The Sweet Life in Paris - book

The Sweet Life in Paris, David Lebovitz (Broadway Books, N.Y., 2009)

I don’t exactly know how to describe this book. Interesting, somewhat; funny, in places; informative, mildly; exciting, not; different, not very; compelling, not really; worth reading, depends; well-written, yes; entertaining, a bit; perhaps “droll” might be an adequate description.
David Lebovitz lived in San Francisco for twenty years. He is primarily a pastry chef. He had longed to live in Paris for quite some time. When he lost his partner of many years, he sold everything and moved, with three full suitcases, to what he now describes as “the world’s most glorious and perplexing city.” This is his account of having to learn to live comfortably in such a foreign city. Like many such books, it trades largely upon what he sees as the strange culture patterns of the French, for example: their inability, as he experiences it, to perform even simple tasks such as painting an apartment, having to dress to take out the garbage, how to approach salespeople, dine properly, and so on. Describing the strange ways people behave in other cultures seems to be very common in books of this genre, no matter what culture is involved: French, Italian, German, Moroccan, English, Irish, whatever. Often I think authors concentrate far too much on what they perceive as the shortcomings of other ways of life, and this sometimes seem to go too far in denigrating them, whether they mean to do so or not. Jane Kramer’s book, Honor to the Bride Like the Pigeon that Guards its Grain Under the Clove Tree, I believe is a good example of this, although some would claim she was very sympathetic to her Moroccan neighbors, I think the book, supposedly a humorous account about a rape and its aftermath, is really quite derogatory. Much to his credit, Lebovitz not only comments on what he finds funny and odd about Parisian culture, but unlike so many of the books written by Americans living in France, he also acknowledges what he finds to be truly exemplary features of French culture, most importantly their health care, and, of course their marvelous food.

As much of the book is taken up with recipes, mostly for pastry, if you ignore them, as I did, you can read the book very quickly. While I confess to an interest in cooking, I have no interest in making pastries and no intention of ever doing so (and no pretentions about even being able or talented enough to make such delicacies, even if I wished to do so). Also much to Lebovitz’s credit is his genuine attempt to learn things the hard way. His interest in French chocolate led him to take a job in one of the finest of such shops in Paris. Similarly, when he wanted to know about fish, he worked for a time with fishmongers. It is not entirely clear from the book just what he did most of the time while becoming acquainted with the ways of the French. It appears that in addition to working for a while in various food industries he also sometimes gave demonstrations of pastry cooking.

His description of his small apartment (most people’s kitchens are apparently larger than his entire apartment), and its tiny kitchen, are interesting, especially with respect to how he had to deal with its many limitations of storage and counter space. Its diminutive size apparently did not keep him from baking brownies and other treats that he used to great advantage in getting acquainted and accepted at the local shops where he routinely bought his vegetables, meat, fish, and so on. It seems American brownies are a universal key to many different locks. It is clear from his account that the French are a skeptical bunch and it takes both time and effort to become accepted by them.

For a pastry chef, Lebovitz writes unusually well, and he does manage to make his Parisian adventures both interesting and educational. While I would not put this book at the top of a priority list for books to read, I believe you can pass a very pleasant afternoon with it.