The Kitch Lit Series: Periodical Edition

Hop in that Delorian, it’s time to travel back in time. Pre-global pandemic, pre-2008 financial crisis, back to a time when the President of the United States, while, yes, a doofus, did not scare the absolute shit out of me. And, back to a time when Gourmet magazine was near the top of the publishing world. 

Reading Gourmet magazine is even more of a time warp now since it harkens back to a time when we could gather at a restaurant, faces uncovered and free to share the pleasure of waiting for a meal to appear, almost as if by magic, on the table in front of you. Gourmet is a reminder that at one time producing quality long-form content was a thing to be achieved rather than traded for social media likes - though not for much longer. Issues of Gourmet share the phone numbers for the restaurants and purveyors about which they write. Phone numbers, people, not websites.

My curiosity with Gourmet stems from my appreciation for Ruth Reichl’s writing and, it so happens, her illustrious career included ten years as Gourmet’s Editor in Chief. Off to Ebay, where garbage goes to change hands. My order of 12 issues from throughout Reichl’s reign as Editor arrived in my mailbox a few weeks ago, and though I have yet to devour every single issue, I am quite pleased that I bid on that auction.

Gourmet – in the Reichl years – nicely balances what seems to be appeal to the uber-wealthy and the home chef. Because of my fascination with the restaurant industry, I loved the 50 best restaurants issue, but I read it acknowledging that financial barriers (which beget proximity barriers) will likely prevent me from ever stepping foot in any of them. 

My first trip to New York City included, by happenstance, a morning walk by Le Bernardin. Looking at the clean lines of the signage, and the calm  of an empty restaurant before a busy night of service, it was not that I felt unwelcome. Rather, it was clear that given my middle-class upbringing and proclivity for penny-pinching, I would feel so out of my element dining in the restaurant so as to not be able to enjoy myself. Gourmet gives off the same air. I do not find fault in that. I binge HGTV knowing that I will never live in a multi-million dollar home. 

I was pleased to find that Gourmet includes recipes that do not feel completely out of reach for a person with modest skills and resources. I even pulled out the recipe for Elvis’s favorite pound cake. Will I ever make it? Doubtful. But were I to set out to conquer the recipe I do believe I would be successful. 

Gourmet did not survive the dual challenges of the economic downturn of 2008 and the undeniable societal lean replace print media with social media. The last issue was published in November 2009. Luckily, the end of Gourmet was not the end for Reichl, who published her first novel in 2014. In her 2019 book Save Me the Plums, Reichl explores her tenure as Gourmet’s Editor in Chief. With insight into her methodology and the challenges she faced, reading old issues of Gourmet magazine feels anything but dated and stodgy, it is simply a glimpse into a time gone by. A time that, thanks to documentarians such as Reichl herself, reminds us that we can ensure that the best and the brightest people and practices continue to shape our future.

The Kitch Lit Series: Toast

If the saying is true, that food is life, Nigel Slater’s childhood was filled with bright spots (Butterscotch Angel Delight) and low points (dried peas). As such, his memoir, Toast, is a complex mix of whimsy and melancholy. Subtitled ‘The Story of a Boy’s Hunger,” Toast is about so much more than hunger in the physical sense. Slater, whose mother passed away when he was a child, spent the rest of his youth hungry for the warmth and care that was lost with her.

Slater readily admits that his mother was not an accomplished cook. Slater and his father pushed through the meals, usually overdone and lacking flavor. Even if the meals were not spectacular, even if she did not always enjoy their preparation, what his mother did put into every meal was love. Again, this is not to say she loved the process of preparing tea or Sunday dinner  - she rather clearly only enjoyed it on rare occasions - but she loved the people she was serving, and that is why she did it.

Broken into vignettes titled for a particular culinary adventure, Slater richly describes the food and the enjoyment of eating it. Here he describes the aforementioned Butterscotch Angel Delight: 

"Butterscotch Angel Delight was magic. Magic in the way that if you stood over it for five minutes you could actually watch the powder and milk thicken into a creamy dessert. Magic in the way it seemed to thicken further once you put it in your mouth. Magic in what seemed like a mean portion in the bowl became almost too much of a good thing in the mouth. Magic in the way that it managed to taste of both sugar and soap at the time."

