I am full to bursting (in a good way), having finished the sumptuous, sensuous The Bread and the Knife: A Life in 26 Bites, Dawn Drzal’s coming of age memoir about the foods that have shaped her life.
Let me assure you, you are in for a vicarious gastronomic treat with 0 calories.
The Bread and the Knife
Beginning with “A is for Al Dente,” each chapter begins with a letter of the alphabet that sparks a food-related essay, recounting Drzal’s journey from growing up in a Philly burb to a writing career in New York City, and all the steps and missteps in between. Drzal is a gifted storyteller who mixes humor and pathos as deftly as whisking scrambled eggs (which also plays a role in her life, and I’m dying to know her grandmother’s secret).
I feel a kinship with the author. I am a writer and foodie, once having co-owned the catering firm Fête Accomplie. I am a Philly resident. AND I attended Jewish summer camp, and found the essay entitled “N is for Nova” hilarious and spot on. Didn’t every Jewish girl camper relish the Sunday morning ritual of bagels and lox? And know a boy camper named Stuie? And make out with a CIT?
In any event, you can’t help liking the author for her passion and self-reflection, her honesty, her heartbreaks.
Drzal waxes rhapsodic about orgasmic food experiences, especially involving ethic foods sampled throughout her world travels, like this one in which she tastes the Indian foods poori and bhaji for the first time:
“Blistered and glistening with oil, they [poori] looked like inflated blowfish pulled straight from the water …The bhaji, essentially a dry potato curry, was so delicious that my heart began pounding with anxiety at the the thought that soon it would be gone … The combination of the poori and the bhaji was indescribable … When the waiter removed the empty tray, I was too satisfied to feel sorry.”
The best food memoirs contain recipes, and I am more than a little excited to try Drzal’s stepfather’s Stromboli Stuffing and an intriguing sounding White Borscht. Only a rabid foodie would appreciate Drzal’s obsessive quest for authentic white borscht as she traveled through Cracow. Disappointed in failing in her mission, she says:
“I never did find white borscht on that trip. The closest I came was a supermarket packet of powdered zurek (a close relative) which tuned into lumpy papier-mâche paste when I tried to make it with hot water from the hotel room tap. I did take away two lessons, though: never travel without doing your research, and never, ever visit Auschwitz alone in February.”
I loved “J is for Jordan Almonds” as I also exclusively ate these candies at the movies and shared Drzal’s ritual of sucking on the candy until the first hints of almond emanated through, and then biting down. I too bemoan their disappearance, although honestly, I never saw anyone else request them. So maybe it’s just us?
The Bread and the Knife joins the ranks of my other favorites in the cooking and food memoir genre, among them Laurie’s Colwin’s “Home Cooking;” Calvin Trillin’s “Alice, Let’s Eat;” Ruth Reichl’s “Tender at the Bone” and “Comfort Me With Apples;” Julia Child’s “My Life in France,” and the glorious Nora Ephron’s “Heartburn.”
It is touching, comical, and winsome. I loved it. Can you tell?
One of my lucky readers will receive a copy of The Bread and the Knife. Please leave a comment on the Books is Wonderful Facebook page, and a winner will be randomly selected. US addresses only, please.
I received a copy of The Bread and the Knife from Arcade Publishing for an honest review,
which is the only kind of review I write.
