Another year, another cookbook. Rick Stein is back for his next round of food travels and this time, we’re going to France. “For the French, food isn’t part of life, it is life itself,” says Stein, as his Porsche zips through the French countryside. “So what’s slightly worrying is I keep hearing these stories about things not being what they used to be.”
To investigate, Stein takes us to “secret France” — towns off the tourist trail — in search of local gems. In his words, “It’s always better to travel hopefully,” so he’s optimistic that France will deliver the goods. In this episode, France does — but is our host as successful?
Over the course of this BBC Two series, Stein will zigzag across the country. Tonight he starts in Dieppe, a coastal town in Normandy, to guzzle cider and fresh-caught fish. Then to Picardy, where he explores the marshes of Le Crotoy and the trenches of Beaumont Hamel. Then, finally, to Essoyes and Troyes in Champagne, where he heaps praise on Renoir, rabbits, and hand-made andouillettes. Tonight’s episode offers the usual mix of Stein scenes: a meal in a local restaurant, a spin on the same dish at home, a few chats with locals. Stein adds some historical vignettes: tonight these include anecdotes about French and British artists, as well as sober tributes to slain British troops.
This formula should be all well and good, but there is something a little off about our host. As a celebrity chef, Stein gained fame for his brand of blunt charm and homespun joie de vivre. As he has aged, there has been a little more grumpiness, a few more gaffes, and an occasional scolding for the folks “back home.” But this is the first show where Stein simply doesn’t pull it off. This is clearest in the first scene. With a plate of turbot in front of him, Stein stiffly faces the camera, appearing both uncomfortable and unconvincing as he lauds the food. Even his speech is oddly paced. TV presenters deal in charisma and believability: here, Stein gives us neither (eating John Dory with asparagus in Dieppe, pictured below).
This initial faltering might have be overlooked. But it soon reappears — Stein grimaces, he smiles too wide, he stumbles through descriptions. He talks way too much about salt. Maybe it’s a few bad days of filming. Maybe it’s indigestion? But there is the unfortunate effect of making our veteran host seem overfed and overstretched, as well as (concerningly) breathless. Stein’s delivery does become smoother over the course of the episode. But the damage is done. The show starts on a shaky note from which it never quite recovers.
Of course, Secret France still offers some of the the old-school, lulling pleasures of the travelling chef programme. There is food and landscape eye candy. There are cooking tips. There are even some gleeful moments — including when Stein laughingly calls three-Michelin-starred restaurants so fussy that they “disappear up themselves.” There is also a rather charming sequence of Stein and his crew waddling through the mud after picking samphire, in which both the cameraman and the camera take a spill.
Although this episode is not a failure, it is a let down. This is a series that asks about the enduring relevance and quality of French cuisine. But should the same question be asked of Stein’s parade of television shows? Unlike French food, which Stein tells us is just as good as it once was, their pleasures are not quite what they used to be.
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