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3.89 AVERAGE
3.89 AVERAGE
I love his writing style. Can't wait for him to come out with more.
This was an entertaining vacation read, with lots of Minnesota color. [b: Kitchens of the Great Midwest|23398625|Kitchens of the Great Midwest|J. Ryan Stradal|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1428066565s/23398625.jpg|42955214] is more accurately a collection of linked stories rather than a novel, and as in most books of this type, some stories are more enjoyable than others. The tale of Pat Prager, the small-town home cook who enters her county fair award-winning bars in an upscale baking contest, was a wonderful tongue-in-cheek critique of foodie culture. A few of the other stories, though, had only a tenuous connection to the central plot and themes.
As the book progresses, the stories move farther away from the ostensible central character, Eva. This disappointed me, as she is a captivating figure. I wish the author would have kept the focus on her.
For a few hours' light reading, this is a fine book. Just don't go into it expecting coherence.
As the book progresses, the stories move farther away from the ostensible central character, Eva. This disappointed me, as she is a captivating figure. I wish the author would have kept the focus on her.
For a few hours' light reading, this is a fine book. Just don't go into it expecting coherence.
"After decades away from the Midwest, she'd forgotten that bewildering generosity was a common regional tic."
That line just cracked me up - because it's really very true, and people here in the Midwest just don't realize it. The author very obviously has lived in the Midwest (if he doesn't currently) and did an amazing job capturing the different types of people that exist in the small towns scattered about. The book wasn't really about Eva, the main character, it was about the people who lived around her and influenced her life, however briefly. This book could very well have functioned as a short story collection, and I would've been happy with it.
My one complaint is that everything tied together a bit too neatly in the end. Oh, well.
That line just cracked me up - because it's really very true, and people here in the Midwest just don't realize it. The author very obviously has lived in the Midwest (if he doesn't currently) and did an amazing job capturing the different types of people that exist in the small towns scattered about. The book wasn't really about Eva, the main character, it was about the people who lived around her and influenced her life, however briefly. This book could very well have functioned as a short story collection, and I would've been happy with it.
My one complaint is that everything tied together a bit too neatly in the end. Oh, well.
It was just about ten years ago that a gentle octogenarian from Grand Forks, North Dakota wrote a review of the new Olive Garden that went viral. She was quiet, unpretentious, and straightforward about what a relative slice of excitement this was. The chattering cocktail class that did then and still does steer the pulse on Twitter et al smelled blood in the water.
And so for a little while there, it was a modern-day symbol of one of the classic American culture clashes. The Midwest meets the coasts. Food snobs versus salt-of-the-earth folks. Or is it refined palates versus small-town yokels? Depends on who you ask, right?
That particular clash came to an end with the arrival on defense of none less than Anthony Bourdain. Sure, the Olive Garden is copy-paste dining; sure, you can make the same self-satisfied joke that all the other college-educated liberals already made on social media about "white people food". But Bourdain saw authenticity in dear old Marilyn Hagerty's Olive Garden review, and even helped cook up an anthology of her decades of writing, a book he heralded as the death of snark. (Maybe I need to put that one on my to-do list, as well!)
A culture clash like that is not, I think, merely about the different geographical regions of the U.S. It's also about our relationship with food. What's required for us to consider food "worthy" of us? It's a question of culture just as much as psychology.
With all that said, I want to chop up the 300 brisk pages of J. Ryan Stradhal, separate and season them, and press them through three inquisitive colanders:
1) What does it mean for this book to be about "kitchens"?
2) What does it mean for this book to be about "the Midwest"?
3) Is it any good?
For the book to be at all worthwhile, questions 1 and 2 have to be intertwined. You might find on the back of this book or in a review that it's "a foodie book". While it does trace over time the dawning of what might be called "foodie subculture", that's not really the essence of Kitchens of the Great Midwest. (Good riddance, because I hate the term "foodie"!)
What we really have here is a study of human relationships and knowability. The love of cooking is a throughline, touched on in every single chapter, but it's not really the topic. It could have been any other hobby that inspires passion and stokes togetherness.
When people see eye-to-eye over that passion, that's where the magic happens - magic just as awe-inspiring as a saucepan deglazed with red wine or a batch of chocolate chip cookies with a little extra butter fresh out of the oven. They connect, their relationships deepen, they make choices reflective of character growth, they embark on bold new eras in their lives.
