Food, Bullshit, And... Other Complications

I'm a French chef. Exiled in the United States for twenty years.I did not say "e;expatriated"e; 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 the 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 hand: bistros, brasseries, neighborhood cafés, 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.