What happens when a person has a steady supply of more money than God intended? He eats differently than the rest of us, for one thing, and few know this more intimately than Mark Ceranski, personal chef to some of the richest, most notorious, and controversial figures on the planet. Potboiler is Ceranski’s wickedly funny tour de force through thirty years in the extraordinary world behind the kitchen doors of Windsor Castle, Saudi royal palaces, luxury mega-yachts sailing from Cannes to Cuba, and the mega-kitchens of the hallowed Food Halls of Harrods in London.
One day he’s serving a romantic, candlelit dinner to the ill-fated lovers Princess Diana and Dodi Al Fayed, and the next he’s greeting Her Majesty in old jeans and sneakers because Scotland Yard mistook the backpack that held his change of clothes for a bomb – all the while making sure the foie gras doesn’t burn, the risotto isn’t overdone, and the gas grill isn’t blowing his staff into the high seas.
In Ceranski’s world “chopping block” has dual meanings; it’s a place where one can behead the chicken that’s being served for dinner as easily as one can (quite inadvertently) attend an execution – and where knowing how to prepare a good bowl of “kabsa” can keep a man out of jail. A world where “The Queen” can refer to Elizabeth II of England as well as the insufferable young playboy who wants you to procure more for his pleasure than merely the meat for the evening’s barbeque. Where a foul odor can mean anything from spoiled caviar to a dead body over the palace kitchen.
It’s an insanely seductive world where you’d better be on your toes no matter how many bottles of French wine you’ve managed to kill the night before because the English Prime Minister, Tony Blair, is dropping by for lunch. And you never know when you’re going to have to anesthetize a Russian billionaire with vodka before you assist with the removal of some Chechen War shrapnel in an impromptu operation. And you are no longer fazed when the host blithely throws $15,000 in small bills overboard for the amusement of his guests.
You just keep on cooking.
It’s a measure of Ceranski’s skill at storytelling that Potboiler is more than just a behind-the-scenes romp with the idle class. It is an enlightening and shrewd eye-witness account of geopolitical partying. Need favors for a luncheon with Yasser Arafat? What would be more appropriate than vintage American automatic weapons? Decide you want to change jobs? Try getting your passport back from the multi-billionaire Saudi prince who wants you to stay on.
The even more remarkable feat that Ceranski pulls off, however, is that though his observations are sometimes mercilessly sharp, he shares with readers his real affection for the unpredictable world of high-stakes cooking – and for the people who populate it. Whether he’s negotiating a truce between Hutu and Tutsi dishwashers battling in Harrods’ pastry kitchen or going head-to-head with Mohamed Al Fayed, Ceranski doesn’t let craziness or excess keep him from finding – and, in most cases, genuinely liking – the human being underneath.
A chef’s memoir must almost necessarily include recipes and menus. Ceranski’s does – the reader will be able to recreate in his/her own kitchen Elizabeth II’s favorite artichoke dish or the crème brulee for which Diana had a weakness. He or she will also take away the constructive culinary advice this master chef tosses off spontaneously, and generously, throughout his story.
Ceranski is probably the least known of the ‘celebrity chefs’ – discretion being a valued commodity among KGB agents, fornicating Bedouins, and celebrities healing broken hearts on the blue waters of the Mediterranean; thirty years of hot ovens, lost sleep, and personal sacrifice filling the bellies of the people who shape the planet as we know it has put Ceranski in the unique position to take readers on a preposterous, sexy/crazy culinary adventure. He is unpretentious and hilarious in the telling of a tale where there is always elegant food on the table, a bit of subterfuge in the background, and a pot on the boil.
No comments:
Post a Comment