Category: Food and Drink

Review

The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America, by Michael Ruhlman. (Henry Holt, 305 pages, 2001). $23.95.

Although I’ve never seriously considered becoming a chef, I must admit to a certain fascination with the profession. After reading Michael Ruhlman’s book, I hesitate to even call it a profession any longer; it’s more of a vocation. Many of the people he meets during his stint at the Culinary Institute of America actually seem to have a culinary calling. In no way does this mean that hard work and extensive training aren’t necessary. On the contrary, it’s only by passing through the fire, so to speak, that these stars of the kitchen can take their rightful places.

Most interestingly, at a certain point in his “research,” Ruhlman himself feels a bit of the pull toward the chef’s life. After being given special permission to attend classes without the required restaurant experience, he finds himself wondering if he could actually become a working chef. His descriptions of the rigorous CIA curriculum and his fellow students are both entertaining and at times a bit overwhelming. Culinary terms like mirepoix and confit are thrown around from the first page, sending me running to my trusty Penguin Companion to Food for answers. This was only slightly distracting, though, and overall I found I couldn’t put this book down until I found out whether Ruhlman would end up as a writer/chef or a chef/writer.

Review

The Accidental Connoisseur: An Irreverent Journey Through the Wine World, by Lawrence Osborne. (North Point Press, 262 pages, 2004). $36.00.

What is taste? Is it the physical sensation of something passing over the tongue? Or is it the character trait of aesthetic discernment, as in having “good taste”? The truth is that when it comes to wine, taste means both of these things, causing us no end of insecurity.

The Accidental Connoisseur begins with Lawrence Osborne undertaking a somewhat tentative journey to discover what “taste” actually is. Tentative because it soon becomes clear that the author is uncomfortable with, even contemptuous of attempts to describe the taste of wine. Over and over, he struggles to say something that will be acceptable to his hosts. He almost winks at us when conveying their responses. Empty platitudes, he seems to be saying. Very early in the book he confesses, “I do not trust my own taste.” It’s understandable then that he would be suspicious of anyone who claims otherwise. Unfortunately, this makes for a sometimes uncomfortable journey.

In places, Osborne’s tone just drips with condescension. Of course, as an Englishman, he seems filled with a certain Old World cynicism, not necessarily a bad trait when approaching an industry as huge and commercial as today’s wine industry. And he’s clearly trying to tread carefully among all the pitfalls involved in reporting on a product that many people still consider a luxury. He’s uncomfortable among the fabulously wealthy, but also among the customers of the “wine malls” of Napa, for both of whom wine seems to be simply an indicator of status (taste?). Osborne clearly delights in describing both his discomfort and his disdain. A common thread is his lampooning of the way wine is marketed and the way in which corporations are creating a wine monoculture, not just in North America, but worldwide.

In one unforgettable passage, he’s visiting a Napa winery and tasting wine with the winemaker and the PR director (a telling combination):

“[M]y drinking companions were conducting a chorus of self-praise which I felt sure they had sung before.

‘Real nice tropical influence—’
‘Mangoes, yeah, pineapples—’
‘It’s a Southeast Asian fruit market!’ Goldstein finally cried.
‘Seduction? Oh yeah!’
I too felt myself getting carried away.
‘A Bangkok paddy field!’ I whooped.”

Like the best kind of satire, this made me laugh and then feel miserable. The fact that the story is true made me feel even worse.

Osborne also visits with a Napa wine consultant who advises several wineries how to adjust their wine to obtain higher scores from critics like Robert Parker and the Wine Spectator. He uses a giant computer database and software that can suggest changes to the winemaking process at the touch of a button. That this soulless technician then claims to be on the side of the “traditionalists” is the ultimate irony. This man makes his living because winemakers are slaves to “quality metrics”. It seems that they too cannot trust their own tastes. At least where business is concerned.

Osborne does find some hope among the “garagistes” for whom winemaking is still an art and not a business. Among these eccentrics, he relaxes and can simply enjoy wine as a pleasurable experience. He refers in this section to Kermit Lynch, whose landmark book Adventures on the Wine Route was reviewed in our June 2004 newsletter. This made me smile:

“I remember reading Kermit Lynch’s Adventures on the Wine Route for the first time and laughing at the photograph in which a young and raffish American importer is standing in a cellar with the Rhône vignerons Robert Trollat and Gérard Chaves. They look like a gathering of anarchist bomb makers loitering in a sooty cave. And Lynch’s delicious book is delicious precisely because of its atmosphere of Cold Comfort Farm, with absurdity, squalor, and sublimity harmlessly mixed into Dionysian alchemy.”

Osborne has written a thought-provoking book, one that is by turns maddening and charming. Not unlike the world of wine, I suppose.

Review

The New Italy: A Complete Guide to Contemporary Italian Wine, by Daniele Cernilli and Marco Sabellico. (Mitchell Beazley, 224 pages, 2000). $60.00.

This gorgeous book tackles the most exciting developments in Italian wine one region at a time. Sprinkled liberally throughout with photos that will have you reaching for your travel agent’s phone number, The New Italy is more than a coffee-table curio, however.

Italian wine journalists Cernilli and Sabellico lead the reader through the contemporary wine scene in each region, discussing general developments as well as noting producers who stand out. Excellent maps break down each region several ways and make sense of the DOC and DOCG designations. A glossary of terms specific to Italian wine round out the package, making this book an excellent country-specific resource for the wine lover and a fine addition to the always reliable Mitchell Beazley catalogue.

Review

Ancient Wine: The Search for the Origins of Viniculture, by Patrick E. McGovern. (Princeton University Press, 365 pages, 2003). $42.00.

Have you ever wondered how the human race figured out how to ferment grapes into a liquid that gives us such profound pleasure? Patrick McGovern did, and his years of archaeological and historical research have led him to some interesting conclusions in this fascinating book.

One of the more interesting research experiments recounted in the book is McGovern’s attempt to recreate (through molecular archaeology) the beverage served at a feast held by King Midas almost 3,000 years ago. Partnering with a local microbrewer, McGovern came up with something quite unique: “not a beer, not a mead, not a wine—but a combination of all three, with layers of muscat aroma and a saffron taste that caught at the back of your throat and drew you back for more.” The beverage was served at a recreation of the feast in September 2000, and was even marketed commercially as “Midas Touch.”

McGovern’s stringently scientific approach may be a little dry for some, but the combination of history, archaeology, philology and even chemistry makes his conclusions all the more compelling. This meticulously-researched book is a rich resource for anyone curious about the mystery of wine’s origins.