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Not only is it a tell-all tale of a youth hungering for the love of a father that was only occasionally available but one of a life of exuberance, a life that becomes filled with the joy of finding your niche in life and wallowing in it wholeheartedly. Slater awoke in me so many past food feelings from my own childhood not just from his sumptuous descriptions of his own past life but because of the proximity our lives shared in the fact that we were raised in towns barely eight miles apart and are within two years of being the same age. Slater normally writes books on cooking, with recipes, so this was a brave soul-searching stab at a new venture that lets us in on why he is so good at what he does. If only we all could find that space in our life. The descriptions of past memories of sweets reminded me so much of my childhood, and I think would resonant more with a British audience than American.My mother, as his, did not enjoy the preparation of food, and while for Slater that led to a life of exploration in food, for me not so much. This is why I enjoyed this book.
The only drawback to this book. Of course all is told with his customary wit and no holds barred humor. Written in 100% Sensory Detail Surround you see what he sees, you feel what he feels, you smell it, taste it.
Well, not this American. So does the author and this is what he writes about, food.and his memories of it, food.and family, food.and sex. Some reviewers here say that as Americans they couldn't relate to this book.
An engaging read from the get go, instantly you are in this book and in the life of little Nigel. Don't read it if you're on a diet, it will make you hungry. Food is, after all, food.
Brit or American we each have a relationship with food that transcends the mere physical (as our ever expanding waistlines would attest).
Wow.Really, this is more of a psychological portrait of a young boy than a book about food. Obviously lots of people loved this book- I didn't. I read 60 pages of this book, and felt so depressed and shocked by some of the events the author described (having nothing at all to do with food, believe me) that I decided I didn't want to read any more. Just be ready for it. A few of the events were downright disturbing, and they were just related and then forgotten about. Next chapter - types of British candy.
Totally wonderful book about Slater's youth and coming of age told in short tales centered around his memories of foodstuffs served first by his mother, then sadly and ineffectually by his father, and finally, in a proud show offy style by his step mum.Quite nicely told form his viewpoint as a child and a teen, with no attempt to smooth over his sometimes self centered and selfish reactions to the adults around him (he was a child after all, and one who had to deal with quite a lot at a rather tender age).
Slater may write well enough, but he has essentially nothing to say. Perhaps I wouldn't have been so disappointed if the book hadn't been so hyped.
So Mum kept burning the toast.and burning the toast. Read Julie Powell ("Julie & Julia") or MFK Fisher for food humor or Kathryn Harrison for child abuse, but this book is bland enough to be neither.
Do not put this writer in the ranks of Reichl, Bourdain, or Child. I kept waiting to be won over, but the author evokes no foodie buzz, at least for this reader.
and burning. Mr.
I grew tired of the endless lists of British candies and other treats that had no relevance for me as an American.
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