I only learned of the late, great AA Gill when I read one of the many obituaries that lavished praise on this restaurant critic and essayist for the London Times and Tattler. I immediately bought Table Talk so that I could experience Gill's perceptions and wit for myself. I read a lot of food criticism and history, but this collection of Gill's food columns is the best I have come across.
I found portions of Gill's reviews to be laugh-out-loud funny. Here's only one of many examples. Gill is writing about truffles and what started out to be a fine meal at an unnamed restaurant. All was well until the truffle ice cream. Gill's companion,The Blond, tasted the ice cream and did the predictable "Yeach, yeuch, that's horrible, horrible." But then some time later, the Blond turns to Gill and described the experience this way: "You know what it was like? It was like slipping into bed in the dark and finding a familiar warm body there, then switching on the light and discovering it's your grandfather, naked and aroused. You know what I mean?" Gill responds, "Not precisely specifically, but generally."
Gill combines this humour and sharp wit with more profound statements about cuisine in general, including a masterful take-down of Britain's saintly Elizabeth David. As someone who admits to worshipping David herself, I went from anger at Gill's critique of David to a grudging admiration for how he gets to a truth: David's championing of Italian and French cuisine at the expense of British cuisine has had lingering, terrible consequences for a nation that suffers from a culinary identity crisis. As Gill writes, "The real problem is not just that we [Brits] cook Italian food day in, day out, it is that we cook it so jolly badly. . . . Housewives try to cook dishes that may be cheap to put together in Milan or Rheims, but cost a lot in Bolton or Penzance. Take those two staples of Italian cooking, the tomato and sweet basil. The plum tomatoes that grow in the heat of Italy taste totally different from the forced-under-polythene ones that we get here. . . . Consequently, robust peasant food tastes insipid and second-rate when it is prepared by foreigners." And a whopping dose of the blame, Gill contends, rests with Elizabeth David.
Gill writes a lot of unorthodox, irreverent things in Table Talk, provoking readers to take an active part in engaging with him, critiquing him, agreeing with him, and most of all laughing with him as he punctures our fine gourmand sensibilities with abandon. This is a book that I will buy extra copies of just to give out to my friends and colleagues in the culinary industry. In this way, I will do my small part to keep Gill alive forever, even if he is no longer with us in the flesh.