From the Dusty Shelf: Larousse Gastronomique

Assessing a classic text on French cuisine--and much more

In an effort to feature more single-subject content, I’m starting this sub-series titled “From the Dusty Shelf,” pulling down cookbooks and food-focused books that have gone unused in my collection, and giving them an actual read, along with a bit of fresh context and consideration. To kick off this series, I figured I’d start with a slim, obscure volume known as the Larousse Gastronomique.

Its backstory: First published in 1938, this encyclopedia was one of the first definitive volumes of French cooking since Auguste Escoffier’s 1903 Le Guide Culinaire, and released only a few years after Escoffier’s similarly renowned book Ma Cuisine. (In writing his foreword for the original publication, Escoffier noted that Le Guide had clearly been an inspiration for the Larousse Gastronomique, and replicated more than a few recipes from his original work—but he didn’t seem to mind.) Since its publication, the encyclopedia has gone through countless printings and received three separate editions. My copy is the version from Clarkson Potter in 2001, updated by a committee of French chefs and scholars, chaired by Chef Joël Robuchon.

Its author: The original creator of the Gastronomique was Prosper Montagné, who like Escoffier, had come of culinary age during the Belle Époque, the period between the Franco-Prussian War and the beginning of World War I, during which French food, culture, and design reached an unprecedented level of sophistication and formalization. Just as Escoffier made his mark at the Hôtel Ritz during this period, turning classic French cooking into haute cuisine, Montagné codified French cooking at the Grand Hôtel in Paris, before becoming the kitchen manager at numerous restaurants across the city. Like Escoffier, Montagné was one of the primary arbiters on what constituted French cuisine—its basic parameters, its fundamental techniques, and most importantly, its status as the arbitrating standard of culinary excellence worldwide. As Leigh Hoffman wrote in the European edition of the Chicago Tribune, Montagné’s aim was to “retain the culinary traditions that had made France so justly famous,” and in doing so, built his reputation as a practitioner, historian, and champion of French cuisine.

Its justification: To build an encyclopedia is, for the author, a task that needs no explanation. In the author’s eyes, the subject under consideration is self-evidently so expansive, so rich, and so worthy of study that the encyclopedia is not a radical idea, but a long-established necessity. (Hence why I’ve wanted to write an encyclopedia of dumplings for decades: because I know I’ll never master the topic without one.) While the editors of the most recent edition claim that “gastronomy is not static,” there is undoubtedly something about the foundation of French cooking that is preserved in amber, and as such, demands a reference text that, while often in need of reevaluation or revision, can never be entirely jettisoned. Especially as many culinary schools train students on the techniques and terminology of French cuisine, the Larousse Gastronomique has never disappeared entirely from the shelves of professional chefs. And even though few contemporary cooks would need to navigate an “abattoir” (“an establishment where livestock are slaughtered for their edible products”), or prepare a “hure” (a type of head cheese made with boar’s or pig’s head), almost any chef might find inspiration in the sheer breadth of the volume. In the scope of 3,000 recipes, the editors claim, one can find “an unrivalled platform from which to create and explore our culinary future,” even as it primarily focuses on the cuisine that set the standards for restaurants of the past.

Its utility and accessibility: For a text that dates back to 1938, it is impressive how many contemporary and recognizable dishes appear in the latest edition of the Gastronomique, and how the recipes peppered throughout the volume have been made legible to home cooks. Recipes use both metric and Imperial measurements, and rarely use insider terminology or require specialized equipment. Only when dishes require two classic dishes already cross-referenced in the volume—i.e. marrying a “soubise puree” with a “béchamel sauce”—do things feel as thought they are completely contained within the French canon. (It shows how much the lexicon of French food has trickled into local American dining; for example, because of our local suburban coffee shop, I easily spotted the volume’s misspelling of kouign amann, the brioche-like sugared cake from Breton.) Additionally, the latest edition has taken pains to incorporate dishes and techniques outside of France, including numerous canonical dishes from cuisines across Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. I was surprised to see references to “bazine” (a boiled semolina dish prepared throughout the Middle East during Ramadan), a description of a cooking vessel called a “Mongolian Firepot,” for preparing what we might call today “hot pot,” and even the American-Chinese dish of “chop suey.” The expansion of the Larousse Gastronomique to include such terms forces the reader to reimagine the boundaries of their own lexicon, and whether a true mastery of culinary technique requires a broader appreciation of all culinary cultures.

