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182 reviews for:
Dirt: Adventures in Lyon as a Chef in Training, Father, and Sleuth Looking for the Secret of French Cooking
Bill Buford
3.67 AVERAGE
182 reviews for:
Dirt: Adventures in Lyon as a Chef in Training, Father, and Sleuth Looking for the Secret of French Cooking
Bill Buford
3.67 AVERAGE
I struggled with this book. I enjoyed the shorter piece in the New Yorker (or Atlantic?), but am finding this book a challenge. The pacing is off for me and I am struggling to relate to the author. It may be that this is a summer book for me—in the fall/winter I like cozy reads, old favorites, and beautifully written texts...?
“I pressed on. “No one in America eats food out of a pig’s bladder.”
Oh boy, it’s been ages since I’ve read a foodie book, and I was so excited to read this one. I read Buford’s previous book, Heat (published in 2006), and really enjoyed his adventures in the cooking world. In that book, he got to train in Mario Batali’s kitchen (of course, now that things have come to light about Batali, I wouldn’t know what to think of that), but at that time, I really enjoyed Buford’s writing, and his brashness in being able to jump into a professional kitchen and move from station to station.
Similarly, this happens again in Dirt, this time in Lyon, France. Why Lyon? It’s the home of Paul Bocuse, Daniel Boulud grew up near there, and some consider it the gastronomy capital of the world.
Also, Buford had come across the idea that French cuisine originated in Italian Renaissance kitchens:
“In any case, the implications were intriguing to consider: that at one point French cuisine did not exist, or at least not in a form that we would recognise today; and that then, at another point, it did, and that the Italians may have had something to do with its coming into being.”
Packing up and heading to a new country for a while is nothing new to Buford and his family. They lived in Tuscany for a year, his wife loved to travel and could easily pick up languages. And Buford had been wanting to work in a French kitchen. But they soon learned that France was not Italy. That is, while it was easy to land in Italy, figure things out as they went along, even just the process of getting to France (legally that is) was hard. All kinds of supporting documents were needed, even financial statements for each child (though they were still in diapers). And somehow needing to prove residence in France – although they were still in the process of applying to be residents??
At any rate, they made it there, with a little help from some friends.
But there, still, Buford had a hard time getting his foot into any restaurant kitchen. He does, however, work for a baker, and attends culinary school for a bit – not just any culinary school, but L’Institut Bocuse – then eventually lands up at La Mère Brazier, which first opened in 1921.
I have enjoyed eating French food, one of my favourite all-time meals is Duck Confit. But I have no clue about the food of Lyon, some of which sounds like nothing I’ve ever seen on French restaurant menus. For instance, andouillette, which sounds like the andouille sausage (common in the US), but is instead full of pigs intestines and stomach. Or the volaille à Noelle (I could only find recipes in French, so the link here is to a Youtube video of a chef making the dish), it’s essentially a deboned bird, refilled and stuffed with vegetables and meat. And then there’s the Poulet en Vessie, which is a chicken cooked in a pig’s bladder. Yup. The dish looks like a ball in which a chicken is enclosed. Fascinating!
“After twenty minutes, the vessie is transformed: No longer thick and opaque, it has the appearance of a beautifully golden, nearly translucent beach ball that some maniac is still insisting on pumping more air into. Also, you can see the chicken.”
And reading about French schools, especially their school lunches – three course meals, the food served at the table, and kids cannot get the next course if they haven’t finished.
Another fascinating part, is the principles of a French plate:
“If your dish uses colour strategically, volume (i.e. has height), and texture (mixes soft and hard, or juicy and crunchy), then it will appeal to a diner.”
This was a book I needed to read. The thought of someone travelling to a different country is such a foreign concept right now. Getting on a plane and moving your family to another part of the world, to live there for a few months – which turns into five years? What a dream! This was armchair – and foodie – travelling during a pandemic.
Here’s a tip: If you’ve ever watched the late Anthony Bourdain’s TV series Parts Unknown, Season 3 Episode 4 is the Lyon episode and it features Daniel Boulud, who is often mentioned in Dirt. The episode also brings in Buford himself. The season was aired in 2014 and so that possibly means that he was still living in Lyon when it was taped? He had moved to Lyon in 2009 and they stayed for five years. Also, the chefs cook the Poulet en Vessie, and that is quite a sight.
Oh boy, it’s been ages since I’ve read a foodie book, and I was so excited to read this one. I read Buford’s previous book, Heat (published in 2006), and really enjoyed his adventures in the cooking world. In that book, he got to train in Mario Batali’s kitchen (of course, now that things have come to light about Batali, I wouldn’t know what to think of that), but at that time, I really enjoyed Buford’s writing, and his brashness in being able to jump into a professional kitchen and move from station to station.
