I’d been scouting for Christmas presents, and spotting Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink, figured this might make a good gift for someone I know whose reading largely consists of non-fiction, and who is both an excellent cook as well as generally interested in food. I bought it, therefore, and (since I share that fondness, both for food as well as for non-fiction), decided to read the book before I wrapped it and bunged it under the tree.
Edited by the New Yorker’s editor, David Remnick, Secret Ingredients is a collection of writing on food and drink (the articles on food far outnumbering those on drink). The writers include several leading lights of food writing, all the way from AJ Liebling to Anthony Bourdain, to writers one normally doesn’t associate with writing about food: Dorothy Parker, Roald Dahl, Steve Martin, Ogden Nash. What this means, of course, is a very eclectic bill of fare, including fiction and non-fiction, even poetry.
The bulk of the book is non-fiction. This is divided into seven sections, each devoted to one particular aspect of food:
Dining Out: Which includes some brilliant pieces, from a description of a thirty-seven course lunch designed and hosted by Gerard Depardieu, to Anthony Bourdain’s ‘insider’ view of what actually happens in restaurant kitchens—and why well-done steak is not a good idea.
Eating In: About cooking at home, from the ‘secret ingredients’ so many good home cooks guard jealously, to the associations we build up with certain foods.
Fishing and Foraging: All about the gathering of ingredients, whether it’s an account of fishing for clams or a fascinating adventure of a week in the wilderness, living (and grandly, too) off the herbs and nuts and fruit that grow wild.
Local Delicacies: Another winner of a section, as far as I was concerned, with several particularly memorable articles: on the making of artisanal tofu in Japan; a town in China of which the local specialty is rat; the origin—disputed—of the Buffalo chicken wing; and a quest for a particular pumpernickel bagel.
The Pour: The drinks section, including an interesting essay, by Calvin Trillin, on the debate about whether or not it really is possible to tell red wine from white if you can’t see the colour.
Tastes Funny: Humorous writing on food. This was one of the disappointing sections for me because, barring an article on dieting, I didn’t really find any of the pieces here especially funny. Despite the presence of humour stalwarts like Woody Allen, Dorothy Parker, and Ogden Nash.
Small Plates: A section that I enjoyed thoroughly. This was a collection of quick-read, two- and three-page articles on an array of subjects, from using a running car’s engine to cook food, to food allergies, a bustling fish market at dawn, to a mouthwatering description of a takeaway specializing in soups.
Lastly, there is the Fiction section. Like Tastes Funny, this one disappointed me somewhat. Not because the stories were bad (some of them were very good, in fact), but because most of them—other than the first story, Roald Dahl’s Taste—lacked that deep, intrinsic connection to food or drink that I was hoping for.
Another thing that left me feeling slightly dissatisfied was the relative lack of articles on global cuisine. Yes, there are a few on French food (including one on Julia Child, responsible for popularizing French cuisine in the US), and there is an article each on Japanese, Korean, and Chinese ingredients—and isolated bits and bobs on Mexican and Cuban (or Basque, to be precise) food, but there was so much more I’d have liked to read about. South East Asian food, for example, or the food of the Middle East or the Mediterranean.
On the whole, though, a very good book, and some fine writing on food. Informative, interesting, nostalgic, inspiring. On a reread, I’ll probably skip Tastes Funny and Fiction, but the rest is worth reading all over again. And the cartoons after each piece fit in perfectly with the theme of the book.