Before a holiday, I make a plan. Not of museums to visit or what I’m going to pack, but of what I’m going to eat.
Drawing up the itinerary involves poring over guidebooks, scouring the internet and beseeching Twitter for recommendations. Where is hot? What should I order?
Sightseeing is restricted by questions such as: is there a decent cafe near the Colosseum? Or: does that day trip to see one of the world’s largest glaciers mean we’ll miss supper?
I’ve travelled to California just to eat oysters and tapioca at Thomas Keller’s French Laundry (people like me always know the name of the chef, and drop it as often as possible), Copenhagen to nibble on fried moss by crumbling plaster walls in Noma, and Roses to inhale carrot air at El Bulli.
Don’t make the mistake of thinking I am alone in my food nerdery. This sort of gastro-tourism is far from unusual. The Trip, a television series featuring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon eating in a string of the Lake District’s best restaurants, captured UK’s obsession with eating out perfectly — and sent bookings in the starring restaurants rocketing. Tourist boards, meanwhile, are marketing “cuisine”, as opposed to “culture”: if we like the food, then we’re more likely to take a punt on the place as a holiday destination.
There’s a long tradition of chefs making pilgrimages to establishments with three stars. Antony Worrall Thompson did all 18 in a month in his twenties, culminating in a trip to Paul Bocuse where, urban legend has it, the great chef rewarded him with a call girl.
Eating abroad is no longer just fuel to keep you going between sunbathing and sightseeing, “funny foreign food” viewed with a suspicion equalled only by our mistrust of the toilet facilities.
Cuisine is part of the cultural experience, not aside from it. A visit to Italy is as much about risotto as Roman treasures. The trick is to eat discriminatingly. As you open your mouth, open your mind.
