Before the advent of the food network, before the glut of celebrity chefs, before glam cook books, there was Marco Pierre White. Know publicly as the first ‘rock star’ chef, Mr. White was far more.
As a chef, Mr. White was hell bent on becoming Englands finest chef and for intents and purposes he was sucessful. He was the first and youngest chef to ever win three Michlin stars and 5 forks. By all counts, he was a culinary success. Everyone raved about his food. Almost every resturant he touched turned to gold. He went from a working class kid, to the darling child of the upper class.
Along the way he also became an asshole.
I have to give credit where credit is due. He speaks openly about his temper and about the way he treated the people who worked with him. It is clear from the start that working with him was never a bowl of roses. Perhapse this openess is what left a sour taste in my mouth. In many regards, The Devil In The Kitchen, feels very much like a self indulgent excerise; an attempt to lessen some of the bad behaviour by expsoing it to the harsh light of day.
While I marveled at some of the culinary aspects of this book, I quickly found my self questioning Mr. White. Why does being a chef give you the right to treat people poorly? At the end of the day, an interesting read. Certianly a candid look at a talented chef who redefined modern cuisine. There are several references to some of todays, well known, chefs that are certainly worth reading. For example:
‘I had devised a way of earning a staggering amount of money. I paid myself $400 a week, which was a fortune for a chef then, and even by today’s standards would be good money for a pub chef. That left me with $100 from the budget, so I hired a sous chef who was about my age, an American lad called Mario Batali.’
‘Women who had seen my picture in the papers, or observed my mug on the telly, felt compelled to raid their drawers and send me explicit letters along with their knickers. Chefs aren’t supposed to to receive knickers in the post, no matter how many Michelin stars they’ve won.. I used auction the knickers in the kitchen before sercie. I’d start bidding at a pound and in variably it was the young Gordon Ramsay, emotionally battered and bruised by my bollockings, who outbid the others and ended up with these mementos – perfumed, lacy souvenirs…’
All in all a good read, kind of a drag, but part of our culinary heritage (?).