a booklist

When I was fifteen I read a book called, Are You Really Going to Eat That? by Robb Walsh. 

It detailed all the disgusting things the author had eaten and the stories behind them. 

It wasn’t the food, but the stories surrounding the food mesmerized me.
I became obsessed. 

I read cookbooks the way other people read novels. 

I read about the history of barbeque, the art of sushi, the architecture of the perfect loaf of bread. 
I read the food encyclopedia, The Man Who Ate Everything, cover to cover. 

All five hundred and twenty-eight pages of it. 

My favorite books, however, were the food memoirs, because the lives of the authors wrapped around recipes and meals. 

Eating and love and destiny and history and romance-- in the lives of these magic people-- it was all interconnected and intertwined through food. 

These writers were the kind of people I wanted to know. 

They were all somewhat troubled, and clever, with strange childhoods. 

They had sexy lives-- slick with travel and encounters with famous chefs, rare cheeses, wine, cloud-like pastries, and sensuous lovers that entertained them in between courses. 

However, more than anything, I was fascinated that these magical people lived in pursuit of beauty. That an entire way of life could be structured around the ceaseless pursuit of flavors that lasted just long enough to be remembered and written about. 

And so eating and drinking, became for me, about the story. 

This year is almost over. 

I'm trying to comprehend all the stories, all the meals, all the drinks. 

Maybe it doesn't matter. 

But I can't help it. 

Do you remember? 

I want to say. 

Do you remember? 

Remember the butterscotch budino? 

Remember the time I cried, and he gave me the cookies for free?

Remember when I dropped the bowl of whipped cream?
Remember when we sat in Central Park and I gave you the rest of the pastries? 

Remember the rum, and the beach, and the lobster pasta?
Remember the Halloween samosas at 2am, and you were too drunk and I was too sober and everyone came and sat on the sidewalk, all in costume-- just to eat doughnuts? 

Remember the time I asked for “a pink drink please” and you touched my hand across the table?  

Remember the gelato and cheese and grapes, and rescuing a dog in the rain and I was barefoot? 

I didn't want an entree, but you insisted. 

You ate all the pizza, asshole. 

We only ever ate breakfast tacos. 

Do you remember? 

So it's been a hungry year. 

Very hungry. 

I have been learning that it is impossible to hold too tightly onto people. 

However, it is possible to love the memories and collect the recipes. 

And to remember this bitter and sweet year, with gratitude. 

Because if nothing else, at least we ate. 

And at least I got a story. 

XOXO

mary 

Some Food Memoirs You Might Read If You Are So Inclined 

* My favorites are italicized. 

The Man Who Ate Everything -- Jeffrey Steingarten

Are You Really Going to Eat That? -- Robb Walsh

The Tenth Muse: My Life in Food -- Judith Jones

Garlic and Sapphires -- Ruth Riechl 

Comfort Me With Apples -- Ruth Riechl 

How to Cook a Wolf -- MFK Fisher 

A Homemade Life -- Molly Wizenberg 

My Berlin Kitchen -- Luisa Weiss 

Blood, Bones and Butter -- Gabrielle Hamilton 

Toast -- Nigel Slater 

My Life in France -- Julia Child

Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen -- Laurie Colwin 

The Sweet Life in Paris -- David Lebovitz

I Loved, I Lost, I Made Spaghetti -- Giulia Melucci

Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating Food in China -- Fushia Dunlop 

Climbing the Mango Tree: A Memoir of Childhood in India -- Madhur Jaffrey 

My Life from Scratch -- Gesine Bullock-Prado 

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle -- Barbara Kingsolver