In a chapter celebrating a popular culture unfortunately prejudice or prevalence given to one over any of the others.
“ignored by an elitist French Republic,” Francis Chevrier
exposes the longstanding paradox inherent to the concept
of gastronomy and denounces in no ambiguous terms the
cultural and political stakes behind such a prestigious rec-
ognition. Indeed, because of the hierarchical organization
of table matters, the elaborate rituals, the disciples of haute
cuisine versus the marginalized figures of not so hot cuisine,
the term “gastronomy” still too often conveys an elitist qual-
ity. And yet, suffering from its classicist past with only the
so-called lower senses of taste and smell to appreciate it,
gastronomy never received the much-deserved distinction
reserved instead for officially recognized art forms such as
music and painting. Rather, for Chevrier the semantic shift
from “gastronomy” to “meal” underscores the inclusiveness
as well as the federating potential inherent to food practices,
while providing a legitimate attempt at democratization
(p.56). To the occasional concern that these preoccupations
might seem a bit futile in the current context of world crisis,
he argues on the contrary that conviviality and generosity
at the table can in fact provide urgently needed solutions.
Since unesco’s prized seal of approval comes with the
requirement “that safeguarding measures are elaborated
that may protect and promote the element,” strong state-
sanctioned programs for the promotion of gastronomic
heritage through visible and committed cultural policies are
expected. Such recommended programs of action include
five specific axes: education of children, valorization of
gastronomic heritage in the media, creation of a national
center for gastronomy, revitalization of scientific research,
and international cooperation.
For such food policies to be effective, Chevrier insists,
they must clearly depart from the narrow, classicist vision
of Beaux-Arts and reach instead for a rehabilitation of all
art forms, especially those spontaneously inscribed within
everyday life (p.87). Although much remains to be done
before France reaches true gastronomic democracy, Francis
Chevrier nonetheless points to a few encouraging signs,
from the appointment of a special advisor to gastronomic
affairs at the Ministry of Culture (following the model
used in film and theater), to high-school classes taught by
renowned chefs and designed to awaken young palates.
The crucial point in Chevrier’s argument is that once
gastronomies are reconsidered in terms of their plural-
ity—with haute cuisine and its court-inherited traditions
serving as only one element alongside popular, family, and
modest cooking; local and ethnic cuisines; vegetarianism;
or street food—these culturally marked culinary expressions
can then exist together and inspire each other without any
Also, understood in terms of conviviality as an art of living,
the gastronomic meal reclaims its potential across societ-
ies to generate and reinforce rich and sustainable social
interactions at the local, national, and global levels, with
increased awareness of the treatment of animals and labor-
ers involved in the production of what we eat.
For food specialists and curious amateurs alike (each
with reading knowledge of French), Francis Chevrier’s
chronicles of the inscription of the French gastronomic
meal on unesco’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage
provide the visionary framework required for coherent and
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more compassionate food politics just as a nouvelle cuisine
for the twenty-first century is being reimagined.
—Philippe C. Dubois, Bucknell University
Pasta by Design
George L. Legendre
New York: Thames & Hudson, 2011
208 pp.  Illustrations.  $ 29.95 (cloth)
Pasta by Design does not contain a single recipe. On first
glance, this design-based typology of pasta appears to be a
mathematically inclined reference that makes an ideal gift
at holiday time. Look a little deeper, however, and you’ll
find an exciting cookbook.
George L. Legendre, a designer and principal of the
London architecture firm ijp, describes his classification
method as “inspired by the science of phylogeny (the study
of relatedness among groups of natural forms)” (p.9). His
book charts ninety-two unique forms of pasta, including,
w i nte r 2 012
but not at all limited to, the spaghetti and rigatoni found on
American supermarket shelves. They are divided based on
a strict morphology: edges (smooth or crenellated); surface
(smooth or striated); cross-section (solid, hollow, or semi-
open); and longitudinal profile (twisted, helicoidal, pinched, 127
or bunched).
gastronomica
Each spread highlights one type of pasta, from acini to
ziti, with a spare, beautiful photograph by Stefano Graziani;
concise, descriptive text; formal taxonomy; mathematical
equations expressing the shape; and three-dimensional and
two-dimensional drawings of the form. At the bottom we
find overall dimensions and cooking time. The generally
well-designed book also includes an extremely detailed
foldout diagram mapping the family tree. More helpful to
many readers will be a list of over three hundred types of
pasta sorted by families: gnocchi; pasta corta; pasta lunga;
 pasta ripiena; and pastine minute. These elements combine
to create a technical, aesthetic, and historical appreciation
of what Paola Antonelli, Senior Curator at the Museum of
Modern Art, calls in her foreword “a delicious example of
great design” (p.7).
