I'm a French chef. I've been living and working in the U. S. for 20 years. But I carry the absence of my country's food and its way of life like an open wound that refuses to heal. Still, I've been here long enough to have noticed that things have been getting weird. I see it in my kitchen, order after order. In restaurants, plate by plate, and at the supermarket, aisle by aisle. What the hell happened to food?Before: a dish.
Today, it has become an ideological statement. A concept, a tribe. We count calories, scan ingredients, debate ethics, track macros, and photograph our meals. That's why I wrote this book not only from my kitchen but also as a customer. This is not a recipe book or a food guide; I won't preach anything. I don't have to. Food says more about us than any speech ever could, and cravings tell far more than appetite ever will. This is about what we order, what we eat, and, above all, what we've lost without even noticing.
About what we no longer dare to serve, say, or eat. About restaurants, grocery stores, family tables, food trends, old recipes, and new obsessions. And all the bullshit we pile on top of food. The foam. The morality. The panic. It's a journey between two worlds. Two ways of eating. Two ways of living. On one side, traditional cooking gets deboned by apps; we order in three clicks what we no longer want to cook.
We eat while driving, while working, while chasing time. On the other side, food lovers who do grocery shopping like a pilgrimage and find each other at a table around a dish in sauce, like around a compass. In between, customers who are torn between quinoa and beef bourguignon. Stuck between their conscience and their stomach. Between vice and virtue. This is a love letter to dining rooms that vibrate and kitchens that catch fire; bistros, brasseries, and local dives where servers and cooks hold the line, entrenched in their craft. The culinary tale of a heretic junky hooked on baguette, butter, cheese, and recipes that rattle the soul, who doesn't recognize his job anymore.
Because the more we have tools to simplify our lives, the more we complicate the simple things. And usually food ends up being the victim of this muffled but merciless war between the butter nostalgics and the gluten-free converts. An unapologetic chronicle, seasoned with tenderness, sarcasm, and venom. Because they're part of the taste.
I'm a French chef. I've been living and working in the U. S. for 20 years. But I carry the absence of my country's food and its way of life like an open wound that refuses to heal. Still, I've been here long enough to have noticed that things have been getting weird. I see it in my kitchen, order after order. In restaurants, plate by plate, and at the supermarket, aisle by aisle. What the hell happened to food?Before: a dish.
Today, it has become an ideological statement. A concept, a tribe. We count calories, scan ingredients, debate ethics, track macros, and photograph our meals. That's why I wrote this book not only from my kitchen but also as a customer. This is not a recipe book or a food guide; I won't preach anything. I don't have to. Food says more about us than any speech ever could, and cravings tell far more than appetite ever will. This is about what we order, what we eat, and, above all, what we've lost without even noticing.
About what we no longer dare to serve, say, or eat. About restaurants, grocery stores, family tables, food trends, old recipes, and new obsessions. And all the bullshit we pile on top of food. The foam. The morality. The panic. It's a journey between two worlds. Two ways of eating. Two ways of living. On one side, traditional cooking gets deboned by apps; we order in three clicks what we no longer want to cook.
We eat while driving, while working, while chasing time. On the other side, food lovers who do grocery shopping like a pilgrimage and find each other at a table around a dish in sauce, like around a compass. In between, customers who are torn between quinoa and beef bourguignon. Stuck between their conscience and their stomach. Between vice and virtue. This is a love letter to dining rooms that vibrate and kitchens that catch fire; bistros, brasseries, and local dives where servers and cooks hold the line, entrenched in their craft. The culinary tale of a heretic junky hooked on baguette, butter, cheese, and recipes that rattle the soul, who doesn't recognize his job anymore.
Because the more we have tools to simplify our lives, the more we complicate the simple things. And usually food ends up being the victim of this muffled but merciless war between the butter nostalgics and the gluten-free converts. An unapologetic chronicle, seasoned with tenderness, sarcasm, and venom. Because they're part of the taste.