but virtually every recipe calls for some genuinely rare or unusual ingredient. Shaved truffles look positively ordinary beside the sea squirts, germander leaves, and saltwort. My spell checker does not even recognize most of these names. At least I know I can mortgage my house to actually buy a truffle at my local megamart. This book does not even provide the usual list of Internet sources for these unusual ingredients. I suspect that is because many are simply not available outside of a garden in Provence.

I make this case of impracticality to be sure that any reader who is on the lookout for a book of Provencal recipes does not buy this book by mistake. They are sure to be disappointed. If this is what you want, please get a copy of either of Patricia Wells' books on Provencal home cooking or Lydie Marshall's book `A Passion for My Provence'. Two out of three of these books are in trade paperback, and I suggest you get both Marshall's book and Wells' first of two, `Patricia Wells At Home in Provence'.

Since I hope you are now sufficiently armed with knowledge of what this book is not, let me say that the book includes at least one really interesting general culinary idea, which explains most of the unusual ingredients. The author's big idea is that many fragrant edible items simply do not taste the same as they smell. Loubet's objective, then, is to contrive a set of ingredients and a method of preparation which reproduces in the act of eating, the same experience one gets when they smell certain fragrant edibles. On a physiological level, I suspect there is something bogus to this idea, but I do believe there is a grain of gustatory truth in this idea. The difference between this idea and some of the more extreme notions of great chefs such as Charlie Trotter or Thomas Keller is that with some effort, you can actually reproduce them with only a modest expense in your own kitchen, and verify for yourself the effect of the preparation.

The second prominent aspect of this book has little or no redeeming side to it. In many ways, the book is an extended advertisement for the chef and his restaurant. Buying it to use as a cookbook has much the same effect as buying a baseball cap with the Chevrolet or `Shrek 2' or TopFlite golf ball logo on the front. You are paying them to advertise a product to yourself.

One sure sign of the nature of the book is the fact that almost all the non-recipe text in the book was written not by Loubet, but by Catherine Vialard, a home economist and culinary journalist, whose text sounds for all the world like copy written for an extended advertising brochure. The book is full of tales and pictures of the author strolling through picturesque Provencal gardens and scenery with all sorts of talk about the surprising rise of Loubet's career from ski pro to chef. Loubet is joined in these pastoral reveries by his parents, grandparents, and agricultural purveyors. I appreciate many of the pictures, but I am not impressed in the same way that I was impressed by books of great recipes by Paul Bocuse and Joel Robuchon, both of whom amazed me by their modesty almost as much as they impressed me with their great culinary skill.

The only text with a degree of genuine warmth in it is the introduction by Peter Mayle, he of `A Year in Provence' fame.

Recommended if you like cookbooks as travelogues and are fascinated by unusual culinary notions. The three star rating is done as a warning to all that may mistake this for a true cookbook. The only things preventing me from giving it two stars are the very good tables of recipes by page and by name at the end of the book, plus the modest bibliography, needed if you want to really understand the unusual ingredients.