Jacques Pépin chronicles his life as a chef through a collection of anecdotes, and perhaps the book reads better if you imagine the words are being spoken by an older French gentleman telling you stories. He's had an amazingly broad range of experiences, and I learned a lot about American and French cuisine and culture, and what goes on behind those kitchen doors at restaurants. His memories of his childhood and his stories about his family are heartwarming. His experiences as an apprentice in a traditional French kitchen are fascinating. He is funny when he describes his exploits foraging and otherwise obtaining fresh and/or local ingredients in America.
Every major life event is defined by what dishes are served and how the food is prepared, which made for very interesting reading at first, but which lost its allure after a dozen or so menus.
Frequently, it sounds as if Jacques Pépin is trying to put on his best face in this writing. While he certainly comes across as charming, playful, and even humble, there's still a hint of arrogance. He makes passing mention at topics that might shed light on a more complex individual (e.g., an addiction to Demerol, an intensive work and travel schedule that must have taken him away from his family for long periods of time), yet he never elaborates. True to its title, this book is about Jacques Pépin's life in the kitchen, not really Jacques Pépin, the person. In one odd passage, he describes a friend's mental and professional decline in much greater detail than he ever attributed to any analysis of his own life.
No comments:
Post a Comment