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5.0étoiles sur 5
An Important Standard for Serious Culinary Writing., Avril 2 2004
Both currently available books, 'Serious Pig' and 'Pot on the Fire', by John Thorne and wife Matt Lewis Thorne, are composed of essays cut from the same culinary journalistic cloth, the authors' food letter 'Simple Cooking'. These essays as bodies of work do not quite fit any established form of culinary writing. It is certainly not 'The Best Recipe' genre followed by the magazine 'Cooks Illustrated' and some writers, although there is some element of this point of view. It is not culinary history, since it is so distinctly done from the authors' point of view. There are some essays that taste like memoir or nostalgia, but these serve more as chapters used to set the scene for text dealing with the food. It is certainly not food science a la Shirley Corriher or Alton Brown, although Alton Brown does credit Thorne as one of his biggest influences. In a nutshell, the Thornes simply provide interesting writing about food.I love intellectual connections, so I was delighted to discover that one of the wellsprings from which John Thorne draws his inspiration is the writing of Richard Olney. This ties up a string of influence from Elizabeth David to Olney to Thorne to Alton Brown, one of the most influential popular voices in culinary journalism. Olney is one of the most intellectual writers on culinary matters writing in English and available in the United States. And, it is clear not only in Thorne's 'Simple Food' motto but also in his intellectual point of view that he owes much to Olney. The first thing which changed my reading Thorne from simple pleasure to respect was his essay on the Italian Panzanella salad, which he describes in great detail and with great attention to what Italians really mean when they make this salad, a combination of tomato, stale bread, red onion, mozzarella, cucumber, basil, and salt and pepper. The subtle intellectual honesty that caught my attention was when Thorne created an adaptation using fresh bread and remained true to the original nomenclature by calling his invention Panzanetta salad. Contrast this to Alton Brown's borrowing the same Panzanella term and applying it to a twist on the BLT sandwich by adding bacon and forgetting the onion and garlic. Not Panzanella at all, I think. Not much to most people, but to a person schooled in the principle that language was something to be respected, I was impressed. The second thing that caught my attention was the tale of how Thorne fell into the vocation of cooking and culinary journalism. Like so many things, and like myself, it was by accident and necessity. In Thorne's case, it was because he was a dropout with little money who needed to feed himself with as few dollars as possible. If this was the prime mover in his career path, a strong influence seems to be his Maine roots. More than one essay has the feel of Maine's Stephen King writing about food. Popular subjects are his old residences, Maine crops such as potatoes and blueberries, and Maine cuisine featuring the lobster and other seafood, and Maine restaurants. One of my favorite series of essays deals with the origin of chowder. I will never again respect a chowder recipe that does not include some potato or biscuit as a thickening agent. Maine does not monopolize the story. A long series of essays covers Cajun and Creole culinary topics from New Orleans. This is where he proposes the theory that a great cuisine such as the Cajun or Italian cuisine is based on emulating a memory of greatness. I think there is a germ of truth here, but I believe Paula Wolfert offers a much fuller picture in her Morocco book. The third and most enduring attraction of Thorne's writing is that it is simply entertaining stuff. A writer could provide the recipes on these pages with no explanation or commentary and they would be good recipes, but the writing would be like the food with the salt and pepper left out. Similarly, the history / memoir / commentary would not be nearly as interesting without the instructions for preparing the dishes on which the essays expound. The very best example of a perfect mix of culinary technique with storytelling is the essay on 'Perfect Rice'. It all starts with John Thorne's claiming that he makes a pretty good pot of rice, followed by a derisive response from Madame Thorne, who had studied the issue at some length before Sir John touched on the subject early in their joint lives. Thorne proceeds to relate the story of their mutual investigations into making perfect rice. In the process, we learn much about the world's rice varieties and why rices behave like it does. After seeing how much care one can devote to such a simple subject, I mentally demote people like Sara Moulton for posing as a teacher of culinary matters when they confesses to not being able to properly cook a pot of rice. Both volumes are available in midpriced trade paperback editions with no pictures. It is a sure test of the fact that pictures are not necessary in works on cooking in that I never miss them. A really important addition to books of this type is a list of recipes in addition to the index and table of contents. Both volumes have this important tool. The most telling endorsement of these books is that I am sure I will read them again, cover to cover, and enjoy every minute of it. A rare treat for foodie readers.
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