What’s the first name that springs to mind when you think of a gastronomic guidebook? The Michelin guide of course!
But did you know that the Michelin guide began as a 19th C tire vendor in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region of France? Naturally, the big question was how to elbow people towards buying more tires at a time when cars themselves were a rarity. The canny founder-brothers André and Édouard found a way. They egged car owners to wheel about the country by distributing a little guide with maps and routes, then began dotting it with restaurant reviews. Thus was born the Michelin guide.
Today, of course the guide sits at the top of the culinary hierarchy. Anonymous inspectors hopscotch across Europe, Australia and North America, scrutinizing restaurant dishes (and service and décor), and flinging a star or two or three at those they deem deserving. It has crowned obscure European gastronomy such as ‘fire cooking’ at Stockholm’s Ekstedt restaurant and culinary invention such as the much-vaunted molecular gastronomy at Spain’s el Bulli.
And yet, for all its prestige, the guide remains intensely parochial.
It was only an entire century after its birth did the guide deem Japan as a worthy beneficiary of its precious star. In its wake followed the Thailand, China, Singapore, Vietnam, Taiwan, the Philippines, South Korea, UAE, and Macau guides. But what of Africa, an entire continent written out of this narrative? And what of South Asia?
Is it because these are countries with no viable market for Michelin’s tires — capitalism after all, always lurks beneath the surface. Is it that Michelin’s inspectors simply don’t know how to evaluate South Asian cuisine? But after all, the guide has bestowed stars to Indian restaurants in the USA, the UK and Dubai, hurtling those chefs to stardom. Trèsind Studio in Dubai, Semma in New York City, Gaggan in Bangkok, and Benares in London all hold Michelin stars (amongst multiple others).
Meanwhile, back in India, a world-class fine dining scene is now sprouting. Indian restaurants are no longer leashed by the constraints of tradition, offering food and drinks that are restlessly cosmopolitan, cleaving to familiar Indian ingredients such as kokum fruit and green mango, while inflecting them with a touch of international whimsy.
India comes with its own set of deeply-beloved food guides; the Times Food Guide has stewarded diners to their favorite eateries for decades. The World’s Top Restaurants (Asia Edition) now lists multiple Indian restaurants. The Singapore-based Miele Guide was Asia’s very first restaurant guide, with thousands of people voting for their favorites, rather than relying on the caprice of anonymous Western judges — alas, it sank without a trace. The internet has fueled the rise of an entire stable of food content – bloggers, content creators, influencers all prowling the streets to find the next ‘hidden gem’, whether it is that tiny coastal seafood restaurant or the vendor selling succulent seekh kebabs in a bustling bazaar.
And so perhaps the uncomfortable question is not why the Michelin won’t wend its way to India, but why we even care. Do we simply want approval from the West, no matter how flawed or incomplete the arbiter?
For many chefs, a Michelin star remains a lifelong goal, and there is nothing wrong with that. Perhaps it behooves us to remember though that it is just one measure of excellence, not the only measure. After all, when a system that styles itself as the global standard for culinary excellence has left out chunks of the global South, it risks becoming a rather good guide to a small part of the world. It’s a statement about whose food is considered worth the journey.
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