Its relevance: There is plenty of reason to critique the centrality of French cuisine to the concept of fine dining around the world. The culinary traditions and techniques of Chinese, Mexican, Indian, and West African cooking—not to mention those of Italian, Spanish, and Greek cuisine—are all as nuanced, thoughtful, and embedded in terroir as those of the French canon, yet they rarely receive a similar canonization in both text and pedagogical transmission. And especially in contemporary fine dining establishments, where chefs may be “classically trained” yet leverage their skills in service of cuisines from countless traditions and origin stories, the internalization of obscure French dishes feels a little bit like learning ancient Greek. In that sense, reading the Larousse Gastronomique as an amateur or home cook feels much like taking on The Iliad or The Odyssey, an assignment in traditional storytelling that paves the way for the stories that capture our attention today. It also shows readers how culinary bibles are built—how expansive the authors’ lenses must be to truly capture the breadth, depth, and complexity of a gastronomic tradition, and how much they imagine the readers will want to know.

How I’ll use it: While I doubt I’ll be preparing any of the dishes laid out in the Larousse Gastronomique from scratch, I have a feeling that it’ll become one of my favorite bedtime rabbit hole reads. Post-its in hand, I’m ready to flag dishes like oiseau sans tête, salsify au gratin, and sou-fassum, then go into new research rabbit holes, investingating their histories, ingredients, and resonance in France and around the world. And if it does become a bible for my home cooking, and I become a true master of classic French cooking… well then, tant pis.

Recommended Reading: I finally started on an oft-recommended but never-before-read book this week, the 1938 novel by the mystery writer Rex Stout, titled Too Many Cooks. (And no, not this one.) It’s truly the perfect set-up for a great murder mystery: the great detective Nero Wolfe has been invited as a keynote speaker to a gathering of Les Quinze Maîtres, the fifteen greatest chefs in the world, during which one of them turns up dead. In the course of puzzling out the crime, Wolfe describes and consumes countless gorgeous dishes, in details that are not only intoxicating but entirely essential to its twisty plot. No wonder Nora Ephron called its banquet scene—centered on American, not French, cooking—the best meal in English literature.

The Perfect Bite: Before last night’s visit to Gatsby at the American Repertory Theater, we had a spectacular meal at Little Donkey, a great spot in Central Square that I’d been meaning to visit for ages. While everything was superb (I’ll have to go back to sample the raw bar and crudo options), I’m still thinking about the “umami bomb” scallops, dressed in miso mayonnaise and tobiko and covered with crunchy fried potato sticks (the snacks of my youth), and the perfectly cooked artichoke served over burrata and crispy prosciutto. Most of all, I have to give credit to the amazing servers for staggering the plates so beautifully—for when I was still reeling from the knock-out punch of the “spicy AF” duck wings (coated in a ghost pepper sauce), the cacio e pepe miso ramen appeared just in time to cool everything down. Masterfully done.

Cooked & Consumed: Last Friday we had a great potluck party in our backyard, to welcome families from the neighborhood in need of a shared table and pre-bedtime activity. Not knowing the tastes of the kids in attendance, I figured anything pizza-adjacent would be welcome, so I finally made Ali Slagle’s recipe for cheesy “pizza beans”. I tweaked it a bit—adding dried oregano and fresh rosemary and basil to the mix, and topping with mozzarella and parmesan—and served with slices of toasted rosemary-garlic bread alongside. It’s not the most groundbreaking dish, but it was tasty, filling, and a good protein-rich option to throw on the table. Best of all, it was easy to make in a disposable aluminum pan, scooped up and tossed at the end of the night along with so many juice boxes and watermelon rinds.