Pamela VANDYKE PRICE
It used to be that even quite learned persons would 'play trains' by planning journeys via the pages of railways time-tables. Can it. be that the ardours of travelling by rail, in even the meekest way, have discouraged this pastime?
But there are several hours of entertain- ment guaranteed to us by the perusal of the two great gastronomic guides—the annual Michelin and The Good Food Guide (£1.60 and £1.45 respectively, although members of the Consumers' Association get a reduced rate). I omit those other excellent guides that tell you about staying and sleeping some- where, though I admit that the AA'S is very handsome this year. But I share—at least in theory—the views of the various friends who have told me that when, impecunious and young, they had to choose between paying for a bed for the night or having a meal and sleeping in the car, they always settled for the latter, And all, I gladly relate, are now arbiters of enormous expense accounts,
married to excellent cooks, and several of them directors of wine firms, so their prior- ities were not wrong.
Besides, one man's bed may very easily prove another man's Little Ease. Michelin once drew me to an isolated hotel, of 'un- usual attractions' and possessing a rosette; but Michelin has his quirks (on his maps all tree-lined routes are 'picturesque). This Van- quille et isole' on one side faced a main road, going uphill and on a bend (figurez-vous les changernents de vitesse des camions), plus a slaghead of slate; on the other side, one looked out on a spectacular river view—but there was a sort of barge-cum-railway station, active at all hours, in the middle distance, the slate tip clattered non-stop and the 'attrac- tions' included baby wild boars en famille in the garden, and the fanged heads of their ancestors on the dining-room walls.
But one can pass endless hours planning routes from rosette to rosette, or competing with opponents for the routes across France via the 'reps soignes a moins de 17F', see- ing happily that this hospitable haven is in. out, up or down, and that hated hostelry ditto. This year I have even been childishly gratified to find a spelling mistake in a wine name, which shows that Michelin isn't utterly impeccable—yet. Many people use the Guide Michelin merely for addresses, but the information is infinite and I counsel study of the multilingual explanations at the beginning.
Certainly the Guide is not only an essential for anyone going to France but it is an astonishing achievement in that the main text can be understood by anybody able to cope with sign language, however ignorant of French—maybe international politics should be conducted by cher Bibendum—and then all those interpreters could run language courses? With The Good Food Guide there are different games to play: who, among the listed recommenders, is this Colonel x who frequents curry caterers? Is he impelled by economy, or nostalgia? And what about Miss y, active among the bistros—a too late trendy, or a deb with her priorities right? Sometimes two such outstanding characters meet—what can the consequence be?
This year the Guide includes line drawings and recipes and much clever writing, some of which, such as the quotation from G. M. Hopkins, references to our dumb friends (which are not, as far as I can trace, served anywhere mentioned in the Guide), and drawn-out details of reported personal experi- ences and descriptions of dishes which, to my mind are rather boring 'in talk'. The mentions of wines are scant and not always well-informed (though of course the Guide is, by its title, concerned with food). But you have to buy it for checking what it does (praised restaurants offer one the challenge and chance of seeing how much wiser one is than all these anonymous inspectors) and as encouragement for what it aims to do (criticised restaurants are contemptuous with scorn—but may they, maybe, achieve some- thing out of the ordinary, like orchestras and musicians terrified of the conductor?). I think that it should be more consistent in its presentation of facts, Styles and prices, like Michelin, and have more fun—instead of being quite so self-conscious—about a subject that is sensual rather than intellec- tual.
Dog, not God dept : The power of the press has achieved two things: letters in the Times have got a promise of the restoration of dental floss to us, and I recently noted that not only was a snapdog tethered outside Justin de Blank's, but a female within, see- ing my beady glance, snatched up her four- footed moppet so that it didn't get in my way or breathe on the food. But I have seen three people driving cars with quite large dogs on their laps and my omniscient laundry tell me one of their customers was enraged at being stopped by a policeman because she was feeding her giant poodle, on her lap, while at the wheel. Thousands of people seat children on their laps beside the driver or let them stand on the front seat—well, their lives and faces don't matter, I suppose, and at a time when a dog that's savaged and killed a baby has its life fought for by the parents, one shouldn't be surprised.
Anyone know of a boucherie canine? Or a little bistro called Cave Canem?
Previous page
