I was so glad I did.  First of all, the story was read by Cassandra Campbell who did a wonderful job of reading the story with appropriate emotion, but without exaggerating voices and emotions as some audio book readers are wont to do.  There was something calming and rhythmic about the way that she read the cooking scenes in particular – her descriptions of chopping, slicing, and dicing were downright calming on my commute.

Moreover, the book itself has a perfect balance that many foodie memoirs lack.  Flinn found the right balance of sharing details of her personal life without giving too much intimate information, while still making this a true foodie book. 

After getting laid off from a successful job in London, Flinn decided to pursue her dream of going to Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris.  She had always dreamed of going to Paris and of attending culinary school, and the way in which she pursued it is truly inspiring.  Her path is not always an easy one – not every recipe is successful, but it makes it all the more rewarding when she does master a tecnnique, a sauce, or a dough.  She has a charming way of telling a story, and I was delighted to discover her blog and website while working on this entry – she is equally candid online and her posts remind me why I respect her as a foodie and writer.  Best of all, it seems like there are more Flinn books in the works!

The Chamberlain family spent many years living in France and returns to America around the start of World War II.  The book accounts the family’s transition from France to America as the French-born and trained Clementine accompanies them.

From some perspectives the book is amusing and enlightening as it allows the reader to compare and contrast many points: France and America today, France and America during World War II, America during World War II and today, food trends then and now, and American lifestyle then and now.  Clementine arrived in America speaking only French, and knowing only French culture, so her naivetes to American culture are amusing.  However, at points, the Chamberlains nearly refer to her as property, which is not amusing.

At many points, the book is a dry account of high society life in Marblehead in the 1940s and nearly half of the book is actually a list of arcane French recipes.  They’re worth a scan, but there was little there that I could envision making today.  In addition, much of the terminology in the recipes is out of date.

Clementine is a likeable figure in the story, and the book would be interesting to a food historian, but is probably a bit dry for the average reader.  Reichl’s introduction is as entertaining as her writing always is, though.  Not a read for everyone, but good for some!

I had never been to a book signing event before, so I didn’t know what to antcipate, but I find Reichl to be smart and witty in her books, so I was really eager to hear her speak.  Reichl opened by reading a passage from a previous book, Tender at the Bone, which describes how Reichl’s mother often cooked and served spoiled, strange, and unappetizing foods.  She went on to explain that her mother was truly taste blind, leaving her and her brother to defend favored guests from foods that could make them sick.  Unusual beginnings for someone who is now an editor of Gourmet magazine and a renowned foodie.

Not Becoming My Mother was the product of years of wanting to write about her mother’s mental illness – Reichl’s mother suffered from bipolar disorder.  However, Reichl focused much of her energy talking not about her illness, but about feminism and the times in which her mother grew up.  The title of her book refers to the fact that Reichl’s mother loved her enough to push her not to emulate her mother - she speaks of how smart and driven her mother was – and how bored.  Women of Reichl’s mother’s generation were not encouraged to have ambitions outside of the home. 

When Reichl began cooking and writing about food professionally, her mother expressed great disappointment – she wanted great things for her daughter and was worried that she would get stuck in a domestic role that wouldn’t make her happy.  After years of reflection, Reichl expresses gratitude for her mother loving her enough to to overtly express to her that she didn’t want Reichl to be like her – she said she didn’t know if she would be able to make the same sacrifice for her own son now despite her love for him.  Reichl clearly appreciates having a career that she loves, despite the irony that it involves something her mother failed at and wanted to save her daughter  from – cooking.

After speaking, Reichl answered questions from the audience which had been jotted down on file cards and were sorted through and read by a local public radio personality.  My husband and I were disappointed, because despite arriving early to the event, we hadn’t received cards.  The questions seemed to focus mainly on the economy, although there were a few questions about eating food with locally grown ingredients, and one person dying to know where Reichl would dine after the event (she tactfully replied that she didn’t know where she would be taken out).  Reichl also spoke briefly of her role at Gourmet and how when she accepted the position, she was eager to take on the politics of food - she felt readers were ready to learn about where food comes from – is it sustainable?  What harm, if any, is done to obtain certain foods?  Gourmet was nervous about this new direction, but as always, Reichl had her finger on the pulse of the food movement.

I enjoyed hearing Reichl speak, but was sorely disappointed when the book signing didn’t end with a book signing.  Perhaps I’m naive, but I fully expected to get in line and have Reichl sign my copy of Not Becoming My Mother – I had bought a voucher for just this experience.  (It was clear to me that at least a few other audience members had the same expectation).  Instead, we lined up in the lobby and handed in our vouchers to receive pre-signed copies of the book.  Reichl was likely backstage, and nowhere to be seen.  While I haven’t read the book yet, it is disappointingly small with exceptionally large print – it was hardly worth the money to buy a voucher for a signed hardcover edition, although if it is as good as Reichl’s other memoirs, I’m sure it will be funny, touching, revealing, honest, and a wonderful read.  So, ups and downs – but it was a good night in all – and a good break from moving!