Review by New York Times Review
DON'T let the title fool you. A lot of ground is covered in Richard C. Morais's first novel, "The Hundred-Foot Journey": close to 25 million feet, by my count, from India to England and then France, the last leg via a tricolor caravan of used Mercedes-Benzes that chugs through much of Western Europe. This is to say nothing of the psychological distance traversed by the narrator, Hassan Haji, a Muslim boy born on the edge of a slum in what was still called Bombay and then catapulted to Paris's temples of haute cuisine. One moment he's stirring a caldron of curried fish heads, the next he is feeding Siberian ptarmigan - roasted with herbs cut out of the bird's own crop - to the likes of Christian Lacroix. The pace is brisk. Hassan's Bombay childhood, including the horrific death of his mother at the hands of a Hindu mob, is dispatched in 30 pages, his coming-of-age in London (first love, first egg salad sandwich) in another 20. His father then whisks the family off on a tour of Europe by motorcade, stopping only when one of the cars breaks down in rural France - conveniently in front of a mansion for sale, which Papa immediately decides to convert into a boisterous, Bollywoodesque eatery, with Hassan as its chef. The problem is, just across the street (a hundred feet away, to be exact) stands a celebrated country inn, an archetype of French rustic elegance, complete with a "battered-black" Citroën in the driveway and Satie piped into the dining room. The proprietor, Mme. Mallory, embittered by her failure to earn a third Michelin star, gives Hassan his first exposure to that "uniquely Gallic look of nuclear contempt for one's inferiors." It doesn't help matters when she comes to dine at Maison Mumbai, ready to crow over its mediocrity, and discovers that the untrained Hassan is a culinary genius. She weeps into her napkin, then declares war. Morais, formerly a senior editor and foreign correspondent at Forbes, has done his research. The novel is seeded with delightful arcana, like a recipe for rat from an old edition of Larousse Gastronomique, which advises using a specimen found in a wine cellar ("so much more flavorful"). A chef dabbling in post-modern gastronomy concocts a dish from crushed cough drops. And one character is clearly inspired by the chef Bernard Loiseau, who committed suicide in 2003, when he was said to be on the verge of losing his third Michelin star. Certain readers will want to skip ahead to the descriptions of food, as others do to sex scenes. A pan seethes with "prattling onions and furiously spitting lemon grass"; an artichoke appears as a "spiky hand grenade." Dining on the sea cliffs of Marseille, Hassan is served tiny clams "no bigger than babies' fingernails," which, in the kind of detail that makes foodies swoon, are "grown in the restaurant's own grotto under the pounding cliff face." The novel's charm lies in its improbability: it's "Slumdog Millionaire" meets "Ratatouille." Accordingly, everything is drawn in broad strokes. Hassan's father is Falstaffian in physique, Napoleonic in ambition. His archenemy, Mallory, who ultimately becomes Hassan's mentor, spends her days pulverizing the self-esteem of her staff and resurrecting "challenging" dishes (e.g., the testicles of young bulls, stuffed with powdered fennel seed and pine nuts) from her hoard of ancient cookbooks. Even a fishmonger with Tourette's pops up. The latter part of the novel sags a little, bereft of the colorful Papa and Mallory. In a wanly sketched Paris, Hassan charts his ascent to the top ranks of chefs as if ticking off bullets on a résumé. We're given perhaps too much information on French labor law. The mood turns earnest. There is something absurdly over the top about the food world - the kitchens awash in testosterone, the eternal flames, the flaunting of knives and burns, the lives laid waste in pursuit of what is, let's face it, a fleeting sensual pleasure. It's a setting ripe for farce, and Morais is at his best when he delivers that. Ligaya Mishan is a frequent contributor to The Times.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [August 15, 2010]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Grandson of an entrepreneurial lunchbox deliveryman, Chef Hassan Haji tells of his rise to culinary success in Paris via Bombay, London, and a small town in the French Alps. With a fond, over-the-shoulder regard, he presents the lively family members, friends, and former foes who shaped him as a young chef, leading him to face his destiny and realize that cooking is not only in his heritage but also in his blood and bones. The novel floats along a bounty of vivid food imagery, a twisty-turny river of dishes Indian, French, and everything in between. With an obvious insider's knowledge of the restaurant milieu, journalist Morais delivers a world where Michelin stars determine not only the popular appeal of a restaurant but also the happiness of its executive chef. This novel, of mythic proportions yet told with truly heartfelt realism, is a stunning tribute to the devotion to family and food, in that order. Bound to please anyone who has ever been happily coaxed to eat beyond the point of fullness, overwhelmed by the magnetism of just one more bite.--Bostrom, Annie Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
With his debut novel, longtime Forbes magazine correspondent Morais delves into a rich, imagery-filled culinary world that begins in Bombay and ends in Paris, tracing the career of Hassan Haji as he becomes a famed Parisian chef. Narrated by Hassan, the story begins with his grandfather starting a lowly restaurant in Bombay on the eve of WWII, which his father later inherits. But when tragedy strikes and Hassan's mother is killed, the Hajis leave India, and, after a brief and discontented sojourn in England, destiny leads them to the quaint French alpine village of Lumiere. There, the family settles, bringing Indian cuisine to the unsuspecting town, provoking the ire of Madame Mallory, an unpleasant but extremely talented local chef. From vibrantly depicted French markets and restaurant kitchens to the lively and humorously portrayed Haji family, Morais engulfs the reader in Hassan's wondrous world of discovery. Regardless of one's relationship with food, this novel will spark the desire to wield a whisk or maybe just a knife and fork.. (July) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Precise descriptive writing offers much to savor in this bouillabaisse of a first novel from a former Forbes editor.Written at the suggestion of Morais's late friend, noted film producer Ismail Merchant, it's the story of a Muslim boy born in Mumbai who grows up to achieve great fame in the rarefied world of French cuisine. Hassan Haji narrates, beginning with the tale of his grandfather's profitable enterprise: a fleet of "snack-bicycles" delivering lunches to soldiers and laborers in the streets of downtown (then) Bombay in the 1930s. Innovations inspire Hassan's ambitious father Abbas, whose mixed history of achievements and frustrations includes the creation of a popular restaurant ("Bollywood Nights") and a bitter rivalry with a sleek, superrich fellow entrepreneur. When Abbas moves his family to a small village (Lumire) in France's Jura Mountains, he learns he has trespassed onto territory appropriated by grande dame Gertrude Mallory, an imperious avatar of fine dining who will brook no challenges from brown-skinned "inferiors." Madame Mallory is such a formidable presence (equal parts Lady Bountiful and Falstaff) that she very nearly rescues this repetitive tale from its many longueursespecially when she inadvertently causes severe physical harm to the innocent Hassan, of whom she will reluctantly whisper "that skinny Indian teenager has that mysterious something that comes along in a chef once a generation." Predictably, Hassan braves his father's wrath, becomes Mme. Mallory's apprentice-proteg and rises like a souffl to prize-winning chef-hood in the appreciative atmosphere of Paris.Will this book eventually become a Merchant-Ivory film, laden with choice roles for Indian actors and featuring (a no-brainer, this) Meryl Streep as Mme. Mallory? An appetizing idea, n'est-ce pas?]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
