Tart: a book about culinary through the female gaze
I’ve never in my life pre-ordered a book, but this time my hand instinctively reached for Tart.
I’ve never in my life pre-ordered a book, but this time my hand instinctively reached for Tart.
I’ve been following the anonymous account Slutty Chef in the banned social network for ages — a mix of gastronomic diary, confession, and unapologetic romance in posts. Behind-the-scenes glimpses of Britain’s restaurant world, both elite and dive-bar level, sex, basement kitchens, and a column in British Vogue. I’m obsessed with her lyrical persona.
Her debut memoir is about sisterhood, the love of food, and how to survive (and enjoy) life in the male-dominated restaurant industry. In spirit, it’s part Lena Dunham (and yes, I can already see her adapting it for the screen), part The Bear, but entirely through a female gaze.
You read it and feel as if you’re rolling through London alongside her shifts: stopping at Turkish eateries, Dalston Superstore, smoky kitchens where the walls are steeped in fat and spices. She burns her fingers on chilli, flirts with chefs, smokes a cigarette after the late-night service, and pedals her bike to a lover. The details of that ride are as juicy as the kebab they share.
It’s hedonistic, light summer reading that you want to savour just as she savours a fish stew: “I don’t want my sex life to be active, I want it to be award-winning… I don’t want to eat, I want to devour, I don’t want to have dinner, I want to dine.” I couldn’t agree more.
