
My favorite author is a
cookery writer: Elizabeth David.
Her writing was evocative and humble to the physical details that she was describing. Like the following description, pinpointing a stage previously unidentified in cooking terms, of the exact temperature at which a mackerel should be poached:
They must cook very gently indeed, the liquid not even simmering but merely shuddering.
She was bossy but trusted her readers' imaginations and their judgement; she had faith in their taste (which could be developed through the process of following her recipes with thorough consciousness.) As she irately wrote to the editor Judith Jones when Jones complained about a recipe leaving too much stuffing:
Inconsistencies are inevitable in a cookery book and preferable, I think myself, to absurdities brought about by overzealousness in the matter of literal renderings....I don't think one does any harm in crediting one's readers with a little imagination and knowledge of their own.
David also avoided the two most hideous traps of a cookery writer: purple prose and whimsy. Her humor, in fact, sometimes came across as the stern voice of schoolteacher--or a Mary Poppins figure--who created so much indulgence and pleasure but was too dignified to associate herself, or her work, with such frivolous joy:
Anyhow the combination of the soft apple puree with the light crisp crust is excellent; it's known in my household, I am sorry to say, as Lady Windermere's Flan.

At that, let's shift from E.D. to Ernst.
I think the perfect syllabus for a beginning filmmaking class would be solely Ernst Lubitsch's 1925 silent Lady Windermere's Fan. That's it. It's a perfect film, and it utilizes all of the medium's unique strengths.
Like Elizabeth David, Lubitsch had a lyrical style, with grounded charm and too much intelligence to ever fall into twee whimsy. One of his greatest skills--and so much of what is identifiably Lubitschian--was his trust and dependence on the imagination of his audience.
Arnaud Desplechin has remarked recently on being greatly influenced by the Lubitsch silents in his approach to filmmaking. Desplechin lets the actions of his actors trump the written script, but feels that it's important for this script to be very good and thorough before it can be thrown away. He has commented that there was excellent dialogue often written for these silent movies even though you never hear it, and that the intertitles then abbreviate the script.