When you least expect it, Slater drops in a hilarious bon mot as the last sentence in a chapter.    

Taking place in the UK during the 60s and 70s, I admit my own unfamiliarity with some of the terminology, culinary or otherwise. Though my Great British Baking Show knowledge did come in handy. Caster sugar, icing sugar, cling film. Yep, I already knew those. But it is impossible not to find familiarity in the experience of growing up: things happen around you that you do not fully understand but, at the same time, you understand that change is likely afoot. 

Ending shortly after Slater’s days in university, Toast definitely left me hungry for more. The reader can't help but hope that as Slater continued to grow and mature, that his hunger – both literal and metaphorical – was satisfied. 

Such A Good Read

Before I dive back into Kitch Lit, allow me to take a moment to implore you to read Kiley Reid’s Such a Fun Age. Reid’s debut novel centers on two women: Emira and Alix. Emira is a young black woman struggling to make ends meet and closing the gap by babysitting for an affluent white family. Alix is the matriarch of said family. Unbeknownst to the two of them, the women share a connection that threatens both their professional and personal relationships.

Such a Fun Age opens with Emira and toddler Briar at the grocery store late at night – at the request of Briar’s parents who request Emira take Briar while they talk to the police about vandalism at their home. A fellow shopper suspects Briar may have been taken against her will and alerts store security. Another shopper films the interaction between Emira and the security guard until Briar’s father rushes to the store to resolve the situation. Emira is ready to quickly move on from the encounter, but the incident in the grocery store was simply the rock breaking the surface of the water. The ripples will continue to disrupt the calmness of the water for a long time to come.

Reid beautifully develops each character and grants them a level of attention such that, though we glimpse only a small period of time in their lives, it is impossible not to genuinely care for every one of them. Emira feels a sense of shame that, as a 26 year-old college graduate, she is babysitting, but at the same time, she loves caring for Briar. Briar is experiencing the world for the first time and Emira gets to shape Briar’s worldview and experience those firsts all over again. Briar has no preconceived notions of race or privilege. Briar speaks the language of love and only knows the sincere care Emira shows her. Alix, on the other hand, has grown up in a post-Civil Rights America, a witness to the progress and aware of the work yet to be done. Alix soon makes it her mission to develop a stronger bond with Emira. Working on bringing Emira closer, Alix invites Emira and her boyfriend to Thanksgiving at their house, and it is at that meal that the unknown connection between the two of them is revealed.

There are countless ways to address race and class in America through contemporary fiction. Reid’s microcosm of the contemporary black female experience may be just one example, but it is illustrative of a multitude of experiences. Such a Fun Age is wholly contemporary. It is a novel born of the age of social media, privilege, economic divides and the Black Lives Matter movement. At the same time, Such a Fun Age touches on realities that have been present in American society since the beginning. Such a Fun Age is a highly enjoyable read. I am forever thankful that the book was released in the winter instead of in the summer, for I fear it would have ended up in the "beach reads" section. Because don’t be fooled, Reid’s sharp wit and perfect plotting might make it feel like a breezy read, but Such a Fun Age is one of the smartest, most thought-provoking novels to come along in quite a while. 

An (Im)Perfect Match

Josh and Hazel’s Guide to Not Dating is the best book about dating I’ve read in quite some time. This is likely because the main characters, as the title suggests, do not date. Rather, each seemingly content in their friendship sets the other up with a series of – surprise! – unsuccessful blind dates. 

While researching Christina Lauren, I was surprised to learn that Lauren is the pen name for writing duo Christina Hobbs and Lauren Billings. This dynamic duo has clearly found their singular voice. Great minds think alike as it were. I’ve since read a few other Christina Laurens and will no doubt read their entire bibliography. Their characters are relatable in their imperfection. Each has wants and desires but must balance those hopes with the inevitable fear of failure.

