This is a lively read about a journalist who decides to spend a year in a top market kitchen in New York. If you are at all interested in food and restaurants, I think you'll enjoy this.

Perfect timing. This book arrived this afternoon, just after I finished Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis

Thanks dillydalley.

I am nearly finished with this one now. I noticed that one of the endorsements is from Anthony Bourdain. Sadly, he took his own life during the time that I was reading this book. Not long after that, I read this blog post from a friend of mine in England

'It seems as if a lot of successful people have died lately: Kate Spade, Anthony Bourdain, Avicii, in this year alone. People who we look up to and aspire to be, people who at least in our eyes have succeeded in scaling that greasy pinnacle, are finding despair instead of fulfilment. This is nothing new of course; success and fame have never guaranteed personal health and happiness, but according to a recent Time article, rates of suicide are up across the board. What the hell is going on?'

I have wondered the same thing myself. I am sure there are many, many factors. One thing this book illustrates clearly is the incredible pressures that chefs and kitchen hands work under, but what about society as a whole? Wesley J Smith wrote:

'What could be causing this [sharp rise in the national suicide rate]? I have my own theories: disintegrating societal cohesion, the loss of faith and the concomitant secularization of the culture — which can offer few existential comforts to the despairing — the increase in drug addiction, family dysfunction, the problems our veterans experience, and the prominence of societal nihilism.'

It seems that people need something solid to stand on, so to speak, so as not to sink under the waves of our fast-changing culture. In this book, the world-famous Tuscan butcher Dario Cecchini holds steadfastly - some would say stubbornly - to the Renaissance food traditions of his region. This seems to give him a sense of purpose, but in spite of his efforts to preserve the 'old ways', his village continues to change and modernise, to his chagrin. He is a bit like a real-life Tevye:

'A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask 'Why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous?' Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: tradition!'

Maybe Dario and Tevye are old-fashioned and out-of-touch, but 'on the other hand' (as Tevye is fond of saying), they just might be on to something. We've somehow created a society where we have a lot of personal freedom but very little sense of community. How can we get it back? Not an easy task, but I had to think of a book I read earlier this year by Philip Britts, about a farmer-poet making sense of a world gone mad. He wrote these words, about eighty years ago:

'Are we standing at the beginning of a new age of scientific development, of supersonic speeds, of atomic energy, of more and more wonderful machines? Or are we standing, unaware, at the end of the machine age, at the end of the progress of scientific power? Are we about to enter an era of greater wealth, greater luxury, greater leisure, the modern home, people emancipated from drudgery? Or has this age of power reached its climax, and will this civilization destroy itself with those forces that it has created?'

and later:

'Those who put their trust in progress reply that [the] horrors that mar our civilization are ­committed by a relative few. The average man is more enlightened, kindlier, more humane than his remoter forbears. Progress is slow, and sometimes interrupted by the backsliding of a certain race. On the whole, though, we have made great strides in education, and in the care of the mentally and physically diseased, and in our provisions for social relief. We have definitely become more social-conscious. We have…done great things in organization and collaboration.'

To this,
William Saroyan
would reply:

'What good will it do when everybody has bread, comrades, what good will it do when everybody has cake, comrades, what good will it do when everybody has everything, comrades, everything isn’t enough, comrades, and the living aren’t alive, brothers, the living are dead, brothers, even the living are not alive, brothers, and you can’t ever do anything about that.'

Which brings me back to the topic of cooking, sort of.

I expect to finish this book soon, and then it will be available to whoever is interested.

By the time you read this, I will have released this book somewhere in Inverell; probably in the vicinity of the Public Library. I found parts of this book fascinating, especially the author's informal apprenticeship to a Tuscan butcher. At other times, the writing was, it seemed, trying too hard to be funny and engaging, a bit like the worst of Patrick McManus (and I love some of his writing by the way). Maybe this reflects more on my personal taste than on the writing itself, I'm not sure. Anyhow, it was engaging enough that I finished the book, and learned a lot. Now, on to another reader in the Frosty New England High Country!