In 1968, Clovis Dupree, a former French fishing trawler captain-turned-gastronomic-inquisitor, realised that diners’ perceptions of fish-related haute cuisine were significantly impacted by the thickness of a fillet. His initial theory focussed on how much texture and depth influenced taste, but in subsequent years progressed to include more specific measures such as breadth, moisture content, density and consistency.
His first scientific white paper entitled ‘Fish Thickness’ published in ‘The Marine Science Review’ in 1972, was poorly received due to misguided assumptions that the paper was a discursive narrative relating to the mental capacity of aquatic species. However, after a number of protracted and heated debates fuelled by some unfathomably heady Cognac, marine scholars realised that they were in fact missing the point and that Dupree’s culinary perceptions were valid. They came to the conclusion that they had spent valuable time panning Dupree’s concepts to a fry. Dupree was shell-shocked; their realisation ultimately constituted acceptance of his theory, which had the effect of giving his research budget a much-needed shot in the arm.
Over the next decade, Dupree set about analysing and documenting the optimum thicknesses of over eighty percent of edible marine species, and subsequently decided to invent a measuring tool which would become a mainstay of professional kitchens worldwide. In order to make his venture a monetary success, he assembled a roundtable of academics, engineers and designers, a kind of aquatic discussion-doughnut, where members would ponder over the influence that a few extra micrometres might have over a trout or hake fillet. Once the team had formulated a commercial plan, he then set about convincing the wider world of his ideas.
Like the scientific community before them, food critics proved a tough audience. At first glance, most culinary experts had a narrow view of such a broad subject, proving that their slim understanding was indicative of the thick minds of a thin band operating under a wider church; all harbouring slender perceptions and crucially, fat wallets. But once the concepts contained within his paper went mainstream everyone seemed to buy into it hook, line and sinker. Consequently, the ‘Dupree Depth Delineator’, or the ‘Triple D’ as it was known colloquially, was born. A precision instrument made of high tensile steel which could provide an accurate measurement of almost any seafood from mollusc, to skate, to bass at the flick of an eight inch Wüsthof (something that Dupree was known to often wave around at random).
The Triple D was revolutionary and would prove to tip the scales of commercial success in Dupree’s favour. It sold in its millions across every continent making him world-renowned and jettisoning him into the list of the top three thousand richest people in France, just below Johnny Hallyday in the rankings. He became a household name attending high society parties where he rubbed shoulders with politicians and rubbed organs with musicians. However, he enjoyed the high life a little too exuberantly, his exploits becoming notorious and ultimately signalling the commencement of his rapid decline.
In 1984, following one of his famous episodes of wanton debauchery, Dupree was found dead in the hot tub of his Los Angeles home. By his side were a couple of glasses, half filled with cognac. Clothes were strewn about the lounge, and it was apparent that he had been fiddling with a pair of his favourite Triple D’s. The coroner’s report suggested that he had imbibed a drug of dubious origin during a marathon session listening to Gil Scott Heron albums. And this, the end of his productive and fruitful life, represents the conclusion to this rather fishy tail.
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