The great food writer Jane Grigson decides a book of Monet's family recipes is a missed opportunity
About 14 years ago I first read about the Monet family's recipe books in Claire Joyes' Monet at Giverny. I tried – without success – to catch a glimpse of them when writing Food for the Famous, a series for the Observer, then a book. Now the brusque rebuff I received becomes understandable: Claire Joyes, who is married to a step-great-grandson of Monet's, has just published Monet's Cookery Notebooks.
As with many Normans, food was a major preoccupation of Monet's life and when he settled down at last in Giverny, in his early 40s, and was beginning at last to be prosperous, he arranged a blue and white kitchen and a yellow dining-room that made an enchanting background to this passion. From the windows of both rooms, the views were – and are once again, thanks to careful restoration – full of flowers and sunlight.
Light was the dominant passion of Monet's life. The timetable for the copious meals was dictated by his need to make the most of it. The day started soon after five with a large breakfast based more on English and Dutch ideas (sausages, bacon, Stilton and Gouda), than the usual coffee and croissants or brioches.
At 11am, Monet was back from the fields or his boat, ready to talk to visitors, before sitting down to lunch punctually at 11.30. Supper was strictly a family meal, and early, beginning with soup, as Monet went to bed at 9.30pm so as to be up betimes.
He brought back recipes from his travels (Yorkshire and Christmas puddings, hard sauce, crème brûlée, scones), from restaurateurs, from friends. To judge by the 150-plus recipes in this English edition, Monet's tastes took in what we think of as the best of French cookery in its traditional style. There's a variation on moules marinière that makes use of sorrel and chervil and other greenery, as well as the usual parsley. An oxtail hotpot from Marguéry's restaurant includes chestnuts, little pear onions, mushrooms and chipolatas.
So far, so good. But this coffee-table slab of a book is an opportunity wasted. There are too few photographs of the Monets and Giverny, too many useless arty shots of dead chickens, game birds, shallots and onions, too many place-settings. I love the French and their food, but their cookery books are lazy and careless, with too few shining exceptions.
Information on friends or restaurateurs who contributed recipes is minimal. No hint, for instance, that Mallarmé, whose chanterelle dish is given, himself wrote a cookery column at one time. It would have been interesting to know what was served when Clemenceau came to lunch.
Monet's Cookery Notebooks is a rather hefty, over-embellished crumb to have fallen from the table at Giverny. Tempting, but not enough, and, in the end, unsatisfactory.
This is an edited extract