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Book Review: The Epicure’s Almanack: Eating and Drinking in Regency London

by Larissa Zimberoff

Your dream, if you’re a book out of print, is that some benevolent author discovers you and brings you back to life. The Epicure’s Almanack: Eating and Drinking in Regency London is just that book. And Janet Ing Freeman is just that fairy god author. As an example of some of the earliest guidebooks from its time, The Epicure’s Almanack (yelp before it was yelp) was first published in 1815.

Ralph Rylance, the author of this guidebook, was working as a freelance reader, translator, indexer and editor, when he was contacted by a local publisher who had just produced a popular guidebook, The Picture of London, which aimed at the curiosities in and near London. Rylance was engaged to produce a companion piece to The Picture that focused solely on food, drink and lodging.

It took Rylance almost two years to finish the book and when it finally came out, the publisher spent thirty guineas to advertise its arrival. Despite the financial support, the book was deemed a failure when, after almost two years, it had sold fewer than three hundred copies. The remaining print run was pulped and Rylance went back to freelancing. Flash forward almost two hundred years and you can now read an early example of dining reviews.

And this is where the book might be at its most helpful: to provide a historic snapshot of how society once looked upon dining out. Rylance touches on all the things we still care about: atmosphere, quality of food, and cost, but all in a much lighter tone and in significantly less detail than often seen in current reviews. It lacks the detail we dive into today when we talk about food; the minutiae of the meal we had last night and share with friends on our social network of choice.

The reviews stick mostly to eating houses, taverns and, to a lesser extent, coffee houses, in the environs of London and its outskirts. In this updated version, Janet Ing Freeman maintains the contents of Rylances’ almanack almost untouched. Freeman restricts her role to adding footnotes, providing the new reader with additional history to the contemporary establishments. This guidebook guides no more but what it does do is give us a taste of the culture and language of the early 1800’s.

Reading the descriptions of food is perhaps the most fun of flipping through the pages of this book, exemplified by Crish’s A-la-mode Beef Shop, where “a stranger may venture to stay his stomach without fear of being haunted by the horrible doubt as to whether the animal whose corps he is feasting on was, when alive, an inhabitant of the stall or the stable.” Rylance earnestly tells us of Dolly’s Chop House, in Queen’s Head Passage, where “orders are sometimes executed with commendable promptitude.” And the atmosphere? That’s covered too, like at the Horn Tavern on Godliman Street, where “joyful heirs and sad widows promiscuously meet to take their bodily nourishment.

Towards the end of the book we’re treated to reviews of many local markets as well as an alimentary calendar detailing the best times for food (beef and veal in January), a description of what it should look like (good beef should have a smooth open grain), or perhaps the gloomiest month of the year (November). I’m not quite sure what to do with this book now that I’ve flipped through it, but should I ever want to travel back in time, I’ll know exactly where I want to go first.

Edited by Janet Ing Freeman

Publisher, British Library

Larissa Zimberoff is a freelance writer living in Manhattan. She is currently working towards her MFA at The New School. Her writing has appeared in Salon, Untapped Cities and The Rumpus.

by John Chinnici

I’m not sure who to blame. The Food Network? The parenting techniques of the 1980s? It doesn’t matter. Somehow the saying that “everyone’s a critic” has come to be accepted without irony. I mean, I’m generally down with all the crowd sourcing and wiki-everything that makes the world go round. Can’t complain about benefitting from the free labor that paves the information superhighway. But we’re at a point where the criticism of restaurants comes to us not just in laymen’s terms, but on laymen’s terms. And that leaves me a little queasy.

You can’t google a restaurant without having to stare down its ratings in the results page. Recently I needed the telephone number to a trusted, beloved Mexican restaurant in my neighborhood, just to see when their kitchen was closing that night. I ended up wasting half an hour reading the reviews. When it comes to the comments sections of political news articles, I’ve gotten good at ignoring what’s on my screen. Yet there I was, consuming the opinions of, ugh, regular people, just because they had eaten at one of my favorite restaurants.

There wasn’t a single two- or three-star review (out of five). Every poster had decided that the place was heaven or hell, the pico of the litter or burnt tostadas. One customer complained of food poisoning she had come down with just hours later, despite that being medically impossible. Somehow her dinner of crab guacamole, chorizo nachos, a carnitas burrito, and mango frozen margaritas didn’t sit well with her. Score one for empiricism!

Just like you wouldn’t blame a restaurant for indigestion after completing their 72-ounce steak challenge, you shouldn’t become accusatory after indulging in a cumulative 72 ounces of various foods. No rational person should expect that a meal of a) seafood and avocado, b) pork cheek sausage, c) an entree of enough calories for an entire day, and d) artificially flavored booze will be greeted hospitably by the digestive system. When you gorge on every kind of lipid in the natural world and down it with booze, then wind up sick, that’s not food poisoning. That’s your own fatty acid getting what’s due.

I suppose that when a reviewer gives clues that I shouldn’t trust them, I should be able to move on with my life. Yet her one star rating pulls down the average, and for a new restaurant with maybe ten reviews, that matters. She has 10% say in telling the world whether to eat there.

The fact that having Internet access affords us the right to have a say in driving business to or away from a restaurant can’t be a perfect situation, right? Maybe if everybody’s user profile contained more contextual data, such as how many how many Scoville units they can handle and whether they think Olive Garden qualifies as fine dining, then we would have more usable information. But even then, we would need each person’s review to count unevenly – we’d need weighted scores where some people don’t get to vote. Undemocratic, I know. I know.

I used to complain about professional reviews for a few reasons: casual and neighborhoody joints often don’t get a fair shake, and the standard practice of estimating the price point by using a meal of appetizer, entree, drink and dessert can make those figures unusable. But you know what? We don’t need to be reading reviews of every falafel joint and pizza parlor anyway. We all have our favorites, and we’re too busy to be driving across town or transferring subway lines just to get a different, random, five-dollar lunch. We need reviews for the restaurants where we’re spending special occasions, the places where we’re dropping half a day’s wages.

Everyone is more conscientious than ever about food, and that has to be a good thing. I’m glad that people are more informed about a wider variety of cuisines and that we are all increasingly savvy about what makes a quality restaurant experience. But like climate change research, we should all be deferring to the experts. There are people out there who have studied and practiced the craft of food writing, and I believe in the value of informed, objective criticism. When we abandon the monoliths of expertise, we end up wading in a pool of opinion-sewage. Our tummies grumble while we moan through tastelessly written reviews of anecdotal circumstances.

John Chinnici is currently finishing a master of fine arts in poetry at The New School, where he works as readings coordinator. Raised as a meat-loving Texan, he now enjoys a vegetarian life in Manhattan. His poetry credits include the North Texas Review, Gigantic Sequins, and The Best American Poetry Blog.