Disclaimer: The folks at Holt send me review copies. I don’t always love the books, but I love getting them.
I don’t know what millefeuille is. Or veloute. Or charcroute. This tells you how much I know about fancy cooking. I wouldn’t go out of my way to eat that weird food that’s made by chemistry – foams and dry ice and vacuum sealing and the like don’t interest me, not enough to pay for them, that’s for sure. But I love to cook and, as the scale will confirm, I also love to eat. So it was with a hefty portion of envy that I digested Jay Rayner’s new book The Man Who Ate the World: In Search of the Perfect Dinner
I think I’d like Jay Rayner. Like Anthony Bourdain, he’s acutely aware of the good fortune he has in his line of work. He eats dinner and gets paid to do so. But he’s got none of Bourdain’s macho edge. There’s a funny scene in the book where Rayner and Bourdain are both atÂ Tokyo’s infamous fish market, and Rayner makes Bourdain’s crew out for something closely resembling a motorcycle gang. But that’s not what the book is about.