And the people who aren't quite lucky enough to share this hobby and passion with them, well - they might still be along for part of the ride, but they're left puzzled, reminded of the limits to how truly you can know somebody.
These moments of connectivity (or disconnectedness) are shaken out and sprinkled over scenes of various regions of the Midwest. Each chapter is essentially a faintly related short story from a different character's perspective. Some of these chapters make terrific use of the Midwest setting.
One of the very strongest, I thought, was one that followed a blue-collar, down-on-his-luck young man with a mom in hospice care on a hunting trip. He experiences some subtle, stirring moments in the quiet of nature, and at the end of his chapter an equally subtle dismal fate seems to be awaiting him. It's a good example of the Midwestern setting being irreplaceable.
Not every chapter is that pointed. I was excited to see that one of them actually was set in West Des Moines, but virtually nothing other than the name distinguishes the way the book uses this setting. That chapter could have taken place in any suburb in the country. Quite a few others are similar.
So to the question "is the Midwest essential to this book", the answer is "sometimes, sorta". That might be a personal disappointment, but it's not really a mark against the book. Actually knocking it, though not to a huge degree, is the dialogue and inner narrative of the more "youthful" (grade school/college) chapters. Here the edginess gets turned up to 11. It does succeed in grabbing your attention, which speaks to savvy economizing of the written word to set tone, but at times it left me feeling like the dialogue in Juno was realistic by comparison.
But I thought the even-handedness of the "grown-up" chapters more than made up for it, especially the three-dimensionality of the older woman who bakes for her church, and the opening chapter, which succeeded best at tying a particular food item to the life and times of a character.
Even the edgy "youth" chapters are more fun than not. I was riveted by the scenario where the two cousins hustle restaurant-goers on the frat/feedbag scene by making bets about the level of spiciness they can endure. The dilemma that the narrator was secretly dealing with was a well-placed undercurrent that made this chapter more than just a whimsical adventure. I'm not too proud to admit that the hidden meaning of her text message hallucination completely floated over my head at first, before I went "Oh. Duhhhh."
To bring things back to Hagerty, Bourdain, and the Olive Garden, does food and the Midwest elevate this book? Many of the book's early chapters seem to be suggesting that perfectability of ingredients is what makes food special: that the world is divided into tastes that are pedestrian and refined, and that the problem with the world is that not enough people are in the "refined" category.
So, is it a win for the "foodies" (or "food snobs") at the expense of "flyover country" America? Non-GMO, pesticide-free, locally-sourced, rare and unusual ingredients: are these the prerequisites for getting our souls to hum in tandem with the beauty of food? The triumph of sophisticated coastal dining over white-bread middle America?
At least as far as this book is concerned, probably not, because the church lady winds up kicking everyone's butt with her peanut butter bars made with Land O'Lakes butter "sourced" from her local grocery store. Even though the "foodie" scene she stepped into ultimately mocks and rejects her, the author very clearly pokes fun at a certain prissiness that emerges when one gets too preoccupied micromanaging the origins of the dish, as though the purest ingredients have souls of their own.
A heaping spoonful of preposterous dishes with sophisticated ingredients dominate this book, but when those are celebrated - rather than mocked - it's because love flows through and enables the food, and vice-versa. Particular recipes and dishes connect us back to certain moments in our lives; by sharing those foods with others, we invite them in, we bridge a gap between souls.
That's what I took away, and why I found this book to be a fun read - above-average, even - that I would recommend universally. I like to be choosy and methodical with my ingredients when making tomato sauce and pumpkin risotto. I also like to chow down on a Taco Bell Cheesy Gordita Crunch. There are truth in both things. I'm loyal for life to my New York pizza and, yes, I usually scoff at Olive Garden commercials. But I've also learned firsthand just how good a string bean casserole or beer cheese soup or encrusted walleye or plate of party potatoes can be, and how trying to get cheese curds outside Wisconsin is like trying to get bagels outside Greater New York: everything else is just a pale imitation.
All of those snippets are about how food unlocks the truth of the soul. Refined coastal dining and church-potluck-friendly middle America aren't in conflict with each other: they're complementary. Learn and share from each other, embed stories in the food you prepare for others, and remember: eat what you enjoy, just don't eat too much of it.