Some readers may see Hazel’s quirkiness as over the top, exaggerated for effect. But as someone who converses in heavy-handed sarcasm, a plethora of movie and TV quotes and who rarely finds reason to be anyone other than exactly who I am, Hazel was a breath of fresh air. And Josh, well, he seems pretty perfect at first glance, but he carries emotional baggage and familial pressures with him everywhere he goes. The inevitable happy ending is evident from the first chapter, but the predictability does not diminish the enjoyment of the journey. 

We All Come From Away

The fact that digesting Come From Away is a challenge I have been working through for six weeks is a testament to the complexity and brilliance that is Come From Away. On its’ face, the story is a relatively simple, if surprising, one for a musical: in the aftermath of the September 11^th attacks, dozens of planes were diverted to Newfoundland and the town of Gander welcomes the grounded “plane people.” Do not be fooled. What Irene Sankoff and David Hein managed to pack into this 100 minute musical is nothing short of remarkable. 

Come From Away has successfully shaken the “musical about 9/11” baggage. And, after seeing the show, it’s easy to see why. While the attacks of September 11^th serve as the impetus for the interaction of these characters, the show is definitively not about 9/11. Come From Away is about the heart and humanity that lives within all of us and the fact that challenges often bring out the best in us. Sankoff and Hein could have hovered near the surface of the inevitable language barriers and culture clashes, but they dove in. Touching on diversity, inclusivity, politics and religion with genuine humor and even more heart, Sankoff and Hein have designed one of the most unique musicals in recent history.

Critical to the success of any show is the music and Sankoff and Hein’s music and lyrics are refreshing. Using the customary Newfoundland sound, the songs are at once traditional and yet revolutionary for a Broadway musical. My obsession with “Me and the Sky” and “Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere” shows no sign of abating. “Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere” is particularly poetic. With uplifting lyrics, a couple of incredible belts from Capt. Bass and a chorus sung by the entire company, it’s impossible not to feel almost physically elevated off the ground:

    Somewhere in between the pace of life and work and where you're going 

something makes you stop and notice and you're finally in the moment! 

Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, 

in the middle of who knows 

where (who knows where), there you'll find

Something in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of clear blue air

You found your heart, but left a part of you behind

If the sound of Come From Away is powerful, equally as strong is the set and the choreography between and among the cast and the set. With just a couple of tables and some chairs, the set acts as a multitude of locations: school, airplane, Tim Horton’s and the Dover Fault to name a few. The set transitions happen at the hands of the cast members and each movement is choreographed to the nanosecond. There are moments wherein a delay would result in a fellow cast member face first on the stage but, fear not, the touring cast is up to the challenge.

Just as the set functions for a myriad of locations, all actors portray multiple characters. The adeptness required to become a completely different character with a quick, on stage wardrobe change and then switch back moments later cannot be underestimated. And while Come From Away is perhaps the most true ensemble musical to come along in many years, each performer has moments to shine, and shine they do. But rather than shine above their fellow actors, as sometimes happens during solo passages, each actor seems to bring about a brightening of the entire stage. Come From Away is a small cast – just twelve actors - but because they represent 15,000 people, a certain strength is required. When the full cast sings together, the melody and harmony fills the theater and practically bursts through the ceiling. 

There is one lyric in particular that seems to sum up the show itself: Whether you come from Toledo or you come from Taipei because we all come from everywhere, we all come from away. It perfectly underscores the theme of Come From Away. When we put aside what makes us different we recognize what was true all along, that we are all one human race. 

Please Sir, I Want Some More

The stars aligned this month: I was able to see fourteen live shows. From lectures and television tapings to stand up comedy and Broadway shows, I hit just about all of the genres. Yes, I fully recognize that I am incredibly lucky. Exhaustion as a result of seeing so many shows is the very definition of a first world problem. Rather than select just one show about which to write, I decided to succinctly recap each one. Like a tweet, only not, because I don’t tweet. Though I’ve heard the young’uns are moving on to some new-fangled business called TikTok.

The Radio City Christmas Spectacular – High kicks. Live camels. Baby Jesus and Santa Claus? Yes, yes indeed.

Tootsie – Santino Fontana won the Tony Award for this role and there is simply no argument against it. 

The Late Show with Stephen Colbert – Colbert seems to genuinely appreciate his audience, taking the time to address them and answer a few questions. He clearly enjoys his job and he has a comfort level that is reassuring. 

