Introducing An Alphabet for (Modern) Gourmets

An Alphabet for (Modern) Gourmets brings M.F.K Fisher’s seminal 1949 anthology, An Alphabet for Gourmets, into the 21st century with an updated A to Z on all things food.

Introducing An Alphabet for (Modern) Gourmets

I’ve listened to nearly all of Barbra Streisand’s 992-page memoir and still, the page remains empty.

Writing was supposed to be my calling, the latest in a litany of pursuits that hadn’t quite worked out as planned. As a child, I dreamt of a life somewhere between Father of the Bride’s Franck, a wedding planner of ambiguous central European descent, and Alex Polizzi, TV’s most discerning hotel inspector. But after realising the amount of work involved in either of those jobs, I didn’t fancy it much anymore. 

My teen years were filled with harrowing attempts at Defying Gravity, in the original key, to prepare for the inevitable Juilliard audition that never came. Then there was the brief stint as a University A Cappella prodigy, an experience that taught me most people’s idea of purgatory is watching a performance with no instruments. Oh, and lest we forget the three-year politics degree, because, until I’m Foreign Secretary, I class that as an unmitigated failure too.

And now, I’m a writer. At least I am according to my job title. Why did nobody tell me that this meant the soul-sucking reality of never wanting to write for pleasure? Feeling despondent I briefly entertained the idea of self-diagnosing writer’s block, but again lost interest after finding out that it wasn’t a medical condition I could go to my GP about.

So, what next? I found myself longing for stimulation at every turn, scrambling for ideas that would formulate my already titled, but yet-to-be-written, memoir Everything I Know About (Gay) Love. Unsurprisingly, nothing stuck, partly down to the fact that my only thought starter was “Who would the Labour front bench be in the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City?”

Thankfully, one thing remained unaffected by the many months spent in literary no man's land, my insatiable appetite. After two years of writing an occasionally funny restaurant review blog, my fascination with how food, culture, and identity intersect remained resolute. From childhood and family through to love and loss, I was as captivated as ever with how our relationship with life's most storied ritual can reveal the most intimate and vulnerable parts of ourselves. I knew I had more to say, I just needed a vehicle to say it.

And then, as I was about to resign myself to the fact that I wasn’t the secret love child of Richard E Grant and Fran Lebowitz, divine intervention struck.

“She reminded me of you,” my partner said earnestly as he watched me peel back the brown paper packaging to reveal a stoic, middle-aged woman staring Gothically into the distance. An Alphabet for Gourmets. “Oh, thank you so much!”, I replied, feigning the same level of sincerity, before putting it back on the shelf where it sat, untouched, for nine months.  

But one day, whilst listening to Barbra spend two hours describing the hand embroidery on her Funny Girl costumes in suffocating detail, something caught my eye. The piercing gaze of that monochromatic woman stared into my soul from across the room. She was daring me to pick her up, and, as I always yield to authoritarian women, I agreed, blowing off the dust to flick through the wispy pages concealed underneath.

“Full of sound counsel, shrewd observation, luscious memories of dinners eaten, wines drunk, and a lot of common sense,” said the San Francisco Chronicle. God how I wish someone would describe me like that. 

Upon closer inspection, I soon discovered that An Alphabet for Gourmets is a 1949 anthology of essays written by one of America’s greatest food writers, M.F.K Fisher. A pioneer of her genre, who wrote prolifically until her death in 1992, Fisher’s meteoric rise was in stark contrast to the home economics attitude of her peers. It stemmed from her celebration of food as one of the great arts of life. For Fisher, a meal isn’t what you have alongside conversation, it is the conversation.

Over the next month, I immersed myself in Fisher's wild and eccentric mind, which not only revealed the breadth of her culinary views but also her ability to crystallise the idiosyncrasies of the societal hivemind.  

It was a dizzying ride. Written in an era characterised by prudishness, Fisher talks openly about the way a good meal can inspire passionate sex. In one sentence she’s slating a friend who claims to be a cook but can’t season to save her life, while in the next she regales us with memories of sitting opposite her beloved late husband. Because mid-20th century women always, without fail, have a darling, dear, beloved, long-dead, husband.

There is a timelessness to her words, with each entry bringing with it a lesson that resonates as keenly in this century as it did in the last. In arguing that a person with an aversion to cooking is as good as sexless, M is for Monastic echoes the lament of many who are subjected to their partner's dismal attempts at a Valentine’s dinner. When she cautions readers about the perils of using food as a weapon in a deteriorating marriage, X is for Xanthippe speaks to the children of divorce who sat silently while their parents traded blows across the dinner table. In other sections, food is simply the vehicle through which Fisher weighs in on broader conversations on the art of living. History, music, philosophy and art, no stone is left unturned. 

Yes, her references are impeccable and her brain unmatched. But what I wasn’t expecting was how profoundly Fisher’s obsessions would align with my own. I know, it sounds absurd. What on earth does a much celebrated, Miss Haversham-esque, thrice-married food writer from Albion, Michigan have in common with me? A 27-year-old “content creator” from Brighton, England, who bites his nails and chews with his mouth open. 

Well, plenty it seems. Democratic and broad-minded, emotional but firmly pragmatic, Fisher recognized the act of eating as a multi-layered experience with social, cultural, economic, and political ramifications. Beyond the obvious Julie and Julia comparisons, reading this book sparked something deep inside of me. We must bring back Fisher’s brand of gourmet - the dry, honest, acerbic kind - for our overly gushy, contemporary food discourse. 

So, I arrive at my proposition, An Alphabet for (Modern) Gourmets. A collection of essays that will explore what it means to live a life, through food, today.

There are some primary differences of course - I’m loathed to look too much into her history in case I find out she was a Nazi sympathiser - but the core message remains the same. We must honour the transcendent power of food, in all its many forms, for it shapes every aspect of who we are.

I claim not to be as esteemed nor as knowledgeable as Fisher. I haven’t studied the greats and don’t have a font of classical and contemporary literary references to dip into. But what we do share is a belief in the incomparable ability of a meal to reveal the passions of any individual.

Fisher once said that “sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.” As the fundamental assumptions of our world are in constant flux, we must ensure that this timeless ritual remains unchanged.

Let’s begin. 

An Alphabet for (Modern) Gourmets brings M.F.K Fisher’s seminal 1949 anthology, An Alphabet for Gourmets, into the 21st century with an updated A to Z on all things food. Contrasting the generational differences, and timeless similarities between centuries, Ben Drinkwater offers a witty and thought-provoking exploration of life’s most storied ritual.

Words: Ben Drinkwater

Artwork: Laura Sheppard