Showing posts with label memoir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memoir. Show all posts

5/19/2012

Cooking Dirty: A Story of Life, Sex, Love and Death in the Kitchen Review

Cooking Dirty: A Story of Life, Sex, Love and Death in the Kitchen
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If ever you've worked in a restaurant, you know Jason Sheehan. You probably didn't work with him, but you worked with any of the tens of thousands of chefs, cooks, and other assorted prep staff cut from a similar cloth: efficiently crass, utterly obnoxious and thoroughly proficient in the kitchen. One day they were your best friend, the next you were the butt of their jokes. You hated them, but somehow manage to think fondly of them all these years later.
I relived lost memories of a few short years working in the front of the restaurant as I devoured "Cooking Dirty." I'd always wanted to be one of the kitchen guys, with that nonchalant cool that comes from too many hours of chain smoking, heavy drinking, excessive heat, sleep deprivation, and rampant womanizing. This book was pure rebellious adventure, allowing me the chance to sneak back into the Clorox-tinged scents and bright lights of the restaurant, engage in a bit of chicanery, and then return home none the messier for it. It was culinary voyeurism. I got to be on the inside, if only for a brief time.
The stories are both engaging and entertaining. Sheehan's life goes through a tumult of highs and lows, and he seems better for it all. I'm disappointed at the expected yet misplaced references to Bourdain. I'm a fan of Anthony, but Jason Sheehan's work is at once more pure and grittier. This is a chef's chef, a man's man, and a storyteller of the highest grade. I look forward to future volumes, and hope that the life of celebrity chef doesn't dull Sheehan's obvious wit or his passion for the kitchen!

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9/05/2011

Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise Review

Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise
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Ruth Reichl's Garlic and Sapphires, an account of her years as restaurant critic of the New York Times, is simultaneously hilarious, refresing and poignant, altogether a five-star read in the light memoir category.
The hilarity comes from Reichl's penchant for donning elaborate disguises, the better to assure anonymity in assessing New York's most prominent eateries. These incognita excursions allow Reichl to skewer the pretensions and omissions of such well-known restaurants as Le Cirque and Tavern on the Green.
Garlic and Sapphires sets a refreshing tone due to Reichl's insistence on recognizing excellent dining in all of its venues, from humble ethnic restaurants to New York's most elegant establishments. Reichl's penchant for ferreting out little-known gems earns her the opprobrium of Bryan Miller, her predecessor as the Times's restaurant critic, and his supporters, all of whom charge Reichl with "letting down standards". But the many New Yorkers who experience life without expense account or trust fund appreciate her excursions to the wrong side of the tracks to identify dining delights.
Most important, Garlic and Sapphires provides a poignant look at what it is like to be too old, too unfashionable, or too poor to fully take part in the glories of the Big Apple. Reichl's disguises frequently place her in one or more these overlooked groups, and she provides a sensitive picture of what it is like to be marginalized-- not only by headwaiters at four-star dining establishments, but by society. One hopes that Reichl's tenure as Times restaurant critic made top restaurants more likely to treat all of their patrons with dignity and respect.
Garlic and Sapphires led me to develop the following advice for restaurant patrons:
--As Reichl notes, restaurant preferences are subjective. Go to the places you enjoy, rather than the places fashion dictates.
--Restaurants are there to serve you. If you are unhappy about food or service, speak up-- preferably to a manager, if your waiter or waitress hasn't dealt with the problem. Above all, don't be intimidated. If you need instruction on what fork to use or what wine to order, you should be able to ask without embarrassment.
--You are especially entitled to fine service and cooking in a top restaurant-- don't let the establishment off the hook. If you have arrived on time for your reservation (or called ahead to notify the restaurant if you are delayed) and behaved courteously, any lapses in food or service reflect a deficiency in the restaurant, not a deficiency in you.
--At least in the U.S., tips are discretionary. If you're not happy, reduce the tip accordingly. Feel free to advise your friends of the restaurant's shortcomings. And fortunately, you're not a critic who must return to give the establishment a fair chance. If you're not happy, you need never darken its doorstep again.
One final piece of advice-- if you enjoy books about the food world, read Garlic and Sapphires.


