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Liquor-tinged tomes take the edge off

by Julia Watts

Perhaps because Americans’ obsession with weight loss has turned delicious food into a vice, the genre of “food porn” has become increasingly popular. Culinary voyeurs watch celebrity chefs assemble decadent dishes on the Food Network and ogle the spreads of pasta and cake in Gourmet magazine as if these high-carb delights were Playboy centerfolds.

Once upon a time, food writing was strictly non-fiction territory, with foodies such as Calvin Trillin and Ruth Reichl leading readers through remembrances of meals past. Now, though, foodie fiction, which often combines suspense and mystery with vividly described vittles, is also on the literary menu. Poppy Z. Brite’s latest novel, Liquor (Three Rivers, $13.95) is a tasty addition to this genre.

Brite first arrived on the fiction scene as a Goth prodigy who penned horror fiction which was equally vivid in its descriptions of both the carnal and carnage. Now married to a New Orleans chef, Brite has turned her descriptive powers in a more appetizing direction, chronicling the fascinating subculture surrounding restaurants in what is probably the most food-obsessed city in America.

Liquor follows the adventures of New Orleans cooks Rickey and G-man as they struggle to make a success of their dream restaurant. The restaurant they have dreamed up is called Liquor, and every dish on the menu includes some type of liquor as an ingredient. Rickey and G-man face opposition from Rickey’s coke-addled and psychotic ex-boss, as well as from the economic forces and fickle dining public which make opening a restaurant a risky venture.

Liquor isn’t the kind of novel you’ll think about for weeks after you’ve finished reading it, but while you’re reading it, you’ll have a great time. Brite brings her expertise in plotting from the horror genre into the foodie genre, making the novel fast paced and more suspenseful than most foodie fiction. Rickey and G-man are well-drawn, likeable characters, and it’s impossible not to wish them success.

The real fun in Brite’s book, though, comes from two ingredients. The first, not surprisingly, is her detailed descriptions of the dishes Rickey and G-man prepare. From the prosciutto-wrapped figs in Calvados to a simple pizza the guys make at home, Brite makes it all sound delicious, with the exception of some failed culinary experiments like the veal kidney marinated in gin which G-man says, “smells like a drunk who pissed himself.” Even more fun than the food descriptions are Brite’s thinly fictionalized versions of foodie celebrities. Food Network fans will shout out a “Bam!” of recognition when they meet Lenny Duveteaux, the profusely hairy Maine-born celebrity chef who runs one of New Orleans’ most successful tourist stop restaurants and who has “fallen in love with being famous.”

Liquor is a fun, gossipy, fast read. If you’re in the mood for something light and yummy, it will hit the spot.

Christie Mellor’s The Three-Martini Playdate (Chronicle Books, $12.95) may not have anything in common with Liquor except for its alcoholic title, but I can’t resist taking this opportunity to raise a chilled martini glass to Mellor’s tongue-in-cheek tome which is subtitled “A Practical Guide to Happy Parenting.”

“It has come to my attention,” Mellor writes in her introduction, “that children have become the center of our universe.” Though she professes love for her children, Mellor also argues that contemporary parenting is a ridiculously difficult job, unlike the old days when “one wasn’t required to transport the little children hither and thither, here to T-ball practice, there to a ‘playdate,’ may the chipper mommy who coined that term forever rot in a hell of eternally colicky babies.”

Although the book’s tone is humorous, Mellor makes a point which many parents should take seriously: that spending time with your children doing children’s things is wonderful, but parents also need to provide time for themselves to nurture their inner adults.

In addition to being witty and perceptive, Mellor’s book is as cute as it can be, illustrated with Dick-and-Jane-esque retro tots toting cocktail shakers and trays of martinis. In case the title causes confusion, though, rest assured that Mellor is not suggesting that preschoolers swill cocktails while on their playdates. The martinis are for the non-driving parents supervising the playdates so they can enjoy themselves, too. Mellor even includes a recipe.

October 14, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 42 © 2004 Metro Pulse