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A review by khurzad
Dirt: Adventures in Lyon as a Chef in Training, Father, and Sleuth Looking for the Secret of French Cooking by Bill Buford
3.0
I absolutely loved Buford's previous book about kitchens, Heat. I've read it several times, and think of it as a comfort read, something friendly and inspiring, one man's obsession. I remember the ending of that book considering France and French cooking. Dirt is that book, considering France and its Frenchness, with Buford cooking at a professional level yet also remaining a kind of journalist.
Yet, at the same time, Dirt lacks clarity as a tale of Bill's time in France, the timeline is jumbled, sections are elided over. Dirt reads more as memoir than journalism, and at the same time, more maudlin. I'm less in love with any of the people that Bill meets, I feel like his observations are so personal and yet do not expand to the universal. Bill feels behind the times in strange ways, betraying some of the privilege that he lives with: a white guy who fits in Lyon, who can become part of the kitchen. He acknowledges his privilege to some degree, and seems hesitant to call out the fact that he was bullied for being old in a kitchen by younger men.
The book is melancholy, exploring and acknowledging the spirit of French cooking, and the ways that it is handed down from generation to generation, exploring the current handoff from Bocuse to Boulud, and concerned about the death of a kind of Frenchness, but it's all about the old guys. There's not the exploration of the people taking over, the stewardship, or even the lack thereof. There's a few implied remarks about the harm of industrial farming, but Michael Pollan and many others have explored that angle so very thoroughly. I just feel like there's something missing here, and even the title: why is it called Dirt? Heat made a kind of sense, but Dirt, speaking to a kind of place, seems less emphasized than it should have been.
The are genuine good chapters here, and Buford remains as elegant as ever writing down the practicalities of cooking as a well-intentioned novice in the kitchen, and connecting the historical dots between cultures, but much of the memoir pieces felt underwritten in a kind of way. Buford sets up some conversations/tensions with with his wife that never come to pass on the page. I wanted more of her, more of their journey! It's good, I am just disappointed.
Yet, at the same time, Dirt lacks clarity as a tale of Bill's time in France, the timeline is jumbled, sections are elided over. Dirt reads more as memoir than journalism, and at the same time, more maudlin. I'm less in love with any of the people that Bill meets, I feel like his observations are so personal and yet do not expand to the universal. Bill feels behind the times in strange ways, betraying some of the privilege that he lives with: a white guy who fits in Lyon, who can become part of the kitchen. He acknowledges his privilege to some degree, and seems hesitant to call out the fact that he was bullied for being old in a kitchen by younger men.
The book is melancholy, exploring and acknowledging the spirit of French cooking, and the ways that it is handed down from generation to generation, exploring the current handoff from Bocuse to Boulud, and concerned about the death of a kind of Frenchness, but it's all about the old guys. There's not the exploration of the people taking over, the stewardship, or even the lack thereof. There's a few implied remarks about the harm of industrial farming, but Michael Pollan and many others have explored that angle so very thoroughly. I just feel like there's something missing here, and even the title: why is it called Dirt? Heat made a kind of sense, but Dirt, speaking to a kind of place, seems less emphasized than it should have been.
The are genuine good chapters here, and Buford remains as elegant as ever writing down the practicalities of cooking as a well-intentioned novice in the kitchen, and connecting the historical dots between cultures, but much of the memoir pieces felt underwritten in a kind of way. Buford sets up some conversations/tensions with with his wife that never come to pass on the page. I wanted more of her, more of their journey! It's good, I am just disappointed.