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No more magic realism
A young Latin American novelist says no more flying grannies.
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feeding frenzy
BY ANDREW ESSEX the picaresque narrative demands a strong voice and a stronger sense of purpose. If the story in question is a study in purposelessness, then the voice must be particularly strong. This is the case with all champions of the genre, from Celine to Hunter S. Thompson. Stuart Stevens, the author of two well-received travel books, "Night Train to Turkistan" and "Malaria Dreams," has devoted his third book, "Feeding Frenzy," to a picaresque adventure of such inane purposelessness it marks the birth of an entirely new genre: the gluttonesque. Stevens was working out one afternoon in a fancy New York gym with his friend Rachel "Rat" Kelly, an ex-model and self-styled fashion "maven," when the pair hatched an idea: "What if we went to Europe and ate?" Rat asks. "Ate a lot." (I'm of the mind that any idea born in a gymnasium should be routinely stifled.) A few chest-presses later, the visit to Europe has congealed into a feverish road trip that will encompass every three-star Michelin restaurant on the Continent -- 29 restaurants in 29 days. An honest-to-God feeding frenzy. What follows includes a cherry-red 1965 Mustang (with no brakes); a dog named Henry; gourmet meals in England, Germany, Belgium, Italy and, of course, France; lots of beautiful scenery, mouth-watering food and hi-jinks of the sort generally described as "madcap" in book-jacket copy. Turning a trip like this into literature requires a deft touch. When the quest is frivolous, the reader needs to be gently stroked into confederacy. Stevens' abrasive tone is neither deprecatory nor explanatory; he's the sort of man who laughs at his own jokes. The expense and selfishness of the undertaking are routinely ignored. Stevens and Kelly appear to have no day jobs. As someone who's had his share of gourmet meals on someone else's dime, I'm hardly a finger-shaking moralist. But I found myself despising Stevens for his cavalier, aren't-we-wacky self-importance. Nevertheless, there is much to recommend "Feeding Frenzy": an excellent overview of the cabalistic Michelin rating system, a very funny riff on a possible German conspiracy to replace goose-liver foie gras with duck and Stevens' fascinating account of how famous chefs like Bernard Loiseau and the Troisgros brothers invented nouvelle cuisine. Stevens is also fine when he drops his lame attempts at farce and indulges his sensual lust for food. Here's a passage on three-star foreplay: "I love that moment of theatrical presentation. I love the expectation, the slight edginess in the air, the look of the serving dishes. And then there's the unveiling, which, at its best, should be intoxicating both visually and aromatically. It's a candle-lit, seductive moment, uncannily like the moment between two lovers when they first undress."
As Stevens aptly points out toward the end of his adventure: "It was a very physical, focused life without a hint of redeeming purpose." Indeed. So why should anyone care?
Andrew Essex is the Music Editor of Details. He writes about food for the New Yorker and Interview. |
BY STUART STEVENS