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Brought to life by director Anh Hung Tran, “The Taste of Things” opens simply with a humble woman and brilliant chef, Eugénie (Juliette Binoche), taking a peaceful stroll through her garden while picking vegetables. This scene is immediately paralleled by an impressive and equally brilliant chef, Dodin (Benoît Magimel), asking his assistants — obedient teenage girls Violette (Galatéa Bellugi) and Pauline (Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire) — where Eugénie is. Quickly, this peace dissipates, as Eugénie enters the home’s kitchen and begins cooking. She boils eggs, cuts open and guts an unidentifiable animal, and fries crêpes. The household enjoys the simple meal before they hurry back to the real feat of this opening scene: a multi-course meal to be drooled over and enjoyed by Dodin’s friends, the gourmets (in this universe, men who are essentially professional eaters with discerning palettes).

“God created water but man created wine,” one gourmet proclaims in response to a delicious food and wine pairing that these two incomparably talented chefs have prepared.

What occurs when a man finds himself at a level of fame and success that those around him consider him a god? Dodin — known far and wide as one of the most talented chefs of his time — must determine the answer as he balances these expectations with the one thing he wants most: to court his brilliant co-chef Eugénie. “The Taste of Things” offers its watchers an introspective story about the intersection of talent and desire, love and lust, life’s movement, and the things it leaves behind.

Visually, the film is stunning. A constantly moving, dynamic camera throughout the kitchen’s chaos immerses the audience in the movie. True to the time period, the only sources of indoor light come from massive, intentionally framed windows and perfectly placed candles which gorgeously bathe the set, creating immaculate compositions. Through the elaborate settings of decadent manors and manicured countryside gardens, viewers will surely find themselves transported into the film.

This total immersion is an impressive feat because many moments throughout the story feel acutely absurd. Laborious scenes of diligent work in the kitchen are juxtaposed with scenes of the bourgeois gourmets, dressed in suits and trying to prove how much they know about food — exclusively through how much they eat it. During these scenes, the men often enjoy their food so much that they eat in a complete silence only broken by the clatter of their silverware against their plates and their groans of satisfaction. At one point, Dodin and the gourmets even place napkins over their heads before eating a particularly messy meal to hide their overindulgence. Only slurps can be heard as the audience watches a table full of bobbing, cloth-covered heads. These moments of absurdity adeptly provide humor and relief in a film otherwise full of fast-paced depictions of hardship.

Ultimately, this film expertly displays its love for cooking just as much as it captures its love for telling a beautiful story. Shots exhibiting the processes of cooking share equivalent screen time as the movie’s actual plot points. The operations of chopping garlic in half, pouring buckets of water into large copper pots, and tenderly plating dishes are all shown in immense detail. Through these actions, over-the-shoulder shots and close-ups of hands moving in repetition immerse viewers into the chef’s perspective, making them feel like they are producing these dishes themselves. Notably, all of the meals seen throughout the movie are real, which is made apparent through the satisfying steam, bright colors, and audible sizzles that emanate from the freshly cooked cuisine. If audiences did not enter the theater hungry, they will certainly leave that way.

As the film cuts to black and the credits roll, “Méditation” by Massanet — one of only two songs present throughout the entire movie — begins to play, suggesting the perfect way to begin to digest the film: meditating over the intricacies of this film’s love letter to cuisine.

—Staff writer Xander D. Patton can be reached at xander.patton@thecrimson.com.