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M.F. K. Fisher

The Gastronomical Me

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‘Her writing makes your mouth water.’ — Financial Times
‘Unique among the classics of gastronomic writing . . . a book about adult loss, survival, and love.’ — New York Review of Books
A classic of food writing that redefined the genre, The Gastronomical Me is a memoir of travel, love and loss, but above all hunger.
In 1929 M.F.K. Fisher left America for France, where she tasted real French cooking for the first time. It inspired a prolific career as a food and travel writer. In The Gastronomical Me Fisher traces the development of her appetite, from her childhood in America to her arrival in Europe, where she embarked on a whole new way of eating, drinking, and living. She recounts unforgettable meals shared with an assortment of eccentric characters, set against a backdrop of mounting pre-war tensions.
Here are meals as seductions, educations, diplomacies, and communions, in settings as diverse as a bedsit above a patisserie, a Swiss farm, and cruise liners across oceans. In prose convivial and confiding, Fisher illustrates the art of ordering well, the pleasures of dining alone, and how to eat so you always find nourishment, in both head and heart.
‘Many authors whisper, as though to a diary, or chat, as though to a friend, but Fisher communicates with the heady directness of a lover.’ — Bee Wilson, author of The Way We Eat Now
‘She is not just a great food writer. She is a great writer, full stop.’ — Rachel Cooke, Observer
‘The greatest food writer who has ever lived.’ — Simon Schama
‘Poet of the appetites.’ — John Updike
‘I do not know of anyone in the United States who writes better prose.’ — W.H. Auden
Эта книга сейчас недоступна
304 бумажные страницы
Правообладатель
Bookwire
Дата публикации оригинала
2017
Год выхода издания
2017
Издательство
Daunt Books
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Цитаты

  • Ferioцитирует8 месяцев назад
    I was horribly self-conscious; I wanted everybody to look at me and think me the most fascinating creature in the world, and yet I died a small hideous death if I saw even one person throw a casual glance at me.
  • Ferioцитирует8 месяцев назад
    The fact that she, the most wonderful girl in the whole school, and the most intelligent, and the most revered, should ask me to dance when she knew very well that I was only a Sophomore, was so overwhelming that it made even the dreamlike reality that she had called me Kennedy, instead of Mary Frances, seem unimportant.
  • Ferioцитирует9 месяцев назад
    When I was eleven we all moved to the country. We had a cow, and chickens, and partly because of that and partly because Grandmother had died we began to eat more richly.

    We had chocolate puddings with chopped nuts and heavy cream. The thought of them makes me dizzy now, but we loved them. And lots of butter: I was good at churning, and learnt very well how to sterilise the wooden churn and make the butter and then roll it into fine balls and press it into moulds. I liked that. And we could have mayonnaise, rich yellow with eggs and oil, instead of the boiled dressing Grandmother’s despotic bowels and stern palate called for.

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