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judaroo 's review for:
Riveting, beautifully written, and incredibly important piece of work examining the story not only of blood and bone, but of stomach and how they comprise a person and a people. I grew up with Southern roots filtered through a mother who eschewed her White Southern youth and upbringing in favor of the more relaxed and blue-collar Appalachian side of her family. Mom didn't make cornbread, made biscuits out of a can, and only her fried chicken was anything Southern to speak of. Even then, it wasn't reeeeally Southern fried chicken, more of a hastily cobbled together Northern stab at Southern cuisine through the lens of Southwestern Pennsylvania.
Even then, however, she sang songs to me from her childhood, and the stories behind those songs run the gamut from old work-songs of the enslaved, songs sung by enslaved workers to tell their children where to find and how to pick the wild produce like pawpaws and persimmons, and I'm sure songs with a darker undertone than a simple children's song. There were family stories with an uncomfortable nod at the past no one spoke of, the racist behavior and prejudice practiced without thought while being denied in the same breath.
So this book, for me, was an important look at that past I rarely look into because I wasn't raised in its heart. It was a perspective on the South I was missing, simply by virtue of being born white. And while reading about history is essential, really trying to experience it through the eyes of someone kind enough to so eloquently escort you through his own internal and external journey is a rare experience. I would recommend this to anyone, and everyone. Food is what brings us together as people, and only when we can know it and experience all of its meaning can we use it for good and for peace, and for justice.
Even then, however, she sang songs to me from her childhood, and the stories behind those songs run the gamut from old work-songs of the enslaved, songs sung by enslaved workers to tell their children where to find and how to pick the wild produce like pawpaws and persimmons, and I'm sure songs with a darker undertone than a simple children's song. There were family stories with an uncomfortable nod at the past no one spoke of, the racist behavior and prejudice practiced without thought while being denied in the same breath.
So this book, for me, was an important look at that past I rarely look into because I wasn't raised in its heart. It was a perspective on the South I was missing, simply by virtue of being born white. And while reading about history is essential, really trying to experience it through the eyes of someone kind enough to so eloquently escort you through his own internal and external journey is a rare experience. I would recommend this to anyone, and everyone. Food is what brings us together as people, and only when we can know it and experience all of its meaning can we use it for good and for peace, and for justice.