MFK Fisher, An Alphabet for Gourments and The Gastronomical Me
The first thing I wanted to do when I finished these books was to read them again. Of course, I had already begun to bake bread before I finished them. Fisher writes less conclusively than many essayists: she gives the story, but not the moral. It frustrates at times – why won't she get to the point? – but it forces you to read more carefully, to form your own opinions.
Which should not imply that Fisher has no opinions of her own. She does. For instance: that the most perfect meals are those eaten alone on a couch or a hillside, or by a couple in love and in a restaurant, or by six in a home; that timidity can ruin any meal; that waiters are nicer than people; that fruit should never serve as an appetizer. But most of all, she believes in the sacredness and power of food. Eating is for all of us a necessity; for Fisher it is a rite. It shields her when she is alone, enchanting the cooks and stewards who protect and respect her, and serve her unadvertised delights. It is a means to challenge the habits and prejudices of others. It is the foundation for remembrance and nostalgia, a reminder of family and friends.
Fisher has known meals and restaurants of envious quantity and quality. She has eaten foods I've never heard of, and some I can only dream of. What inspiration her words are to that basest and subtlest of needs! What a hunger they inspire!