And so for a little while there, it was a modern-day symbol of one of the classic American culture clashes. The Midwest meets the coasts. Food snobs versus salt-of-the-earth folks. Or is it refined palates versus small-town yokels? Depends on who you ask, right?
That particular clash came to an end with the arrival on defense of none less than Anthony Bourdain. Sure, the Olive Garden is copy-paste dining; sure, you can make the same self-satisfied joke that all the other college-educated liberals already made on social media about "white people food". But Bourdain saw authenticity in dear old Marilyn Hagerty's Olive Garden review, and even helped cook up an anthology of her decades of writing, a book he heralded as the death of snark. (Maybe I need to put that one on my to-do list, as well!)
A culture clash like that is not, I think, merely about the different geographical regions of the U.S. It's also about our relationship with food. What's required for us to consider food "worthy" of us? It's a question of culture just as much as psychology.
With all that said, I want to chop up the 300 brisk pages of J. Ryan Stradhal, separate and season them, and press them through three inquisitive colanders:
1) What does it mean for this book to be about "kitchens"?
2) What does it mean for this book to be about "the Midwest"?
3) Is it any good?
For the book to be at all worthwhile, questions 1 and 2 have to be intertwined. You might find on the back of this book or in a review that it's "a foodie book". While it does trace over time the dawning of what might be called "foodie subculture", that's not really the essence of Kitchens of the Great Midwest. (Good riddance, because I hate the term "foodie"!)
What we really have here is a study of human relationships and knowability. The love of cooking is a throughline, touched on in every single chapter, but it's not really the topic. It could have been any other hobby that inspires passion and stokes togetherness.
When people see eye-to-eye over that passion, that's where the magic happens - magic just as awe-inspiring as a saucepan deglazed with red wine or a batch of chocolate chip cookies with a little extra butter fresh out of the oven. They connect, their relationships deepen, they make choices reflective of character growth, they embark on bold new eras in their lives.
And the people who aren't quite lucky enough to share this hobby and passion with them, well - they might still be along for part of the ride, but they're left puzzled, reminded of the limits to how truly you can know somebody.
These moments of connectivity (or disconnectedness) are shaken out and sprinkled over scenes of various regions of the Midwest. Each chapter is essentially a faintly related short story from a different character's perspective. Some of these chapters make terrific use of the Midwest setting.
One of the very strongest, I thought, was one that followed a blue-collar, down-on-his-luck young man with a mom in hospice care on a hunting trip. He experiences some subtle, stirring moments in the quiet of nature, and at the end of his chapter an equally subtle dismal fate seems to be awaiting him. It's a good example of the Midwestern setting being irreplaceable.
Not every chapter is that pointed. I was excited to see that one of them actually was set in West Des Moines, but virtually nothing other than the name distinguishes the way the book uses this setting. That chapter could have taken place in any suburb in the country. Quite a few others are similar.
So to the question "is the Midwest essential to this book", the answer is "sometimes, sorta". That might be a personal disappointment, but it's not really a mark against the book. Actually knocking it, though not to a huge degree, is the dialogue and inner narrative of the more "youthful" (grade school/college) chapters. Here the edginess gets turned up to 11. It does succeed in grabbing your attention, which speaks to savvy economizing of the written word to set tone, but at times it left me feeling like the dialogue in Juno was realistic by comparison.
But I thought the even-handedness of the "grown-up" chapters more than made up for it, especially the three-dimensionality of the older woman who bakes for her church, and the opening chapter, which succeeded best at tying a particular food item to the life and times of a character.
Even the edgy "youth" chapters are more fun than not. I was riveted by the scenario where the two cousins hustle restaurant-goers on the frat/feedbag scene by making bets about the level of spiciness they can endure. The dilemma that the narrator was secretly dealing with was a well-placed undercurrent that made this chapter more than just a whimsical adventure. I'm not too proud to admit that the hidden meaning of her text message hallucination completely floated over my head at first, before I went "Oh. Duhhhh."
To bring things back to Hagerty, Bourdain, and the Olive Garden, does food and the Midwest elevate this book? Many of the book's early chapters seem to be suggesting that perfectability of ingredients is what makes food special: that the world is divided into tastes that are pedestrian and refined, and that the problem with the world is that not enough people are in the "refined" category.
