Most people hearing the name Ludwig Bemelmans think of a little red-haired girl who lives in an old house in Paris all covered with vines. But the man behind Madeline spent his life in restaurants—behind the doors as a cynical waiter, at the table as a passionate eater and drinker, and in the office as an owner—and often wrote about that world.
La Bonne Table collects many of his food-centric pieces as well as the sketches he made to go with them. From “…sausages the size of a small finger…served on a bed of sauerkraut, with the same brown beer my grandfather brewed” to “Caviar aux Blinis, Borsch, Homard Sole Mio, Faisan Miami,Purée de Marrons, Pommes Soufflées, Salade Georges at Marthe, Bombe Washington,” just one part of the extravagant meal planned by a wealthy Miami resident for her birthday, Bemelmans detailed the best and the worst of the food he enjoyed so much. Even some of the menus he collected over the years, convenient doodle pads for him, appear in the book.
But forget the food. The best bits of this book come when Bemelmans writes of the people in the restaurant world. Some portraits may be David Sedaris-esque exaggerations, but even as approximate nonfiction they delight. Gabriel, the maître d'hôtel who staves off disaster at the Miami birthday, moves placidly and confidently through his daily tasks, master of his craft: You don't need Bemelmans’ sketch atop “No Problem At All” to picture him with a thin mustache and an imperious air. There is Herr Otto Brauhaus, who flusters and yells and fires his employees on a whim, only to hire them back the moment they spin even an implausible sob story. There is Mr. Sigsag, a twitchy waiter—I picture him as small and wiry—who is eager to please rich clients and quick to chastise workers at other restaurants. His characters only fall flat in the “Fancies” section, a collection of short stories that often draw on his experience around Hollywood’s elite. I didn't care about any of the characters, and the stories seem to have been dropped in without regard to order or plot. I was tired of these even before I boarded a 16-hour flight. (Perhaps there's no real way to capture that narcissistic world—Christopher Guest’s For Your Consideration was the least funny of his mockumentaries.)
The characters in Bemelmans’ vignettes move against a window looking in at the 1930s. Even his disdainful descriptions of the wealthy can’t hide the splendor of a coming-out party or a Jewish wedding (he doesn't mention any other kind) held in the Ritz where he worked. I imagine galas of this form still happen, but Bemelmans’ descriptions make me wistful for such extravagance, even though I probably wouldn&rsqo;t have gone to any of these events. On the other hand, there are reminders of the less glamorous facets of that time: rich people with “blackie” servants and German generals.
But one thing about Bemelmans is timeless. Good food and drink should never be taken for granted.
