From Publishers Weekly
This effort from the author of
The Great Santini and
The Prince of Tides is a joy on several levels. Conroy might not be the first to disguise a memoir as a collection of foodstuffs, but it's hard to imagine a more entertaining, honest and outlandish effort. In 21 chapters and 100 recipes, he traces his masticating, lusting, family-crazed, traveling life from a dysfunctional childhood in the South (with a tyrannical father and a mother who thought of cooking as "slave labor"), to gourmet adventures in Rome, Paris and the table of Alain Ducasse. The book aches with tales of times when eating is at its most urgent: in the face of love, or death, after an all-nighter with the guys or in the company of other great eaters. It's hard not to admire Conroy's innate ability to spin a yarn. And the food's not bad, either. From Conroy's days in the Carolina Low Country there are Crab Cakes and Peach Pie. In Italy, it's Ribollita and Saltimbocca alla Romana. A chapter entitled "Why Dying Down South Is More Fun" suggests proper fare for mourning, such as Pickled Shrimp and Grits Casserole. As Robert Frost might have pointed out, writing prose in a cookbook is like playing tennis without a net. Conroy is free to scatter his memories like buckshot with no real worries of chapter endings, plot lines and character development. In his hands, the technique propels both writer and reader into a state of fullness.
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From Booklist
Fans of Conroy's novels will snap up copies of their idol's cookbook for more than just its recipes. Although Conroy offers a few recipes for dishes that he has loved since childhood, he comes to admire more sophisticated fare when celebrity gives him access to whatever his tastes may desire. Conroy's earliest introduction to cooking came from the pages of Escoffier, the rigorous French chef who based his cuisine on stocks, and his example influenced Conroy's cookery forever. A stay in Rome gave Conroy nearly equal appreciation for Italian cooking. The true savor of the book rests in Conroy's ability to tell absorbing tales of how divergent dishes and exceptional ingredients came to be important to him. Thus, one of the book's vivid moments comes in a discussion of Vidalia onions with Conroy relating a hilarious story involving football, Wild Turkey, and a tart-tongued septuagenarian southern belle. Literary historians will particularly relish Conroy's account of how he came to write the ending of
The Great Santini (1976).
Mark KnoblauchCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
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