4 hours ago
4
Much like the desserts whipped up by its titular cook, Carême is a rich, moreish and knowingly indulgent treat. This swashbuckling French period drama follows the “world’s first celebrity chef” Antonin Carême as he cavorts around Paris in the early 1800s under the watchful eye of first consul Napoleon Bonaparte, whom he has sworn to hate as he holds him responsible for the death of his adopted sister. It is about as understated as a 12-course tasting menu. But as it scoffs and seduces its way through the Napoleonic era, it’s hard not to fall for the extravagant charms of the Bake Off: extra spice.
Carême (a twinkly-eyed Benjamin Voisin, in full rock-star mode) is a principled young renegade and preternaturally talented pastry chef who makes his disdain for Napoleon clear from the beginning. Despite being midway through a steamy, whipped cream-based encounter with his sometime girlfriend Henriette (Lyna Khoudri), he is called away from his, ahem, tasting session and asked to cook for the troops. “Should I poison them?” he asks, cheekily, before setting to work. He does not choose to commit mass murder, but does reluctantly end up saving Napoleon’s life, leaving Carême in a bind. Should he work for the man he despises? Does he have a choice?
I know little about the real-life Carême, but this reimagining of him is stuffed to bursting. He is a magician with pastry, but also a Casanova (if you’ll forgive the elision of historical shaggers), a reckless fighter, a top-notch head chef, a consumer of opium, a herbalist who can treat any number of maladies with his concoctions, plus a spy and political operator who conspires against powerful men. Why add just one more element, when you can also chuck in a mass explosion, blackmail, illicit children, religion, war and just about anything else that comes to mind? And then make it all about cake?
Inevitably, for any show that thrives on the stress of cooking and centres on a charismatic yet tortured chef, it has more than a touch of The Bear. The ample plot lines rat-a-tat along to the military beat of a professional kitchen, and there’s a lot of shouting and posturing and perfectionism. Carême learns from, and eventually recruits, Agathe (Alice Da Luz), who is a more orderly chef than him and who seems able to harness Carême’s self-destructive streak, allowing him to produce delicious and visionary food for rich people. She states, early on, that she will only work with him if they don’t sleep together. I am sure that with all those smouldering looks passing between them, they will not struggle to honour this agreement. Not a bit.
If it’s easy to compare one show to another, and there is also a natural through-line to The Great, which similarly romped its way through history and had its own fair share of grand indulgences and orgy scenes. Carême is not nearly as funny as The Great, a period drama with a razor-sharp wit, instead being more earnest and inclined towards sentimentality. But even so, it is always enjoyable when period dramas undo their top buttons and hitch up their hemlines.
Carême’s real trick, though, is to mix all this up with Bake Off: The Professionals, or even the majestic Is It Cake? For all the political machinations, backstabbing and treachery in the Tuileries, the real moments of wonder are in Carême’s kitchen concoctions. In this show, desserts can bring nations together, drive married couples apart and seduce the powerful and wealthy. Napoleon is mocked for his limited appetite and basic taste, but his sweet tooth allows Carême a way in. Unfortunately for him, that way in may be via the famous Joséphine’s bedroom, as she is much more receptive to his culinary talents.
Initially, there are hints that this show may be an acquired taste. It’s hard to root for Carême at first, given how obnoxious he is. At times, you’d happily leave him to his fate at the hands of Napoleon’s most brutal lieutenants. But the drama moves along at such a spirited pace that it sucks you in, and after its opening pair of episodes, it is difficult to resist. Apple’s insistence on releasing series in weekly instalments, rather than dumping them all at once, suits the over-the-top decadence. It would be too sickly in large measures … but as an occasional treat, it works beautifully. It’s not deep, and it isn’t subtle, but it is unapologetically fun.
