With interwoven recipes and memories, Molly Wizenberg divulges
her story, a memoir that blossoms from a blog she created in the aftermath of
her father’s death.
While the stories are splotchy little essays that capture
only fragments of Wizenberg’s life, they are immensely powerful. After reading the chapter, “La Boule Miche,”
I immediately scurried to the kitchen and scrounged up a piece of salted dark
chocolate and a leftover hunk of a baguette.
I suspect that I am not the only reader who has done this.
I found myself reading entire paragraphs of this book out
loud just to hear the delicious names.
The word ‘crumb’ is used here and there and always with a beautiful
flourish. You mustn’t scold yourself for
being so moved by such a small word!
During the chapter, “Pickling Plant,” Wizenberg speaks of her husband’s
pickling passion. If you are a pickle
fanatic and have not already made the leap into brine, this chapter will
inspire you to take up pickling.
If you wake up each day for the splendor of breakfast or
have flown to Chicago just for a slice of pizza, or if you find yourself using
the business card of a revered sausage maker as a bookmark, this is your kind
of book. If you like a well-crafted
essay with generous pats of strong adjectives and a sprinkling of well-placed
commas, or are the type of person who is easily wooed by pickles, you will find
a treasure in this splendid read.
