Foot in the mouth

Journalist Richard C Morais' story of an Indian chef in Paris tries to show that India has arrived but does so in a contrived manner

Journalist Richard C Morais' story of an Indian chef in Paris tries to show that India has arrived but does so in a contrived manner

The Hundred-Foot Journey
Richard C Morais
Harper Collins
Price: Rs. 295
Rating 2/5

This book will be read because

It looks so pretty. They did tell us never to judge a book by its cover, but we're going to find it hard to resist this attractive-looking, brightly-coloured slim hardback with its evocative cover design and cutely-laid-out title. Even the bookshops are displaying it proudly.

Food is always flavour of the month. It's the story of a chef the young Hassan Haji from Mumbai u2014 who moves to London and then the French countryside with his family, before settling and flourishing in Paris. There are descriptions of all types of food something that's always fun to read. If you want Indian, consider the yogurt-marinated skewered lamb liver, sprinkled with crunchy pine nuts; if not, check the salad of Belgium endive garnished with chunks of Norwegian smoked lamb and quails' eggs.

Did you know that in 1871, the year of the Prussian siege when starving Parisians survived by eating dogs, cats and rats, the Larousse Gastronomique recommended the skinning and de-gutting of rats found in wine cellars?

So much more flavourful. It recommended rubbing the rat in olive oil and crushed shallots, grilling it over a wood fire made from smashed wine barrels, and serving it with Bordelaise sauce delicieux, as they say.

There are also some truly exotic "postmodern" concoctions which involve the total reduction of ingredients, almost to a molecular level, before reassembling an odd mixture of fused foodstuffs into entirely new creations there's one which uses Fishermen's Friend lozenges, and a description of a faux pasta constructed entirely of Gruyere cheese and Reine des Reinettes apples.

The author is Senior Editor of the fabled Forbes magazine, with a brief that allows him to write on any subject he chooses and to travel anywhere in the world. Wow! This guy must be good. And it's true he does use some lovely words u2014 the dabbawalas' haath-gaadi he calls a "trundle-cart", which well describes the way our heroic 6-sigma conquerors locomote behind it.

Funny, though, that the Bombay he's described in some detailu00a0is one so awkward.

In the interval 1975-1989 he refers to Bombay Times u2014 which never existed then. Standing on the edge of his slum, Hassan Haji catches a glimpse of two young girls from a different world sitting in their balcony sipping papaya juice. I mean, from that distance how would anyone know it was juice of papaya and not a much more likely fruit of similar colour?

Some of the names are rather odd too a cook from Kerala is apparently called Bappu (rather than Anandan or Suresh or John) and one of Hassan's younger brothers is called Pranay. (Really?!)

So you won't be surprised to hear that it was the half day he spent in the kitchens of Khyber that gave Richard C Morais his deep insight into Indian cooking. Interesting that a journalist writing a book rooted in India, and a close friend of the late genius filmmaker Ismail Merchant, wouldn't know a single local who could have cauterized these little warts at manuscript stage.

It's a bit like the days when we'd read Enid Blyton and then write stories with characters called Amelia and George who spoke using expressions such as "Oh I say, these crumpets are scrumptious!" It means well and tries its best, but is highly derivative, and the sections on location in India appear contrived and lacking depth.

Anyway, yawn, it seems India has arrived: after the build-up with real-life Indians hitting big time all over the world, here's a fictional top-ranking chef who grew up in Mumbai and when he got to Paris, achieved something just about as impressive as what happened to Obama.

But before that we have a scene in which a French woman employs satyagrahi tactics, and an Indian gnashes his teeth at her audacity in using this widely-recognized India IPR against him. Incidentally: it's the hundred-foot gap between their two restaurants that gave the book its title.

It makes you wonder what happened to common sense. Here's a (presumably) hard-headed business journalist who has surely read thousands of books himself but when he wrote one, gave it a key character that disappeared halfway through. There are a few cursory references to her but no respect for the fact that readers feel awful unless they're told what happened to someone that important! Almost as bad: another key story-shaking character sneaks in fully developed u2014 and then fizzles out abruptly.

On the positive side, though, the book does give interesting glimpses into the business side of the world of haute cuisine, and the precise economic and emotional significance of the Michelin stars.

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