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Book Review of All the Presidents' Pastries: Twenty-Five Years in the White House, A Memoir

All the Presidents' Pastries: Twenty-Five Years in the White House, A Memoir
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I ordered this for the bookshelf at the old soldiers and sailors' home and it was kindly supplied by Ms. Rivard of Foster, Rhode Island. Although there are few readers there, when normal times return it will be certain to find a grateful reader among visitors or staffers on break and probably by a patient with an hour to kill. I had a pleasant read of some of it while taking the 7AM bus this Sunday to fetch a loaf of bread (only two or three others aboard, distancing is good!).
Mr. Mesnier is rather full of himself (the photos are not much populated by his kitchen mates) but allows readers to learn of the management of professional kitchens. I was surprised that it is not as lucrative as we think ($28,000 per annum when hired by Mrs. Carter in 1980). While he is justifiably proud of his elaborate 'show pieces,' his White House menus featured fresh fruits and low calorie counts. I imagine his fine dining recipes were often the opposite, made to cap a wonderful dinner. Besides his management skills, I believe his success is that he is constantly learning and innovating. Such chefs do carry their favorite pans, etc. with them, such as for a competition that he returned from Bermuda to enter. "My former colleagues were good enough to find me a space to work, where I practiced again and again before the competition. On the morning of the great day, a friend from the George V drove me and all my equipment to Vicennes. There were fifteen candidates in all, and we got to work straight away. I arranged my worktable and calculated the time needed to complete each of the tests. Everything went according to plan."
The author comes to know the occupants of the Excecutive Mansion somewhat and shares asides. For example, President Carter liked enjoyed fishing when at Camp David. The stream would be freshly stocked before he drowned his worm, as when President Coolidge escaped the oppresive Summer heat of D.C. in the Dakotas. A few years ago Mrs. Apperson, whose husband was in the nursing home, told me that her grandfather, a Montana rancher, saw the stream stocked when Mr. Coolidge fished there.
This is not an Ike Hoover-type White House reminiscence (Mesnier does criticize those who sneered at the Carter's as uncouth Southerners), but the absence of an index caused me to deduct one star from my evaluation.