Gastrorevolution

Philippe Cartau
Jul 10
4 min read

July 14th, Bastille Day celebrating the french Revolution, is fast approaching, offering us another opportunity to reflect on the french Revolution's legacy. But to avoid rehashing old ideas, we propose a new perspective.

Beyond Equality that guarantees us access to all restaurants, Liberty that allows us to choose the establishment that suits us, and Fraternity that ensures we can share a good meal sincerely and without hindrance, there is an even more important question: would gastronomy exist if the French Revolution had not happened?

We are entitled to ask ourselves this question. Without this societal upheaval, would we have achieved such a level of culinary excellence, so widespread, eminently universal, and incredibly accessible, whatever professional naysayers may think? The question is insolently serious because it touches on the fundamental question of any society, that of power, particularly the power to decree what is good.

In the Ancien Régime, knowing how to eat was the preserve of the aristocracy. However, with the Revolution, they had to give up this mark of distinction. Friandise and Gourmandise had to find new letters of nobility, imperial perhaps, but accessible to all.

Let's not forget that gastronomy is above all a matter of the mind. It is a “science of the mouth,” as Montaigne put it, where, according to Grimod de la Reynière, when we eat, we “reason our morsels.” Before sitting down at the table with his cutlery, the gourmet is at his desk with his pen and paper. And when they are at the table, they talk about good food with their fellow diners.

As Priscilla Ferguson, one of the leading experts on 19th-century gastronomy, explains, it was through literature that this subject took shape, with Grimod and his Almanach du Gourmand as its seminal protagonist.

This field of wonders opened up because Grimod took the perspective of the eater rather than that of the cook. Chikako Hashimoto demonstrates this excellently in her essay La Naissance du Gourmand (The Birth of the Gourmet): “It is mainly from Grimod that we see a vogue for gastronomic discourse about eaters, where people talk and even sing about the pleasure of eating, almost without hesitation.”

Brillat-Savarin, for his part, would go on to establish gastronomy as a venerable field with his Physiology of Taste in 1826. This work, which synthesizes Grimod's encyclopedic effort in its own unique way and style, brought gastronomy to the height of its metaphysical powers. The new food lovers embraced it like a missal or a little red book (1), a condensed version of Grimod's Parisian itineraries.

It was therefore through these writings that this new discipline took shape and established itself in an original and lasting way.

But then, if printing, recipe books, and guides to good manners had already been flourishing for several centuries, why had the populace not already taken advantage of the innovations of the upper classes?

In fact, under the Ancien Régime, Gastronomy could never have taken such a prominent place for several reasons. On the one hand, within the aristocracy, no one insisted on material things such as food. Knowing how to flatter, without excess, the qualities of the cook was part of good manners, but dwelling on it would have tarnished anyone's reputation.

On the other hand, according to Norbert Elias, before 1789, "...the threshold of embarrassment is constantly shifting." The aristocracy was constantly seeking to change the codes that the growing bourgeoisie was struggling to decipher in the hope of rising in society. However, the codes and secrets that make up one's fortune and privileges are not made public.

Finally, with 1789, manners were no longer a matter of birth, but were available to anyone interested in etiquette manuals: “Manners are now treated independently of nature or status, whereas previously they did not work if they were separated from them,” explains Chikako Hashimoto.

This opens up a huge space for gastronomy, where many contributors can leave their mark. New codes are needed, but they must not be too similar to the old ones. A form of syncretism is necessary. But towards what?

Grimod cannot bring himself to see the great void left by the Ancien Régime, this disused temple into which no one dares venture for fear of losing their head, filled up like a huge belly, stuffed to satiety, without a shred of consideration for what is put into it, let alone how.

Enveloping his gourmet itineraries in a worldly detachment and sometimes even irony or sarcasm, he then deployed his literary talent to elevate the art of gourmandise to its new Olympus, with no countervailing power to hold him back, wrap him up in contempt, or ignore him to the point of pushing him and his gastronomy into oblivion. With the princes and dukes banished, Grimod remained master and king of this new domain.

Thus, on this vast, empty, black stage, where no one dared to venture forward for fear of awakening terror, where people avoided any reminder of the old privileges and customs that divided the world, literature, like an artist armed with a subtle and rich palette in front of a large white canvas where no lace, no sword would come to play elbows, saw a boulevard, soon to be haussmannien, opening up before it.

What had been the battlefield for distinction and power, fragmented between the foot soldiers and the cavalry, gradually became a field accessible to all, transcending the evanescence of appearances and the glamour of the dazzling, to become the prerogative of an entire nation.

It remains to be seen whether, with the advent of digital technology and the new vectors of information it places at our feet and, above all, at our fingertips, a reconfiguration of gastronomy is not in the making. But whatever happens, let us at all costs avoid allowing Gastronomy to wither away, devoid of knowledge, curiosity, or exigence.

Long live the Gastronomic Revolution!

Philippe Cartau

(1) The little red book is also a renown tourist guide for Paris. The similarity lies in that Grimod's Almanach was a "Gourmand's" guide through Paris.