Last weekend I tore through the book Cooking for Mr. Latte in less than 2 days. I wasn't planning to
read it (it was published in 2003); I found it at the library while I
was looking for something else and figured it could be light, amusing
reading.
Cooking for Mr. Latte is a memoir
by Amanda Hesser, a food writer for the New York
Times, about
meeting her husband, a writer for the New Yorker. I have always liked
Amanda Hesser's columns in the Times magazine, which are always built
around a recipe. When she writes about the experience of cooking and
its techniques, she's clear and engaging, and I usually find her
taste very good.
I probably hesitated to read “Mr.
Latte” because I figured it would excite my jealousy to read about
someone with such a glamorous, cosmopolitan life—and it's a
heterosexual romance besides (I'm not supposed to like those).
In addition, I have kind of a bad track
record with memoirs by women (a least contemporary ones). I couldn't
bear Eat, Pray, Love for lots of complicated reasons, and I
hated A Three-Dog Life as well. But pondering what the common thread
among the three might be is leading me off-topic.
Mr. Latte had lots to entertain
me, with stories about going to movies and restaurants in New York,
stories about family connections forged during summer weeks at the
family compound on Long Island, dinner parties and fabulous
engagement parties, and recipes. Almost all the recipes are things I
would like to cook, like walnut cake, oeufs mayonnaise, and
papardelle with lemon and ricotta salata. Although I certainly could
find most of these recipes or similar ones among the collection of
cookbooks I already have, if I found this book for cheap at a used
bookstore, I would buy it to remember the recipes. And I'm going to search out "grains of paradise," which she mentions as an aromatic alternative to pepper. Since I'm addicted to pepper blends with black, red, green, and white pepper for their aromatic qualities, I was intrigued by this new-to-me spice.
But the book puzzled me as well, I
think because it didn't go deep enough. Hesser would disclose
something negative about herself, but then not reflect on whether it
had gotten better, or whether she had grown. She readily admits to
being bossy, such as during the family trip to Rome where she makes
her entire family miserable pursuing the perfect Italian dining
experience and gets frustrated when everyone else doesn't share her
passion. I can relate to that type of frustration, actually, but
Hesser makes no attempt to excuse or redeem herself. I think I wanted
her to write about apologizing, or trying to make up for her bad
behavior. Instead, she writes about a comforting dinner (made by a
family friend) that seemed to make everyone feel better. But Hesser
herself didn't fix things, unless she's taking credit for arranging
the dinner. And there are numerous instances where Hesser admits to
meanness or bossiness toward a friend, or reveals unflattering
feelings about a friend, and I had to hope that the friend didn't
learn about them by reading the book. Either I crave the cliché of
redemption, or I'm just not mature enough to appreciate someone who
can put the negative side of themselves out for scrutiny without
attempting to mitigate it. Or maybe I missed what Hesser intended to
be the self-redemptive parts.
The central of these conflicts is with
the Mr. Latte of the title. As Hesser characterizes him, he's
basically a brainy frat boy when she meets him—and apparently, for
him food isn't the be-all and end-all (gasp). She wonders whether she
can have a relationship with someone who orders lattes after noon,
sweetens them with artificial sweetener, and feels oppressed by the
service rituals and flourishes at classical French restaurants. And
Hesser doesn't dwell on his good qualities or examine what she sees
in him; she says only that she's happy and excited to be with him.
But why? To read this book you have to suspend the belief that to
judge someone on their restaurant preferences is shallow; in
fact, it does matter whether your life partner shares the passion
that you've constructed your life around. But it seemed to me
throughout that Mr. Latte met Hesser more than halfway, and she was
carping about minor points, many about appearances. Again, she has to
understand that these admissions are unflattering (doesn't she?), so
why leave them unchallenged?
There's always the possibility that
Hesser is simply a diva--who happens to write best when she sticks to
the subject of food. That was certainly true of MFK Fisher. When I
read a bunch of Fisher years ago, I was rather repulsed to read about
her extramarital affair (which you can put down to prudishness or
naivete on my part); when I read about Fisher's divalike behavior
years later, I was even more repulsed. Whatever there is of value in
Fisher's writing is soured for me, knowing that she was a prize
bitch.
