Not everyone who read Gourmet magazine floated leisurely in an ocean of money, but you would hardly guess that from reading this collection. Remembrance of Things Paris: Sixty Years of Writing from Gourmet sets up the city as a world of kings and princes and dukes and barons, of renowned conductors and artists and writers. It is a world of haute couture, haute cuisine, haute monde, of fois gras and caviar and truffles and bottomless flutes of Champagne, of Cartier and Dior, of places filled with people who want to be seen at Maxim's ("The trademark of a Maxim's waiter is deftness of service and a turned-down mouth. Obviously, the regular customers here are solid enough in themselves that they don't need to be bolstered up by smiles from the help."), Lucas-Carlton, or "a secret club" populated with habitués (Ordinary citizens dare not set foot within its doors. The writer was deigned to enter only upon recommendation and was "given a tiny table near the kitchen door, the equivalent of Lower Siberia or maybe Outer Mongolia." Bafflingly, he seemed to enjoy the experience), and newer, twenty-first century establishments that cater only to the exceedingly wealthy. Absolutely absurd was the tale of a baby's christening repast that was on the scale of a state dinner.
Paralyzingly boring writing didn't help. Most of the pieces are by Naomi Barry and Joseph Wechsberg. You'd think that from sixty years of publishing there would be a wider representation of essayists. Stultifying snobbery, staggering disdain on the part of writers and restaurant personnel alike, Remembrance is the essence of exclusive.
"The worst mistake is to ask a man, 'Who are you? If I don't know who he is, he's got little chance.'" (M. Claude, maitre-d'hotel at Relais Plaza)
Some clients are sent to the bar and told to wait for their table. Some get discouraged or maybe have too many drinks and walk out, which was the idea anyway.
Les Elysées du Vernet ...is crawling with Frenchmen, natty in that particular kind of fitted blue suit they all seem to be wearing at the moment with almost identical striped shirts and plain, post-Regis ties, a room full of bankers and government men draining flutes of Champagne...
Baudic looked approvingly at a tub filled with pigeon blood, made from liquified hearts and livers. The deep color would be good for the final sauce.. "The pigeons were strangled," he said, playfully...It means their organs stay filled with blood.
Perhaps the most off-putting entry was "Grand Maters" by Jonathan Gold. His writing about la Grand Cuisine was a master class of arrogance, condescension, and haughtiness. Here is a small sample:
Next, perhaps, a superb Parmentier de sanglier au panais (a sort of shepher'd pie of stewed boar blanketed with mashed parsnips), followed by a simple dessert of crackly, thin wafers of sugared pastry, vanilla ice cream, and a sprinkling of roasted autumn fruits. With the dessert, a Beaumes-de-Venise. With the demitasse, a big bowl of sugared almonds and pistachios. On the way out the door, women are given long-stemmed roses, men, bags of those sugared nuts. One could hardly wish for a better lunch.
Followed by:
...other bistros I had visited were barely better than modest neighborhood cafes in New York, the ones that don't make it into the pages of Gourmet.
There are a handful of more accessible and interesting reflections within the collection: the story of Les Halles, a food marketplace in the heart of the city before relocating to the suburbs, of the flower market where one can buy "small violets and modest anemones to large plants and imposing trees for terraces and balconies," of a family of ice cream makers and another of chocolatiers, of an auction house where one must be careful not to nod the head and inadvertently make a purchase, of neighborhood bistros (as opposed to the "in" bistros at which to be).
Except for a very few, recipes included are fantastically complex, time consuming (I mean days) and most certainly not for the average home cook, even a very good, dedicated one.
Ruth Reichl, longtime editor at Gourmet, is herself an engaging writer. Her memoirs and cookbooks are delightful. Here, sadly, she contributes only the Introduction and a single essay. As editor she falls far wide of the mark.
A few years ago, I had the good fortune to spend ten days in France, three of them in Paris. It is far nicer and friendlier than is shown here. Had I read this book first I might not have been so eager to travel there. Thank goodness there is more to Paris than is found within these pages.
Don't bother.