The epicure's bookshelf
Pamela Vandyke Price
Readers who eagerly anticipate the sort of waspish comments on this vintage of wine and cookery books that brings torrents of protesting letters to the Editor (referring to me as 'this person' quite often) are in for a let-down. There are too many good ones for me to give space to the bad, so I can only condemn by omission.
Wine literature is in transition. Until quite recently wine books were either very purple (and often ensanguined) prose, or very plain technical manuals. There are still many (especially across the Atlantic), who, necrophiliacly, like a leisured meander among dear dead bottles; of such, Raymond Postgate once commented that reading about wines one never had any chance of drinking was rather like reading about women of long ago — when one might be making love to a real live one. But A Wine and Food Bedside Book (David and Charles, £3) has a lot in its that's all-time gastronomy too. Claude Morny has compiled this selection from the period when the magazine was edited by Andre Simon — 1930-62 — and it will not only be the perfect 'hostess present,' but could be comforting reading for the solitary dinerout when the fare is ever so regrettably garni and the drink un peu reminiscent of whatever beverage is evoked by the AOC Cote de Cheam.
I approached H. W. Yoxall's The Enjoyment of Wine (Michael Joseph, £2.50) with great caution. Not every day does the whirligig of time deliver one's former chief's prose into one's reviewing claws. In fact a friend's book is a test of one's honesty and affections — suppose it isn't as good as one wishes it were? And this author is definitely trad in style and in tastes, so that his account of his experience of wine might have been nostalgic, his advice pontifical, his opinions infuriating. I can only say that I read it throughout a sleepless night with enjoyment that, with dawn, became unqualified admiration — and some embarrassement at the flattering references to myself. Of writings on wine, this urbane and delectably witty stylist remarks: 'lone has failed to provide some new information, and to stimulate thought if only through disagreement." This might be said of every page of his own book. Facts are rigidly separated from personal preferences, the anecdotes are such as to make the reader long for the writer's company, the courteous and detailed counsel makes much of other wine writing seem utterly second-rate. Who else has written so entertainingly yet so profoundly about the types of dessert wines with fine fruit, for example? Dear Harry, the only firm advice you ever gave me was 'Avoid the chi-chi,' and I fear you will — to yourself — wince at even these comments. But I do not think, cher et sage patron d'autrefois, that you have ever written anything better, both in wisdom and masterliness of prose. I only hope that, some day, I may write a book one half as good as this.
For the specialist, there is a very elegantly produced book on Sherry, by Manuel M. Gonzalez Gordon (Cassell, £4.50). This masterwork was first published in 1948 and now, in translation, it has been brought thoroughly up to date. The history, viticulture, viniculture, medical aspects of, cooperage for, brandy added to and indeed every single aspect of one of the world's great wines are written about in an unpretentious but impressively authoritative way. The beginner can enjoy this book, the experienced will revere it. With Patrick Forbes's book on Champagne, it is one of the essentials for the library of the serious lover of wine.
The thing I would most aggressively criticise about A. D. Francis's book is its title — The Wine Trade (A. & C. Black, £.25). It is not a history of the British wine trade at all, even though it is within a series entitled Merchant Adventurers,' but is a scholarly and interesting account of certain wines coming into Britain from the sixteenth century up to the nineteenth century. "With the end of the preference given to port and with the advent of the modern scene we can take farewell of the wine trade,” says the author, formerly Consul-General at Oporto, whose impressively specialised knowledge of the trade in fortified wines within the UK makes this an original contribution to wine literature. But the wine trade up to the sixteenth century gets a mere -twenty-four pages — which makes the title utterly silly. The bibliography shows exactly where the author's interests lie and where the gaps are — and one doesn't get the impression that he actually enjoys drinking, either. But the book is important and a considerable achievement as regards some of the research.
When I received The Margaret Powell Cookery Book (Pan, 35p) I was prepared to be very nasty indeed about it. Such books as I have read by this lady and such radio pronouncements as I have heard by her have made me wonder why anyone ever engaged her at all — she seems to have hated every single one of her employers and the chip on her shoulder remainds me of the worst excesses of the officials of the TUC. When I have been able to afford anyone to look after me or work with me, I have been so loved and pampered that Mrs Powell's attitude is incomprehensible to me. (Did she, one is wickedly tempted to wonder, get the bosses she deserved,?) But this is a very good cookery book indeed, deserving a hard cover presentation with more reminiscences — as a social document, these are valuable, as Practical help to the cook, even more so. Here is the truly experienced cook, at the elbow of the beginner, kindly, sometimes ambitious, sometimes economical, always unhurriedly competent. If the author could smile in her mind on the human race the way she smiles behind her recipes — some of which are in the great traditions of British cookery, deserving to be saved before the plastic food epoch sets in — she would be a notable figure in contemporary gastronomy. Because cooking does involve love. More, please Mrs Powell — anyone Who cooks as well as you do should be a benevolent goddess.
Molly Harrison's The Kitchen in History (Osprey, £3.75) is a love of a book, which Will jostle Dorothy Hartley on the shelves of the serious gastronome. For twenty-four Years the writer was Curator of the Geffrey Museum, and the way she tackles What could have been a merely scholarly survey is first-rate — she is involved with her subject, as witness the dedication to her daughter — "who likes to have her mother as kitchen-maid." Here is the passion of the obsessional, kindling enthusiasm in her readers. Anyone who enjoys the pleasures of everyday life must have this book.
Family Cook, by Susan Campbell and Caroline Conran (Macmillan, £2.50), is beautifully produced and remarkable value at the •price. The authors say that it is a Continuation of Poor Cook, "which was Written for people whose love of cooking and eating was deeper than their pockets • . . there is a little more emphasis on party food, because everybody who has a family has celebrations of one kind or another." Cookery books being like wines, one cannot like all, though one may admire, and some are outside the context of one's needs. As one who has no family — and Who always wanted to get away from it When I had — I admit that neither this book nor its predecessor is my scene '; I find them folksy and suggestive of the Young executive's wife trying to out-Good Housekeeping her husband's opposite number in the firm when she entertains in the garden suburb or trendily-decored flat. But there are those who can't get ' with ' Elizabeth David, either. This book would certainly make a very good present and the authors both love good food and care about making other people — even their families — love it too. I hope •they w,on't hate me too much.
The Pleasure of Your Company, by Jean Latham (A. & C. Black, £3.25), is sub-titled a history of manners and meals,' which is enticing. Unfortunately, the author, who has previously written about antiques, does not seem to be really well-versed in ?astronomy, practical or historical. The illustrations are delightful, the extracts c°Plous, the scholarship, alas, •together With the style, weak. This could be a pleasant present — but it is essentially a chat book,' and the real work on this fascinating subject has yet to be written.
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