In a holiday season stuffed with extremely glossy, gorgeous books on cooking - more fetish objects or coffee table books than cookbooks - The Complete Robuchon is an outlier. I pre-ordered my book months in advance, expecting a lavish, opulent package of arty photos, personal anecdotes, and the other trimmings of a major, cellophane-sealed Chef's opus.
Instead, what arrived at my door was a sturdy and stout cookbook, with colorless pages (and prose, for that matter) and not a single photo.
At first, I was disappointed. But then, when faced with such a massive cookbook, I sat down and began reading it, front to back. Robuchon, for a chef who we all may associate with innovation and opulence, tasked himself in this book with creating something for the home chef, and for the chef beginning their journey into the complicated world of French cuisine. So what he focuses on, above all else, in this book is technique. You leave a section on vegetables not even questioning why you would take the time to blanch. It's that authoritative, clear, and informative.
This isn't a coffee table book, and it isn't a book for a well-read French chef. It's a solid work, though, and an inspiring compendium of culinary knowledge - perhaps a little more basic than some might wish, but full of wisdom for everyone from beginners to... well, maybe intermediates.