France’s greatest food critic is dying, after a lifetime in single-minded pursuit of sensual delights. But as Pierre Arthens lies on his death bed, he is tormented by an inability to recall the most delicious food ever to pass his lips, which he ate long before becoming a critic. Desperate to taste it one more time, he looks back over the years to see if he can pin down the elusive dish. Revealing far more than his love of great food, the narration by this larger-than-life individual alternates with the voices of those closest to him and their own experiences of the man.

Muriel Barbery is a teacher of philosophy, and philosophical themes are woven throughout The Gourmet, which was translated from the French by Alison Anderson. Barbery’s gifts as an evocative storyteller are put to mouth-watering use in this voluptuous and poignant meditation on food and its deeper significance in our lives. The Elegance of the Hedgehog has recently been made into a film, The Hedgehog, and received widespread praise from the critics, as well as selling over 2.5 million copies.

Here is an extract from The Gourmet:

The Man of Property

Rue de Grenelle, the Bedroom

If I go back to my earliest memories, I find that I have always liked eating. I cannot pinpoint exactly my first gastronomic ecstasies, but there is no doubt as to the identity of first preferred cook: my own grandmother. On the menu for celebrations there was meat in gravy, potatoes in gravy, and the wherewithal to mop up all that gravy. I never knew, subsequently, whether it was my childhood or the stews themselves that I was unable to re-experience, but never again have I sampled as fervently (I am a specialist in that oxymoron) as at my grandmother’s table the likes of those potatoes: bursting with gravy, delectable little sponges. Might the forgotten taste throbbing in my breast be hidden somewhere in there? Might it suffice to ask Anna to let a few tubers marinate in the juices of a good traditional coq au vin? Alas, I know only too well that it would not. I know that what I am searching for is something that has always eluded my talents, my memory, my consideration. Extravagant pots-au-feu, chicken chasseur to make one faint, dizzying coqs au vin, astounding blanquettes – you have all been the companions of my carnivorous and saucy childhood. I cherish you, amiable casseroles with your fragrance of game – but you are not what I am seeking at this moment.

Despite those early, always faithful, love affairs, in later years my tastes turned to other culinary destinations, and with the additional delight occasioned by the certainty of my own eclecticism, my love of stew came to be replaced by the urgent call of more austere sensations. The soft, delicate touch on the palate of one’s first sushi no longer holds any secrets for me, and I bless the day my tongue discovered the intoxicating, almost erotic, velvet-smooth caress of an oyster slipping in after a chunk of bread smeared with salted butter. I have dissected the magical delicacy of the oyster with such brilliance and finesse that the divine mouthful has become a religious act for all. Between these two extremes – the rich warmth of a daube and the clean crystal of shellfish – I have covered the entire range of culinary art, for I am an encyclopedic aesthete who is always one dish ahead of the game – but always one heart behind.

Here are some questions to think about when reading and discussing The Gourmet:

• What is the connection between taste and memory in the novel?
• Is the book ‘typically’ French? Would it have been different if written by an English author?
• The author is a philosopher. What philosophical questions does the book evoke?
• What is the effect of having several narrators?

This piece first appeared in Booktime Magazine, and was written by Ruth Hunter.

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