Skip to main content

Book Review...Two Months Later

Way back around the first of April, I informed you that I was reviving my reading and writing habits.  Writing, yes, I have been doing more of that.  Reading, though, has been a little more slow-going.

Last night, I finally finished this book.  That I started over two months ago.

Here were my thoughts a few pages in...

The book is written by Luke Barr, M.F.K. Fisher's great-nephew.  So, through his narrative, his notes, his interviews (maybe?), and his memories, he is charged with the description and discussion of a pivotal year in a pivotal place...in which "American Taste is Reinvented". 

Okay.

While I'm excited about the topic of this book, I'm less excited about the narrative voice...and I hope it doesn't spoil the book.  But...

The Prologue is 20 pages.  It begins with "On a cool August morning in 2009, I drove up a sloping, narrow driveway in Glen Ellen, California, on my way to visit the past."  And it ends with "As I read it, I knew: I had found the key to my story and to this book."

Twenty pages of reason and rationale.  As if Luke Barr feels he must not only establish the premise of the entire book, but his credibility as well.  I suppose it makes sense...after all, he is a rather marginal player in this story.  But twenty pages is a lot for a Prologue, I feel.  But, I'll read it and maybe my judgments will change.

287 pages.  Not too terribly long.  Still took me a really long time to finish.  And at the end, I did a lot of skimming to Just. Be. Done.  That's not a good sign, kids.

The premise, the idea is a great one.  The Sixties in America, in the food sense, was tough times.  Convenience was important, as was speed.  Technique, flavor, quality all suffered.  Fast-food was becoming a big deal, as were packaged, processed foodstuffs.  Bad news Bears.

So, when Julia Child, James Beard, Richard Olney, MFK Fisher and bunch of other big-time food people get together in the South of France in December 1970, the stage is set for Luke Barr calls "The Reinvention of American Taste".  It sounds dramatic...like the Yalta Conference, or something.  But really, it's just a bunch of friends getting together, drinking wine, and making food together.

And I love that story too.  And I would have been content to read a book about a group of Food Greats Hanging Out Being Awesome, if that's what the premise had been.  Barr had access to MFK's diaries (he's her great-nephew), and therefore should have been to tell a wonderful story.  But I dunno, some parts seemed more fleshed out than others, some people seemed to be painted more colorfully than others....and in the end, it was just a uneven tumble of character sketches, letter excerpts, and place/food descriptions.  Oh, and the last twenty-five pages! Ugh.  Barr brought us back full circle as he was visiting La Pitchoune (the Provence residence of the Childs) in 2010.  I didn't mind the recap of what had happened in the interim between 1971 and 2010...most of the major players had died but had left published memoirs, legacies, etc.  But then Barr subjects us to his attempt at a recreating the foods and moods of December 1970 in Provence.  He introduces a bunch of new people into the scene...I develop no relationship with them and the one I have with the author is tenuous anyway.  To finish the book, I have to put up with his reflections and reminiscences...laced with so much nostalgia - and why!?  He wasn't there!  Oh, but yeah, he did bring his grandmother with him - MFK's sister - who wasn't even really a part of any of this food scene either.

Oy.  But, I finished it.  I'm done.  I will say that reading this book makes me want to reread Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

(She) Blinded Me With...Citrus

Excuse my attempt at tying today's blog entry with an iconic Thomas Dolby song.  What a terrible pun-ishment. Har har har. So, we're on the backside of Winter Vacation/Christmas Break/Holiday Hiatus here.  The kids return to school tomorrow, the freshman and I start back to our respective colleges next Monday. The clock is ticking and suddenly, I am whipped into frenzy to Get Work Done.  I suspect this phenomenon happens to many, many educators who try to avoid that panic-stricken night before they go back to work. And believe me when I say, I had the deepest, most earnest of intentions to write lesson plans, write quizzes, and generally prepare for the restart of my classes next week.  Like, really. And then...I was distracted by...citrus.  This happened. Okay, so....the lemons on the far right are no big deal.  They're available year-round.  But Meyer lemons...MEYER...I only find around here in the winter.  I first read about them i...

Girl Friends Are Great!

About a year and a half-ish ago, I stumbled into a parent organization called Choir Boosters.  Just about every learning institution in America has one (or several).  If there's a sport or activity, there are parents who want to be involved because their kid's in it. My daughter, who was a freshman at the time, joined her high school's choir.  Actually, she was asked to join the elite Chamber Choir, and for the first time in my parenting history, I had a child in an organization with a booster club I wanted to join.  My oldest son, who is two years older, participates in minimal activities, and not any with booster clubs, so no chances there.  Until now... A very pleasant side benefit of doing this "stuff for my kids" is that I've grown close with a few of the other women, so much so that when our big fundraiser was done in December, we wanted to keep getting together. Thus, the Mad Moms (our big fundraiser is called a Madrigal Dinner..."Mad...

In Which I Suspect I Have Latent Tendencies...Much Like The Hulk, Or Similar

I find in most normally functioning families, the members have a distinguishing role or legacy or skill of some kind. Like, he's the smart one.  Or, he's the religious one.  Or...she's the glue that helps the fam together.  Or, she's the savvy one, so she's the Power of Attorney. In my family, that system went something like this: My dad was The Dad.  Cantankerous, crotchety, and especially tight with daughters' curfew times.  Also, not a fan of driving in Big Cities. My mom was the long-suffering, patient, reserved one. My brother was the baby, the one who got away with murder, the namesake, and also, Frosty Hoarder. Me?  My legacy?  The Ruiner of Remote Controls.  No lie.  Although I've repressed the memories, my parents claim I destroyed at least two remotes in my tenure as Child Under The Roof.  Remote #1: milk spillage; Remote #2: applesauce spillage. So, now you see why my younger brother was the favorite. Anyway, t...