So, is it a win for the "foodies" (or "food snobs") at the expense of "flyover country" America? Non-GMO, pesticide-free, locally-sourced, rare and unusual ingredients: are these the prerequisites for getting our souls to hum in tandem with the beauty of food? The triumph of sophisticated coastal dining over white-bread middle America?
At least as far as this book is concerned, probably not, because the church lady winds up kicking everyone's butt with her peanut butter bars made with Land O'Lakes butter "sourced" from her local grocery store. Even though the "foodie" scene she stepped into ultimately mocks and rejects her, the author very clearly pokes fun at a certain prissiness that emerges when one gets too preoccupied micromanaging the origins of the dish, as though the purest ingredients have souls of their own.
A heaping spoonful of preposterous dishes with sophisticated ingredients dominate this book, but when those are celebrated - rather than mocked - it's because love flows through and enables the food, and vice-versa. Particular recipes and dishes connect us back to certain moments in our lives; by sharing those foods with others, we invite them in, we bridge a gap between souls.
That's what I took away, and why I found this book to be a fun read - above-average, even - that I would recommend universally. I like to be choosy and methodical with my ingredients when making tomato sauce and pumpkin risotto. I also like to chow down on a Taco Bell Cheesy Gordita Crunch. There are truth in both things. I'm loyal for life to my New York pizza and, yes, I usually scoff at Olive Garden commercials. But I've also learned firsthand just how good a string bean casserole or beer cheese soup or encrusted walleye or plate of party potatoes can be, and how trying to get cheese curds outside Wisconsin is like trying to get bagels outside Greater New York: everything else is just a pale imitation.
All of those snippets are about how food unlocks the truth of the soul. Refined coastal dining and church-potluck-friendly middle America aren't in conflict with each other: they're complementary. Learn and share from each other, embed stories in the food you prepare for others, and remember: eat what you enjoy, just don't eat too much of it.
More of a set of linked short stories than a novel, each chapter centers around a particular recipe and cumulatively tell the story of Lena Torvald, a brilliant young chef, through the stories of those whose lives intersect with hers. Some characters/chapters I loved. Others I hated. The overall form was new and fun.
3.5 stars
This book was nothing like what I expected (though not necessarily in a bad way). Based on the title and premise as described on the jacket cover, I thought the story would be about the main character Eva Thorvald’s journey from obscurity to becoming a world renown chef. While that journey did indeed happen, the way her story was told completely took me by surprise. Going into this one, I was expecting a linear story, perhaps told from Eva’s perspective, that chronicled her rise from the ranks, from a difficult childhood to enormous success as a chef — yet a few chapters in, I realized this was definitely not going to be an ordinary story. This is actually the first time I’ve read a story with such a unique structure — where, instead of accompanying the main character — in this case, Eva — as she grew, we are provided insight (more like “glimpses” actually) into her life mostly through the experiences of others. Some of those characters had a direct connection to Eva, but most of them didn’t. Given the limited perspective, we as the reader, were left to infer and interpret, to fill in the gaps ourselves with what we think happened, and in the end, for me at least, it left me with more questions than answers.
While I did enjoy this one overall and applaud the author for trying something different and unique, I’m the type of reader who prefers being able to connect with the characters in a story and it was too difficult to do so in this case. This actually felt more like a short story collection where some of the same characters would pop up in certain scenes when needed. Eva was supposedly the main character, and yes, she did “show up” in some capacity in each chapter, yet after reading the entire book, I felt like I didn’t know much about her. Same with the other characters — much of their stories felt incomplete, as there would be moments where they’d be in the middle of a situation and the chapter suddenly ends without any type of resolution, but then that same character would show up again in a subsequent chapter, with the timeline being much later, leaving us to essentially “guess” at what happened between that time. For me, this made for a somewhat frustrating read at certain points.
With all that said, I would still recommend this one, though I would also caution going into it with a blank slate — in other words, no preconceived expectations. And I would definitely caution against reading the summary on the book jacket (or on Goodreads) — actually, others had given me the same warning when they first recommended the book to me, but it took me so long to get around to reading this one that I completely forgot and only remembered after I had finished. If you decide to read this one, hopefully you don’t make the same mistake.
