It goes without saying that I am passionate about food, wine and rare books – pretty
essential for someone who runs a single family office increasingly focused on investing in alternative assets such as Bordeaux fine wines and rare books/manuscripts.
And like anyone with a consuming interest, I am always quick to spot references to my passion in the most unlikely contexts. My long-suffering friends and family are now used to conversations which, no matter what the starting the point, always conclude with food and wine. My only excuse is that the occasion is usually lunch or supper at my place – and naturally, it never pays dividends to argue with the chef.
At a recent gathering, the guests made a concerted effort to spike my conversational guns by going for literature in a big way in the mistaken belief fiction, food and wine do not mix. A bad move, because, as you may have noticed for yourself, fiction is not only about food and wine, it’s practically addicted to it. No wonder avid readers devour books, even the e-type.
There is nothing like a mouth-watering description of a meal to get your gastric juices into gear – especially when the reader is trapped on a rush hour train with the buffet car closed. My theory is that books are sold at railway stations and airports not to while away the tedium of the journey, but as a cunning marketing ploy to persuade us to buy the stuff that passes for food/wine on the move. A really hungry person will eat anything.
Fortunately most fictional food and wine is good. Comforting, nostalgic, erotic, satisfying – a kind of wish-fulfilment. A novel without food/wine is thin and unhealthy and our love for the written menu starts early. If you are a fan, you will know that to Harry Potter and friends, food is crucial – no, not the plot but certainly to the characters’ well-being. Hogwart’s grand feasts, wizard sweets, days filled with ice cream sundaes and butterbeer – our heroes have the gift of being able to overload on indulgence, with no ill effects.
Pity real life has consequences. In fiction, unless your choice is social realism a la Irvine Welsh, everybody gets to gorge and no one feels sick afterwards. For those deliberately in search of a good foodie read, titles can be helpful – Chocolat is certainly abounding in chocolate.
But treat book covers with caution, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit is certainly about appetite, but not the fictional diet of your average fruitarian. On the other hand, even the most unpromising texts may conceal a juicy gem.
Crime fiction may not leap out as a food/wine lover’s ideal, but if you can wade through two pages of last week’s last supper in the pathology lab, you may find yourself joining the sleuth for revelations across the dinner tables. In my pre-pescatarian days, I discovered the delights of Bradenham ham (still available in Harrods’s Food Hall) via a 1930s Dorothy L Sayers mystery.
My one note of caution goes with science fiction. Yes, there is food and wine out there, but not as we know it. It generally comes in italics and a stream of unpronounceable consonants. But whatever they call it, it’s still coffee – the only true pan galactic gargle blaster.
I can recommend at least one book without a single reference to any kind of food or wine whatsoever. Its big, it’s bulky and the National Rail Timetable is available now. The buffet car symbols? Ignore them – they’re all out to lunch.
Collecting rare books and fine wine has always been a hobby (cunningly disguised as investments to be perfectly honest). Recently I have been trying hard to imagine what it would be like to join the new generation of the digital reading revolution? Amazon and its mediocre competitors have arrived on mass with their digital fodder. In the UK alone, e-books still only account for a small percentage of the entire book market. However, a quick recce on the rush hour train, confirms that’s changing quickly.
One part of me thinks, why on earth do we need a solution, when there is clearly no problem? And the other suggests, perhaps e-books will sharpen our appreciation of literature, and therefore crucially, the real-thing. I’m sure you’ll agree with me, technology is great when it works. However, imagine getting to a fantastic plot point only to be informed your device is about to shut down due to low battery or technical error. I subscribe to the real thing every time. While I embrace technology, and Venturescape focuses heavily on the technology markets, I do find it difficult to muster any form of enthusiasm for e-books.
I cannot overcome the feeling that the advent of the digital reading age with e-books will be like drinking fine wine from a plastic cup. Technically, the same kind of pleasurable experience, but surely missing a fundamental ingredient.
Quite a sobering thought...