Similarly, this happens again in Dirt, this time in Lyon, France. Why Lyon? It’s the home of Paul Bocuse, Daniel Boulud grew up near there, and some consider it the gastronomy capital of the world.
Also, Buford had come across the idea that French cuisine originated in Italian Renaissance kitchens:
“In any case, the implications were intriguing to consider: that at one point French cuisine did not exist, or at least not in a form that we would recognise today; and that then, at another point, it did, and that the Italians may have had something to do with its coming into being.”
Packing up and heading to a new country for a while is nothing new to Buford and his family. They lived in Tuscany for a year, his wife loved to travel and could easily pick up languages. And Buford had been wanting to work in a French kitchen. But they soon learned that France was not Italy. That is, while it was easy to land in Italy, figure things out as they went along, even just the process of getting to France (legally that is) was hard. All kinds of supporting documents were needed, even financial statements for each child (though they were still in diapers). And somehow needing to prove residence in France – although they were still in the process of applying to be residents??
At any rate, they made it there, with a little help from some friends.
But there, still, Buford had a hard time getting his foot into any restaurant kitchen. He does, however, work for a baker, and attends culinary school for a bit – not just any culinary school, but L’Institut Bocuse – then eventually lands up at La Mère Brazier, which first opened in 1921.
I have enjoyed eating French food, one of my favourite all-time meals is Duck Confit. But I have no clue about the food of Lyon, some of which sounds like nothing I’ve ever seen on French restaurant menus. For instance, andouillette, which sounds like the andouille sausage (common in the US), but is instead full of pigs intestines and stomach. Or the volaille à Noelle (I could only find recipes in French, so the link here is to a Youtube video of a chef making the dish), it’s essentially a deboned bird, refilled and stuffed with vegetables and meat. And then there’s the Poulet en Vessie, which is a chicken cooked in a pig’s bladder. Yup. The dish looks like a ball in which a chicken is enclosed. Fascinating!
“After twenty minutes, the vessie is transformed: No longer thick and opaque, it has the appearance of a beautifully golden, nearly translucent beach ball that some maniac is still insisting on pumping more air into. Also, you can see the chicken.”
And reading about French schools, especially their school lunches – three course meals, the food served at the table, and kids cannot get the next course if they haven’t finished.
Another fascinating part, is the principles of a French plate:
“If your dish uses colour strategically, volume (i.e. has height), and texture (mixes soft and hard, or juicy and crunchy), then it will appeal to a diner.”
This was a book I needed to read. The thought of someone travelling to a different country is such a foreign concept right now. Getting on a plane and moving your family to another part of the world, to live there for a few months – which turns into five years? What a dream! This was armchair – and foodie – travelling during a pandemic.
Here’s a tip: If you’ve ever watched the late Anthony Bourdain’s TV series Parts Unknown, Season 3 Episode 4 is the Lyon episode and it features Daniel Boulud, who is often mentioned in Dirt. The episode also brings in Buford himself. The season was aired in 2014 and so that possibly means that he was still living in Lyon when it was taped? He had moved to Lyon in 2009 and they stayed for five years. Also, the chefs cook the Poulet en Vessie, and that is quite a sight.
Four and a half stars? Occasionally frustrating, but so much to chew on.
Buford upends his life--and that of his wife and twin toddlers--to pursue a deep understanding of French culinary culture by moving to Lyon, going to cooking school, and doing a stage in a real French kitchen. It's an engaging read filled with hero, Michelin-starred chefs, cultural miscommunications, and cringe-worthy episodes in the brutal environment behind the scenes of a famous restaurant. The author argues, quite convincingly (quelle horreur), that the roots of French food come from the Italians via the Medici, though none of his French friends and colleagues can take such a suggestion seriously. Buford is a gifted writer and it's easy to get swept up in his obsessive approach to la cuisine.
slow-paced
emotional
funny
informative
sad
medium-paced
"My approach, I explained to the chief executive of the French Culinary Institute, was to find a venue, make mistakes, be laughed at, and debased, and then either surmount or fail. My plan...was to start out in a good French kitchen here in the United States ('But which one?' I mused), and follow that with three months in Paris.
'Three months?' she asked.
'Three months.'
She said nothing, as if pretending to reflect on my plan. She asked, 'Do you know Daniel Boulud?'
'Yes.' Boulud is America's most successful French chef....
'He grew up near Lyon,' Hamilton said.
'Yes, I'd heard that....'
'Some say that it is the "gastronomical capital of the world."'
'Yes, I had heard that, too.' She could have been talking to my toddlers.
'The training, the discipline, the rigor,' Hamilton drew the word out, slowly, like a nail. 'For two years, Daniel cut carrots.'
I nodded. 'Carrots,' I said, 'are very important.'