We learn that Colonne Pompeii (twisted longitudinal
profile) are named for the architectural element that they
resemble—the columns of Pompeii—and are best served
with pine nuts and basil. At 300 millimeters (just under a
foot long), they are the longest pasta profiled. In the tiny
pasta family, acini di pepe (peppercorns) are the smallest.
Like many in their family, they are often served in soups.
The super-slim (one millimeter in diameter) capellini—or
thin hair—can also be used in a broth but are sometimes
found in the pasta-based dessert torta ricciolina, made with
lemons and almonds. With their straight profile and smooth
surfaces and edges, they take just two minutes to cook in
salted boiling water. Gigli (lilies), belonging to the short
pasta family, have a more complex helicoidal profile, and
like other helicoidal and bunched pastas, their bell shape
holds thick, meat-based sauces well. Many pastas with cren-
ellated edges (created using a fluted pasta wheel) belong
to the filled pasta family, including the well-known ravioli,
likely derived from the Italian verb “to wrap,” or possibly
the word for “turnip.” Finally, I was pleased to rediscover
trofie, part of the gnocchi or dumpling family, which I had
al pesto during a wonderful dinner on the Ligurian coast
many years ago.
Much like Michael Ruhlman’s book Ratio, which
provides weight-based ratios of key ingredients for different
categories of cooking, the resulting categorization offers
general rules while leaving the details open to personal taste
or experimentation. It is this formal inventory that frees the
w i nte r 2 012
reader to create his or her own recipes with the magical
food made from durum-wheat flour and water.
—Denise Ramzy, Brooklyn, ny
128
gastronomica
Killer à la Carte
Gerry Galvin
Aille, Inverin, County Galway, Ireland: Doire Press, 2011
238 pp.  £ 13.00 (paper)
What does Gerry Galvin have against restaurant critics?
Admittedly, fiction rarely treats critics with respect—they
are usually depicted as stupid, fat, mean-spirited, unethical,
and/or egotistical. But the author of this London-based culi-
nary thriller knows better. Galvin has been a chef, so he’s
had firsthand experience with how restaurant critics work.
What’s more, he has certainly been treated well by critics. A
dozen years ago, when he closed his last restaurant, Galvin
was the highly acclaimed chef/owner of a seventeenth-
century Irish mansion near Galway. He had been called
“the father of modern Irish cooking.” He was voted Ireland’s
chef of the year. Twice.
Even now the Internet preserves reviews touting
Galvin’s risotto of Connemara lamb, duck with lentil stew,
and hot seafood gateau with wild garlic sauce, promising
that dinner at his restaurant would be “relished and remem-
bered.” One went so far as to warn that dinner by Galvin
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could “leave one almost dangerously surfeited with delight.”
This multitalented chef had already written two cook-
books by the time he left the kitchen, and since then he has
published poetry. He’s a musician, with several albums to
be found on the Internet. He’s a photographer. He writes a
column for an organic food magazine.
If anybody were going to depict a restaurant critic fairly
and sympathetically, you’d think Gerry Galvin would.
Nope. The lead character in Galvin’s culinary thriller
is James Livingston Gall, a restaurant critic. He is also a
serial killer.
Is this a novel of revenge?
One need not read past the book’s first page to wonder
what kind of reviews have been sticking in Galvin’s craw
all these years. James is not a guy you’d want to invite for
dinner, or even read about while you’re eating dinner.
Restaurateurs hate his guts, “They feared him and fawned”
(p.7). Galvin tells of James’s early cooking experiments,
serving his mother a stray dog stewed with prunes and
Riesling. Yet, as objectionable as Galvin made James, the
author vowed he went easy on the critic. “His was a
formidable presence, not your caricature, corpulent, sage-
gone-to-seed critic” (p.8). Galvin even made him handsome.
Nor did Galvin single out James to vilify. Killer à la
Carte has hardly a character who comes off better. Even
chef Gunter Gruber is introduced wearing chef’s whites
“emblazoned in red and gold where his heart should be” (p.22).
Galvin apparently retired from the kitchen not a
moment too soon. Throughout this thriller the food itself
suffers under punishing prose. It may be luxurious—lobster,
caviar—but it is likely to be used as weaponry. A reader
expects a poisoning or two in a culinary mystery. Here,
though, violence perfumes the air. The recipe for bouilla-
baisse requires “meticulous selection of the dead and dying.”
The fish have been “decapitated,” when they were “so fresh
that they still flapped in death spasms.” The eels writhe in
layers of slime, the filleting knife is “mercilessly sharp” (p.63).