Book Sixteen: Talking with My Mouth Full

Talking with My Mouth Full, Bonny Wolf



As someone who listens to NPR more than a few hours a day, I was surprised that Bonny Wolf's name was unfamiliar to me. I would have thought I'd have heard her food commentaries on Weekend Edition or took notice of her name in the food writing world at all. But no. I came across this book on the library shelf in the food writing section that I regularly peruse, and thought it sounded sweet. Which is exactly what it was. Sweet, simple, full of recipes. Each essay is only a couple of pages long, on a variety of food topics ranging from her son's vegetarian stint in high school to Baltimore crab to Smith Island cakes to holiday traditions and on and on, and each one is followed by at least a few recipes.

While I wasn't blown away, I was pretty delighted with the book. And now that I realize I have to return it to the library, I'm a little sad that I don't own it, because there are several recipes I wouldn't mind trying or referencing at some point.

Book Fifteen: Interpreter of Maladies

Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri



Sometimes it feels like I'm only reading books for my book club, but when the books are this good, I honestly don't mind. And since I haven't been reading short stories much lately (maybe because of shit like this), it was refreshing to read short stories done well. I particularly liked "A Temporary Matter," "Sexy," "This Blessed House," and "The Third and Final Continent." But honestly, I loved them all.

Book Fourteen: Tears of the Giraffe

Tears of the Giraffe, Alexander McCall Smith



Wheeeeee! More Precious Ramotswe!

(Shortest review ever.)

Book Thirteen: The Unprejudiced Palate

The Unprejudiced Palate, Angelo Pellegrini



I have so many things so say about this book, that I honestly don't even know where to start. I had been looking forward to reading it for quite a while, since I heard some wonderful things about it--"It's a classic! Way ahead of his time!"--but reading it felt like punishment. Seriously, it's like spending two weeks with some guy who lectures you on what an idiot you are, how you are a failure because you don't grow all your own vegetables and make your own wine (I'm not kidding--who makes their own wine?), you don't drink enough or you drink too much and in the wrong places, and how America blows. While I can imagine it would have been interesting to hang out with this guy and eat all his tasty food and tour his expansive gardens, I can't imagine that there wouldn't be any minute of silliness or fun or joy.

About half way through the book, in an effort to make it even mildly palatable, I imagined it being read by Dwight Schrute from "The Office", and suddenly it was hilarious. But really, it had nothing to do with Angelo Pellegrini at all. In fact, I suppose anything read by Dwight Schrute would be pretty funny. The only redeeming elements came in the final few pages, when he talked about the future of food and how our country really does need to make some serious changes toward sustainability and think more about our food and where it comes from. I think these must be the passages that all the praise of this book is based on.

Speaking of praise, it sometimes pays to go back to the blurbs and read between the lines. Take this back cover blurb from Alice Waters:

"I have always thought that Angelo Pellegrini misnamed his charming but opinionated book. It should have been called "The Prejudiced Palate," because he is so absolutely sure and unwavering in his vision of how to live a beautiful and delicious life."

Is this really praise? Even the word "charming"--which is often used to describe rundown little houses in real estate listings or your boyfriend's old Southern grandmother who is subtly but persistently racist--isn't really praise, is it?

Book Twelve: Three Junes

Three Junes, Julia Glass



Just as everyone promised, this book was a bazillion times better than The Whole World Over. Fenno, who I loved in the second book, is pretty much the main figure in her first book, and I loved him even more wildly this time around. Everything about this was lovely and wonderful.

Book Eleven: Northanger Abbey

Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen



Though I loved every page of this book, it was so bittersweet since it's the last Jane Austen I hadn't yet read. What's next? Surely not one of the many modern continuing-story-of-Elizabeth-Bennett-and-Mr.-Darcy novels, or the postulations about Jane Austen's life that might be less than accurate. I was recently listening to Nancy Pearl on NPR recommend Georgette Heyer to readers in my same predicament--apparently the writing is up there with Ms. Austen's and the novels evoke the same feelings--though the covers turn me off a bit. Don't you think they look a little too romance-novel-esque? I suppose I could also read The Mysteries of Udolpho to really understand what Ms. Austen is mocking in Northanger Abbey. Or perhaps I can just start the cycle over again and re-read them all every few years or so!

I've really been enjoying taking more time lately to read. I spent a couple of hours between meetings on Thursday at a bakery with my book, some coffee, and the most delicious potato mini baguette. I hope to have many more days like this.

Book Ten: The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, Alexander McCall Smith



At a neighborhood party a few weeks ago, my neighbor and I were having a drunken conversation about books, and when Alexander McCall Smith came up I started raving about the Sunday Philosophy Club series and she started raving about the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, and neither of us had read the other. A week or so later, she showed up on our doorstep with the first few of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency books for me to borrow, so I returned the favor and lent her the first couple of Sunday Philosophy Club books. Though I absolutely adore the Isabel Dalhousie novels, I've been hesitant to get into the Precious Ramotswe series because I wasn't sure if the setting really appealed to me. I mean, cold rainy Scotland is right up my alley, but hot arid Botswana kind of sounds like hell to me. But I was happy to discover that this book was super duper great and that I'm looking forward to reading the rest (discover--ha! as if I'm the first person ever to realize these are great books).

Also, I found it funny how similar the two protagonists are:

• Both protagonists are women.
  
• Both protagonists are women with an innate curiosities and penchants for detective work (though Precious is a detective by profession and Isabel is a sort-of-detective by hobby and, OK, so there's less detective stuff as the series goes on).
  
• Both women love to drink tea.
  
• Both women have maids who have been with them/their families for a while.
  
• Both women seem to really love their countries and can't ever imagine living anywhere else.
  
• Both women have a friend who acts as a sounding board and who may turn into a love interest later on...
  

Anyhow, Alexander McCall Smith had me with all the tea drinking. Seriously, I think someone is drinking bush tea on every other page. Now, that sounds like the good life to me.