The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon – Fallon, not so much. I love SNL-era Jimmy Fallon, but I have yet to get on board with his Tonight Show hosting gig and this did not convince me. His complete lack of interaction with the audience left me pining for Stephen.

Hadestown – While not drawn to tears as the person behind me was, I nonetheless enjoyed the show from soup to nuts. The effect of the set ostensibly coming apart at the seams is incredible. 

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Parts One and Two – Truly theater magic. Magic wands, flying dementors, time travel, I do not know how they do it.

Kathleen Madigan – Pointing out life's absurdities with dry humor and quick wit. What's not to like?

Jesus Christ Superstar – I grew up not so much in a God-fearing household as in a God as fodder for sarcasm household, so I am not familiar with the details of the storyline (other than the end). To say I did not follow the plot is an understatement. King Herod stole the show. Is the Bible full of big, drag-style musical numbers? Maybe I should give it a look. 

National Geographic Live with Dr. Kara Cooney – Say what? King Tut’s tomb may have been first created for a female king? 

Wait, Wait…Don’t Tell Me – What a shame that the almost two and a half hours of pure comic genius has to be edited down to a little less than an hour to air on NPR. Solid gold panelists Paula Poundstone and Mo Rocca did not disappoint and Negin Farsad held her own - pooping without notification is now a permanent part of my everyday language.

Trampled by Turtles – This show revealed my age: when the music started my first reaction was that it was too loud. Trampled are incredibly talented musicians. Almost all of the songs in their set had a driving momentum that did not allow for any moments of peace - the fact that they play that fast for that long is rather unbelievable.. What’s that? Oh, just my younger self calling me, wanting to know why peace is necessary at a concert. Just you wait, younger self.

The Office Musical Parody – Any show that parodies a classic comedy must be absolutely spot on, this was not.

Come From Away – Sweeps you off your feet, takes you to a place far away and gently sets you back down, the same person but changed. Full review coming soon.

The Kitch Lit Series: Wild Game

I devoured Wild Game (pun intended) over the course of about a day and a half. Rarely does a book cross my nightstand that I consider hard to put down. You would not believe the crap friends gave me for putting down Harry Potter with only one chapter left, but that is how I roll. A book is easy to put down when sleep is waiting on the other half of the pillow. Such is not the case with Adrienne Brodeur’s Wild Game; it demands your attention. 

Brodeur’s memoir is equal parts heartbreaking and life affirming. At the center of the book is Brodeur’s relationship with her mother, Malabar. Malabar is larger than life, caring for others but never able to truly put anyone ahead of herself. Adrienne and Malabar’s relationship is changed forever when Malabar wakes teenager Adrienne in the middle of the night to tell that she is having an affair with family friend Ben Souther. Adrienne becomes complicit in the lies, an ally and an alibi. One of the ways in which Malabar, a talented home cook, and Ben spend time with each other in the presence of their spouses is planning and testing recipes for a wild game cookbook. And the lies continue for years. Adrienne comes of age with an incredible weight on her shoulders, but the responsibility also binds mother and daughter in an entirely unique way. Can Adrienne interpret Malabar’s willingness to confide in her a true sign of her mother’s love? The path Brodeur, her mother and their families’ take is full of twists and turns. To reveal too much would be to deprive you of the opportunity to step into their lives as their stories unfold.

Brodeur is an incredibly engaging writer. The anticipation of what is to come is palpable; the pages practically turn themselves. In less that capable hands, an interesting life does not translate to a good book. Brodeur is, thankfully, incredibly adept at putting emotion onto the page and, without caricature, explores the flawed humanity of those around her in a way that is entirely relatable from one angle or another.

The affirmation in Wild Game comes from the fact that this is not revisionist history. Brodeur must reconcile with her mother’s flaws, and, in the process, with the imperfections inherent in humanity. Wild Game reads like fiction. The fact that it is a memoir gives you pause. While reading Wild Game, one cannot help but hold a mirror up to their own life. Smart, well-written and engaging, Wild Game beautifully combines all of the ingredients of a great memoir.