A Meal Observed succeeds. It succeeds in large part because the concept is brilliant - an entire book about a single meal. It also succeeds because Mr. Todhunter's prose is up to the challenge of such a high concept endeavor, requiring the need to frequently depart from the meal to explore a host of seemingly tangential concerns while somehow staying on course. However, just as a Chef of haute cuisine must walk a knife's edge between leaving the diner merely satiated and leaving them overly burdened, so must our author be careful not to leave us so overstuffed that we push our plate in front of us and ask our server to clear it with the meal unfinished. In this case, I was driven nearly to the edge of that boundary. Just as with many Pre Fixe meals, there seems be joy in reconnoitering the boundary, anticipating that you've had a bit too much, but then, just in time for the next course, feeling ready for more. To fall too far short of it would mean disappointment. But in this case, one more extended metaphor, one more psychological exploration of the mundane, or one more polysyllabic obscurity (piscivorous comes to mind) and I might have skipped desert. Gladly, that line was never crossed. By the middle of the book, strangely I recall page 104, in the midst of a discussion of wine, I lost my skepticism, surrendered to the experience, and was hooked.
Ultimately it succeeds because it is, in part, a meditation on the strangeness of it all. It is strange to consume in 5 minutes that which took several people the better part of a day to prepare. It is strange to spend 12 hours a day preparing exquisite meals for others, but having done so, to have no interest in preparing such a meal for oneself. It is strange, finally, to spend a few hours reading about a single meal. It seems indulgent. Certainly not everyone would enjoy a meal like the one described in this book, and perhaps only those that would enjoy it would read such a book. Towards the end of the meal, Todhunter reflects on the fact that some of his acquaintances, the ones that he most admires, admirable in their modest ways and their pleasure in the simple things, would probably never indulge themselves in this way. At this point in the meal he is content, but full to a degree approaching discomfort. More than a few readers, I speculate, pondered their own excesses at this point in their read. Much like other tastes that I find difficult to evangelize, like books about books, I guess the appeal of a three-four hour meal is something that some will never understand. To those that have tasted that appeal, or to those who wish to try to understand them, spending a three or four hours at Mr Todhunter's table might be a worthy and enjoyable distraction.