Paper Palate

Within culinary circles, The Larousse Gastronomique occupies the same position that the Oxford Dictionary does for the literary. It is the reference for all matters of Western European cookery, centuries of culinary knowledge codified by the likes of Careme and Escoffier into a volume that approaches subject matter like Bechamel and legumes with near OCD levels of comprehension and precision. It is the argument settler. Whenever my girlfriend and I have a question about the difference between, say, demerara sugar and regular brown sugar, we consult the Larousse. If I ever wonder about the cutoff age between lamb and mutton, I’m sure that I’ll find the answer somewhere in the hefty 1360 pages of the Larousse.

Yet, strangely enough, I’ve rarely ever followed a recipe from the book. Part of this is due to the format of the Larousse. It aims at conveying an intense density of information, and so the recipes are extremely concise; frequently no more than one paragraph detailing major steps. You get the lay of the land, but the book leaves it to you to figure the rest out on your own. The Larousse also tends towards the old school in its ingredient selection and prep recommendations. There are no accomodations for a busy professional life here, and in the Larousse world, everyone has ready access to foie gras and shaved truffles.

Now, possibly egged on by Phaidon’s publication of the Silver Spoon, Random House has just released a condensed boxed set, The Larousse Gastronomique Recipe Collection . I’ve had the occasion to peruse one recently, and I can’t say if I’d want to get the book quite yet. While the new format lends itself to longer form recipes that provide more detail and guidance, addressing its predecessor’s shortcomings on space, I kind of miss the nerdy minutiae that one can find in the regular volume. I’m also not too keen on the widened culinary scope. I’d trust the Larousse for defining a proper recipe for Sole Meuniere, but I wouldn’t be quite so confident with their Jambalaya. Finally, while the harried, non-food professional part of me celebrates the editors attempts to streamline their recipes, the food geek part wants to point out that the appeal of the old Larousse was that it was a reminder of a previous age that we might sometimes revisit on a leisurely, indulgent weekend; and it would be nice to have a reference that highlights that.

But, then, that’s just based on first impressions. I might be wrong, and a later review will reveal that it is indeed a useful reference that perhaps (miraculously) suggests a coq au vin recipe that can actually be completed in less than a whole day, but still leaves space for the classic preparation and the glories that accompanies it. For now, I’ll stick with the regular reference and its pithy recipes, flawed as they maybe but nonetheless still entertaining to read on a Sunday morning.