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Writer Buford's memoir of his headlong plunge into the life of a professional cook. Expanding on his award-winning New Yorker article, Buford gives us a chronicle of his experience as "slave" to Mario Batali in the kitchen of Batali's three-star New York restaurant, Babbo. He describes three frenetic years of trials and errors, disappointments and triumphs, as he worked his way up the Babbo ladder from "kitchen bitch" to line cook, his relationship with the larger-than-life Batali, whose story he learns as their friendship grows through (and sometimes despite) kitchen encounters and after-work all-nighters, and his immersion in the arts of butchery in Northern Italy, of preparing game in London, and making handmade pasta at an Italian hillside trattoria.--From publisher description.… (more)
User reviews
You see, those chefs you worship--you watch them on the Food Network, you buy their cookbooks--well, they're creeps. Not just creeps, but obsessive, sadistic cokeheads.Working in a
Buford's vision of Italy (where you spend a drawn-out last third of the book) as food nirvana seems like the writing of a true disciple, one so bent on finding the truth in his craft that he ignores that he's surrounded by psychopaths and that he's developed OCD.
Buford's a good writer--you won't be bored or cliche-riddled--and if you're a foodie (I am), you'll learn a lot of great new stuff. But you might feel less like Mario Batali is a nice guy.
Ah, but the passion behind food! That's one of the inspiring parts of the book. Buford is an excellent writer and captures how exciting food can be, and how tied food is to culture. If you don't understand what gets your foodie friends so worked up, this book might help explain it.
The second inspiring part of the book? Buford shows how much you can accomplish with intelligence and dedication. He was a fiction editor, for Christ's sake, and in about a year and a half of obsession he becomes a master Italian cook. It gives me hope that, even as I get older, I'll be able to learn new areas.
I don't go to restaurants. I don't watch FOOD Channel. I don't even order take-out. I'm just a pizza and burger guy with an occasional side trip to Taco Bell for my veggies. So why was I reading this book?
My lunch partner was reading this weirdly yellow hardback
Ah, my friend urged this book on me and predicted I'd be converted! He would be able to persuade me to go to an eatery that didn't have paper boats of onion rings or plastic packets of mayo. I would want to eat ramps (huh?) and autumn squash! I would want to eat fennel pollen!!
And he was right! I was plastered to this book for the next week and a half. Buford started his quest to understand what goes on behind the professional kitchen, in Mario Batali's restaurant, Babbo. He offers himself as an unpaid servant. He promptly cuts himself while deboning ducks and hunting for their "oysters."
And his whole world is never the same again. After months of culinary bondage, he flies to Italy to roll pasta with Betta (why you make pasta like an old woman, eh?) and butcher tall cows with warbling Dario and carve thighs with the Maestro (of the Monster Hands) in Tuscany.
I suffered with him as Molto Mario roots in trash cans, retrieving celery leaves and lamb kidneys that shouldn't have been tossed in the garbage. I puzzled over the importance of broccoli floret heads to customers. I winced as he burned himself --- dropping ribs in popping olive oil--- by hand. (There's some tremendously good, bloody vivid descriptions of Buford's kitchen's injuries.) Its almost like reading a Clive Barker book with lard and chickpeas!
I laughed as he hauls a whole pig (not a mere piglet) to his home in Manhattan so he can butcher it. I cackled as he drops munchkin pasta on the floor-- trying to roll it to impossible thinness. I marveled at how Buford "touched" meat for "doneness" and the resemblance of tortellini pasta to "innie" belly buttons. I snickered at the almost pornographic way . . . sausages were made. I groaned at creepy Riccardo and the ever-swelling polenta.
This book is pullulating with such jewels. And I haven't even spoken of the bizarre personalities behind that reduction of liver in butter sauce. There's Mario Batali, bigger than life and much engaged with pig fat. Marco Pierre White and his restaurant empire and his tasty thoughts on the aging of game birds. Yuck! Then there's the sous chefs, the prep chefs, the grill guys and the pasta guys. All fascinating and as unforgetttable, in their way, as Batali and White's tantrums! Andy and Frankie, Memo, Tony Liu and Alex with their dreams of owning their own restaurants. The clan of Latin cooks and servers who inexplicably all come from the same town . . .
Read this book. Even if you're not a foodie. Even if your idea of fine dining is a tin of sardines on instant rice! You'll love every minute of it. 5 Stars Plus Plus Plus!
This book has three distinct parts: an overall history of Italian food, a recounting of Buford's time spent in the kitchen at Babbo, and a description of his trips to Italy. The history portions are mixed throughout and balance well
Buford's writing is a real treat. His descriptions make people and scenes come alive. This almost feels like an anthropological ethnography focusing on cooking Italian food. Definitely a must read for anyone interested in food writing.
I was surprised to learn about the differences in American and Italian meat-cutting, and I was charmed by Buford's investigations into when egg was added to pasta. Mostly, though, I came away inspired to more actively explore the foods I eat. After reading the account of someone so dedicated to understanding a specific cuisine, it is impossible not to be affected.
The other flaw this book has is that it is nauseating. I suppose when you are describing the making of sausage, there is not much you can do to make it lyrical or pleasant, but his descriptions will quite rob you of all appetite, which is certainly strange for a book about food.
Overall, the book is mostly readable, with some interesting digressions, but it is certainly not the classic that he might like it to be.
Buford tells a tale that the any foodie who has ever wondered if he had the chops - pun fully intended - to make it in a restaurant can relate to. This was a delightful journey and I loved the glimpse into a world I've only seen from the front of the house.
I keep recommending this book for others. Definitely one of my favortes for the past year.