Caren Johnson Literary Agency

I’ve been distracted lately, reading more than a few books at once. This happens whenever I get a little time to read things just for fun and not for work (I do a lot of research to see who else is writing what and the quality so I feel like I’ve just about overdosed on romance and mystery novels; I need just a bit of a break). I picked up this pair of foodie memoirs. The first is called Trail of Breadcrumbs: Hunger, Love and the Search for Home, by Kim Sunee. Its a great melancholy book, full of recipes that are deliciously complex and a story that made me teary eyed more than a few times. The other is Julie & Julie: My Year of Cooking Dangerously, by Julie Powell. The author is  laugh-out-loud charming and reminded me strongly of Jennifer Crusie’s heroine in Bet Me. Immediately I felt closer to her because I love Bet Me and I love Julia Childs.

Both books are wonderfully written. But what makes them special is that the authors do what good story tellers do: they tell a story that almost anyone can relate to. With Trail of Crumbs, I’m not an orphan, nor am I a great cook, but I can empathize with the author as she strives to find herself through her cooking. Food has always been a way for her to feel closer to people; she cooks enormous meals for her friends and later for her lover’s friends, sometimes 25 and 30 people at a time. She’s at ease when she’s in front of a stove in a way that she’s not when surrounded by so many faces. She’s like a junkie, looking for a stronger fix with each meal she prepares until she’s snapping up copies of Saveur and Cook’s Illustrated, recreating the recipes in those pages and lapping up the praise that each creation brings. I can’t wait to finish the book and see what happens to her and her search for home.

Julie Powell’s theme is a search for self. In her book Julie & Julia, she describes the rut she’s gotten herself into: she’s spent so long being a temp/admin assistant that she’s almost resigned to the fact that she’ll probably be someone’s secretary for the rest of her life. In one last bid for freedom and happiness, she steals her mother’s copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and at the instigation of her husband, decides to cook her way through the weighty tome. Now I’m the kind of person who does things like this all of the time. Dare me to do something and I’ll do it just to see if I can. It gets me into trouble sometimes. But I love that Julie is feeding herself (and the instigator husband) to feed her soul. I can’t wait to finish this book either.

Now I’m quite sure that I’ll never be a brilliant chef. I can make a few dishes that I stick to because I can do them in my sleep and they don’t take too long (arroz con gandules|rice with pigeon peas, tortilla Espanola, sloppy joes, pizza, vegetarian chili with chocolate—sounds odd, but the chocolate is unsweetened and adds texture—and lasagna). But I love reading about cooking and journeys through cooking, especially when it allows me to sympathize with the author and understand what they’re feeling. Happy reading!