Please give a hearty welcome to our newest reviewer, Jenny Linford. Jenny is a professional food writer, and we are sure you will enjoy her debut review…

As the title suggests, this book is Michael Booth’s autobiographical account of abandoning the TV cooks he once adored and their simple, accessible dishes in order to embrace ‘proper’ professional cooking. A self-taught foodie, Booth finds himself lamenting his amateurism in the kitchen and yearning for more demanding fare. For centuries the British have had an inferiority complex when it comes to French cuisine, having, so to speak, a ‘pomme frite’ on our shoulder. The skilled French chef is an iconic figure in British culture, from Aunt Dahlia’s incomparable chef, Anatole, in P.G. Wodehouse’s comic novels to Raymond Blanc passing judgment on would-be restauteurs in the TV series The Restaurant. It is in this tradition, therefore, that Michael Booth (with family in tow) heads to France, naturellement, to do a course at that bastion of culinary tradition, the revered Cordon Bleu cookery school in Paris.

The book charts Booth’s trials and tribulations in France, from being ignored by snooty Parisian market stall-holders to failing to find the bargain bistro lunch of his daydreams. What sounds like a foodie fantasty – studying Cordon Bleu cookery in Paris – proves to be a rather more demanding and complex experience. During his time at the school, Booth is faced with moody chefs, filthy larders, a lack of basic equipment and even mice, which given the high cost of the course does seem a bit much. In contrast to chef Anthony Bourdain’s testosterone-fuelled take on food in Kitchen Confidential, to which this book has been compared, Booth cheerfully – and in a very English way – opts for open wimpiness, ‘fessing up to his anxieties about everything from the cost of the course to having to compete with dauntingly competent fellow students.

Jokily written throughout, with several digs at French chauvinism en-route, the book is at its most endearing when charting Booth’s culinary inadequacies and mistakes. The Cordon Bleu exams bring a farcical element to the fore; it’s hard to dislike a narrator who admits failing to add an essential 50ml of cream to his Blanquette de veau during his exam,

It’s a tribute to Booth’s stamina that he copes with both the gruelling realities of the course and then working in a professional Parisian restaurant kitchen. There is no denying the hard work required, though you do find yourself wondering quite why in the 21st century would-be cooks need to learn such arcane knowledge as vegetable turning or making a chicken ballotine. Alongside such rarified information, however, Booth discovers real, practical food skills which do transform his cookery. Cheekily, having declared early on his view that ‘recipes don’t work’, Booth even offers a sprinkling of his own recipes to garnish the book. A light read, this is an entertaining soufflé of a book, perfect holiday fodder for Francophile foodies.

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