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5/19/2011

Hotel Bolivia: The Culture of Memory in a Refuge from Nazism Review

Hotel Bolivia: The Culture of Memory in a Refuge from Nazism
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When many think of the land locked country of Bolivia, they think of narcotics, Nazi's and natural resources. Few think of Jews. But to Jews fleeing Europe after the Anschluss of 1938, Bolivia was the place about which to think. Bolivia offered a safe haven in a world of closed doors; at least 20,000 Jews found refuge in La Paz, Sucre, Oruro, Cochabamba during the War.
Leo Spitzer, a Professor of History at Dartmouth and specialist in cultural memory and gender studies, was born in La Paz in 1939, his parents having just fled their beloved Vienna. His book, Hotel Bolivia, succeeds in providing an enlightening look at the little known story of the Jewish refugee community in Bolivia; and also, for the most part, Spitzer accomplishes his goal to craft a meditation on the nature of individual and collective memories and the ability of people to adapt to their new environment.
Through interviews, testimonies, documents, diaries, and recollections, many rendered benign by the passing of time, Spitzer relates to us the stories of the refugees who never felt at home in Bolivia -- people who viewed themselves as refugees and not residents -- perceiving Bolivia as a transit station, a hotel by the name of Hotel Bolivia.
In 1938, Bolivia was still recovering from its devastating Chaco War with Paraguay. This Catholic country that was seventy percent Quechua and Aymara-speaking mestizos did know a little about Jews. Its liberator, President Antonio Jose de Sucre, was probably part crypto-Jewish, and Mauricio Hochschild, of German Jewish parentage, was one of Bolivia's wealthiest industrialists. Into this high altitude came over 20,000 Jewish refugees. While most gained entry in order to set up agricultural settlements, just a few hundred ever left the urban center of La Paz for the good earth of cooperative farming.
The story of Spitzer's own family's crossing from Genoa to La Paz is engrossing. Although Spitzer's grandfather Leopoldo, for whom he is named, died on the ship en route to Boli! via, the Spitzer family's shipboard photos and recollections are filled with optimism and are devoid of sorrow. Did the passage of time distort their memories? It was not until Spitzer discovered his father's captions on the obverse sides of the photos that he learned of his father's profound sadness of leaving his homeland (Heimat) and his extreme feelings of loss on losing his beloved father and having to bury him during a port call in Caracas. Spitzer sharply quotes journalist Herb Caen's observation, "Nostalgia is memory with the pain removed."
Leo, named for his grandfather who had died just a few weeks prior, became a link to the past in this new and alien land. The other refugees recreated several other links to their pasts, including the Circula Israelita, Austria Club, Juedische Jugendbund, Judische Gemeinde, and Macabi socials and sporting clubs.
Spitzer shows how the sinking of the refugee ship "Orazio" took on an amplified importance in the refugee community. Although most of the Orazio's passengers, who were en route to Bolivia, were rescued off the coast of France, the sinking came to represent the collective experience of all the Jewish refugees.
The most disconcerting passages in HOTEL BOLIVIA are those attributed to some of Bolivia's "German" Jewish leaders during the War, some of them laced with prejudice against the Ostjuden of Poland.
Today, with less than 1,500 Jews residing in Bolivia, and fewer than 100 of the original refugees, Leo Spitzer transmits an important story to us about forgotten refugees, their adaptations, their institutions, and their even leaders' attempts at communal farming.

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4/16/2011

Nomad's Hotel: Travels in Time and Space Review

Nomad's Hotel: Travels in Time and Space
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Nooteboom travel writes like no other: fearless, an acute observer and highly gifted. A serious but unpretentious intellectual, Nooteboom's writing inspires travel for discovery and self-discovery. Truly deep. I read this book and his others slowly to absorb his perspectives on life and human behavior. (Not as demanding as Roads to Santiago.)

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4/02/2011

The Enders Hotel: A Memoir (River Teeth Literary Nonfiction Prize) Review

The Enders Hotel: A Memoir (River Teeth Literary Nonfiction Prize)
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Growing up in a hotel sounds like a cool and exotic experience, doesn't it? At the very least, it must have offered the chance to meet all kinds of people. And eating all of your meals at a café counter, sitting on an upholstered and spinnable stool, would have been fun, too. Well: maybe. These are the kinds of scenes Brandon Schrand recalls when he thinks back to his childhood. He lets us in on his unique past within the pages of this intriguing memoir.
Schrand's family owned the Enders Hotel in Soda Springs, Idaho, from 1975 to 1992. A three-story brick building with more than 100 rooms, the hotel dates to 1919 and was named for William and Theodore Enders, the German immigrant brothers who built it. Coincidentally, the establishment was also an attraction for "enders" of other sorts: transients, recovering alcoholics, and individuals just plain down on their luck. Schrand's relatives -- a complex combination of personalities as a result of multi-generational divorces -- accommodated pretty much all of them, when they weren't on the move or in recovery themselves. "It seems fitting, inevitable perhaps," he writes, "that we eventually bought a hotel, a place outfitted with so many exits and entrances, and a place that seemed itself a beacon to the far-farers, to people, ultimately, like us." (p. 203) At the same time, Brandon was growing up. An only child with a vivid imagination and a clubhouse that he eventually shared with friends and classmates, Brandon spent his so-called "formative years" doing odd jobs around the building, alternatively interacting or deliberately ignoring the guests (as per his parents' orders), and exploring the natural areas around the hotel. Complete with a geyser that erupted every hour on the hour, Soda Springs was a company town, a tourist destination, and a temporary way station for many a passer-by. For Brandon, it was Home.
The novelties are what make for interesting reading here. Soda Springs. An unusual family situation. Living in and operating a hotel with a bar and a restaurant. Most of us don't come from similar situations. And yet: growing up is in itself a common experience and one that we can all relate to, no matter the location. And though we may be singularly place-oriented when we are children, it is only when we become adults and look back over the years that we realize that the individuals who surrounded us at the time made the difference, all along. As much as we loved special buildings or certain towns, it was the people who made those places remarkable for us. That can be a hard lesson to learn; harder still, to accept.
Writing such a book is a risky business, since it reveals so much of oneself and one's family. (How did Brandon remember all of these boyhood incidents???) This is the kind of memoir that prompts you to write your own. It's easy to see why it's an award winner.

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