Books
Ben Shewry
Uses for Obsession
“Fuck rules,” writes Ben Shewry in Uses for Obsession: A (Chef’s) Memoir. As the owner of Attica, one of Australia’s most awarded fine dining restaurants, Shewry is driven to take creative risks. From building a cold smoker out of an old fridge (“I smoked everything: butter, cheese, olive oil, water, cream, eggs, fish, meats of all kinds, even flour”) to making potato “the protagonist” of a menu. He encourages chefs and readers alike to “be brave” and pursue their dreams. “I would rather pay to see someone really trying to lay themselves out on the plate and fail, than see a safe, well-executed, totally generic dish … Food to fall asleep to.”
Shewry employs the same creative zeal in Uses for Obsession, constructing an atmosphere that seeks to enliven and entertain the reader even beyond the page. As a self-described “semi-pro playlist builder”, Shewry has curated three playlists for the reader to dive into, via QR codes. A soundtrack for the book, a “comin-outta-the-tunnel-into-the-light” playlist, and the “ultimate dinner party” playlist. Even the brief selection of recipes included in the memoir contains suggestions for how to get into the right mood while cooking, from donning a red suit to make bechamel or listening to Wilco’s album A Ghost Is Born while making bolognese.
On a sentence level, Shewry’s descriptions of food are poetically crafted: “It’s like looking through a stained-glass window – pure white streaks of fat against cured red meat, translucent and glistening”. At times, Shewry’s playfulness with words becomes cutesy (“So a rule was ditched and we got hitched”) or bombastic (“For 25 years I’ve been carrying THE QUESTION™”).
Resisting any sense of linear narrative, Shewry experiments with the possibilities of memoir structure and form. Each chapter centres around an idea, memory or thesis. The results are mixed. Some chapters are exquisitely balanced. Shewry has a real knack for pacing and tension when recounting moments of high stress while working aboard or the excruciating effort it took to keep his business afloat during 262 days of lockdown.
His writing craft shines through when detailing how he became a chef. From the first day of culinary school (“We stand in crisp white jackets, neckerchiefs and tall hats, a rank of awkward, bright-faced cockatoos”) to the thousands of hours of grit it took to find and hone his own creative rhythm in the kitchen. Shewry frankly shares the mistakes and time that goes into developing dishes for Attica. The eight months it took to learn how to cook saltwater crocodile ribs. The month-long process of creating green pasta dough from Australian wheat, native warrigal greens and ngerdi (green ants) that had his team “close to tears”.
The book’s pace and focus wanes during the chapter on lasagne. Shewry’s deep connection and unbridled enthusiasm for the dish paradoxically creates a distancing effect. Lengthy and overladen with earnest sentimentality, the writing loses its potency and veers towards the mawkish. A feeling of curiosity is revived within the reader with the inclusion of several recipes relating to lasagne. Even though it’s unlikely I’ll ever cook wild boar bacon or buffalo stock, the writing is crisp, inviting and kind. It is not surprising they are so appealing to read – Shewry believes “recipes are the most direct and honest form of writing that exists”.
Then there are the chapters Shewry admits, “Perhaps I have penned many words I should not have written.” Uses for Obsession is not a book about food, says Shewry. Rather it is “about an acute dislike of bullshit”. He rips into the status quo that exists within the hospitality industry. He tackles plagiarism. Sexism and sexual harassment. The poor treatment of waiters. Racism. The overworking of staff. Food media, criticism and conflicts of interest. “The meaningless merry-go-round of awards and fake sustainability initiatives.” The importance of cultural sensitivity and respect for ingredients.
Shewry is not just considerate with concealing identities, he uses it as yet another opportunity to be creative. Previous places of employment become “a place we’ll call Hell” or “the Horrible Hotel”. A “mega-famous” chef is called “God”, another is “the King Chef”. Food critics become collectively known as “Jimmy”. He writes openly and passionately about the potential impact Anthony Bourdain’s memoir Kitchen Confidential has had on validating “poor behaviour” within the industry.
Each topic desperately needs to be explored, especially in Australia. Doing so is not without risk. The writing here is occasionally uneven, shifting from free-flowing passages fuelled with verve and stern emotion to moments of self-consciousness or reassurances to the reader.
Perhaps one of the most powerful sections of the book is when Shewry distils his knowledge of running a restaurant into a list titled “Evolve or Die”. Just shy of 60 rules, the list is sharp and incendiary: Don’t allow knock-off drinks. Don’t buy into the myth that drug and alcohol abuse has amplified anyone’s career. Don’t charge your staff to dine at their place of work. Do be considerate of others with your ambition. You are not a tortured genius. Do train your managers in mental-health first aid.
Shewry welcomes people to copy this “blueprint for a restaurant”. His vision for the hospitality industry is one of hope and ethical behaviour.
Regardless of your relationship to cooking or access to fine dining, Uses for Obsession is an invigorating read. Having had a glimpse of how Shewry’s brain works, one hopes he has another book on the boil.
Murdoch Books, 272pp, $34.99
This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on October 19, 2024 as "Uses for Obsession".
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