Over the weekend I got a head start on mine and Brad's agreement by finishing three books: Christmas Jars (which I borrowed from a co-worker months ago, obvious by the title), At First Sight by Nicholas Sparks (a let-down, which is often the case for me, yet I read everything he writes) and, finally, Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously (which is why I'm writing about literature on a food blog!) I liked how it was written - much like a blog, which is why I was attracted to it in the first place - but I thought it would be more about food. The whole "Bridget Jones meets The French Chef" thing should have tipped me off. It didn't. And I LOVE Helen Fielding, I do.
She highlights so few recipes, considering the hundreds she had to make to make her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking. If anything, this book is just a way to make snide remarks about the political group that she doesn't belong to. I think that's what turned me off, really. I picked up the book thinking I'd be in for great stories, much like Ruth Reichl writes, but I was so distracted by the tacky insults she constantly makes.
The cursing? Yes, it's strong and constant, but that doesn't really bother me. And I liked hearing about how her cooking brought her and her friends closer - and how it times it pushed her and her family apart. She's a bit, um, obsessive to say the least! And honestly, I'd give another of her books a try. Like I said, I like how she writes - I just wish she'd stick more to the food and stray a bit from politics because, as she ultimately says, this is what it's all about: "If there's a sexier sound on this planet than the person you're in love with cooing over the crepes you made for him, I don't know what it is."
Cooking is sexy. It is fun. It is satisfying. And I hope next time Powell focuses more on that, and less on her hate for the opposing party.