The Epicure’s Lament by Kate Christensen

I love a good unreliable narrator as much as the next avid bookworm. My favorite will always be the criminally charming, self-aware yet clueless Tom Ripley, anti-hero of Patricia Highsmith’s classic novel The Talented Mr. Ripley, which I blogged about awhile back. However, in The Epicure’s Lament, Hugo Whittier is not only unreliable, he is downright proud of his cluelessness. Hugo is a snobbish, self-indulgent foodie who also loves drink, sex and cigarettes equally as much, although not in that order. He lives alone in the family mansion where he indulges his culinary desires by cooking amazingly gourmet meals. He spends much of his time enjoying tons of alcohol. He occasionally makes forays into the little town to pick up women at the local bar. And he smokes like the proverbial chimney.

Hugo has been diagnosed with a rare disease that means death if he doesn’t stop smoking. Since he fully admits he is “obsessed” with smoking and considers life unlivable without his cancer sticks, stopping smoking is of course not an option. Resigned to his condition, he resolves to enjoy what is left of his supposed life by indulging his solitude, his desire for food and fucking, and his ciggies in relative peace. That is, until his brother Dennis shows up one day, announces he is leaving his wife and moving back into the family mansion and proceeds to disturb Hugo’s life. Hugo’s estranged wife Sonia also shows up and proceeds to move into the mansion with their daughter Bellatrix. Soon, a whole motley crew of characters begins to make inroads into Hugo’s privacy and life.

As much of an entitled ass as Hugo is, he is ultimately very lovable. I think the fact that he is quite self-aware of his own flaws makes him relatable. He has a completely twisted viewpoint on life, but his intellectual prowess, his love of good food, good liquor and good sex give him that necessary humanity that all dislikeable yet endearing protagonists share across literature. Similar to Tarquin Winot, that dreadful food snob-cum-murderer who is the main character in John Lanchester’s wonderful book The Debt to Pleasure, Hugo’s acidic personality and lack of hypocrisy make him not just more human but weirdly likable.

The book itself is written beautifully, and Hugo’s snarky wit and snobbery are hilarious to read. He is utterly convinced of his rightness in all things and that everyone around him is a witless idiot. Well, we can all relate to that, right? His food snobbishness, in particular, is very relatable to all of us foodies who hold out for that perfect piece of steak, that perfect curl of shrimp, that perfect sip of Bordeaux, that perfect twirl of pasta on a fork. My only issue with this novel is that it could have used a good editor to cut out about a half, specifically, Hugo’s horrendous mother and his boringly awful childhood. It’s hard to feel sorry for a kid who grows up in such wealth and privilege, but with a mother who was obsessed with nutrition and limited his food options so much, I guess I can find a smidgen of sympathy in my heart. It explains why he becomes such an epicure.

As the book progresses, Hugo begins an affair with Stephanie Fox, the woman with whom his brother is in love with, cooks a midnight feast after a very intense session of coitus with his wife, takes an inadvertent interest in Bellatrix and her violin virtuosity (and whom he is convinced is not his child), and one evening proceeds to the grocery store to buy food and wine to make his soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law Marie a dinner that sounded utterly divine.

In the kitchen I found what I needed and got down to work. While the green beans steamed, the Boston lettuce drained, and the rice boiled, I made a roux with butter and a handful of flour, a dash of salt, and a cup and a half of milk. When it thickened, I stirred in sherry, paprika, ketchup, and Worcestershire sauce, then opened two cans of shrimp and drained them and added them to the mixture. This was Shrimp Newburg, and I defy anyone to make it correctly and not want to devour every single gooey orange bite.

I had never heard of Shrimp Newburg, but that delectable paragraph convinced me I needed to make it posthaste. I don’t care for rice, so I chose to serve it over puff pastry shells.

INGREDIENTS
1-lb. raw shrimp, shells and tails removed
3 ribs celery, minced
1/2 red onion, minced
6 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 egg yolk
3 tablespoons flour
2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup of milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup cream sherry
2 generous tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon tomato ketchup
1 package puff pastry shells, frozen

METHOD
Preheat your oven to 425F. In a large saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter and sauté the onion and celery for about five minutes. Add in the garlic and cook together another five minutes.

In a large mixing cup, combine the egg yolk with the milk and heavy cream and stir to mix.

Pour in the cream sherry and add in the flour. Whisk together.

Add the creamy sherry-flour mixture to the saucepan of vegetables and stir to mix. Let come to a very low bubble and stir from time to time until it thickens, roughly around 10-12 minutes, then add in the Worcestershire sauce.

Add in the paprika and the cayenne and stir, watching it turn into a pale pinkish-orange concoction.

Squeeze in the ketchup sparingly, as you don’t want this to be overly sweet.

Add the shrimp, stir and let cook on low heat for about 3-5 minutes, until the shrimp are all pink and nicely cooked through.

While the shrimp cooks, break apart the frozen puff pastry shells, place on a baking tray, and bake for 15 minutes.

They will puff up and become lovely and golden. Take out of the oven, let cool for about 5 minutes then remove the puff pastry shell lid.

Fill each shell with the delectable Shrimp Newburg mixture.

Plate up and serve with sauteéd mushrooms. Enjoy with a good glass of Pinot Grigio and toast to that unreliable, arrogant, sex-obsessed, smoking foodie Hugo.