2 1/2 stars.

This was an okay read, it was fine. It was, to me, the culinary equivalent of fried pork chops and mashed potatoes with a side of canned corn. Haha and therein lies the problem. I am not a foodie. I just don't care about food all that much. To me food is utilitarian, I eat for fuel to keep my body operating. I just don't think about food all that much, I don't care, I'm somewhat picky. I don't eat fish or any sea food. I would NEVER eat any creature's liver I don't care, pate or not. I would not eat a thymus gland, pigs feet, fish eggs, tripe, game bird, or any wild animal unless it was end times and I didn't have a choice. I would gladly injested a pill in replacement for meals (as long as it filled me up and I didn't feel hunger pangs) as I don't particularly care about being bothered with planning meals, eating, cleaning up afterwards. I don't take a bite of food or sip of wine and wax poetic about flavors and textures and mental associations. It all seems a bit pretentious and over the top to me. It's just food. I can't be bothered. I know I'm weird and boring. So be it.

Reading a book about a love affair with food, how it all began, developed through life, just doesn't float my boat because I don't relate. I can understand in an intellectual way why some people care more about food than I do. That's fine. I should have known going into this book that I was NOT one of those people and hence the book kind of falling flat for me. So read it if you care about the culinary arts, are a sensual creature who feels pleasure because of colors and textures and odors. It might be your cup of tea. My cup of tea is made with a tea bag with Lipton's stamped on it.