Hamilton sighed. 'You say you want to work in France for three months.' She illustrated the number with her fingers. 'And what do you think you will learn?'
I wasn't about to answer.
'I will tell you what you will learn. Nothing.'"
Bill Buford expands upon his plan. He goes to work for a good French kitchen in the US. He moves to Lyon. He goes to culinary school. He works in a good French restaurant in Lyon. With him come his wife and two young boys. They stay longer, much longer than three months. And Buford learns French cooking.
There are many parts of this story that fascinated me.
Bill Buford and his wife reflect upon lunches in the boys' school, a typical French public school: "There they eat their food in silence. This is to encourage them to think about what they're eating. They are served each course at a table by women who know how much the children want. They are not obliged to finish their food. But if they don't, they don't get the next course....'America seems so far away.'"
What makes the food of France so good? Buford explores that. He draws on a film, Natural Resistance, in which a winemaker compares two vineyards, across from each other, in Italy. One is a tidy vineyard, and the other is "a tumble of weeds and grasses." Then he looks at the soils of the two. His is a rich combination of "roots, straw, much of it decomposing, mulch, worms." The other is gray, compacted, resembling cement, with nothing alive in it. It's that rich soil that makes the ingredients of the complex flavors of the food. A revelation.
And some of the ideas Buford takes on are so deep they could take a lifetime to investigate: "...actually the secret code of French cooking---it's flair---seems always to involve getting two incompatible elements to live with each other." Whoa. Are we just talking about French cooking here?
The brutality of working in a French kitchen is almost beyond the sensibilities of this gentle American reader. There is no tolerance of mistakes. Bullying, both verbal and physical, is rampant. Yet, Buford tells us, he never learned more, so quickly. What does a person do with that knowledge?
Dirt is for anyone with a keen interest in France or French cooking or, perhaps, the world.
'Three months?' she asked.
'Three months.'
She said nothing, as if pretending to reflect on my plan. She asked, 'Do you know Daniel Boulud?'
'Yes.' Boulud is America's most successful French chef....
'He grew up near Lyon,' Hamilton said.
'Yes, I'd heard that....'
'Some say that it is the "gastronomical capital of the world."'
'Yes, I had heard that, too.' She could have been talking to my toddlers.
'The training, the discipline, the rigor,' Hamilton drew the word out, slowly, like a nail. 'For two years, Daniel cut carrots.'
I nodded. 'Carrots,' I said, 'are very important.'
Hamilton sighed. 'You say you want to work in France for three months.' She illustrated the number with her fingers. 'And what do you think you will learn?'
I wasn't about to answer.
'I will tell you what you will learn. Nothing.'"
Bill Buford expands upon his plan. He goes to work for a good French kitchen in the US. He moves to Lyon. He goes to culinary school. He works in a good French restaurant in Lyon. With him come his wife and two young boys. They stay longer, much longer than three months. And Buford learns French cooking.
There are many parts of this story that fascinated me.
Bill Buford and his wife reflect upon lunches in the boys' school, a typical French public school: "There they eat their food in silence. This is to encourage them to think about what they're eating. They are served each course at a table by women who know how much the children want. They are not obliged to finish their food. But if they don't, they don't get the next course....'America seems so far away.'"
What makes the food of France so good? Buford explores that. He draws on a film, Natural Resistance, in which a winemaker compares two vineyards, across from each other, in Italy. One is a tidy vineyard, and the other is "a tumble of weeds and grasses." Then he looks at the soils of the two. His is a rich combination of "roots, straw, much of it decomposing, mulch, worms." The other is gray, compacted, resembling cement, with nothing alive in it. It's that rich soil that makes the ingredients of the complex flavors of the food. A revelation.
And some of the ideas Buford takes on are so deep they could take a lifetime to investigate: "...actually the secret code of French cooking---it's flair---seems always to involve getting two incompatible elements to live with each other." Whoa. Are we just talking about French cooking here?
The brutality of working in a French kitchen is almost beyond the sensibilities of this gentle American reader. There is no tolerance of mistakes. Bullying, both verbal and physical, is rampant. Yet, Buford tells us, he never learned more, so quickly. What does a person do with that knowledge?
Dirt is for anyone with a keen interest in France or French cooking or, perhaps, the world.
adventurous
funny
informative
medium-paced
Enjoyable journey of a man’s quest to master French cooking and delve into its origins, that is whether it was highly influenced from Italy or not (which naturally would be controversial in both countries – meanwhile Germany just shrugs and just says “we have wurst”). Breezy throughout, it’s an easy read and Buford is joke-y, although never outright hilarious. It’s also a story of Lyon and what it takes to uproot your American family with 2 small twins to France and integrate (or not) into local society. It’s a nice trip through both gastronomy and learning a new culture, with a bit of cooking history thrown in for good measure.