Algerian Cookbook: More like Algerian Hide that Book

In the recent past, I happened to stumble across a remarkable talk by a fellow author. Disagreeing calmly with her opinion, she proceeded to display an ill-mannered approach to both speaking and thinking. Seemingly, and without further ado having no prior knowledge of her name in the literary scene I disregarded her without hesitation. She appeared to be nothing more than a mere copy of others who reveal their savage nature when confronted with the rejection of their selfish thoughts.

The ego that plagues writers is a sad and tiresome thing to face. While words, as in this flow, can be used for a purpose of high elegance, the bureaucratic diplomats, of course, will applaud only the most superficial minds and those who flee from the truth by seeking refuge in a book."

Algerian Homecook: A Visual Guide to Authentic Cooking" is a regrettable misstep in representing the depth and richness of Algerian cuisine. Rather than providing an in-depth exploration of the history, cultural significance, and intricate influences that shape Algerian gastronomy, this book reduces it to a shallow visual showcase. The recipes are presented in a simplistic and uninspired manner, lacking the necessary depth and contextualisation that would allow readers to truly grasp the essence of the cuisine.

Instead of delving into the profound multicultural heritage of Algeria where Berber, Arab, Ottoman, and French influences intertwine, the book prioritises aesthetics over substance. The broader imagery, ill-taken as well, fails to compensate for the lack of historical narrative and the omission of crucial culinary traditions. This work does little justice to Algerian cuisine, especially when placed in comparison with the meticulously documented and world-renowned Japanese culinary tradition.

For a cuisine as complex and historically layered as Algeria’s, this book is a cheapoffering, at best, a superficial glance rather than a comprehensive or meaningful contribution to Algerian literature.

This book is a shameful attempt in a world that is far more advanced than us another failed literary endeavour masked by the veil of solipsistic self-aggrandisement. Algerian literature is yet again used as a means for someone to elevate their social image and expand their network. Yet, a handful of discerning minds can easily recognise a failed project such as this, which appears all too clearly to the poetic mind.

In truth, the brief exchange I personally had with the author was vulgar and, sadly, perfectly in line with the content of this book. Nothing that emerges from such a lowered state of mind is likely to bring anything praiseworthy to the surface nor, indeed, from someone who dwells in a collection of wasted years called life.