I read a lot.  My new year’s resolution last year was to read a book a week, and while I didn’t quite make that goal, I ended up doing a book every two weeks instead (27 books for the year), which I felt was a pretty decent showing.  From girls with dragon tattoos to Saudi princesses; from wives with husbands who time-travel to the history of Mormon fundamentalism – I read about a lot of interesting and entertaining things last year, to say the least.  My very last book of 2010, however, turned out to be my very favorite.  I’ve always been a save-the-best-for-last kind of person; from deciding how to tackle my weekend to-do lists to how I chose to eat my dinner as a kid growing up, making myself wait for the best part of whatever it is I’m doing is one of those funny human tendencies to which I have always  subscribed.

I guess, subconsciously, the same goes for my choice in books.

Every once in a while, a book comes along that makes you want to forget about everything else that is nagging and pulling at you in life, to just read it.  I love it when I get one of those.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty easily entertained and I usually enjoy most things that I choose to read but let’s be honest, not everything can be SUPER special, all the time.  So, I was wandering my way through the stacks in a bookstore in the Auckland, NZ airport when I caught sight of a beautiful book, with a comment by Anthony Bourdain on the cover.  Naturally, my interest was piqued.

“Outstanding! Easily the best novel set in the world of cooking ever- and absolutely thrilling from beginning to end,” – Anthony Bourdain

How perfect is that? Definitely made me want to read it – immediately.  I promptly deposited the Jodi Picoult book that I’d intended to buy (never read her, wanted to see what the fuss was about) and promptly purchased The Hundred Foot Journey instead.  Thank you Auckland airport!  So what is the book about? What is it NOT about, may be the more operative question here.  Love, passion, heartbreak, disappointment, drive, intimidation, competition, travel, cultural boundaries, sights, smells, sounds and most of all, tastes.  Don’t take it from me, though:

“With his debut novel, longtime Forbes magazine correspondent Morais delves into a rich, imagery-filled culinary world that begins in Bombay and ends in Paris, tracing the career of Hassan Haji as he becomes a famed Parisian chef. Narrated by Hassan, the story begins with his grandfather starting a lowly restaurant in Bombay on the eve of WWII, which his father later inherits. But when tragedy strikes and Hassan’s mother is killed, the Hajis leave India, and, after a brief and discontented sojourn in England, destiny leads them to the quaint French alpine village of Lumière. There, the family settles, bringing Indian cuisine to the unsuspecting town, provoking the ire of Madame Mallory, an unpleasant but extremely talented local chef. From vibrantly depicted French markets and restaurant kitchens to the lively and humorously portrayed Haji family, Morais engulfs the reader in Hassan’s wondrous world of discovery. Regardless of one’s relationship with food, this novel will spark the desire to wield a whisk or maybe just a knife and fork …” – Publisher’s Weekly

For me, the wonderfulness (I thought I’d invented a word there, but spell-check didn’t reject it, hmmm) of this story is found within the hundreds of little ways the author, via his protagonist, manages to work food into so many nooks and crannies of the book.  From the descriptions of the Indian cuisine on the streets of Mumbai, to the awe-inspiring intricacies of haute French cuisine in the Loire Valley – this book is like reading with your taste buds, and I definitely ate it up – every last word.

How is it possible for one person, a non-food writer, no less, to compose such a detailed story about the world of cooking, I found myself wondering.  How could Morais have possibly known or even sufficiently researched each and every dish, cooking method, taste sensation, and trend all on his own?  As a person who spends more time than I care to admit learning about and researching food, I was astonished at the seemingly effortless level of culinary detail in this book.   HOW DID HE DO IT?!?  Hence, you can imagine my great relief upon reading the author’s note at the end of the book.  In his note, Morais states that all writers, particularly those with journalistic training, cultivate the impression that they know far more than they actually do.  Eureeka!

“My inclination is to create an aura of wisdom by expertly pilfering the knowledge and experience of my betters and presenting their insights as my own.”

Morais goes on to thank the plethora of people who all played a part in the composition of this wonderful story.  Phewwww.  I have to admit that it was nice to read that he had some help.  I was starting to feel wholly inadequate as a food lover/reader/writer.  But really, I don’t know what I was thinking.  Every great work of culinary creativity, whether it be on a plate or on a page, was inspired by others in some shape or form, at some point in time.  Recipes are passed down, techniques are inspired, taught and influenced by others, meals are shared and experienced with and for others all the time.  The food world is most definitely not a lonely place.  In fact, it’s probably the most well-populated and giving community around.  I should have known better.  What I lack in knowledge, at this point in my life, I definitely make up for in passion. And as Richard Morais so expertly demonstrated through the writing of this novel, that’s really all you ever need.