This book was nothing like what I expected (though not necessarily in a bad way). Based on the title and premise as described on the jacket cover, I thought the story would be about the main character Eva Thorvald’s journey from obscurity to becoming a world renown chef. While that journey did indeed happen, the way her story was told completely took me by surprise. Going into this one, I was expecting a linear story, perhaps told from Eva’s perspective, that chronicled her rise from the ranks, from a difficult childhood to enormous success as a chef — yet a few chapters in, I realized this was definitely not going to be an ordinary story. This is actually the first time I’ve read a story with such a unique structure — where, instead of accompanying the main character — in this case, Eva — as she grew, we are provided insight (more like “glimpses” actually) into her life mostly through the experiences of others. Some of those characters had a direct connection to Eva, but most of them didn’t. Given the limited perspective, we as the reader, were left to infer and interpret, to fill in the gaps ourselves with what we think happened, and in the end, for me at least, it left me with more questions than answers.
While I did enjoy this one overall and applaud the author for trying something different and unique, I’m the type of reader who prefers being able to connect with the characters in a story and it was too difficult to do so in this case. This actually felt more like a short story collection where some of the same characters would pop up in certain scenes when needed. Eva was supposedly the main character, and yes, she did “show up” in some capacity in each chapter, yet after reading the entire book, I felt like I didn’t know much about her. Same with the other characters — much of their stories felt incomplete, as there would be moments where they’d be in the middle of a situation and the chapter suddenly ends without any type of resolution, but then that same character would show up again in a subsequent chapter, with the timeline being much later, leaving us to essentially “guess” at what happened between that time. For me, this made for a somewhat frustrating read at certain points.
With all that said, I would still recommend this one, though I would also caution going into it with a blank slate — in other words, no preconceived expectations. And I would definitely caution against reading the summary on the book jacket (or on Goodreads) — actually, others had given me the same warning when they first recommended the book to me, but it took me so long to get around to reading this one that I completely forgot and only remembered after I had finished. If you decide to read this one, hopefully you don’t make the same mistake.
hopeful
relaxing
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Stradal creates a transcendent novel depicting the life of one person through multiple people she interacts with during her young adulthood into a master chef. There is a diversity to who he also chooses at certain times in Eva's development that interested me very much. An amazing mid-winter read for those cold days when you need to warm up.
I'm really conflicted over this novel.
On one hand, I really enjoyed the concept and the inclusion of a multitude of Midwestern states (which is where I have lived the majority of my life, so I felt a lot of connections to places/attitudes of characters, etc.).
On the other hand, there were just some things which I really could not get over.
1) Eva barely contributes to her own story as a main character. This would be fine, but I become interested in the characters the tell the story and there are a lot of things that start and never finished (what happened when Pat got over? How did Braque end up keeping her baby? What was the point of Octavia's woe-is-me section?)
2) How is this billed as an "unexpected mother-daughter story" when the mother has 0 interest in her child and can't even work up the courage to tell the truth, even when her daughter already knows?
3) Why does Eva's entire family agree to lie to her about her father's death? Her aunt and uncle obviously loved her and raised her (plus she finds out on her own), so why the lies?
4) Why were the chapters so disjointed? It was actually a little difficult to follow the story when the chapters have seemingly no connection. In this vain - obviously at the end, Eva invites people she knows to be important to her life thus far and makes dishes to celebrate each contribution to her life - why does she not speak to them? It seems like it would have been a nice wrap up to the story.
On one hand, I really enjoyed the concept and the inclusion of a multitude of Midwestern states (which is where I have lived the majority of my life, so I felt a lot of connections to places/attitudes of characters, etc.).
On the other hand, there were just some things which I really could not get over.
1) Eva barely contributes to her own story as a main character. This would be fine, but I become interested in the characters the tell the story and there are a lot of things that start and never finished (what happened when Pat got over? How did Braque end up keeping her baby? What was the point of Octavia's woe-is-me section?)
2) How is this billed as an "unexpected mother-daughter story" when the mother has 0 interest in her child and can't even work up the courage to tell the truth, even when her daughter already knows?
3) Why does Eva's entire family agree to lie to her about her father's death? Her aunt and uncle obviously loved her and raised her (plus she finds out on her own), so why the lies?
4) Why were the chapters so disjointed? It was actually a little difficult to follow the story when the chapters have seemingly no connection. In this vain - obviously at the end, Eva invites people she knows to be important to her life thus far and makes dishes to celebrate each contribution to her life - why does she not speak to them? It seems like it would have been a nice wrap up to the story.
I loved this! At least four (4.5?) stars. Going to see how it settles.