I'm a French chef. Exiled in the United States for twenty years. I did not say expatriated for a reason. I watch my country from a distance and carry the absence like an open wound that refuses to heal. Here, I'm also a restaurant customer. I do my grocery shopping like everyone else. And I watch this world change-aisle by aisle, plate by plate.
A republic isn't built only in parliament, congress, or senate-but at the counter, at the table, and in a kitchen.
That's why this book wasn't written from a kitchen but while sitting at a restaurant table. It talks about what we order, what we eat, and above all-what we've lost without even noticing.
A journey between two worlds. Two countries. Two ways of eating. Two ways of living.
On one side: a world where traditional cooking gets deboned by apps, where you order in three clicks what you no longer want to cook. A world where you eat while driving, while working, while chasing time.
On the other: bistros, brasseries, neighborhood caf s, and old-school restaurants. Dining rooms that vibrate, kitchens that catch fire, servers hanging on, and cooks entrenched behind their stoves. And customers, torn between quinoa and beef bourguignon.
A muffled but merciless war between the butter nostalgics and the gluten-free converts.
This book is also about the dishes that tell a story about an era.
About what we no longer dare serve or say. Food lovers looking for comfort on a plate and craftsmen holding the line.
Those who do their grocery shopping like a pilgrimage and find each other at a table, around a dish in sauce, like around a compass.
A culinary tale for those who love to eat, who know that food says more about us than any speech ever could.
A love letter to a cuisine that still has flavor.
Seasoned, as always, with sarcasm and venom.
Because they're part of the taste.
I'm not looking for either disciples, or followers.
I'm looking for guests.